The Heir

by Grace Burrowes

  “Nurses must be ugly.” Dev closed his eyes. “Mistresses must be pretty. Housekeepers are not supposed to be pretty, but then we have your Mrs. Seaton.”

  “Hands off.”

  “My hands off?” Dev raised his head and eyed Westhaven. “My hands off your housekeeper?”

  “Yes, Dev. Hands off, and this is not a request.”

  “Getting into the ducal spirit, are you?” Dev closed his eyes again and folded his hands on his chest. “Well, no need to issue a decree. I’ll behave, as she is a female employed by a Windham household.”

  “Devlin St. Just.” Westhaven’s boots hit the floor with a thump. “Weren’t you swiving your housekeeper while she was engaged to some clueless simian in Windsor?”

  “Very likely.” Dev nodded peacefully, eyes closed. “And I put away that toy when honor required it.”

  “What sort of honor is this? I comprehend what is expected of a gentleman, generally, but must have missed the part about how we go on when swiving housekeepers.”

  “You were going on quite enthusiastically,” Dev said, opening one eye, “when I came down here last night to find a book.”

  “I see.”

  “On the sofa,” Dev added, “if that pinpoints my interruption of your orgy.”

  “It wasn’t an orgy.”

  “You were what?” Dev frowned. “Trying to keep her warm? Counting her teeth with your tongue? Teaching her how to sit the trot riding astride? Looked to me for all the world like you were rogering the daylights out of dear Mrs. Seaton.”

  “I wasn’t,” Westhaven spat, getting up and pacing to the hearth. “The next thing to it, but not quite the act itself.”

  “I believe you,” Dev said, “and that makes it all better. Even though it looked like rogering and sounded like rogering and probably tasted like it, too.”

  “Dev…”

  “Gayle…” Dev got up and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I am the last person to begrudge you your pleasures, but if I can walk in on you, and I’ve only been underfoot a day, then anybody else can, too.”

  Westhaven nodded, conceding the point.

  “I don’t care that you and Mrs. Seaton are providing each other some slap-and-tickle, but if you’re so far gone you forget to lock the door, then I am concerned.”

  “I didn’t…” Westhaven scrubbed a hand over his face. “I did forget to lock the door, and we haven’t made a habit out of what you saw. I don’t intend to make a habit of it, but if I do, I will lock the door.”

  “Good plan.” Dev nodded, grinning. “I have to approve of the woman on general principles, you know, if she has you spouting such inanities and dropping your pants for all the world to see.”

  “I thought in my own library at nigh midnight I could have privacy,” Westhaven groused.

  Dev’s expression became serious. “You cannot assume you have privacy anywhere. The duke owns half your staff and can buy the other half, for one thing. For another, you are considered a most eligible bachelor. If I were you, I would assume I had no privacy whatsoever, not even in your own home.”

  “You’re right.” Westhaven blew out a breath. “I know you’re right, but I don’t like it. We will be careful.”

  “You be careful,” Dev admonished. “Earlier today, I was minding my own business up on the balcony that opens off my bedroom, and I saw your housekeeper in earnest discussion with the deaf maid. Mrs. Seaton was warning the maid you and Val are men who can’t be trusted nor asked to break the law. I thought you should know.”

  “I appreciate your telling me, but I am loathe to react out of hand to words taken out of context. In some villages, there are laws against waving one’s cane in public, and laws against drinking spirits on the Sabbath.”

  “Are you sure the maid can’t speak?” Dev pressed. “Do you really know what became of Mr. Seaton and where the banns were cried? Just who were Mrs. Seaton’s references?”

  “You raise valid questions, but you cannot question that Mrs. Seaton does a splendid job of keeping this house.”

  “Absolutely splendid,” Dev agreed, “and she trysts with you in the library.”

  “Are you telling me I shouldn’t marry her now?” Westhaven tried for humor but found the question was partly serious.

  “You might well end up having to marry her, if last night is any indication,” Dev shot back. “Just make damned sure you know exactly who it is you’re trysting with before the duke gets wind of same.”

