The Heir (42 page)

“Her Grace could not…?” The earl felt his ears turn red as the significance of his father’s words sunk in.

“Fine basis for a marriage,” the duke went on blithely. “What? You think all ten children were exclusively my fault? You have much to learn, my lad. Much to learn. Now…” The duke paused with his hand on the door. “When will your new housekeeper start?”

“My new housekeeper?”

“Yes, your mother will want to know and to look the woman over. You can’t allow old Fran to continue tyrannizing your poor footmen.”

“I haven’t hired anybody yet.”

“Best be about it.” The duke glanced around the house disapprovingly. “The place is losing its glow, Westhaven. If you expect to resume your courting maneuvers in the little season, you’ll have to take matters in hand, put on a proper face and all that.”

“I will at that,” the earl agreed, escorting his father to the door. “My thanks for your visit, Your Grace.”

The earl was surprised witless when his father pulled him into a hug.

“My pleasure”—the duke beamed—“and your dear mama is probably relieved to be shut of my irresistible self for an hour or two, as well. Mind you don’t let that old woman in the kitchen get above herself.”

“I’ll pass along your compliments.” The earl smiled, watching his father trot down the front steps with the energy of a man one-third his age.

“Was that our esteemed sire?” Dev asked, emerging from the back of the house.

“It was. If I’d known you were home, I would have made him wait.”

“Oh, no harm done. Did he have anything of merit to impart?”

“Anna is not doing well,” the earl said, wondering when he’d lost all discretion.

“Oh?” Dev arched an eyebrow. “Come into the library, little brother, and tell me and the decanter all about it.”

“No decanter for me,” the earl demurred as he followed Dev through the door, “but some lemonade, perhaps, with lots of sugar.”

“So the duke called on Anna and found her in poor spirits?”

“Poor health, more like. Pale, tired, peaked…”

“Like you.” Dev stirred sugar into his lemonade.

“I am merely busy. As you have been busy liquidating Fairly’s stables.”

“And flirting with his fillies.” Dev grinned. “They are the sweetest bunch, Westhaven. But did His Grace intimate Anna had that on-the-nest look about her?”

“And what would you know about an on-the-nest look?”

“I breed horses for a living,” Dev reminded him. “I can tell when a mare’s caught, because she gets this dreamy, inward, secret look in her eye. She’s peaceful but pleased with herself, too. I think you are in anticipation of a blessed event, Westhaven.”

“I think I am, too,” Westhaven said. “Pass me the decanter.” Dev silently obliged and watched as his brother poured whiskey into the sweetened lemonade.

“I promised you last week,” Dev said slowly, “not to let you get half seas over again for at least ten years.”

“Try it.” The earl pushed the decanter toward him. “One cocktail does not a binge make.”

“Very ducally put,” Dev said, accepting the decanter. “How will you ensure my niece or nephew is not a bastard, Westhaven? I am prepared to beat you within an inch of your life, heir or not, if you don’t take proper steps.”

The earl sipped his drink. “The problem is not that I don’t want to take proper steps, as you put it. The problem is that it is Anna’s turn to propose to me.”

D
EV EYED HIS BROTHER
. “I
WASN’T AWARE THE LADIES
got a turn at the proposing. I thought it was up to us stalwart lads to risk rejection and to do the actual asking.”

“We can take first crack,” the earl said, his finger tracing the rim of his glass, “but I took first through fifth, and that means it’s her turn.”

“I’m sure you’ll explain this mystery to me, as I hope at some point to put an end to my dreary bachelor existence,” Dev murmured, taking a long swallow of his drink.

The earl smiled almost tenderly. “With Anna, I proposed, explaining to her she should marry me because I am titled and wealthy and so on.”

“That would be persuasive to most any lady I know, except the lady you want.”

“Precisely. So I went on to demonstrate she should marry me because I am, though the term will make you blush, lusty enough to bring her a great deal of pleasure.”

“I’d marry you for that reason,” Dev rejoined, “or I would if, well… It’s a good argument.”

“It is, if you are a man, but on Anna, the brilliance
of my logic was lost. So I proposed again and suggested I could make her troubles disappear, then failed utterly to make good on my word.”

“Bad luck, that.” Dev sipped his drink. “Her troubles are behind her now.”

“And she has neither brother nor family seat to show for it,” the earl said gently, “though if I haven’t thanked you before, Devlin, I am thanking you now for pulling that trigger. Helmsley was a disgrace.”

“I was aiming for his hand, though. I grabbed your pistol, and I’ve never shot with it before. I apologized to Anna and Morgan both, but they just tried to make me feel better.”

“I am ordering you to feel better. Anna herself said Helmsley was morally or rationally broken somehow. Could you imagine selling any one of our sisters to Stull?”

“No,” Dev said, “and that perspective does put it in a more manageable light. But back to your proposals, as the tale grows fascinating.”

