The Heir

“Name one.”

“He brings you pleasure,” the earl said, his voice dropping. “Or he damned well should. He provides for your comfort, gives you babies. He grows old with you, providing companionship and friendship; he shares your burdens and lightens your sorrows. Good sort of fellow to have around, a husband.”

“Hah.” Anna wanted to peer over her shoulder at him, but his hold on her hair prevented it.

“He owns you and the produce of your body,” she retorted. “He has the right to demand intimate access to you at any time or place of his choosing, and strike you and injure you should you refuse him, or simply because he considers you in need of a beating. He can virtually sell your children, and you have nothing to say to it. He need not be loyal or faithful, and still you must admit him to your body, regardless of his bodily or moral appeal, or lack thereof. A very dangerous and unpleasant thing, a husband.”

The earl was silent behind her, winding her hair into a long braid.

“Were your parents happy?” he asked at length.

“I believe they were, and my grandparents were.”

“As are mine, as were mine,” the earl said, fishing her hair ribbon out of his pocket and tying off her braid. “Can you not trust yourself, Anna, to choose the kind of husband I describe rather than that nightmare you recount?”

“The choice of a woman’s husband is often not hers, and the way a man presents himself when courting is not how he will necessarily behave when his wife is fat with his third child a few years later.”

“A housekeeper sees things from a curious and unpleasant perspective.” He hunched forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders. “But, Anna, what about the example of our parents? The duke and duchess when they open an evening with the waltz still command every eye. They dance well, so well they move as one, and they function that way in life, too. My father adores my mother, and she sees only the best in him.”

“They are happy,” Anna said, “but what is your point? They are also very lucky, as you and I both know.”

“You will not be my mistress,” the earl said again, “and you are very leery of becoming a wife, but what, Anna, would you think of becoming a duchess?”

He said the words close to her ear, the heat and scent of him surrounding her, and she couldn’t stop the shudder that passed through her at his question.

“Most women,” she said as evenly as she could, “would not object to becoming a duchess, but look at your parents’ example. Had I to become your father’s duchess, I would likely do the man an injury.”

“And what if you were to become my duchess?” the earl whispered, settling his lips on the juncture of her shoulder and neck. “Would that be such a dangerous and unpleasant thing?”

She absorbed the question and understood that he was asking a hypothetical question, not offering a proposal. In that moment, her heart broke. It flew into a thousand hurting pieces, right there in her chest. Her breath wouldn’t come, her lungs felt heavy with pain, and an ache radiated out from her middle as if old age were overcoming her in the space of an instant.

And even if it had been a proposal, she was in no position to accept.

“Anna, love?” He nuzzled at her. “Do you think I would be such a loathsome, overbearing lout?”

“You would not,” she said, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “Whomever you took to wife would be very, very blessed.”

“So you will have me?” He drew her back against him, resting an arm across her collarbones.

“Have you?”Anna sat up and slewed around. “You are proposing to me?”

“I am proposing to you,” he said. “If you’ll have me as your husband, I would like you to be my duchess.”

“Oh, God help us,” Anna said under her breath, rising abruptly, and going to a long window.

He rose slowly. “That is not an expression of acceptance.”

“You do me great honor,” Anna said mechanically, “but I cannot accept your generous offer, my lord.”

“No my lording,” he chided. “Not after the way we’ve been behaving, Anna.”

“It will have to be my lording, and Mrs. Seatoning, as well, until I can find another post.”

“I never took you for a coward, Anna,” he said, but there was more disappointment than anger in his voice.

“Were I free to accept you,” she said, turning to face him, “I would still be hesitant.” She left the my lord off, not wishing to anger him needlessly, but it was there in her tone, and he no doubt heard it.

“What would cause your hesitation?”

“I’m not duchess material, and we hardly know each other.”

“You are as much duchess material as I am duke material,” he countered, “and few titled couples know each other as well as we already do, Anna Seaton. You know I like marzipan and music and my horse. I know you like flowers, beauty, cleanliness, and pretty scents.”

“You know you like kissing me, and I…”

“Yes?”

“I like kissing you, as well,” she admitted on a brittle smile.

“Give me some time, Anna,” he said, the aristocrat stooping to bargain, not the importuning suitor. “You think you’d not make a suitable duchess, and you think we don’t know each other well. Give me the opportunity to convince you of your errors.”

“You want me for a mistress,” she said, “but I will not take your coin.”

“I am asking,” he said with great patience, “the opportunity to gain a place in your affections, Anna. Nothing more.”

Was he asking for an affair? She should refuse him even that, but it was all too tempting.

“I will think about it, though I believe it best if I pursue another position. And no matter what, you mustn’t be seen to embarrass me with your attentions.”

“I will draft you a glowing character,” the earl said, his eyes hooded, “but you must agree to give me at least the summer to change your mind.”

“Write the character.” Anna nodded, heart shattering all over again. “Give it to Lord Valentine for safekeeping, and I will promise not to seek other employment this summer, unless you give me cause.”

“I would not disrespect you, and I would never get a bastard on any woman, Anna.” The earl leveled a look of such frustration at her that Anna cringed.

“Were you to get a bastard on me, we would be forced to wed. I cannot see either of us inviting such circumstances.”

His expression changed, becoming thoughtful.

“So if I were to get you pregnant, you would marry me?”

Anna realized too late the trap she had set for herself and sat on the window seat with a sigh. “I would,” she admitted, “which only indicates how unwilling I will be to permit the occasion to arise.”

He sat down beside her and took her hand, and she sensed his mind beginning to sift and sort through the information she’d disclosed and the information she’d withheld.

He drew a pattern over her knuckles. “I am not your enemy, and I never will be.”

She nodded, not arguing. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side.

“You are not my enemy,” Anna said, letting him tuck her against him. “And you cannot be my husband nor my keeper.”

“I will be your very discreet suitor for the summer, and then we will see where we are. We are agreed on this.” He voice was purposeful, as if he’d finished exploring the challenge before him and was ready to vanquish it.

“We are agreed,” Anna said, knowing his best efforts would in a few weeks time put them no closer to his goals than they were in that moment. But she needed those weeks, needed them to plan and organize and regroup.

And in the alternative, she needed the time to grieve and to hoard up for herself the bittersweet procession of moments like this, when he held her and comforted her and reminded her of all she could not have.

They stayed like that, sitting side by side for a long time, the only sound the rain pelting against the windows.