  Knowing he wouldn’t get any more work done after that discussion, Westhaven left the library in search of his housekeeper. He couldn’t be precisely sure she was avoiding him—again—but he’d yet to see her that day. He found her in her private sitting room and closed the door behind him before she even rose to offer him a curtsy.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened immediately.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she retorted, turning away her face when he tried to kiss her.

  “You don’t want me holding you?” he asked, kissing her cheek anyway.

  “I don’t want you closing the door, taking liberties, and bothering me,” she said through clenched teeth. He dropped his arms and eyed her curiously.

  “What is it?”

  “What is what?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You were willing enough to be bothered last night, Anna Seaton, and it is perfectly acceptable that your employer might want to have a word or two with you privately. Dev said he saw you and Morgan in heated discussion after lunch. Is something troubling you? Those confidences you referred to last night, perhaps?”

  “I should not have trusted you with even that much of a disclosure,” Anna said, uncrossing her arms. “You know I intend to seek another position, my lord. I wonder if you’ve written out that character you promised me?”

  “I have. Because Val has yet to return, it remains in my desk. You gave me your word we would have the rest of the summer, Anna. Are you dishonoring that promise so soon?”

  She turned away from him, which was answer enough for Westhaven.

  “I am still here.”

  “Anna…” He stole up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I am not your enemy.”

  She nodded once, then turned in his arms and buried her face against his throat.

  “I’m just… upset.”

  “A lady’s prerogative,” he murmured, stroking her back. “The heat has everyone out of sorts, and while I was allowed to sit on my lordly backside for a week, claiming illness, you were expected to be up at all hours.”

  She didn’t contradict him, but she did take a deep breath and step back.

  “I did not intend to upset you.” The earl offered her a smile, and she returned it just as the door swung open.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord.” Stenson drew himself up to his unimpressive height, shot a disdainful glance at Anna, and pulled the door shut again.

  “Oh, God.” Anna dropped down onto her sofa. “It needed only that.”

  The earl frowned at her in puzzlement. “I wasn’t even touching you. There was a good two feet between us, and Stenson was the one in the wrong. He should have knocked.”

  “He never does,” Anna sighed, “and we were not touching, but we looked at one another as something other than housekeeper and employer.”

  “Because I smiled at you?”

  “And I smiled back. It was not a housekeeper’s smile for her employer.”

  “Don’t suppose it was, but it was still just a smile.”

  “You need a butler, Westhaven.” Anna rose and advanced on him.

  “Any footman can answer the damned door. Why do I need another mouth to feed?”

  “Because, a butler will outrank that toadying little buffoon, will be loyal to you rather than the duke’s coin, and will keep the rest of the male servants toeing the line, as well.”

  “You have a point.”

  “Or you could just ge
t rid of Stenson,” she went on, “or have your brother perpetually travel around the countryside with Stenson in tow.”

  “I suppose if Stenson is back, then Val can’t be far behind,” Westhaven observed.

  “I have missed him,” Anna said. She looked a trifle disconcerted to have made the admission but let it stand.

  “I have, too.” Westhaven nodded. “I miss his music, his irreverence, his humor… How is Dev settling in?”

  Anna crossed the room and opened the door before answering his question.

  “Well enough, I suppose,” she replied, busying her hands with an arrangement of daylilies. “He doesn’t sleep much, though, and doesn’t seem to have much of a routine.”

  “He’ll settle in,” the earl said. “You will let me know when Lord Valentine returns?”

  “No need for that.” Val stepped into the room. “I am back and glad to be back. It is too damned hot to travel, and Stenson was unwilling to travel at night. Not a very servile servant, if you ask me, though he does a wicked job with a muddy boot.”

  “You.” Westhaven pulled his brother into a hug. “No more haring off for you, sir. Nobody knows how to go on without your music in the house or your deviltry to keep up morale.”