“Well, I blundered on,” the earl said. “She was to marry me for legal reasons, if all else failed, to prevent kidnapping charges, since I hadn’t prevented the kidnapping attempt. She was to marry me to spike Stull’s guns and so forth. One has to be impressed at the single-minded focus of my proposals, particularly when juxtaposed with their consistent failure to impress.”

“Juxtaposed,” Dev mused. “Very ducal word. So you fell on your arse.”

“I did, and my sword. Shall we have another drink?”

“One more”—Dev waggled a finger—“and that’s it.” He did the honors, even remembering to sugar the
lemonade heavily first. “This is a delightful summer concoction, though it needs mint or something.”

“It needs a taller glass.”

“So you are done proposing?” Dev sipped his drink.

“I am. I forgot to propose for the one reason that might have won the prize.”

“That being?”

“She loves me.” Westhaven smiled wistfully. “She cannot bear to think of the rest of her life without me.”

“That reason.” Dev nodded sagely. “I will remember that one, as it would not have occurred to me either. Do you think it will occur to Anna?”

“I hope to God it does.” The earl took a long pull of his drink. “I cannot make a move at this point unless she invites it.”

“Why not? Why not just ride out there, special license in hand, and lay down the law? You haven’t tried that approach. You can name it after me, the Devlin St. Just Proposal of Marriage Option Number Seven.”

“Dev, I fear you are getting a bit foxed.”

“A bit, and I am not even the one trying to drown my sorrows. Am I not the best of brothers?”

“The very best,” the earl agreed, his smile carrying a wealth of affection. “But I cannot exercise option number seven, as that option was preempted by the lady’s late brother. She did not tolerate attempts to lay down the law.”

“He’s dead,” Dev observed. “Not much appeal to that approach. So what now?”

“Wait. Sooner or later, Anna’s condition will become apparent even to her, and then I can only hope she will recall who it was that got her pregnant.”

Dev lifted his glass. “Another good reason for having a candle lit when you’re swiving one you want to keep. I think our little brother would benefit from such profound wisdom. Where has he got off to?”

As if summoned by magic, Val strode through the door, his expression bleak, his gaze riveted on the decanter.

“There’s good news and bad news,” Dev said as he slid his drink into Val’s hand. “The good news is we are going to be uncles again, God willing. The bad news is that so far, Westhaven’s firstborn will be taking after me rather than the legitimate side of the family.”

“And this is bad news, how?” Val asked.

Dev grinned. “Is he not the best of little brothers?”

“The very best,” the earl agreed, pouring them all another round.

Fortunately for Westhaven, Anna’s note did not arrive for another two days. By that point, he, Dev, and Val had sworn not to overimbibe for the next twenty years and endured the hangovers required to make the vow meaningful.

Westhaven,

I am bound by my word to seek your assistance should I find myself in difficulties. The matter is not urgent, but I will attend you at Willow Bend at your convenience. My regards to your family, and to St. Just and Lord Valentine most especially.

Anna James

PS You will soon be running out of marzipan. Mr. Detlow’s sweet shop will be expecting your reorder on Monday next.

Being a disciplined man, the earl bellowed for Pericles to be saddled, barked an order to Cook to see about the marzipan, snatched up the package he’d been saving for Anna, and was on his way out of Town at a brisk trot within twenty minutes of reading her note. A thousand dire possibilities flitted through his mind as Pericles ground up the miles.

Anna had lost the baby, she had mismanaged her finances, she had decided not to buy the place, but rather, to move back north. She’d found some hapless swain to marry, the neighbors were not treating her cordially, the house had dry rot or creeping damp, or the stables had burned down again.

Only as he approached the turn to the lane did he realize he was being needlessly anxious. Anna had sent for him about a matter that wasn’t urgent, and he was responding to her summons. Nothing more, nothing less. He brought his horse down to the walk, but for some reason, his heart was determined to remain at a gallop.

“Westhaven?” Anna greeted him from the drive itself, where she was obviously involved in some gardening task. Her dress was not brown or gray but a pretty white, green, and lavender muslin—with a raised waistline. She had on a floppy straw hat, one that looked to have seen better days but was fetching just the same, and her gloves were grubby with honest Surrey dirt.

“You certainly got here quickly.” Anna smiled at him.

He handed off his horse to a groom and cautiously returned the smile. She looked thinner, true, but there were freckles on her nose, and her smile was only a little guarded.

“It is a pleasant day for a ride to the country,” Westhaven responded, “and though the matter you cited isn’t urgent, delay seldom reduces the size of a difficulty.”

“I appreciate your coming here. Can I offer you a drink? Lemonade? Cider?”

“Lemonade,” the earl said, glancing around. “You have wasted no time making the place a home.”

“I am fortunate,” Anna said, following his gaze. “As hot as it has been, we’ve finally gotten some rain, and I can be about putting in flowers. Heathgate has sent over a number of cuttings, as have Amery and Greymoor.”

