The Windham Series Boxed Set (Volumes 1-3)

by Grace Burrowes

  “I have been dependent on the Windhams’ kindness long enough,” Anna said evenly. “I know Morgan and Grandmama will be glad to settle in somewhere.”

  “Anna.” He paused with her again, knowing they would soon be back at the house, and Anna had every intention of moving out to Surrey, picking up the reins of her life, and riding out of his.

  “How are you really?”

  The bright, mendacious smile faltered.

  “I am coping,” she said, staring out across the beds of flowers. “I wake up sometimes and don’t know where I am. I think I must see to your lemonade for the day or wonder if you’re already in the park on Pericles, and then I realize I am not your housekeeper anymore. I am not your anything anymore, and the future is this great, yawning, empty unknown I can fill with what? Flowers?”

  She offered that smile, but he couldn’t bear the sight of it and pulled her against his chest.

  “If you need anything,” he said, holding her against him, “anything, Anna James. You have only to send me word.”

  She said nothing, clinging to him for one long desperate moment before stepping back and nodding.

  “Your word, Anna James,” he ordered sternly.

  “You have my word,” she said, smile tremulous but genuine. “If I am in any difficulties whatsoever, I will call on you.”

  The sternness went out of him, and he again offered his arm. They progressed in silence, unmindful of the duke watching them from the terrace. When his duchess joined him, he slipped an arm around her waist.

  “Esther.” He nuzzled her crown. “I find I am fully recovered.”

  “This is amazing,” his wife replied, “as you have neither a medical degree nor powers of divination.”

  “True.” He nuzzled her again. “But two things are restored to me that indicate my health is once again sound.”

  “And these would be?” the duchess inquired as she watched Westhaven take a polite leave of Miss James.

  The duke frowned at his son’s retreating back. “The first is a nigh insatiable urge to meddle in that boy’s affairs. Devlin and Valentine dragooned me into a shared tea pot, and for once, we three are in agreement over something.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “You don’t mind if I take a small hand in things?” the duke asked warily.

  “I am ready to throttle them both.” The duchess sighed, leaning into her husband. “And I suspect the girl is breeding and doesn’t even know it.”

  “St. Just is of like mind. He and Val all but asked me what I intend to do about it.”

  “You will think of something. I have every faith in you, Percy.”

  “Good to know.”

  “What was the second piece of evidence confirming your restored health?”

  “Come upstairs with me, my love, and I will explain it to you in detail.”

  “I am here at the request of my duchess,” Moreland declared.

  “Your Grace will always be welcome,” Anna said. “I’m sure Grandmama and Morgan will be sorry they missed you.”

  “Making the acquaintance of that scamp, Heathgate.” The duke shook his head. “I could tell you stories about that one, missy, that would curl your hair. His brother is no better, and I pray you do not allow me to stray onto the topic of Amery.”

  “He loves your granddaughter,” Anna countered, “but have another crème cake, Your Grace, and tell me how your duchess goes on.”

  “She thrives as always in my loving care,” the duke intoned pompously, but then he winked at Anna and reached for a cake. “But you tell her I had three of these, and she will tear a strip off the ducal hide. Seriously, she is doing well, as are the girls. I can’t say the same for old Westhaven, though. That boy is a shambles. Were it not for his brothers, I’d move him back to the mansion.”

  “A shambles?” Anna felt the one crème cake she’d finished beginning to rebel.

  “A complete shambles.” The duke munched away enthusiastically. “His house is in no order whatsoever. Old Fran is running things any damned way she pleases, and you know that cannot be good for the King’s peace. Tolliver has threatened to quit, St. Just is back to his drinking and brooding, and Valentine has taken to hiding from them both in the music room.”

  “I am distressed to hear it. But what of the earl? How does he fare?”

  “Forgets to eat.” The duke sighed. “Not a problem he inherited from me. Rides his horse every day, but otherwise, it’s business, business, and more business. You’d think the boy’s a damned cit the way he must read every paragraph and negotiate every price. Mark my words, the next heart seizure will be his.”

  “Your Grace,” Anna said earnestly, “isn’t there something you can do? He respects you, more than you know.”

  “I’ve reformed.” The duke reached for a fourth crème cake. “I do not meddle. I’ve learned my lesson; Westhaven needs to learn his. He did seem to manage better when you were on hand, but no matter. He’ll muddle along. So”—the duke rose, brushing crumbs from his breeches—“My duchess will want to know, how fare you?”

