Текст книги "The Heir"

Автор книги: Grace Burrowes

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“You do trust me, but only in this,” he said again. “You would let me take you in any position, anywhere I pleased, as often as I pleased.”

Anna rolled to her back and hiked up on her elbows, wariness in her expression. “You have never given me reason not to trust you in this bed. I am safe with you.”

“You don’t believe that. You might believe you are safe from me, from the violence and selfishness that can make any man a rutting boar, but you do not believe you are safe with me.”

There was such defeat in his tone, such resignation, Anna was almost glad this would be their last night together. In the morning, he’d ride off to meet with his brothers, and she’d gather up her sister and her belongings and board a coach for Manchester. She’d lie in his arms for this one final night, hold him close, breathe in his scent, and love him. But it would be their last night, and this time tomorrow, she’d be far, far away.

It was that simple to do and that impossible to bear.

Fourteen

“MY LORD! MY LORD, YOU MUST WAKE UP!”

Shouts at the bedroom door had Westhaven struggling up from sleep as Anna shook him hard by his shoulder.

“Gayle,” she hissed. “Gayle Tristan Montmorency Windham!” She had her fist cocked back to smack him when he caught her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“Please! You must wake up!” Sterling sounded near tears, but the earl only heaved a sigh, knowing he was going to hear himself addressed as “Your Grace” from that moment on for the rest of his life.

“Under the covers,” he said to Anna quietly as he reached for his dressing gown. A small part of him was grateful he at least wasn’t going to be alone when he got the news of his father’s death.

“Yes, Sterling.” He opened the door, his composure admirable—worthy of a duke.

“A message, my lord”—Sterling bowed—“from Lord Amery. The messenger says there’s a fire at your new property.”

Not His Grace, the earl thought with soaring relief. Not His Grace, not yet.

But there was a fire at Willow Bend.

“Have Pericles hitched to the gig,” the earl said. “Pack a hamper and plenty of water. Send word to my brothers—Val should be at the mansion; Dev will be at Maggie’s. Under no circumstances are Their Graces to get wind of this, Sterling.” He hoped Dev was at Maggie’s, but he might also still be at his stud farm or holed up with old cavalry comrades. He glanced at Douglas’s note.

The Willow Bend stables are ablaze as I write; no loss of life thus far. Will remain on site until the situation is contained. Amery.

A thousand questions fluttered through Westhaven’s head: How did the fire start, how did Amery come upon it, was the house safe, and why the hell was this happening now…?

“What is it?” Anna had risen from the bed, put on her wrapper, and padded over to him silently.

“There’s a fire at Willow Bend. Just the stables, according to a note from Amery. I’m going out there.”

“I’ll go with you.”

He sat on the bed and drew her to stand between his legs. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Fires mean people can get hurt. I can help, and I don’t want you to go alone.”

He didn’t want to go alone, either. He had good memories of her at Willow Bend, and she had a point. Unless he brought medical supplies with him, there were none on hand at Willow Bend adequate to deal with the burns and other mishaps that could come with fighting a fire.

“Please,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I want to go.”

He leaned into her embrace, pressing his face to the soft, comforting fullness of her breast for just a moment. He was torn, knowing he should spare her this but also feeling a vague unease about leaving her side for any extended period.

Mistrust, it seemed, could go both ways.

“Dress quickly,” he said, patting her bottom. “Bring a change of clothes. Fires are filthy business.”

She nodded and darted for the door, pausing only long enough to make sure the corridor was empty before slipping into the darkness beyond. In her absence, Westhaven heard a clock chime twelve times.

“At least we now know for sure where they are,” Helmsley said over their rashers of morning bacon.

“We do.” Stull smacked his greasy lips. “But who could have imagined the earl would snatch up his housekeeper to go to the scene of a fire?”

“She may be more than just his housekeeper,” Helmsley said. Stull looked up sharply, his expression reminiscent of a dog whose bowl of slops was threatened.

“She damned well better not be, Helmsley,” the baron with a snort. “I’ll not pay for used goods, and if she’s strayed, then she’ll be made to wish she hadn’t.”