They would, the scoundrels.

“I’ve brought along a few, as well,” the earl said. “They’re probably in the stables as we speak.”

“You brought me plants?” Anna’s eyes lit up as if he’d brought her the world.

“I had your grandmother send for them from Rosecroft. Just the things that would travel well— some Holland bulbs, irises, that sort of thing.”

“You brought me my grandfather’s flowers?” Anna stopped and touched his sleeve. “Oh, Westhaven.” He glanced at the hand on his sleeve, wanting to say something witty and ducal and perfect.

“I thought you’d feel more at home here with some of his flowers,” was all that came to mind.

“Oh, you.” Anna hugged him, a simple, friendly
hug, but in that hug, he had the first glimmering hope that things just might come right. She kept his arm, wrapping her hands around it and toddling along so close to his side he could drink in the lovely, flowery scent of her.

“So what is this difficulty, Anna?” he asked as he escorted her to the front terrace.

“We will get to that, but first let us address your thirst, and tell me how your family goes on.”

He paused as they reached the front door then realized her grandmother and sister would likely join them inside the house. “Come with me.” He took her by the hand and tugged her along until they were beside the stream, the place where they’d first become intimate. She’d had a bench placed in the shade of the willows, so he drew her there and pulled her down beside him.

“I told myself I’d graciously listen to whatever you felt merited my attention,” he began, “but, Anna, I have been worried about you, and now, after several weeks of silence, you send me two sentences mentioning some problem. I find I have not the reserves of patience manners require: What is wrong, and how can I help?”

A brief paused ensued, both of them studying their joined hands.

“I am expecting,” she said quietly. “Your child, that is. I am… I am going to have a baby.” She peeked over at him again, but he kept his eyes front, trying to absorb the reality behind her words.

He was to be a father, a papa, and she was to be the mother of his child.

His
children
,
God willing.

“I realize this creates awkwardness,” she was prosing on, “but I couldn’t not tell you, and I felt I owed it to you to leave the decision regarding the child’s legitimacy in your hands.”

“I see.”

“I don’t gather you do,” Anna said. “Westhaven, I’d as soon not raise our child as a bastard, so I am asking you to marry me. We do suit, in some ways, but I will understand if you’d rather choose another for your duchess. In fact, I’ve advised you to do just that on more than one occasion. I will understand.”

Another pause while Anna studied their joined hands and Westhaven called upon every ounce of ducal reserve to keep from bellowing his joy to the entire world.

“I must decline,” he said slowly, “though I comprehend the great honor you do me, and I would not wish bastardy on our progeny either.”

“You
must
decline?” Anna repeated. There was disappointment in her tone, in her eyes. Disappointment and
hurt
,
and even in the midst of overwhelming joy, he was sorry for that. There was no surprise, though, and he was even more sorry for that.

“I must decline,” the earl repeated, his words coming a little faster than he intended, “because I have it on great good authority one accepts a proposal of marriage only when one cannot imagine the rest of one’s life without that person in it, and when one is certain that person loves one and feels similarly in every respect.”

Anna frowned at him.

“I love you, Westhaven,” she reminded him, “I’ve told you this.”

“You told me on one occasion.”

Anna held up a hand. “I see the difficulty. You do not love me. Well, I suppose that’s honest.”

“I have not been honest,” the earl corrected her swiftly, lest she rise and he give in to the need to tackle her bodily right there in the green grass.

“At the risk of differing with a lady, I must stand firm on that one point, but I can correct the oversight now.” He slipped off the bench and took her right hand in both of his as he went down on one knee before her.

“I love you,” he said, holding her gaze. “I love you, I cannot foresee the rest of my life without you, and I hope you feel similarly. For only if you do feel similarly will I accept your proposal of marriage or allow you to accept mine.”

“You love me?”

“For God’s sake.” He was off his knee in an instant, dusting briskly at his breeches. “Why else would I have tried to keep my bloody paws off you when you were just eight and twenty feet down the hall? Why else would I have gone to my father—Meddling Moreland himself?—to ask for help and advice? Why else would I have let you go, for pity’s sake, if I didn’t love you until I’m blind and silly and… Jesus, yes, I love you.”

“Westhaven.” Anna reached out and stroked a hand through his hair. “You are shouting, and you mean this.”

“I am not in the habit of lying to the woman whom I hope to make my duchess.”

That, he saw, got through to her. Since the day she’d bashed him with her poker, he’d been honest
with her. Cranky, gruff, demanding, what have you, but he’d been honest. So he was honest again.

“I love you, Anna.” His voice shook with the truth of it. “I love you. I want you for my wife, my duchess, and the mother of all of my children.”

She cradled her hand along his jaw, and in her eyes, he saw his own joy mirrored, his incredulity that life could offer him a gift as stunningly perfect as the love they shared, and his bottomless determination to grab that gift with both hands and never let go.