The Duke’s Obsession Bundle (21 page)

And under that hope there beat against the cage of reason and duty the wings of another hope, one she didn’t even acknowledge: The hope that somehow, she might not have to leave him, not at the end of the summer, not any time soon. She could not marry him, she accepted that, but to leave him might prove equally impossible, and what options did that give her?

Anna was practical by nature, so she forced herself to leave those questions for another time, got out of bed, dressed, and went about her day. Memories of the
night preoccupied her, though, and she forgot to don one of her homely lace caps.

She also forgot to chide Morgan for the wisps of hay sticking to her skirts, and she almost forgot to put extra sugar in the earl’s first glass of lemonade. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again, and yet she yearned for the sight of him.

The man and his ideas about courting were botheration personified.

“Post for ye, Missus.” John Footman handed her a slim, worn missive posted from a remote inn on the Yorkshire dales, and Anna felt all the joy and potential in the day collapse into a single, hard lump of dread.

“Thank you, John.” Anna nodded, her expression calm as she made her way to her private sitting room. She rarely closed the door, feeling the space was one of few places the servants could congregate with privacy, particularly as Mr. Stenson would never set a sanctimonious toe on her carpet.

But she closed the door before reading her missive. Closed it and locked it then sat down on the sofa and stared into the cold grate, trying to collect her courage.

Finding the exercise pointless, she carefully slit the seal on the envelope and read the brief contents:

Beware, as your location may be known.

Just that one cautionary sentence, thank God. Anna read it several times then tore both letter and envelope into tiny pieces, wrapped them into a sheet of foolscap, and put them onto the hearth grate to burn later that evening.

Beware as your location may be known.

A warning, but understandably vague. Her location may be known; it may not be. Her location—Southern England? London? Mayfair? Westhaven’s household?—may be known. She pondered the possibilities and decided to assume that her location meant she’d been traced to London, at least, which meant her adoption of the profession of housekeeper might also be known and that Morgan was in service with her, as well.

All in all, it amounted to looming disaster and ended, utterly, any foolish fantasies about dallying with the earl for the rest of the summer. Unlocking the door, Anna assembled her writing supplies and penned three inquiries to the employment agencies she’d noted when she and Morgan had passed through Manchester. Bath was worth a try, she decided, and maybe Bristol, as well. A port town had possibilities inland locations did not.

Without volition, her mind had shifted into the calculating, rational, unsentimental habits of a woman covering her tracks. If it hurt her to leave Nanny Fran, to uproot Morgan again, to part from the earl, well, she told herself, the fate trying to find her would hurt more and for a much longer time.

She assessed the room, mentally inventorying the things she’d brought with her, the few things she’d acquired while in London. Nothing could be left behind that might give her away, but little could be taken with them when they left.

She’d done this twice before—prepared, packed, and executed an escape, for that’s how she had to think of it. Morgan would have to be warned, and she
wasn’t going to like this turn of events one bit. Anna didn’t blame her, for here, in the earl’s house, Morgan wasn’t treated like a mute beast. The other servants were protective of her, and Anna had a sneaking suspicion Lord Valentine felt the same way.

It was no way to live, but Anna had cudgeled her brain, and there seemed to be no alternative. When they ran out of hiding places in England, then the Americas were a possibility, but Anna hated to think of going so far from home.

“Beg pardon, Missus?” John Footman was at her door, smiling, which told her it wasn’t a summons from the earl, thank God. “Lunch be served, unless you’d like a tray?”

“I’ll be along, John.” Anna smiled up at him. “Just give me a minute.”

She completed her correspondence and tucked it into her reticule. It wouldn’t do for the rest of the household to know she was corresponding with employment agencies, much less in what cities. It wouldn’t do for them to know she was upset, wouldn’t do for them to know she’d soon be leaving, with or without the character Westhaven had promised her.

