Ten

“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.”

“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 them 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.

“Let’s try this with the piano,” Val suggested, and she heard his words, or much more of them than she’d heard before. She couldn’t see his mouth when he used the speaking tube, so she must be hearing him. It felt like a tickling in her ear and like so much more.

“I remember this.”

“You remember how to speak,” Val said into the tube. “I thought you might. But come, let me play for you.”

He grabbed her by the hand, and she followed, Sir Walter Scott forgotten in the hay as they ran to the house. He led her straight to the music room, shut the door, and sat her down on what she’d come to think of as her stool. It was higher, like the stools in the ale houses, and let her lay her head directly on the piano’s closed case. Val took the tube and put it wide end down on the piano. He leaned down as if to put his ear to the narrow end of the tube.

“Try it like that.”

Morgan perched on the stool and carefully positioned the tube at her ear. Val moved to the piano bench and began a soft, lyrical Beethoven slow movement, meeting Morgan’s eyes several measures into the piece.

“Can you hear?”

She nodded, eyes shining.

“Then hear this,” he said, launching into a rollicking, joyous final movement by the same composer. Morgan laughed, a rusty, rough sound of mirth and pleasure and joy, causing Val to play with greater enthusiasm. She settled in on the stool, horn to her ear, eyes closed, and prepared to be swept away.

She’d been wrong. She wasn’t infatuated with Val Windham; she was in awe of him. He’d brought her music and the all-but-forgotten sensation of a human voice sounding in her ear. All it had taken was a simple metal tube and a kind thought.

“Good God almighty.” Dev glanced across the library at Westhaven. “What’s gotten into the prodigy?”

Westhaven looked up from his correspondence and focused on the chords crashing and thundering through the house.

“He’s happy,” Westhaven said, smiling. “He’s happier than I’ve heard him since Victor died. Maybe happier than I’ve ever heard him… He tends to stay away from Herr Beethoven, but if I’m not mistaken, that’s who it is. My God…”

He put down his letters and just listened. Val could improvise melodies so tender and lilting they brought tears. He could be the consummate chamber musician, his keyboard evoking grace, humor, and elegance. He knew every drinking song and Christmas carol, all the hymns, and folk tunes. This, however, was heady repertoire, full of emotion and substance.

And he plays the hell out of it, Westhaven thought, amazed. He knew his brother was talented and dedicated, but in those moments, he realized the man was brilliant. More gifted than any Windham had ever been at anything, transcendently gifted.

“Jesus Christ, he’s good,” Dev said. “Better than good. My God…”

“If His Grace could hear this,” Westhaven said, “he’d never say another disparaging thing about our youngest brother.”

“Hush.” Dev’s brow knit. “Let’s just listen.”

And they did, as Val played on and on, one piece following another in a recital of exuberant joy. In the kitchen, dinner preparations stopped. In the garden, the weeding took a hiatus. In the stables, grooms paused to lean on their pitchforks and marvel. Gradually, the music shifted to quieter beauty and more tender joy. As the evening sun slanted across the back gardens, the piano at last fell silent, but the whole household had been blasted with Val’s joy.

In the music room, watching Morgan smile up at him, Val had a queer feeling in his chest. He wondered if it was something like what doctors experienced when they could save a life or safely bring one into the world, a joy and a humility so vast they could not be contained in one human body.

“Thank you,” Morgan whispered, smile radiant. “Thank you, thank you.”

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, and he hugged her back. There were some moments when words were superfluous, and holding her slight frame against him, Val could only thank God for the whim that had made him pick up the tube. He let her go and saw she was holding out the tube to him.

“You keep it,” he said, but she shook her head.

“I cannot,” she said clearly.

“Then let’s leave it in here,” Val suggested. “You can at least use it when we speak or when you want to hear me play.” He put it on top of the piano, puzzled and not a little hurt by her unwillingness to keep the thing. He’d first thought to get her one when he’d seen a pair of old beldames strolling in Brighton, their speaking tubes on chains around their necks like lorgnettes.

Morgan nodded solemnly but put the tube inside the piano bench, out of sight.