Helmsley kept his peace, wishing not for the first time he’d had some choice before embarking on this whole miserable scheme with Stull. But really, what choice had he had? A man needed coin, and a gentleman had few means of obtaining same.

Their time in London had been productive, however. It had been Cheevers’s suggestion to check the employment agencies, and with others set to watching in the park, Helmsley had taken his sisters’ miniatures and made the rounds. The third agency had recognized Anna’s portrait immediately, as her case was memorable: Young, not particularly experienced but obviously very genteel, they’d been able to place her in the household of a ducal heir, no less, and she had worked out there beautifully.

Not too beautifully, Helmsley hoped, as Stull could be very nasty when thwarted. In the brief glimpses Helmsley caught of his sister the previous night, Anna had seemed comfortable with the earl but not overly familiar. He hoped for her sake that was the extent of the earl’s interest in his housekeeper.

And Morgan, he realized, must have been stashed somewhere else, perhaps absorbing all of Anna’s wages with her upkeep. The agency had been forthcoming—for a price—with the information that his lordship was again in the market for a housekeeper, this time for a newly acquired property in Surrey.

Stull’s plan had been to draw the earl out to Willow Bend then hie into the city and snatch the housekeeper from under his nose. With Anna in their grasp, it would have been short work to extract Morgan’s location from her. It was, like most of Stull’s endeavors, clumsily done—and now they had the King’s man nosing about, looking for arsonists, which was no small worry.

Arson, even if only the stables burned, was a hanging felony, though they’d be tried in the Lords and probably get transported instead. Helmsley wondered for the millionth time why hissisters had to be so stubborn, wily, and unnatural, but it seemed he’d soon be rid of the pair of them.

Stull, greedy shoat, wanted them both, and Helmsley had agreed it would be better for the sisters that way—and easier for him, than if he had to live with either of them when this debacle was complete. And deaf as she was, Morgan’s options were limited at best, earl’s granddaughter or not.

Stull patted his lips with his napkin, chugged his ale, and belched contentedly. “What say we check in with those fellows watching the park, and perhaps find one of their confreres who might keep an eye on this Westhaven’s townhouse, eh? Sooner or later, a housekeeper must go to market, run her little errands, or have her half-day. We can snatch my Anna then, and the earl will be none the wiser.”

“A capital idea,” Helmsley agreed, rising. It had actually been his idea, proffered as an alternative to torching the earl’s country retreat, but Stull was not the most receptive to another’s notions once he’d got the bit between his teeth.

Stull rubbed his hands together. “And then we can have a lie down through the worst heat of the day, before turning ourselves loose on the evening entertainments, what?”

“Splendid notion.” Helmsley dredged up a smile. In London, the better brothels kept out the likes of Stull and himself. Titled though they were, Helmsley had never taken his seat, and Stull had probably voted exactly twice since coming into his title. They were not… Connected. They were instead caricatures of the sophisticated lordlings on the town, having neither savoir faire nor physical appeal.

With any luck, they would soon be in possession of both of his sisters and on their way back north. Helmsley’s pockets would be heavily lined with Stull’s gold and his conscience numbed by as much alcohol as a man could consume and remain alive.

“I tell ye, guv, the bird ain’t there.” The dirty little man spat his words, disdaining his betters with each syllable.

“She has to be there.” Helmsley threw up his hands in exasperation. “You set men to watching both the front and back of the house?”

“Lads, not men,” the man replied. “Lads be cheaper, more reliable, and not so fond of their ale, nor as apt to wander off when they’s bored.”

“And in four days,” Helmsley went on, “your… boys haven’t left the place unattended once?”

“Not fer a bleedin’ minute. No bird, at least not the one in yer little paintin’. Maids and laundresses and such, but no lady bird like you showed us. Now where’s me blunt, guv?”

“Stull!” Helmsley bellowed, and the baron lumbered out of his room into their shared sitting room. “The man wants his blunt.”

