England? London? Mayfair? Westhaven’s household?—may be known. She pondered the possibilities and decided to assume that her location meant she’d been traced to London, at least, which meant her adoption of the profession of housekeeper might also be known and that Morgan was in service with her, as well.
All in all, it amounted to looming disaster and ended, utterly, any foolish fantasies about dallying with the earl for the rest of the summer. Unlocking the door, Anna assembled her writing supplies and penned three inquiries to the employment agencies she’d noted when she and Morgan had passed through Manchester. Bath was worth a try, she decided, and maybe Bristol, as well. A port town had possibilities inland locations did not.
Without volition, her mind had shifted into the calculating, rational, unsentimental habits of a woman covering her tracks. If it hurt her to leave Nanny Fran, to uproot Morgan again, to part from the earl, well, she told herself, the fate trying to find her would hurt more and for a much longer time.
She assessed the room, mentally inventorying the things she’d brought with her, the few things she’d acquired while in London. Nothing could be left behind that might give her away, but little could be taken with them when they left.
She’d done this twice before—prepared, packed, and executed an escape, for that’s how she had to think of it. Morgan would have to be warned, and she wasn’t going to like this turn of events one bit. Anna didn’t blame her, for here, in the earl’s house, Morgan wasn’t treated like a mute beast. The other servants were protective of her, and Anna had a sneaking suspicion Lord Valentine felt the same way.
It was no way to live, but Anna had cudgeled her brain, and there seemed to be no alternative. When they ran out of hiding places in England, then the Americas were a possibility, but Anna hated to think of going so far from home.
“Beg pardon, Missus?” John Footman was at her door, smiling, which told her it wasn’t a summons from the earl, thank God. “Lunch be served, unless you’d like a tray?”
“I’ll be along, John.” Anna smiled up at him. “Just give me a minute.”
She completed her correspondence and tucked it into her reticule. It wouldn’t do for the rest of the household to know she was corresponding with employment agencies, much less in what cities. It wouldn’t do for them to know she was upset, wouldn’t do for them to know she’d soon be leaving, with or without the character Westhaven had promised her.
She got through lunch, feeling frozen inside and frantic at the same time. In the few months she’d held her position, she’d come to treasure the house itself, taking pride in its care and appearance. She treasured the staff, as well—with the exception of Stenson, but even he was dedicated to faithful execution of his duties. They were good people, their lives lived without substantial duplicity or deception. Such a one as she wasn’t destined to fit in with them for long.
“Morgan?” Anna murmured as they rose from lunch, “will you join me for a moment?”
Morgan nodded. Anna slipped her arm through Morgan’s and led her out to the back gardens, the only place where privacy might be assured. When they were out on the shaded terrace, Anna turned to face Morgan directly.
“I’ve had a letter from Grandmama,” Anna said slowly but distinctly. “She warns us we may have been traced to London. We need to move on, Morgan, and soon.”
Morgan’s expression, at first joyous to think they’d heard from their grandmother, then wary, knowing it could be bad news, finally became thunderous. She scowled mightily and shook her head.
“I don’t want to leave either,” Anna said, holding the younger woman’s eyes. “I truly would not if there were any choice, but there is no choice, and you know it.”
Morgan glared at her and shook a fist.
“Fight,” she mouthed. “Tell the truth.”
“Fight with what?” Anna shot back. “Tell the truth to whom? The courts? The courts are run by old men, Morgan, and the law gives us no protection. And stuck out on the dales, we wouldn’t be able to get to the courts, and well you know it.”
“Not yet,” Morgan mouthed, still glaring daggers. “Not so soon again.”
“It’s been months,” Anna said on a sigh, “and of course we can’t go immediately. I need a character from his lordship, and I have to find positions for us elsewhere.”
“Go without me.”
“I will not go without you,” Anna said, shaking her head. “That would be foolish in the extreme.”
“Split up,” Morgan persisted. “They need only one of us.”
Anna stared at Morgan in shock. The last sentence had been not just lipped but almost whispered, so close was it to audible speech.
“I won’t let that one be you,” Anna said, hugging her and deciding against making a fuss over Morgan’s use of words. “And we’ll fight if we have to.”
“Tell Lord Val,” Morgan suggested, less audibly. “Tell the earl.”
“Lord Val and the earl cannot be trusted. They are men, too”—Anna shook her head—“in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed.” Morgan’s glare was temporarily leavened by a slight smile. “Handsome men.”
“Morgan Elizabeth James”—Anna smiled back—“shame on you. They might be handsome men, but they can’t change the laws, nor can we ask them to break the law.”
“Hate this,” Morgan said, laying her head on Anna’s shoulder. She raised her face long enough for her sister to see the next words. “I miss Grandmother.”
“I do, too.” Anna hugged her close. “We will see her again, I promise.”
Morgan just shook her head and stepped back, her expression resigned. This whole mad scheme had been undertaken more than two years ago, “just until we can think of something else.” Well, it was two years, three positions, and many miles later, and nothing else was being thought of. In those years when a gently bred young girl—even one who appeared unable to hear or speak—should be thinking of beaus and ball gowns, Morgan was sweeping grates, lugging buckets of coal, and changing bed linens.
Anna watched her go, her heart heavy with Morgan’s disappointment but also with her own. Two years was a long time never to see home or hearth, always to look over your shoulder for those meaning you harm. It was never supposed to go on this long, but as Anna contemplated her remaining years on earth, all she could see was more running and hiding and leaving behind the things—and people—that really mattered.
“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
“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
