disaster. She had a small stash of funds, thanks to her wages here, and Mr. Glickmann’s final generosity, but funds were not a plan. Funds did not guarantee a new identity nor safe passage to foreign soil, if that’s what it took.
“So what has you in such a dither?” Nanny Fran toddled into the kitchen, her button eyes alight with curiosity.
“We’re to have company,” Anna replied, forcing herself to sit down and meet Nanny Fran’s eyes. “His lordship’s brother will be staying with us, and as it’s the first company since I’ve started here, I’m a little flustered.”
“Right.” Nanny Fran smiled at her knowingly. “Lord Val’s a good sort, more easygoing than Westhaven. But these two”—she shook her head—“they weren’t the ones who gave me trouble. Lord Bart was a rascal and spoiled, for all he wasn’t mean; Lord Vic was just as bad, and didn’t he get up to mischief, and nobody but Westhaven the wiser?”
“No carrying tales, Nanny.” Anna rose, unwilling to start Nanny gossiping. “I’m off to warn Cook we’ll have company, and their lordships will be dining informally at home for the foreseeable future. Have you seen Morgan?”
“She’s in the stillroom,” Nanny supplied, coming to her feet in careful increments. “Smells like lemons today, and limes.”
Anna did find Morgan in what had become the stillroom, a portion of the large laundry that took up part of the house’s understory. The girl was humming tunelessly and grinding something to powder with her mortar and pestle.
“Morgan?” Anna touched Morgan’s shoulder, pleased to find she hadn’t startled her. “What are you making? Nanny said it smelled like lemon and lime.”
Morgan held out a large ceramic bowl with dried flowers crushed into a colorful mixture. Anna dipped her face to inhale the scent, closing her eyes and smiling.
“That is lovely. What’s in it?”
Morgan lined up a number of bottles, pointing to each in turn, then took a pencil and scrap of paper from her apron pocket, and wrote, “Needs something. Too bland.”
Anna cocked her head and considered the pronouncement. Morgan’s nose was sophisticated but unconventional.
“Whose room is it for?”
Morgan made a supercilious face and arched a haughty eyebrow.
“The earl’s,” Anna concluded. “It does need something, something subtly exotic and even decadent.” Morgan grinned and nodded. She reached for a small vial and held it up for Anna’s consideration.
“
Morgan shook her head, confident in her decision. She added a few drops, stirred the bowl’s contents gently with one finger, then covered them with a fitted ceramic lid.
“I’m glad you’re done here for now,” Anna said. “His lordship’s brother will be staying with us for a time and will have need of the guest bedroom at the back of the house. Can you prepare it for him?”
Morgan nodded and tapped the left side of her collarbone, where a lady’s watch pin might hang.
“You have time, because the gentlemen will be dining here this evening. Give him plenty of scented wash water and a crock of ice to start with tonight. He’ll need flowers too, of course, and the sheets should be turned, as the ones on the bed have likely lost all their fragrance. Air the room, as well, and I’d leave the top windows open, the better to catch a zephyr.”
Morgan smiled again and breezed past Anna, who followed her out but paused in the kitchen to talk to Cook.
“You’ll be cooking for two gentlemen tonight,” Anna said with a smile.
“His lordship’s having company?” Cook asked, looking up from the bread dough she was turning on a floured board.
“Lord Valentine, his brother. He’s a year or two younger than Westhaven but looks to be every bit as fit and busy as the earl.”
“Good appetites, then.” Cook nodded, pleased. “The earl’s interest in his tucker has picked up here in recent months, I can tell you. Shall we do it a bit fancy tonight?”
“Not fancy, I don’t think.” Anna frowned in thought. “It’s too hot for anything heavy, and the dining room can be stuffy. Why not a meal for the back terrace, something a little closer to a picnic but substantial enough for men?”
“Cold fare, maybe.” Cook frowned as she put the dough in a bowl and covered it with a clean towel. “Chicken, with that basil you planted, and we’ve early tomatoes coming in. I can slice up some fruit and put it on ice…” Cook trailed off, her imagination putting together what was needed with what was on hand.
Anna’s next stop was the head footman, whose job it would be to set up the terrace for dining. Anna set out scented torches, candles, linen, and cutlery suited to an al fresco meal, then quickly put together a little bouquet for a low centerpiece.
“Mrs. Seaton?” A male voice in the small confines of the butler’s pantry gave her a start.
“Lord Valentine?” She turned to find him standing immediately behind her.
“My apologies.” He smiled down at her, a perfectly charming expression. “I called, but the din in the kitchen probably drowned me out. Would it be possible at some point this evening to request a bath?”
“Of course. Your brother bathes before retiring most nights, unless he’s going to be from home until late. There is time before dinner, but your room is only now being readied. We can send a bath up to the front guest room, if you’d like.”
“That would be marvelous.” He remained in the oversized closet with her, his smile fading. “You take good care of him, Mrs. Seaton, and it shows, though it must have been quite some blow to his hard head if it slowed him down even marginally.”
Anna frowned at his retreating back and realized Westhaven had discussed the week’s earlier mishap with Lord Val. Well, damn the man anyway.
And that reminded her, his lordship had sneaked out that morning without letting her tend him. He would scar at this rate and prolong his convalescence. Grabbing her medical supplies, Anna went in search of her quarry, hoping to find him where he usually was at this pleasant hour of the early evening, out on his balcony.
He lounged on his wicker chaise in lordly splendor, his waistcoat slung over the back of the chair, cravat folded tidily over that, his shirt open at the throat, and his cuffs rolled back.
“Your lordship?” Anna waited for his permission to step from his bedroom, feeling absurd for doing it and abruptly self-conscious.
“Mrs. Seaton,” he drawled, glancing up at her. “You’ve come to poke at my injured self. Does nothing deter you from the conscientious prosecution of your duties?”
“Craven evasion,” she replied, stepping out onto the balcony. “As when my patient disappears at first light, not to be seen until tea time, and then only in the company of his protective little brother.”
“Val is protective of me?” Westhaven scowled as he eased forward to the end of the chaise, then dragged his shirt over his head and turned his back to her. “I suppose he is at that, though he knows I’d bite his head off were he to imply I need protection. Jesus Christ, that still stings.”
“We all need protection from time to time,” she said, dabbing gently at his back with arnica. “Your bruises are truly magnificent, my lord. They will heal more quickly if you don’t duck out of a morning—and skip your breakfast.”
“It’s too hot to ride later in the day, at least at the pace I prefer.” He winced again as she went at the second large laceration.
“You shouldn’t be out riding hell-bent, your lordship. Your injuries do not need the abuse, and I can see where you’ve pulled this cut open along this edge.” She drew a chiding finger along the bottom seam of a laceration. “What if you were unseated, and no one else about in the dawn’s early light?”
“So you would come along to protect me?” he challenged lazily. She began to redress his back.
“Somebody should,” she muttered, focused on the purple, green, and mottled brown skin surrounding the two mean gashes on his back.
The earl frowned in thought. “In truth, I am in need of somebody to protect. I fired my mistress today.”
“My lord!” She was abruptly scowling at him nineteen to the dozen, as much disapproval as she dared show,
