Page 97 of The Heir
“I can see to that,” Anna said. “Why don’t you wash off the dust of the road, and I’ll have your luncheon served on the terrace.”
“Join us?” the earl said, laying a hand on her arm.
Her eyes met his, and she saw he would not argue, but he wasasking. She nodded and made for the kitchen, trying to muster a scold for giving in to his foolishness. At Willowdale, she’d been a guest of the Marquis and Marchioness of Heathgate, as Heathgate served as the local magistrate. There she’d been treated as a guest and as the earl’s respected… what? Friend? His fiancée? His… nothing. Certainly not his housekeeper. Anna had allowed the fiction out of manners and out of a sense it was the last chapter in her dealings with Westhaven, an unreal series of days that allowed them a great deal of freedom in each other’s company.
And at night, he’d stolen into her room, slipped into her bed, and held her in his arms while they talked until they both fell asleep. He’d told her stories of growing up among a herd of the duke’s offspring on the rambling acres of Morelands, of his last parting from his brother Bart, and his suspicions regarding a second ducal grandchild.
She told him what it was like to grow up secure in her grandparents’ love, surrounded by acres of flowers and hot houses and armies of gardeners. But mostly, Anna had listened. She listened to his voice, deep, masculine, and beautiful in the darkness. She listened to his hands, to the patterns of tenderness and possession they traced on her bare skin. She listened to his body, becoming as familiar to her as her own, and to the way he used it to express both affection and protectiveness. She listened to his mind, to the discipline with which he used it to provide for all whom he cared for.
She listened to his heart and heard it silently—and unsuccessfully—plead with her for her trust.
“And there be our bird,” the dirty little man cackled to an even dirtier little boy.
“So you’ll tell the fat swell we seen her?” the child asked, eyeing the pretty lady with the flower basket.
“I will, but happen not today, me lad. He pays good, and we’re due for another installment when I call on him tonight. Too hot to do more than stand about in the shade anyways—might as well get paid fer it, aye?”
“Aye.” The child grinned at the soundness of his superior’s reasoning and went back to getting paid to watch.
“You tell old Whit if the lady goes out, mind, and be ready for yer shift again tomorrow at first light.”
“You use the same employment agency as Her Grace,” Hazlit began, his eyes meeting the earl’s unflinchingly. “So I started there and eventually found copies of references your housekeeper brought with her two years ago. They all came from older women, ladies of quality now residing in York and its surrounds, so I went north.”
“You went north,” the earl repeated, needing and dreading to hear what came next.
“On her application,” Hazlit went on, “Mrs. Seaton put she was willing to work as a housekeeper or in a flower shop, which caught my eye. It’s an odd combination of skills, but it gave me a place to start. I took her sketches and what I knew, and wrote to a colleague of mine in York. Some answers essentially fell into my lap from there.”
“What sketches?”
“Mrs. Seaton goes to the park occasionally, the same as most of London in the summer,” Hazlit said. He opened a folder and drew forth a charcoal sketch that bore a striking resemblance to Anna Seaton.
“It’s quite good,” the earl said, frowning. Hazlit had caught not just Anna’s appearance but also her sweetness and courage and determination. Still, to think Hazlit had sketched this when Anna was unaware rankled.
“It is your property.” A flicker of sympathy graced Hazlit’s austere features.
“My thanks.” The earl set aside the portrait, and gave Hazlit his full attention. “What answers fell into your lap?”
“Some,” Hazlit cautioned, “not all. There are not charges laid against her I could find in York or London, but her brother is looking for her. Her name is Anna Seaton James, she is the oldest daughter of Vaughn Hammond James and Elva James nee Seaton, who both died in a carriage accident when Anna was a young girl. Her sister, Morgan Elizabeth James, was involved in the same accident and indirectly lost her hearing as a result. The heir, Wilberforce Hammond James, was the only son and resides at the family seat, Rosecroft, in Yorkshire, along the Ouse to the northwest of the city.”
“Granddaughter to an earl,” the earl muttered, frowning. “Why did Anna flee?”
“As best my colleague and I can piece together,” Hazlit replied, “the old earl tied up his money carefully, so the heir was unable to fritter away funds needed for the girls and their grandmother. The heir managed to do a deal of frittering, nonetheless, and I took the liberty of buying up a number of his markers.”
“Enterprising of you,” the earl said, reaching for the stack of papers Hazlit passed to him. “Ye Gods…” He sorted through the IOUs and markers, his eyebrows rising. “This is a not-so-small fortune by Yorkshire standards.”
“My guess, and it’s only a guess, is that Anna knows of the mishandling of her grandfather’s estate perpetrated by the present earl, and she made the mistake of trying to reason with her brother. Then too, the younger sister, Morgan, is very vulnerable to exploitation, and if a man will steal from his sisters, he’ll probably do worse without a qualm.”
“You manage to imply a host of nasty outcomes, Mr. Hazlit,” the earl observed, “though nothing worse than my imagination has concocted. Any advice from this point out?”
“Don’t let them out of your sight,” Hazlit said. “It is not kidnapping if you are a concerned and titled brother looking for sisters whom you can paint as flighty at best. He can snatch either one, and there will be nothing you or anyone else could do about it. Nothing.”
“Can he marry them off?”
“Of course. For Morgan, in particular, that would be simple, as she was arguably impaired by her deafness, and marriage is considered to be in a woman’s best interests.”
“Considered by men,” the earl replied with a thin smile. “Well, thank you, Hazlit. I will convince the ladies to remain glued to my side, and all will be well.”
Hazlit stood, accepting the hand proffered by the earl. “Better yet, marry the woman to someone you can trust to look out for her and to manage Helmsley. The situation could resolve itself quite easily.”
