Lemonade arrived, complete with fat muffins, fresh bread with butter, sliced meats and cheese, sliced fruit, and a petite bouquet of violets on the tray. Nestled in a little folded square of linen were four pieces of marzipan, glazed to resemble fruit.
“This is tea at your house of late?” Val arched an eyebrow. “No wonder you look a bit more the thing. I will move in directly, provided you promise to tune the piano.”
“You should, you know,” Westhaven said. He was putting together a plate, but his words had come out far less casually than he’d planned. “I know you don’t like staying at the ducal manse, and I have more than enough room here.”
“Wouldn’t want to impose,” Val said, reaching for his own share of the bounty, “but that’s generous of you.”
“Not generous. The truth is… I could use the company. I miss your music, in fact. There’s a neighbor, or somebody, who plays late at night, but it isn’t you, for all that I enjoy it. I thought I’d have a harder time keeping track of His Grace were I to set up my own place, but I’ve been surprised at how little effort he makes to elude my scrutiny.”
The door opened without the obligatory knock, and Mrs. Seaton marched into the room.
“I beg your pardon, your lordship, Lord Valentine.” She stopped, her basket of flowers bouncing against her skirts. “My lord, I thought you’d be at your appointment until this evening.”
“Mrs. Seaton.” Val rose, smiling as if he knew he was viewing the source of his brother’s happier household and healthier appearance. “My compliments on the offerings to be had here for tea, and the house itself looks marvelous.”
“Mrs. Seaton.” The earl rose more slowly, the display of manners hardly necessary for a housekeeper.
“My lords.” She curtsied but came up frowning at Westhaven. “Forgive me if I note you rise slowly. Are you well?”
The earl glanced at his brother repressively.
“My brother is not in good health?” Val asked, grinning. “Do tell.”
“I merely suffered a little bump on the head,” the earl said, “and Mrs. Seaton spared me the attentions of the physicians.”
Mrs. Seaton was still frowning, but the earl went on, forestalling her reply. “You may tend to your flowers, Mrs. Seaton, and I echo my brother’s compliments: Tea is most pleasant.”
“I’ll dice you for the marzipan,” Val said to the earl.
“No need,” Mrs. Seaton offered over her shoulder. “We keep a goodly supply in the kitchen, as his lordship favors it. There are cream cakes and chocolates, as well, but those are usually served with the evening meal.” She busied herself with substituting fresh flowers for the wilted specimens as the fragrance of roses, lavender, and honeysuckle wafted around the room.
Val eyed his brother. “Perhaps I will avail myself of your hospitality after all, Westhaven.”
“I would be honored,” Westhaven said absently, though he noted the speculation in his brother’s eyes. Mrs. Seaton was humming a little Handel; Westhaven was almost sure it was from the
“Oh, Mrs. Seaton?” The earl stopped her two steps shy of the door.
“My lord?”
“You may tell the kitchen my brother and I will be dining in tonight, informally, and will continue to do so until further notice.”
“Lord Valentine will be visiting?”
“He will; the blue bedroom will do.” Westhaven turned back to the tray, still counting four pieces of marzipan.
“Might I suggest the green bedroom?” Mrs. Seaton rejoined. “It has higher ceilings and is at the back of the house, which would be both cooler and quieter. Then too, it has a balcony.”
The earl considered castigating her for contradicting him, but she’d been polite enough about it, and the back bedrooms were worlds more comfortable, though smaller.
“As you suggest.” The earl waved her on her way.
“That is a very different sort of housekeeper you have there,” Val said, when the library door had closed behind her.
“I know.” Westhaven made a sandwich and checked again to make sure his brother hadn’t pilfered the marzipan. “She’s a little cheeky, to be honest, but does her job with particular enthusiasm. She puts me in mind of Her Grace.”
“How so?” Val asked, making a sandwich, as well.
“Has an indomitable quality about her,” Westhaven said between bites. “She bashed me with a poker when she thought I was a caller molesting a housemaid. Put out my lights, thank you very much.”
“Heavens.” Val paused in his chewing. “You didn’t summon the watch?”
“The appearances were deceiving, and she doesn’t know I’d never trifle with a housemaid.”
“And if you were of a mind to before,” Val said, eyeing the marzipan, “you’d sure as hell think twice about it now.”
“And what of you?” Westhaven paused to regard his brother. Val shared the Windham height and green eyes, but his eyes were a darker green, while Westhaven’s shade was closer to jade, and Val’s hair was sable, nearly black.
“What of me?” Val buttered a fat muffin.
“Are you bothering any housemaids, lately?”
“Doing an errand for Viscount Fairly earlier in the season, I met an interesting woman out in Little Weldon,” Val said, “but no, I am more concerned with misleading His Grace than in having my ashes hauled.”
“Don’t mislead him too well,” Westhaven cautioned. “There are those who are not tolerant of left-handed preferences.”
“Well, of course there are,” Val said, “and they’re just the ones wondering what it would be like to be a little adventurous themselves. But fear not, Westhaven. I mince and lisp and titter and flirt, but my breeches stay buttoned.”
“It appears,” Westhaven said, frowning as he reached for the marzipan, “mine will be staying buttoned, as well.”
He bit into a plump, soft confection shaped like a ripe melon and stifled a snort of incredulity. His breeches would be staying buttoned, and the only thing he’d be twiddling would be his… thumbs.
THREE RULES, ANNA REMINDED HERSELF WHEN SHE reached the privacy of her own little sitting room. There were three rules to succeeding with any deception, and old Mr. Glickmann had drilled them into her:
Dress the part.
Believe your own lies.
Have more than you show—including an alternative plan.
Today, she was remiss on all three counts, God help her. A housekeeper wore caps, for pity’s sake. Great homely caps, and gloves out of doors, and there she went, sailing into the library, bareheaded, barehanded, for the earl and his brother to see.
Believe your own lies—that meant living the deception as if it were real, never breaking role, and with the earl she’d broken role badly ever since she’d brained him with a poker. He had to have seen her, arms around Morgan, even as he lay bleeding on the floor. And then, curse her arrogant mouth, she’d as good as informed him she was raised as a bluestocking—fluent in three languages, Mother of God! Housekeepers read mostly their Bible, and that only slowly.
Have more than you show, including second and even third plans. On that count, she was an unmitigated
