The Heir

A

“You have a choice, A

A

She bobbed him a curtsy with fine irony and walked off, her skirts twitching with her irritation.

As he pasted the requisite smile on his face and went in to breakfast, St. Just reflected he hadn’t been wrong: A

But his approach had been wrong. A woman who attached Westhaven’s interest was going to have backbone to spare. He should not have threatened; he should not have, to use her word, bullied. Well, that could be remedied just as soon as he got through breakfast with Her Grace.

“You are quiet,” the earl remarked as they tooled along toward Willow Bend.

“If I am quiet enough, I can fool myself into thinking I am still abed, dreaming on my nice cool sheets.” Dreaming of him, most nights.

“Am I working you too hard?” the earl asked, glancing over.

“You are not. The heat can disturb one’s rest.”

“Are my brothers behaving? Dev is tidy, but Val can be a slob.”

“Lord Val’s only crime is that he commandeers Morgan for a couple of hours each afternoon and lets her join him in the music room while he works on his repertoire.”

“You can trust Val to be a gentleman with her.”

“And can I trust you to be a gentleman?”

“You can trust me,” the earl replied, “to stop when you tell me to, to never intentionally hurt you, to listen before I judge, and to tell you the truth as far as I know it. Will that do?” It was all he was going to give her, but A

“It will do.” It would have to.

He turned the conversation to the practicalities of the situation at Willow Bend. There was a temporary crew of day laborers on hand from the local village, and they’d been busily moving furniture, hanging drapes, unpacking the crates of linens and flatware. The scene was very different from their previous visit to the place, with wagons, people, and noise everywhere.

A young boy emerged from the stables to take Pericles, and the earl escorted A

“I want you to see it the way my sister might,” he said, “not as the servants and tradesmen do. So…” He opened the front door, and led her through. “Welcome to Willow Bend, Mrs. Seaton.”

She appreciated the public nature of the greeting and appreciated even more that there was a public on hand to witness it. Carpenters, glaziers, laborers, and apprentices were bustling to and fro; hammers banged, the occasional yell sounded above stairs, and boys were scurrying everywhere with tools and supplies.

“Yer lordship!” A stocky man of medium height made his way to their side.

“Mr. Albertson, our pleasure. Mrs. Seaton, my foreman here, Allen Albertson. Mr. Albertson, Mrs. Seaton is the lady in charge of putting the finishing touches on all your work.”

“Ma’am.” Albertson smiled and tugged his forelock. “You been finishing the daylights out of this place, if I do say so. Where shall we start, milord?”

“Ma’am?” The earl turned to her, his deference bringing an inconvenient blush to her cheeks.

“The kitchen,” A

“To the kitchen, Mr. Albertson.” Westhaven waved a hand and offered A

Room by room, floor by floor, they toured the house. Shelves that had been bare now held neat rows of cups and glasses, or stacks of dishes, toweling, table linen, and candles. A

“You need a boot scrape, too,” she pointed out, “since this is the entrance closest to the stables and gardens.”

“You will make a note, Mr. Albertson?” the earl prompted.

“Aye.” Albertson nodded, rolling his eyes good-naturedly to show what he thought of feminine notions.

They went on through the house as the morning got under way, finding a set of drapes needing to be switched, some tables that had ended up in the wrong parlors, and a pair of carpets that should have gone in opposite bedrooms. In the music room, she had the harp covered and the piano’s lid closed.

“You may leave us now, Mr. Albertson,” Westhaven said as they approached the last bedroom. “I take it the men will soon break for their nooning?”

“They will. It be getting too hot to do the heavy work, but we’ll be back when it cools. Ma’am.” He bowed and took his leave, bellowing for the water dipper before he’d gained the stairs.

“He may lack a certain subtlety,” the earl said, “but he’s honest, and he’s getting the job done.”

“And a lovely job it is,” A

“I wanted to save this for last,” the earl said, opening the door to the final bedroom. It was the room where they’d passed the night, and A

“The Earl of Westhaven Memorial Chicken Pox Ward,” A

“Among other things. How do you like it?”

She’d intended this to be a masculine room, decorating it in subdued greens with blue accents and choosing more substantial incidental furniture with fewer frills and fripperies. The canopy on the bed had been replaced with dark green velvet, the bed spread dyed to match. The drapes were a lighter version of the same shade, and all of it complemented the dark wood of the bed frame and the colorful Persian carpets scattered on the hardwood floors.

“You are quiet,” Westhaven said. “I hoped you would be pleased with the differences.”

“I’m pleased.” A

“It is not, of course,” the earl agreed. “We saw those rooms earlier. I wanted this to be a room worthy of the memories I hold of it.”

“Westhaven…” A

“I was, and I’m glad you appreciate the effort, but I’ve left you in peace for days now, A

“I came here,” A

“And make Pericles travel in the worst heat of the day.”

She glared at him and rose. “Do not put the welfare of your horse above my reputation, yet again. Dear Pericles can walk us back to Town for all I care, but our work here is finished.”

“Our work, perhaps.” The earl regarded her levelly. “Not our dealings. Come.” He took her hand and led her to window seat. She didn’t resist when he pulled her down beside him and kept her hand trapped in his.

“Talk to me, A