  “I will wander no more,” Val said, stepping back, “at least until the heat breaks. I came, though, in search of Miss Morgan.”

  “She might be in the kitchen,” Anna said. “More likely she’s reading in the barn. With dinner pushed back these days, she has some free time early in the evening.”

  “Val?” The earl stayed his brother’s departure with a hand on his arm. “You should know, in your absence, I’ve asked Dev to bunk in with us. He was without his domestic help, and we have the room.”

  “Devlin, here?” Val’s grin was spontaneous. “Oh ye gods and little fishes, that was a splendid idea, Westhaven. If we’re to be stuck in Town with this heat, at least let us have good company and Mrs. Seaton’s conscientious care while we’re here.”

  He sailed out of the room, leaving Anna and the earl smiling in his wake.

  “Good to have him back safe and sound,” Westhaven said.

  “Three for dinner on the terrace, then?” she asked, every inch a housekeeper.

  “Three, and I wanted to speak with you about a practical matter.”

  “Dinner is very practical.

  “Dinner is… yes, well.” He glanced at the door. “I have commissioned a fair amount of furniture for Willow Bend, but the place needs drapes, carpets, and so forth. I’d like you to see to it.”

  “You want me to order those things? Shouldn’t your mother or perhaps one of your sisters take that on?”

  “Her Grace is bouncing between Town and Morelands and preparing for the summer’s house parties. My sisters have not the expertise, nor do I have the patience for working with them on a project of this nature.”

  “But, my lord, one of them will eventually be living there. My tastes cannot possibly coincide with those of a woman I’ve never met.”

  “Not possibly.” The earl smiled. “As yours will be better.”

  “You should not say such things.” Anna’s frown became a scowl. “It isn’t gentlemanly.”

  “It’s brotherly and the truth. Even I know salmon and purple don’t go together, but that’s the kind of scheme my sisters would consider ‘daring,’ or some such. And they would pester me endlessly, while you, as I know from firsthand experience, can turn a house into a home with very little guidance from its owner.”

  “I will take this on,” Anna said, chin going up. “Be it on your head if the place turns out looking like one of Prinny’s bad starts. What sort of furniture have you commissioned?”

  “Why don’t we finish this discussion in the library?” the earl asked. “I can make you lists, draw you some sketches, and argue with you without every single servant and both brothers hearing me.”

  “Give me a few minutes to talk with Cook, and I will join you.”

  “Twenty minutes, then.” The earl took his leave, going up to his bedroom, where he’d no doubt Stenson was attempting to address more than a week’s worth of others making shift with his responsibilities.

  “Mr. Stenson?” The earl strode into the room without knocking—and why would he?—and caught the fellow actually sniffing the cravat discarded over the edge of the vanity mirror. “Whatever are you doing in my quarters?”

  “I am your valet, my lord.” Stenson bowed low. “Of course I must needs be in your quarters.”

  “You will stay out of here and busy yourself with Lord Val and Colonel St. Just instead.”

  “Mr. St. Just?” Stenson might as well have said: That bastard?! But Dev would have great good fun putting Stenson in his place, so Westhaven added a few more cautions about the bad form exhibited by the lower orders when they couldn’t be bothered to knock on closed doors, and took his leave.

  When he returned to the library, he did not immediately begin to list the furniture he’d ordered for Willow Bend. He instead wrote out an order to have all the interior locks above stairs changed and only two sets of keys made—one for him and his brothers, one for his housekeeper.

  Sniffing his cravat, for God’s sake. What on earth could Stenson have been about?

  The question faded as Westhaven spent two hours arguing good-naturedly with his housekeeper over matters pertaining to Willow Bend. That was followed by an equally enjoyable dinner with both of his brothers, during which he realized he hadn’t dined with them together since Victor had died months before.

  “Will you two help me with my horses?” Dev pressed when they were down to their chocolates and brandy.

  “If you insist.” Val held his snifter under his nose. “Though coming up from Brighton has left me honestly saddle sore.”

