“Be here when I return,” he said, holding her gaze. She huffed out a breath, nodded once, and dropped her eyes.
“Be here.” He walked up to her and put his arms around her. She went willingly, to his relief, and held on to him tightly. “Do not pack, do not warn Morgan, do not pawn the silver, do not panic. Be here and try, just try, to find some ability to trust me.”
When he was sure she’d calmed down, Westhaven whipped open the library door to find both his brothers lounging against the wall, munching cookies.
“You lot, look after Anna and Morgan. Don’t hold the meals for me.” He stalked off, bellowing for Pericles, leaving Anna standing shakily between Dev and Val.
“You are no fun,” Dev said, passing Anna a cookie. “We couldn’t hear a thing, and we were sure you were going to tear a strip off the earl. Nobody tears a strip off Westhaven, not Her Grace, not His Grace, not even Pericles.”
“Rose could,” Val speculated, handing his drink to Anna. “Come along.” He put an arm around Anna’s shoulders. “We’ll teach you how to cheat at cribbage, and you can tell us what we missed.”
“I already know how to cheat at cribbage,” Anna said dumbly, staring at the drink and cookie in her hands.
“Teach that in housekeeper school now, do they?” Dev closed the library door behind them. “Well, then we’ll teach you some naughty rugby songs instead. She’s going to cry, Val. Best get your hankie at the ready.”
“I am not going to cry,” Anna said, shoulders stiff. But then she took a funny gulpy breath and two monogrammed handkerchiefs were thrust in her direction. She turned her face into Val’s muscular shoulder and bawled while Dev rescued the drink and cookies.
“Mother.” Westhaven bowed over Her Grace’s hand. “I should have listened to you more closely.”
“A mother delights in hearing those sentiments from her children, regardless of the provocation,” Her Grace responded, “though I am at a loss to divine your reference.”
“You tried to tell me at breakfast the other week.” Westhaven ran a hand through his hair. “His Grace is off on another wild start, isn’t he?”
“Frequently,” the duchess said. “But I wasn’t warning you of anything in particular, just the need to exercise discretion with your staff and your personal activities.”
“My housekeeper, you mean.” Westhaven arched an eyebrow at her. “Somehow, the old bastard got wind of Anna Seaton and set his dogs on her.”
“Westhaven.” The duchess’s regard turned chilly. “You will not refer to your father in such terms.”
“Right.” Westhaven shuttered his expression. “That would insult my half brother, who is an honorable man.”
“Westhaven!” The duchess’s expression grew alarmed rather than insulted.
“Forgive me, Mother.” He bowed. “My argument is with my father.”
“Well,” the duke announced himself and paused for dramatic effect in the doorway of the private parlor. “No need to look further. You can have at me now.”
“You are having Anna Seaton investigated,” the earl said, “and it could well cost her her safety.”
“Then marry her,” the duke shot back. “A husband can protect a wife, particularly if he’s wealthy, titled, smart, and well connected. Your mother has assured me she does not object to the match.”
“You don’t deny this? Do you have any idea the damage you do with your dirty tricks, sly maneuvers, and stupid manipulations? That woman is terrified, nigh paralyzed with fear for herself and her younger relation, and you go stomping about in her life as if you are God Almighty come to earth for the purpose of directing everybody else’s personal life.”
The duke paced into the room, color rising in his face.
“That is mighty brave talk for a man who can’t see fit to take a damned wife after almost ten years of looking. What in God’s name is wrong with you, Westhaven? I know you cater to women, and I know you are carrying on with this Seaton woman. She’s comely, convenient, and of child-bearing age. I should have thought to have her investigated, I tell you, so I might find some way to coerce her to the altar.”
“You already tried coercion,” Westhaven shot back, “and it’s only because Gwen Allen is a decent human being her relations haven’t ruined us completely in retaliation for your failed schemes. I am ashamed to be your son and worse than ashamed to be your heir. You embarrass me, and I wish to hell I could disinherit you, because if I don’t find you a damned broodmare, I’ve every expectation you will disinherit me.”
“Gayle!” His mother was on her feet, her expression horror-stricken. “Please, for the love of God, apologize. His Grace did not have Mrs. Seaton investigated.”
“Esther…” His Grace tried to get words out, but his wife had eyes only for her enraged son.
“He most certainly did,” Westhaven bit out. “Up to his old tricks, just as he was with Gwen and with Elise and with God knows how many hapless debutantes and scheming widows. I am sick to death of it, Mother, and this is the last straw.”
“Esther,” His Grace tried again.
“Hush, Percy,” the duchess said miserably, still staring at her son. “His Grace did not have your Mrs. Seaton investigated.” She paused and dropped Westhaven’s gaze. “I did.”
“Esther,” the duke gasped as he dropped like a stone onto a sofa. “For the love of God, help me.”
“He was working for some London toff,” Eustace Cheevers informed his employer. “His name was Benjamin Hazlit, and he does a lot of quiet work for the Quality down in Town. He never discloses his employers by name, but it’s somebody high up.”
“Titled?” the Earl of Helmsley asked, mouth tight.
“Most like.” Cheevers nodded. “Folk down south distinguish between themselves more. A fellow who works for the titles wouldn’t want work from the cits or the squires or the nabobs. Hazlit’s offices are top of the trees, his cattle prime, and his tailor only the best. I’d say a title, yes.”
“That pretty much narrows it to Mayfair, doesn’t it?” The earl’s tone was condescending, as if any damned fool might reach such a conclusion.
“Not necessarily,” Cheevers said. “There’s a regular infestation of money and titles in Mayfair itself, but the surrounds are not so shabby, and there are other decent neighborhoods with quieter money.”
An earl worthy of the title would have spent some time in Town, Cheevers thought, keeping his expression completely deferential. But this young sprig—well, this not quite middle-aged sprig—had obviously never acquired his Town bronze. Pockets to let, Cheevers thought with an inward sigh. The word around York was to get paid in advance if Helmsley offered you his custom.
It hadn’t been like that when the old earl was alive. The estate had been radiant with flowers, the women happy, and the bills always paid. Now, most of the gardeners had been let go, and the walls had bleached spots where valuable paintings had once hung. The drive was unkempt, the fences sagging, the fountains dry, and nobody had seen the dowager countess going about since she’d suffered an apoplexy more than two years ago. Where the granddaughters had got off to was anybody’s guess.
“So that’s the extent of what you’ve learned?” Helmsley rose, his tone disdainful. “You can tell me the man’s name and that he’s a professional investigator with wealthy clients? Nothing more.”
“It’s in the file.” Cheevers stood. “You will have his address, the names of those with whom he spoke, what they told him, and so forth. I don’t gather he learned much of significance, as people tend to be leery of Town fribbles up here.”
“That they do.” Helmsley nodded, his expression turning crafty. Cheevers considered the earl and wondered what the man was plotting, as it boded ill for someone. Helmsley had the look of man who could have been handsome. He had height, patrician features, and thick dark hair showing only the barest hint of gray. Cheevers, expert at summing people up, put Helmsley in his early thirties. The man looked older, however, as the signs of excessive fondness for both the grape and rich foods were beginning to show.
Helmsley’s nose was becoming bulbous and striated with spider veins. His middle was soft, his reactions slow. Most telling of all, Cheevers, thought, there was a mean, haunted look in the man’s gray eyes that labeled him as a cheat and a bully.
Good riddance, Cheevers concluded as he showed himself out. There were some accounts that even the