  He leveled a lordly, patrician look at her.

  “I am well.” Anna rose a little more slowly.

  “Not fainting, are you?” The duke glowered at her. “Makes no sense to me at all. The lord plants a babe in a woman’s womb then has her wilting all over. I can understand the weeps and the constant napping, but the rest of it… Not the way I’d have arranged it. But the Almighty is content to make do without my advice for the nonce, much like my children.”

  “I am well,” Anna repeated, but a ringing had started in her ears.

  The duke leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Glad to hear it, my dear,” he said, patting her arm. “Westhaven would be glad to hear it, too, I expect.”

  “Westhaven?”

  “He’s an earl,” the duke said, his eyes twinkling. “Handsome fellow, if a bit too serious. Gets that from his mother. Lonely, if you ask me. I think you’ve met him.”

  “I have.” Anna nodded, realizing she’d walked her guest to the door. “Safe journey home, Your Grace. My regards to the family.”

  The duke nodded and went smiling on the way to his next destination.

  “Not managing well, at all.” The duke shook his head.

  “Your mother was concerned enough to send me, Westhaven, and I am barely allowed off the leash these days, as you well know.”

  “You say she looked pale?”

  “Women in her condition might look a little green around the gills at first, but then they bloom, Westhaven. Their hair, their skin, their eyes… She isn’t blooming and she’s off her feed and she looks too tired.”

  “I appreciate your telling me this,” the earl said, frowning, “but I don’t see what I can do. She hasn’t asked for my help.”

  The duke rose, snitching just one more piece of marzipan. “I am not entirely sure she understands her own condition, my boy. Grew up without a mother; probably thinks it’s all the strain of losing that worthless brother. You might find she needs blunt speech if your offspring isn’t to be a six-months’ wonder.

  “A six-months’ wonder,” the duke repeated, “like Bart nearly was. He was an eight-months’ wonder instead, which is readily forgivable.”

  “He was a what?” The earl was still frowning and still pondering the duke’s revelations regarding Anna’s decline.

  “Eight-months’ wonder.” The duke nodded sagely. “Ask any papa, and he’ll tell you a proper baby takes nine and half months to come full term, first babies sometimes longer. Bart was a little early, as Her Grace could not contain her enthusiasm for me.”

  “Her Grace could not…?” The earl felt his ears turn red as the significance of his father’s words sunk in.

  “Fine basis for a marriage,” the duke went on blithely. “What? You think all ten children were exclusively my fault? You have much to learn, my lad. Much to learn. Now…” The duke paused with his hand on the door. “When will your new housekeeper star
t?”

  “My new housekeeper?”

  “Yes, your mother will want to know and to look the woman over. You can’t allow old Fran to continue tyrannizing your poor footmen.”

  “I haven’t hired anybody yet.”

  “Best be about it.” The duke glanced around the house disapprovingly. “The place is losing its glow, Westhaven. If you expect to resume your courting maneuvers in the little season, you’ll have to take matters in hand, put on a proper face and all that.”

  “I will at that,” the earl agreed, escorting his father to the door. “My thanks for your visit, Your Grace.”

  The earl was surprised witless when his father pulled him into a hug.

  “My pleasure”—the duke beamed—“and your dear mama is probably relieved to be shut of my irresistible self for an hour or two, as well. Mind you don’t let that old woman in the kitchen get above herself.”

  “I’ll pass along your compliments.” The earl smiled, watching his father trot down the front steps with the energy of a man one-third his age.

  “Was that our esteemed sire?” Dev asked, emerging from the back of the house.

  “It was. If I’d known you were home, I would have made him wait.”

  “Oh, no harm done. Did he have anything of merit to impart?”

  “Anna is not doing well,” the earl said, wondering when he’d lost all discretion.

  “Oh?” Dev arched an eyebrow. “Come into the library, little brother, and tell me and the decanter all about it.”

  “No decanter for me,” the earl demurred as he followed Dev through the door, “but some lemonade, perhaps, with lots of sugar.”

  “So the duke called on Anna and found her in poor spirits?”

  “Poor health, more like. Pale, tired, peaked…”

  “Like you.” Dev stirred sugar into his lemonade.

  “I am merely busy. As you have been busy liquidating Fairly’s stables.”

  “And flirting with his fillies.” Dev grinned. “They are the sweetest bunch, Westhaven. But did His Grace intimate Anna had that on-the-nest look about her?”

  “And what would you know about an on-the-nest look?”

