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Authors: Grace Burrowes
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the center of his place setting. “I tried to compose a letter to my father this morning, while you beavered away on my mundane business, and somehow, Mrs. Seaton, I could not come up with words to adequately convey to my father the extent to which I want him to just leave me the hell alone .”
He finished that statement through clenched teeth, alarming Anna with the animosity in his tone, but he wasn’t finished.
“I have come to the point,” the earl went on, “where I comprehend why my older brothers would consider the Peninsular War preferable to the daily idiocy that comes with being Percival Windham’s heir. I honestly believe that could he but figure a wayto pull it off, my father would lock me naked in a room with the woman of his choice, there to remain until I got her pregnant with twin boys. And I am not just frustrated”—the earl’s tone took on a sharper edge—“I am ready to do him an injury, because I don’t think anything less will make an impression. Two unwilling people are going to wed and have a child because my father got up to tricks.”
“Your father did not force those two people into one another’s company all unawares and blameless, my lord, but why not appeal to your mother? By reputation, she is the one who can control him.”
The earl shook his head. “Her Grace is much diminished by the loss of my brother Victor. I do not want to importune her, and she will believe His Grace only meant well.”
Anna smiled ruefully. “And she wants grandchildren, too, of course.”
“Why, of course.” The earl gestured impatiently. “She had eight children and still has six. There will be grandchildren, and if for some reason the six of us are completely remiss, I have two half siblings, whose children she will graciously spoil, as well.”
“Good heavens,” Anna murmured. “So your father has sired ten children, and yet he plagues you?”
“He does. Except for the one daughter of Victor’s, none of us have seen fit to reproduce. There was a rumor Bart had left us something to remember him by, but he likely started the rumor himself just to aggravate my father.”
“So find a wife,” Anna suggested. “Or at least a fiancée, and back your dear papa off. The right ladywill cry off when you ask it of her, particularly if you are honest with your scheme from the start.”
“See?” The earl raised his voice, though just a bit. “Honest with my scheme ? Do you know how like my father that makes me sound?”
“And is this all that plagues you, my lord? Your father has no doubt been a nuisance for as long as you’ve been his heir, if not longer.”
The earl glanced sharply at his housekeeper, then his lips quirked, turned back down, and then slowly curved back up.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked, his smiles being as rare as hen’s teeth.
“I found your little parlor maid in the hay loft,” the earl said, setting out his water glass and wine glass precisely one inch from the plate. “She discovered our mouser’s new litter, and she was enthralled with the cat’s purr. She could feel it, I think, and understood it meant the cat was happy.”
“She would,” Anna said, wondering how this topic was related to providing the duke his heirs. “She loves animals, but here in Town, she has little truck with them.”
“You know Morgan that well?” the earl asked, his tone casual.
“We are related,” she replied, telling herself it was a version of the truth. A prevaricating version.
“So you took pity on her,” the earl surmised, “and hired her into my household. Has she always been deaf?”
“I do not know the particulars of her malady, my lord,” she said, lifting the basket to her hip. “All I carefor is her willingness to do an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. Shall we serve you tea or lemonade with your luncheon?”
“Lemonade,” Westhaven said. “But for God’s sake don’t forget to sugar it.”
She bobbed a curtsy so low as to
He finished that statement through clenched teeth, alarming Anna with the animosity in his tone, but he wasn’t finished.
“I have come to the point,” the earl went on, “where I comprehend why my older brothers would consider the Peninsular War preferable to the daily idiocy that comes with being Percival Windham’s heir. I honestly believe that could he but figure a wayto pull it off, my father would lock me naked in a room with the woman of his choice, there to remain until I got her pregnant with twin boys. And I am not just frustrated”—the earl’s tone took on a sharper edge—“I am ready to do him an injury, because I don’t think anything less will make an impression. Two unwilling people are going to wed and have a child because my father got up to tricks.”
“Your father did not force those two people into one another’s company all unawares and blameless, my lord, but why not appeal to your mother? By reputation, she is the one who can control him.”
The earl shook his head. “Her Grace is much diminished by the loss of my brother Victor. I do not want to importune her, and she will believe His Grace only meant well.”
Anna smiled ruefully. “And she wants grandchildren, too, of course.”
“Why, of course.” The earl gestured impatiently. “She had eight children and still has six. There will be grandchildren, and if for some reason the six of us are completely remiss, I have two half siblings, whose children she will graciously spoil, as well.”
“Good heavens,” Anna murmured. “So your father has sired ten children, and yet he plagues you?”
“He does. Except for the one daughter of Victor’s, none of us have seen fit to reproduce. There was a rumor Bart had left us something to remember him by, but he likely started the rumor himself just to aggravate my father.”
“So find a wife,” Anna suggested. “Or at least a fiancée, and back your dear papa off. The right ladywill cry off when you ask it of her, particularly if you are honest with your scheme from the start.”
“See?” The earl raised his voice, though just a bit. “Honest with my scheme ? Do you know how like my father that makes me sound?”
“And is this all that plagues you, my lord? Your father has no doubt been a nuisance for as long as you’ve been his heir, if not longer.”
The earl glanced sharply at his housekeeper, then his lips quirked, turned back down, and then slowly curved back up.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked, his smiles being as rare as hen’s teeth.
“I found your little parlor maid in the hay loft,” the earl said, setting out his water glass and wine glass precisely one inch from the plate. “She discovered our mouser’s new litter, and she was enthralled with the cat’s purr. She could feel it, I think, and understood it meant the cat was happy.”
“She would,” Anna said, wondering how this topic was related to providing the duke his heirs. “She loves animals, but here in Town, she has little truck with them.”
“You know Morgan that well?” the earl asked, his tone casual.
“We are related,” she replied, telling herself it was a version of the truth. A prevaricating version.
“So you took pity on her,” the earl surmised, “and hired her into my household. Has she always been deaf?”
“I do not know the particulars of her malady, my lord,” she said, lifting the basket to her hip. “All I carefor is her willingness to do an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. Shall we serve you tea or lemonade with your luncheon?”
“Lemonade,” Westhaven said. “But for God’s sake don’t forget to sugar it.”
She bobbed a curtsy so low as to
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