The Heir

“He’s dead,” Dev observed. “Not much appeal to that approach. So what now?”

“Wait. Sooner or later, Anna’s condition will become apparent even to her, and then I can only hope she will recall who it was that got her pregnant.”

Dev lifted his glass. “Another good reason for having a candle lit when you’re swiving one you want to keep. I think our little brother would benefit from such profound wisdom. Where has he got off to?”

As if summoned by magic, Val strode through the door, his expression bleak, his gaze riveted on the decanter.

“There’s good news and bad news,” Dev said as he slid his drink into Val’s hand. “The good news is we are going to be uncles again, God willing. The bad news is that so far, Westhaven’s firstborn will be taking after me rather than the legitimate side of the family.”

“And this is bad news, how?” Val asked.

Dev grinned. “Is he not the best of little brothers?”

“The very best,” the earl agreed, pouring them all another round.

Fortunately for Westhaven, Anna’s note did not arrive for another two days. By that point, he, Dev, and Val had sworn not to overimbibe for the next twenty years and endured the hangovers required to make the vow meaningful.

Westhaven,

I am bound by my word to seek your assistance should I find myself in difficulties. The matter is not urgent, but I will attend you at Willow Bend at your convenience. My regards to your family, and to St. Just and Lord Valentine most especially.

Anna James

PS You will soon be running out of marzipan. Mr. Detlow’s sweet shop will be expecting your reorder on Monday next.

Being a disciplined man, the earl bellowed for Pericles to be saddled, barked an order to Cook to see about the marzipan, snatched up the package he’d been saving for Anna, and was on his way out of Town at a brisk trot within twenty minutes of reading her note. A thousand dire possibilities flitted through his mind as Pericles ground up the miles.

Anna had lost the baby, she had mismanaged her finances, she had decided not to buy the place, but rather, to move back north. She’d found some hapless swain to marry, the neighbors were not treating her cordially, the house had dry rot or creeping damp, or the stables had burned down again.

Only as he approached the turn to the lane did he realize he was being needlessly anxious. Anna had sent for him about a matter that wasn’t urgent, and he was responding to her summons. Nothing more, nothing less. He brought his horse down to the walk, but for some reason, his heart was determined to remain at a gallop.

“Westhaven?” Anna greeted him from the drive itself, where she was obviously involved in some gardening task. Her dress was not brown or gray but a pretty white, green, and lavender muslin—with a raised waistline. She had on a floppy straw hat, one that looked to have seen better days but was fetching just the same, and her gloves were grubby with honest Surrey dirt.

“You certainly got here quickly.” Anna smiled at him.

He handed off his horse to a groom and cautiously returned the smile. She looked thinner, true, but there were freckles on her nose, and her smile was only a little guarded.

“It is a pleasant day for a ride to the country,” Westhaven responded, “and though the matter you cited isn’t urgent, delay seldom reduces the size of a difficulty.”

“I appreciate your coming here. Can I offer you a drink? Lemonade? Cider?”

“Lemonade,” the earl said, glancing around. “You have wasted no time making the place a home.”

“I am fortunate,” Anna said, following his gaze. “As hot as it has been, we’ve finally gotten some rain, and I can be about putting in flowers. Heathgate has sent over a number of cuttings, as have Amery and Greymoor.”

They would, the scoundrels.

“I’ve brought along a few, as well,” the earl said. “They’re probably in the stables as we speak.”

“You brought me plants?” Anna’s eyes lit up as if he’d brought her the world.

“I had your grandmother send for them from Rosecroft. Just the things that would travel well—some Holland bulbs, irises, that sort of thing.”

“You brought me my grandfather’s flowers?” Anna stopped and touched his sleeve. “Oh, Westhaven.” He glanced at the hand on his sleeve, wanting to say something witty and ducal and perfect.

“I thought you’d feel more at home here with some of his flowers,” was all that came to mind.

“Oh, you.” Anna hugged him, a simple, friendly hug, but in that hug, he had the first glimmering hope that things just might come right. She kept his arm, wrapping her hands around it and toddling along so close to his side he could drink in the lovely, flowery scent of her.

“So what is this difficulty, Anna?” he asked as he escorted her to the front terrace.

“We will get to that, but first let us address your thirst, and tell me how your family goes on.”

He paused as they reached the front door then realized her grandmother and sister would likely join them inside the house. “Come with me.” He took her by the hand and tugged her along until they were beside the stream, the place where they’d first become intimate. She’d had a bench placed in the shade of the willows, so he drew her there and pulled her down beside him.

“I told myself I’d graciously listen to whatever you felt merited my attention,” he began, “but, Anna, I have been worried about you, and now, after several weeks of silence, you send me two sentences mentioning some problem. I find I have not the reserves of patience manners require: What is wrong, and how can I help?”

A brief paused ensued, both of them studying their joined hands.

“I am expecting,” she said quietly. “Your child, that is. I am… I am going to have a baby.” She peeked over at him again, but he kept his eyes front, trying to absorb the reality behind her words.

He was to be a father, a papa, and she was to be the mother of his child.

His children, God willing.

“I realize this creates awkwardness,” she was prosing on, “but I couldn’t not tell you, and I felt I owed it to you to leave the decision regarding the child’s legitimacy in your hands.”

“I see.”

“I don’t gather you do,” Anna said. “Westhaven, I’d as soon not raise our child as a bastard, so I am asking you to marry me. We do suit, in some ways, but I will understand if you’d rather choose another for your duchess. In fact, I’ve advised you to do just that on more than one occasion. I will understand.”

Another pause while Anna studied their joined hands and Westhaven called upon every ounce of ducal reserve to keep from bellowing his joy to the entire world.

“I must decline,” he said slowly, “though I comprehend the great honor you do me, and I would not wish bastardy on our progeny either.”

“You must decline?” Anna repeated. There was disappointment in her tone, in her eyes. Disappointment and hurt, and even in the midst of overwhelming joy, he was sorry for that. There was no surprise, though, and he was even more sorry for that.

“I must decline,” the earl repeated, his words coming a little faster than he intended, “because I have it on great good authority one accepts a proposal of marriage only when one cannot imagine the rest of one’s life without that person in it, and when one is certain that person loves one and feels similarly in every respect.”

Anna frowned at him.

“I love you, Westhaven,” she reminded him, “I’ve told you this.”

“You told me on one occasion.”

Anna held up a hand. “I see the difficulty. You do not love me. Well, I suppose that’s honest.”

“I have not been honest,” the earl corrected her swiftly, lest she rise and he give in to the need to tackle her bodily right there in the green grass.

“At the risk of differing with a lady, I must stand firm on that one point, but I can correct the oversight now.” He slipped off the bench and took her right hand in both of his as he went down on one knee before her.

“I love you,” he said, holding her gaze. “I love you, I cannot foresee the rest of my life without you, and I hope you feel similarly. For only if you do feel similarly will I accept your proposal of marriage or allow you to accept mine.”