  “I’ll be happy to pitch in, as Pericles can use light duty in this heat, but if I’m to be up early”— Westhaven rose—“then I’d best seek my bed. You gentlemen have my thanks for keeping Mr. Stenson busy, though I don’t think he was exactly pleased with the reassignment.”

  “My shirts will be pleased,” Dev said. “It’s mighty awkward having to always wear one’s jacket and waistcoat because one’s seams are all in jeopardy.”

  “And I found every mud puddle between here and Brighton just to make sure Mr. Stenson was gainfully occupied.”

  “I am blessed in my brothers,” Westhaven said, leaving them with a smile.

  “So tell me the truth,” Dev said, pushing the decanter at his youngest brother. “You are willing to ride with us because you think it would be good for Westhaven. Just like his housekeeper has been good for him.”

  Val smiled and turned his glass around on the linen tablecloth. “It will be good for all of us, being together, living here, even if it’s only for a little while. I find, though, that I’ve sat too long here in the evening breezes.” He got to his feet and quirked an eyebrow at his oldest brother. “Shall we stroll in the moonlight?”

  “Brother”—Dev grinned—“I have heard rumors about you.”

  “No doubt,” Val said easily as they moved off. “They are nothing compared to what one hears about you.”

  “And that gossip is usually true,” Dev said with no modesty whatsoever as they neared the mews. “Now why are we out here stumbling around in the night?”

  Val turned and regarded his brother in the moonlight. “So I can remind you not to make disparaging remarks about Mrs. Seaton or her situation with Westhaven where anybody could overhear you. You know what the duke tried to do with the last mistress?”

  “I’d heard about Elise. Then you are aware of a situation between Westhaven and Mrs. Seaton?”

  “He’s considering marrying her,” Val said. “Or I think he is. They’re certainly interested in each other.”

  “They’re a bit more than interested,” Dev said, rubbing his chin. “They were all but working on the succession when I came upon them in the library last night.”

  “Ye gods. I came upon t
hem in her sitting room this afternoon, door open, all hands in view, but the way they look at each other… puts one in mind of besotted sheep.”

  “His Grace will be in alt,” Dev said on a sigh.

  “His Grace,” Val retorted, “had best not get wind of it, unless you want Westhaven to immediately lose all interest.”

  “Gayle wouldn’t be that stupid, but he would be that stubborn.” Dev tossed a companionable arm around Val’s shoulders. “This will be entertaining as hell, don’t you think? I’m not sure Westhaven’s wooing is entirely well received, and he has to go about it in stealth, winning the lady without alerting the duke. And we have front-row seats.”

  “Lucky us,” Val rejoined. “Doesn’t working on the succession comport with welcoming a man’s suit?”

  Dev’s grin became devilish. “That, my boy, is a common misunderstanding among the besotted male sheep of this world. And the female sheep? They like us befuddled, you know…”

  “It’s a speaking tube,” Val explained. Morgan quirked an eyebrow at him, and he smiled reassuringly. “A lot of invalids take the sea air in Brighton,” he went on, “so the medical community is much in evidence there. I discussed your loss of hearing with a physician or two, and I’ve brought it up with Fairly, as well. He’d like to examine you, though he isn’t a specialist in the field of deafness.”

  Morgan tried to keep her emotions from her eyes, but it was difficult, when her eyes were so used to conveying what words could not. She was more than a little infatuated with this man, with his kindness and generosity of spirit, his acceptance of her disability, his care for his brothers and sisters. He was what a brother should be—decent, selfless, thoughtful, and good-humored.

  “Will you let me try it?” he asked, holding up the tube. It was shaped like an old-style drinking horn, conical and twisted. He gently turned her by the shoulders and pushed her hair aside. Morgan felt the small end of the tube being anchored at her ear.

  “Hello, Morgan. Can you hear me?”

  She whirled on him, jaw gaping.

  “I can hear you,” she whispered, incredulous. “I can hear your words. Say more.” She turned and waited for him to position the speaking tube again.