“You don’t want anyone to know?” Val guessed.

“Not yet,” she replied, staring at the closed lid of the bench. “I heard once before,” she said, her voice dropping back to a whisper so he had to lean in close to hear her. “We crossed the Penines, and something changed, in here.” She pointed to her left ear. “But the next morning, I woke up, and it had changed back. Can we try the tube again tomorrow?”

“We can.” Val smiled, comprehension dawning. “Your ear opened up because of the altitude. When you descended, it closed up again.”

Morgan looked puzzled and turned her face away.

“Even if I can’t hear tomorrow”—she hunched her shoulders against that terrible possibility—“thank you, Lord Valentine, for today. I will never forget your kindness.”

“It was most assuredly my pleasure.” He beamed at her. “Will you let Lord Fairly take a peek at you?”

“Look only,” she said, her shoulders hunching more tightly still. “No treatments. And you will come with me?”

“I will. Westhaven trusts the man, and that should tell you worlds.”

“It has to be soon,” Morgan said, biting her lip.

“I’ll track him down in the next few days. He’s almost always at home these days, and I run tame around his pianos.”

Morgan nodded and took her leave of him, her joy in the day colored by her recall of Anna’s plans. It had been almost a week since Anna had gotten Grandmama’s letter, and a perfectly pleasant if hot week, too. Morgan knew the earl had something to do with Anna’s lighter moods. Oh, Anna still fretted— Anna was born to fret—but she also occasionally hummed, and she hugged Morgan when no one was about, and she smiled—when she wasn’t staring off into space, looking worried.

Good Lord. Morgan stopped in her tracks. What was she going to tell Anna? When was she going to tell Anna? Not for a day or two, Morgan knew, as improvement could be deceptive. Her hearing sometimes got better during really bad storms, only to disappear when the weather moved. Worse than the loss of hearing, though, was the loss of speech.

She’d never realized how the two were related until she couldn’t hear. She lost her ability to gauge the volume of her voice and found she was whispering—or worse, shouting—when she thought her tone was conversational. Eventually, she’d just given up, until she was afraid to attempt speech again, the patterns not even feeling familiar to her lips, teeth, and tongue anymore.

But that could all change, she thought. If the speaking tube still worked tomorrow, it could all change.

The week had gone so well, Anna thought as she rose from her bed. It was another beautiful—if sweltering—summer day, and she’d enjoyed her efforts to complete the Willow Bend interiors. The earl had chosen surprisingly pretty and comfortable furniture, suited to a country home, and to a country home that wouldn’t be simply a gentleman’s retreat from the city.

He’d had few suggestions regarding the decorative schemes, predictably. “Avoid purple, if you please,” or “no flights of Egyptian fancy. My sisters are imaginative enough as it is.” He liked simple, cheerful, comfortable arrangements, which suited Anna just fine. They were easy to assemble, clean, and maintain, and better still, easy to live in.

And if she felt a pang of envy that some other woman, one dear to Westhaven, was going to be doing the living at Willow Bend, she smothered it. She smothered her anxieties regarding her grandmother’s warning and set to bargaining with herself fiercely instead: I’ll work on the Willow Bend interiors until the letters arrive from the agencies. I’ll enjoy the earl’s attentions until I have to leave. I’ll leave Morgan in peace until I know for certain when and where we’re going…

Her life, it seemed, had degenerated into a series of unenforceable bargains made with herself, while the business of the household moved along heedlessly.

The Windham males had taken to hacking in the park early in the morning, with Pericles sometimes escorting two of the younger stock or taking a day to enjoy his stall and hay. The men came back hungry and usually in high spirits.

When Devlin St. Just had moved in, he’d brought an ability to tease with him, and it was infectious. With only the earl and Lord Val in residence, it was as if their shared grief had pushed out all but the driest humor. With Dev underfoot, bad puns, jokes, ribbing, and sly innuendo cropped up among all three brothers. To Anna, the irreverent humor was the conversational equivalent of the occasional bouquet in the house. It pleased the eye and brought visual warmth and pleasure to the odd corner or bare table.

