Dev quirked an eyebrow. “We are to find out for you what plagues her and make it go away.”
“Not so fast.” Westhaven smiled at his darkest brother, the one most likely to solve a problem with his fists or his knife. “Before we go eavesdropping in doorways, I thought we might first combine our knowledge of the situation.”
When the brothers returned to the townhouse, they took their lemonade—cold tea for Val—into the library, and closed and locked the door. After about an hour’s discussion, they boiled down their objective knowledge to a few facts, most of those gleaned from the agency that had recommended her:
Anna Seaton had come down from the North about two years ago and was on her third post has housekeeper. She’d worked first for an old Hebrew, then briefly for a wealthy merchant before joining the earl’s household almost six months ago. At each location, Morgan became part of the household staff, as well. Anna admitted to having a brother and a sister, but being orphaned, had been raised by her grandfather, the florist.
“He had to be one hell of a successful florist,” Dev observed. “Didn’t you say Anna could speak several languages? Tutors, particularly for females, cost money.”
“She plays the piano, too,” Westhaven recalled. “That means more money, both to own the instrument and to afford the instruction.”
“I wonder,” Val said slowly, “if Morgan is not this sister Anna has mentioned to you.”
“I suppose she could be.” Westhaven frowned. “They do not look particularly alike, but then neither do many sisters.”
“They have the same laugh,” Val said, surprising his brothers. “What? Morgan can laugh—she isn’t simple.”
“We know, but it’s an odd thing to notice,” Westhaven said, noting his youngest brother was more than a little defensive of the chambermaid. “You’re reminding me, though, Anna said her parents were killed when their buggy overturned and slid down an embankment. They were on an errand to look at a pony for her younger sister. Then you tell me Morgan lost her hearing after a buggy accident left her pinned in cold water. I think you’ve put the puzzle pieces together correctly, Val.”
Dev drew a finger around the rim of his glass. “We need to send someone north who can find us a very wealthy elderly florist, perhaps two years deceased, perhaps still extant, with three grandchildren, whose son died in a buggy accident that cost one grandchild her hearing. How many of those can there be?”
“Don’t rule out a title,” Val said quietly.
“A title?” Westhaven winced, hating to think he might have been cavorting with some duke’s daughter. That hit a little too close to home.
“Anna once teased me about my… public mannerism,” Val said.
“You mean”—Dev grinned—“your mincing and lisping?”
“And so on.” Val nodded and waved a hand. “She said something like: You are no more a mincing fop than I am an earl’s granddaughter. I remembered it, because Her Grace is an earl’s granddaughter.”
“We can keep it in mind,” Westhaven said, “intuition being at least half of what we have to go on. Anything else?”
“Yes.” Dev rose from the sofa and stretched. “Suppose we find out who our housekeeper really is, find she’s suspected of some wrongdoing, put the accusations to rest, and so forth. Are we going to all this effort just to keep you in marzipan for the foreseeable future? There are easier ways to do that.”
Westhaven pushed away from his desk. “We are doing this because the duke will soon be asking the same questions, and his methods will not be discreet nor careful nor at all delicate.”
“And ours will be?” Val asked, coming to his feet, as well.
“Utterly. We must be, or there’s no point to the effort. If anybody finds out we are poking around in Anna Seaton’s past, then they could easily insinuate themselves into her present, and that I cannot allow.”
“Very well.” Dev scratched his ribs and nodded. “We find the elderly florist, et cetera, and do it without making a sound.”
“Not a peep,” Val agreed just as his stomach rumbled thunderously. “Not a peep once I get some breakfast.”
“We can all use breakfast.” Westhaven smiled. “We’ll talk more about this later, but only when our privacy is assured.” He unlocked the door and departed for the breakfast parlor, leaving his two brothers to exchange a look of consternation.
“So.” Val looked to his elder sibling hopefully. “We’re going about this stealthy investigation of a housekeeper’s personal business, why?”
“Noticed he dodged that one, didn’t you?” Dev rubbed his chin. “Smart lad. I would hazard a guess, though, we are abetting our brother’s ride to the rescue of the fair damsel because for once, he’s delegating the tedious work to someone else and keeping the fun part for himself.”
“He picked an odd time to turn up human.”
“I didn’t think the housekeeper was to your taste.” Dev grinned and slung an arm around Val’s shoulders. “Thought you were more enamored of the quiet housemaid who—though is she deaf—sits in the music room by the hour—watching you play?”
“Let’s get some breakfast,” Val groused, digging an elbow into his brother’s ribs to shove him away. Smart lad, indeed. Bad enough to have to dodge the duke’s spies among the help, but he’d have to warn Morgan that Dev wasn’t going to miss a trick either.
Since their trip out to Willow Bend more than a week ago, Anna had felt the earl watching her the way one man might size up another in preparation for a duel or a high-stakes card game. He studied her but made no more mention of trips to the country or marriage. He kept his hands to himself, but his eyes were on her if they were in the same room.
She tried to tell herself it was better this way, with Westhaven keeping his distance and the household rolling along in its pleasant routine. The three brothers usually went out for an early ride then breakfasted together. Thereafter, the earl would closet himself with Tolliver for most of the morning, while Val repaired to his piano and Dev spent time in the stables or at the auctions. Occasionally, all three would be home for lunch, but more often, it was dinner before they joined each other again.
And occasionally, Anna had noticed, they would join in the library for a brandy before dinner, some three-handed cribbage after dinner, or just to talk. And when they did, the door was both closed and locked.
Since the earl hadn’t even thought to lock the door when he was naked with her, Anna wondered what could be holding their interest that demanded such privacy. Something they did not want the duke to learn of, no doubt.
Still, it hurt, a little, not be in Westhaven’s confidence—not to be in his arms.
But life went on. The agency from Manchester had written they did not place candidates from London unless or until said candidates were removing to the local environs. Bath had at least two openings, but they were for the households of older single gentlemen who enjoyed “lively” social calendars. Anna knew one by reputation to be a lecherous roué and assumed the other was just as objectionable. She waited in the daily hope of more encouraging news from the remaining possibilities and was thus pleased when John Footman brought her a letter.
One glance at the envelope, however, told her the news was not good. Another epistle from rural Yorkshire could not bode well.
I am most concerned for you. A man has been about asking pointed questions, and I am sure he was followed when he returned south. Use greatest caution.
A man asking questions… Dear God, she had caused this. With her reticence and mention of confidences and unwillingness to yield details to his bloody lordship, the Earl of Westhaven. He was resorting to his father’s tactics and causing more trouble—more peril—than he could possibly imagine. The fear Anna lived with day and night boiled over into rage and indignation at his high-handedness. She barreled out of her sitting room, the letter still in her hand, and almost ran into Devlin St. Just.