She got through lunch, feeling frozen inside and frantic at the same time. In the few months she’d held her position, she’d come to treasure the house itself, taking pride in its care and appearance. She treasured the staff, as well—with the exception of Stenson, but even he was dedicated to faithful execution of his duties. They were good people, their lives lived without substantial duplicity or deception. Such a one as she wasn’t destined to fit in with them for long.

“Morgan?” Anna murmured as they rose from lunch, “will you join me for a moment?”

Morgan nodded. Anna slipped her arm through Morgan’s and led her out to the back gardens, the only place where privacy might be assured. When they were out on the shaded terrace, Anna turned to face Morgan directly.

“I’ve had a letter from Grandmama,” Anna said slowly but distinctly. “She warns us we may have been traced to London. We need to move on, Morgan, and soon.”

Morgan’s expression, at first joyous to think they’d heard from their grandmother, then wary, knowing it could be bad news, finally became thunderous. She scowled mightily and shook her head.

“I don’t want to leave either,” Anna said, holding the younger woman’s eyes. “I truly would not if there were any choice, but there is no choice, and you know it.”

Morgan glared at her and shook a fist.

“Fight,” she mouthed. “Tell the truth.”

“Fight with what?” Anna shot back. “Tell the truth to whom? The courts? The courts are run by old men, Morgan, and the law gives us no protection. And stuck out on the dales, we wouldn’t be able to get to the courts, and well you know it.”

“Not yet,” Morgan mouthed, still glaring daggers. “Not so soon again.”

“It’s been months,” Anna said on a sigh, “and of course we can’t go immediately. I need a character from his lordship, and I have to find positions for us elsewhere.”

“Go without me.”

“I will not go without you,” Anna said, shaking her head. “That would be foolish in the extreme.”

“Split up,” Morgan persisted. “They need only one of us.”

Anna stared at Morgan in shock. The last sentence had been not just lipped but almost whispered, so close was it to audible speech.

“I won’t let that one be you,” Anna said, hugging her and deciding against making a fuss over Morgan’s use of words. “And we’ll fight if we have to.”

“Tell Lord Val,” Morgan suggested, less audibly. “Tell the earl.”

“Lord Val and the earl cannot be trusted. They are men, too”—Anna shook her head—“in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed.” Morgan’s glare was temporarily leavened by a slight smile. “Handsome men.”

“Morgan Elizabeth James”—Anna smiled back—“shame on you. They might be handsome men, but they can’t change the laws, nor can we ask them to break the law.”

“Hate this,” Morgan said, laying her head on Anna’s shoulder. She raised her face long enough for her sister to see the next words. “I miss Grandmother.”

“I do, too.” Anna hugged her close. “We will see her again, I promise.”

Morgan just shook her head and stepped back, her expression resigned. This whole mad scheme had been undertaken more than two years ago, “just until we can think of something else.” Well, it was two years, three positions, and many miles later, and nothing else
was being thought of. In those years when a gently bred young girl—even one who appeared unable to hear or speak—should be thinking of beaus and ball gowns, Morgan was sweeping grates, lugging buckets of coal, and changing bed linens.

Anna watched her go, her heart heavy with Morgan’s disappointment but also with her own. Two years was a long time never to see home or hearth, always to look over your shoulder for those meaning you harm. It was never supposed to go on this long, but as Anna contemplated her remaining years on earth, all she could see was more running and hiding and leaving behind the things—and people—that really mattered.

“Your housekeeper is keeping secrets.”

Dev threw himself down on the library’s sofa, yanked off his boots, and stretched out to his considerable length with a sigh. “And she’s a damned pretty housekeeper to have served as your nurse.”

“Nurses must be ugly?” Westhaven tossed down his pen. Dev was a different sort of housemate than Val. Dev didn’t disappear into the music room for hours at a time, letting the entire household know where he was without being bothersome about it. Dev wandered at will, as apt to be in the library with a book or in the kitchen flirting with Cook and Nanny Fran. He’d seen to moving his riding horses into the mews but still had plenty of time for poking his nose into his brother’s business.

“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 get 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.”