Stull frowned, disappeared, and reappeared, a velvet bag in hand. Too late, Helmsley realized the cretin they’d hired to manage surveillance of Westhaven’s townhouse was eyeing the velvet bag shrewdly.

“Your coin.” Stull counted out the payment carefully and dropped it into the man’s hand from a height of several inches above his palm. “Now be off with you. She’s there, and we know it. Your job is to tell us when she leaves the house.”

“Not so fast,” their hireling sneered. “You pay us for the next four days, too, guv. Unless you want me sorry self gracin’ yer ’umble abode again.”

Slowly, Stull counted out another fistful of coins.

“My thanks.” The man smiled a gap-toothed grin. “If we see the bird, we’ll send a boy.”

He took his leave, and Stull shrugged, much to Helmsley’s relief.

“We’ll find her,” Stull said. “She’s got a decent job, probably making enough to look after Morgan, for which we must give my Anna credit, and when she pokes her nose out of that earl’s townhouse, we’ll snatch her up and be gone. I’m for a little stroll down to the Pig, Helmsley. You can come along and put in a good word for me with Wee Betty?”

Helmsley smiled thinly and reached for his hat and gloves. He was of the mind that Anna had once again given them the slip, just as she had in Liverpool a few weeks after leaving Yorkshire. He was damned, damned, if he’d spend another two years haring all over England, drinking bad ale and screwing dirty serving maids in Stull’s wake.

Anna had given her word, in writing, and Helmsley was going to see she kept it—or died trying. Either way, the result was the same for him: His troubles would be over, and so would hers.

Fifteen

“I TELL YOU, IT’S TIME TO GO HOME,” HELMSLEY SAID for the fourth time.

“Not when we’re so close,” Stull argued in a whispered hiss. “The lads in the park saw that girl again, the one who looks like Morgan, and they trailed her to Mayfair, just a few streets over from the earl’s home. I’m telling you, we’ve found them both.”

“Morgan is deaf and mute,” Helmsley shot back. “No deaf mute is going to be coddled in the great homes of Mayfair, not in any capacity. Even the footmen have to be handsome as lords, for chrissakes.”

Stull glared at him sullenly. “I am beginning to think you don’t want me to find your sisters. You’d rather have them wandering the slums of London with no protection whatsoever, when their every need will be met in my care. What kind of brother are you, Helmsley, to abandon the chase now, when they’re almost in our grasp at last?”

He was an awful brother, of course. The question was ludicrous coming from Stull. But he wasn’t a stupid brother, particularly, and if he was ever to get out of debt, he needed to find Anna and Morgan, hand them over to Stull, and let them make shift as best they could. They were damnably resourceful; their haring all over the realm for two years on little more than pin money proved that much, at least.

But did he really want to be there when Anna realized what he’d done? When Morgan dissolved into tears? When they realized the extent of his betrayal?

“What aren’t you telling me, Helmsley?” Stull’s look became belligerent. “You threw in with me when the old man died, and don’t think you can turn about now. I’ll go crying to the magistrate so fast the Lords won’t be able to protect you.”

Lie down with dogs, Grandpapa used to say, and you wake up with fleas.

“I’m not like you, Stull.” Helmsley tossed himself down in a chair, affecting a manner of dejection. “I have been nothing but a burden and an expense to you on this trip. One has one’s pride.” He managed just the right ashamed, glancing connection with Stull’s eyes and saw the baron’s ponderous mind catching the scent.

“You found those fellows to watch the park and the earl’s house,” Helmsley went on. “You thought of drawing Westhaven out to the country with that fire, you provide all the blunt for the whole scheme, while I merely stand by and watch.”

“I could spare you for a bit,” Stull said. “If you want to head back north, I can manage things here and send word when I have the girls. Might be better that way.”

His porcine eyes narrowed as he circled back to his earlier thought.

“You aren’t thinking of peaching on me to the magistrate, Helmsley? You’re the one who’s pissed away your grandpapa’s fortune and your sister’s dowries. Don’t think I won’t be recalling that if you turn on me now.”

