Grace Burrowes - The Heir

“The appearances were deceiving, and she doesn’t know I’d never trifle with a housemaid.”

“And if you were of a mind to before,” Val said, eyeing the marzipan, “you’d sure as hell think twice about it now.”

“And what of you?” Westhaven paused to regard his brother. Val shared the Windham height and green eyes, but his eyes were a darker green, while Westhaven’s shade was closer to jade, and Val’s hair was sable, nearly black.

“What of me?” Val buttered a fat muffin.

“Are you bothering any housemaids, lately?”

“Doing an errand for Viscount Fairly earlier in the season, I met an interesting woman out in Little Weldon,” Val said, “but no, I am more concerned with misleading His Grace than in having my ashes hauled.”

“Don’t mislead him too well,” Westhaven cautioned. “There are those who are not tolerant of left-handed preferences.”

“Well, of course there are,” Val said, “and they’re just the ones wondering what it would be like to be a little adventurous themselves. But fear not, Westhaven. I mince and lisp and titter and flirt, but my breeches stay buttoned.”

“It appears,” Westhaven said, frowning as he reached for the marzipan, “mine will be staying buttoned, as well.”

He bit into a plump, soft confection shaped like a ripe melon and stifled a snort of incredulity. His breeches would be staying buttoned, and the only thing he’d be twiddling would be his… thumbs.

THREE RULES, ANNA REMINDED HERSELF WHEN SHE reached the privacy of her own little sitting room. There were three rules to succeeding with any deception, and old Mr. Glickmann had drilled them into her:

Dress the part.

Believe your own lies.

Have more than you show—including an alternative plan.

Today, she was remiss on all three counts, God help her. A housekeeper wore caps, for pity’s sake. Great homely caps, and gloves out of doors, and there she went, sailing into the library, bareheaded, barehanded, for the earl and his brother to see.

Believe your own lies—that meant living the deception as if it were real, never breaking role, and with the earl she’d broken role badly ever since she’d brained him with a poker. He had to have seen her, arms around Morgan, even as he lay bleeding on the floor. And then, curse her arrogant mouth, she’d as good as informed him she was raised as a bluestocking—fluent in three languages, Mother of God! Housekeepers read mostly their Bible, and that only slowly.

Have more than you show, including second and even third plans. On that count, she was an unmitigated 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.

“ Mouget du bois ?” Anna raised her own eyebrow. “That’s feminine, Morgan.”

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?”