Nonetheless, Colonel St. Just watched her with a calculating gleam foreign to either the earl or Lord Val. St. Just was a bastard and half Irish. Either burden would have been a strike against him, but his papa was a duke, and so he was received.

Received, Anna thought, but not welcomed. That difference put a harder edge on St. Just than on either of his brothers. In his own way, he was an outsider, and so Anna wanted to feel some sympathy for him. But his green eyes held such a measure of distance when they looked at her, all she felt was… wary.

Still, he was supportive of the earl, proud of Val’s music, and well liked by the staff. He always cleaned his plate, flirted shamelessly with Nanny Fran, and occasionally sang to Cook in a lilting, lyrical baritone. He was, in a word, charming, even to Morgan, who usually left the room as quickly as she could when he started his blather.

“Hullo, my dear.” The earl strolled into Anna’s sitting room and glanced back at the door as if he wanted to close it.

“Good morning.” Anna rose, smiling despite herself, because here was the handsomest of the Windham brothers, the heir, and he wanted to marry her. “What brings you to my sitting room on this lovely day?”

“We have household matters to discuss.” His smile dimmed. “May I sit?”

“Shall I fetch the tea tray?” Anna frowned and realized he wanted to settle in, which would not do, for many reasons.

“No, thank you.” The earl took the middle of the settee, extended an arm across the back, and crossed one ankle over the other knee. “How are you coming with the Willow Bend project?”

“I’ve ordered a great deal in the way of draperies, rugs, mirrors, smaller items of furniture, such as night tables, footstools, and so forth,” Anna replied, grateful for a simple topic. “It is going to cost you a pretty penny, I’m warning you, but the results should be very pleasing.”

“Pleasing is good. When will it be ready?”

“Much has already been delivered. The rest should arrive in the next few days. I understood there was some urgency about this project.”

“There is. I want it done before fall, when I’m likely to be dragooned into the shires by my dear papa for some hunting.”

“If you don’t want to go hunting, you’d best arrange something with your brothers, so when Papa issues his summons, you are otherwise occupied.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“And have you gotten right on finding us a butler? Stenson is more in need of stern guidance than ever.”

The earl burst out laughing at that image and shook his head as he rose.

“Send me some candidates,” he said. “Their most important qualification must be their ability to withstand the duke’s inveigling. I should be on hand Monday and Wednesday next week, though I have appointments back-to-back on Tuesday. I’ll expect you to accompany me to Willow Bend on Thursday.”

“Me?” Anna rose, as well, memories assaulting her: The earl drinking champagne from the bottle on the library floor, his hand slipping over her bare buttocks in the dark of night, the single rose he’d brought her… “I don’t believe that’s wise.”

“Of course it’s wise,” the earl said. “How else am I to know which table goes in what room, and which drapes to hang where?”

“I can write it out,” Anna suggested, “or go when you’re not there.”

“I am the owner, Anna.” He peered down at her in consternation. “What if I take issue with your decisions? Are we to trundle out there on alternate days until all our quibbling is resolved?”

She admitted the silliness of that but not out loud.

“You aren’t afraid, are you?” He cocked his head, frowning. “It isn’t likely we’ll be stuck in a second monsoon, but we can take the coach if you’d feel better about it.”

“Let’s see what the weather portends.” Anna did want to see the place put to rights. “Who will be doing all of the stepping and fetching?”

“The property is now swarming with locals ready to do the earl’s bidding for a bit of the earl’s coin. Much of the work should be done before we arrive, but I want your eye on the finished product.”

“Very well, then. Thursday.”

“And I’ve been meaning to ask you why you always fall silent when St. Just is in the room.” He sidled a little closer and waited for her reply.

“The colonel doesn’t particularly care for me. It’s merely his tacitly stated and perfectly legitimate opinion.”

“He likes you.” The earl dipped his head and kissed her cheek. “It might be he doesn’t trust you. More likely, he simply envies me, because I saw you first.”

Anna’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment, but the earl was gone in an instant, no doubt drawn into the breakfast parlor by the scent of bacon, scones, omelets, and—more especially—by the sound of his brothers’ laughter.