  “I breed horses for a living,” Dev reminded him. “I can tell when a mare’s caught, because she gets this dreamy, inward, secret look in her eye. She’s peaceful but pleased with herself, too. I think you are in anticipation of a blessed event, Westhaven.”

  “I think I am, too,” Westhaven said. “Pass me the decanter.” Dev silently obliged and watched as his brother poured whiskey into the sweetened lemonade.

  “I promised you last week,” Dev said slowly, “not to let you get half seas over again for at least ten years.”

  “Try it.” The earl pushed the decanter toward him. “One cocktail does not a binge make.”

  “Very ducally put,” Dev said, accepting the decanter. “How will you ensure my niece or nephew is not a bastard, Westhaven? I am prepared to beat you within an inch of your life, heir or not, if you don’t take proper steps.”

  The earl sipped his drink. “The problem is not that I don’t want to take proper steps, as you put it. The problem is that it is Anna’s turn to propose to me.”

  Eighteen

  Dev eyed his brother. “I wasn’t aware the ladies got a turn at the proposing. I thought it was up to us stalwart lads to risk rejection and to do the actual asking.”

  “We can take first crack,” the earl said, his finger tracing the rim of his glass, “but I took first through fifth, and that means it’s her turn.”

  “I’m sure you’ll explain this mystery to me, as I hope at some point to put an end to my dreary bachelor existence,” Dev murmured, taking a long swallow of his drink.

  The earl smiled almost tenderly. “With Anna, I proposed, explaining to her she should marry me because I am titled and wealthy and so on.”

  “That would be persuasive to most any lady I know, except the lady you want.”

  “Precisely. So I went on to demonstrate she should marry me because I am, though the term will make you blush, lusty enough to bring her a great deal of pleasure.”

  “I’d marry you for that reason,” Dev rejoined, “or I would if, well… It’s a good argument.”

  “It is, if you are a man, but on Anna, the brilliance of my logic was lost. So I proposed again and suggested I could make her troubles disappear, then failed utterly to make good on my word.”

  “Bad luck, that.” Dev sipped his drink. “Her troubles are behind her now.”

  “And she has neither brother nor family seat to show for it,” the earl said gently, “though if I haven’t thanked you before, Devlin, I am thanking you now for pulling that trigger. Helmsley was a disgrace.”

  “I was aiming for his hand, though. I grabbed your pistol, and I’ve never shot with it before. I apologized to Anna and Morgan both, but they just tried to make me feel better.”

  “I am ordering you to feel better. Anna herself said Helmsley was morally or rationally broken somehow. Could you imagine selling any one of our sisters to Stull?”

  “No,” Dev said, “and that perspective does put it in a more manageable light. But back to your proposals, as the tale grows fascinating.”

  “Well, I blundered on,” the earl said. “She was to marry me for legal reasons, if all else failed, to prevent kidnapping charges, since I hadn’t prevented the kidnapping attempt. She was to marry me to spike Stull’s guns and so forth. One has to be impressed at the single-minded focus of my proposals, particularly when juxtaposed with their consistent failure to impress.”

  “Juxtaposed,” Dev mused. “Very ducal word. So you fell on your arse.”

  “I did, and my sword. Shall we have another drink?”

  “One more”—Dev waggled a finger—“and that’s it.” He did the honors, even remembering to sugar the lemonade heavily first. “This is a delightful summer concoction, though it needs mint or something.”

  “It needs a taller glass.”

  “So you are done proposing?” Dev sipped his drink.

  “I am. I forgot to propose for the one reason that might have won the prize.”

  “That being?”

  “She loves me.” Westhaven smiled wistfully. “She cannot bear to think of the rest of her life without me.”

  “That reason.” Dev nodded sagely. “I will remember that one, as it would not have occurred to me either. Do you think it will occur to Anna?”

  “I hope to God it does.” The earl took a long pull of his drink. “I cannot make a move at this point unless she invites it.”

  “Why not? Why not just ride out there, special license in hand, and lay down the law? You haven’t tried that approach. You can name it after me, the Devlin St. Just Proposal of Marriage Option Number Seven.”

  “Dev, I fear you are getting a bit foxed.”

  “A bit, and I am not even the one trying to drown my sorrows. Am I not the best of brothers?”

  “The very best,” the earl agreed, his smile carrying a wealth of affection. “But I cannot exercise option number seven, as that option was preempted by the lady’s late brother. She did not tolerate attempts to lay down the law.”

  “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.