“I know better, Stull.” Helmsley shook his head. “You know my dirty business, and I know yours, and we both know where our best interests are served.”

“Well said.” Stull nodded, chins jiggling. “Now, what say we nip downstairs and grab a bite for luncheon? You can’t leave today, old man. Too deuced hot, and you must make your farewells this evening to that bit of French muslin we came across last night.”

“I can spend tonight in Town,” Helmsley agreed. “I’ll go north first thing in the morning and leave this matter entirely in your capable hands.”

“Best thing.” Stull nodded. “I’ll send word when I have the girls.”

“The prodigals return.” Dev smiled as Anna and the earl trundled in the back door from the townhouse gardens. “Westhaven.” He extended his hand to his brother, only to be pulled into a brief hug. Over Westhaven’s shoulder, Dev shot a puzzled look at Anna, who merely smiled and shook her head.

“Good to be back,” Westhaven said. “My thanks for keeping an eye on things here, and Amery and his neighboring relations send their felicitations.”

“By that you mean, Greymoor recalled I outbid him for the little mare he wanted for his countess and has decided to let bygones be bygones.”

“He sent his felicitations,” the earl repeated, “as does Heathgate, who as magistrate provided us most gracious hospitality these past days while the fire was being investigated. Have we anything to eat?”

“I can see to that,” Anna said. “Why don’t you wash off the dust of the road, and I’ll have your luncheon served on the terrace.”

“Join us?” the earl said, laying a hand on her arm.

Her eyes met his, and she saw he would not argue, but he was asking. She nodded and made for the kitchen, trying to muster a scold for giving in to his foolishness. At Willowdale, she’d been a guest of the Marquis and Marchioness of Heathgate, as Heathgate served as the local magistrate. There she’d been treated as a guest and as the earl’s respected… what? Friend? His fiancée? His… nothing. Certainly not his housekeeper. Anna had allowed the fiction out of manners and out of a sense it was the last chapter in her dealings with Westhaven, an unreal series of days that allowed them a great deal of freedom in each other’s company.

And at night, he’d stolen into her room, slipped into her bed, and held her in his arms while they talked until they both fell asleep. He’d told her stories of growing up among a herd of the duke’s offspring on the rambling acres of Morelands, of his last parting from his brother Bart, and his suspicions regarding a second ducal grandchild.

She told him what it was like to grow up secure in her grandparents’ love, surrounded by acres of flowers and hot houses and armies of gardeners. But mostly, Anna had listened. She listened to his voice, deep, masculine, and beautiful in the darkness. She listened to his hands, to the patterns of tenderness and possession they traced on her bare skin. She listened to his body, becoming as familiar to her as her own, and to the way he used it to express both affection and protectiveness. She listened to his mind, to the discipline with which he used it to provide for all whom he cared for.

She listened to his heart and heard it silently—and unsuccessfully—plead with her for her trust.

“And there be our bird,” the dirty little man cackled to an even dirtier little boy.

“So you’ll tell the fat swell we seen her?” the child asked, eyeing the pretty lady with the flower basket.

“I will, but happen not today, me lad. He pays good, and we’re due for another installment when I call on him tonight. Too hot to do more than stand about in the shade anyways—might as well get paid fer it, aye?”

“Aye.” The child grinned at the soundness of his superior’s reasoning and went back to getting paid to watch.

“You tell old Whit if the lady goes out, mind, and be ready for yer shift again tomorrow at first light.”

“You use the same employment agency as Her Grace,” Hazlit began, his eyes meeting the earl’s unflinchingly. “So I started there and eventually found copies of references your housekeeper brought with her two years ago. They all came from older women, ladies of quality now residing in York and its surrounds, so I went north.”

“You went north,” the earl repeated, needing and dreading to hear what came next.

“On her application,” Hazlit went on, “Mrs. Seaton put she was willing to work as a housekeeper or in a flower shop, which caught my eye. It’s an odd combination of skills, but it gave me a place to start. I took her sketches and what I knew, and wrote to a colleague of mine in York. Some answers essentially fell into my lap from there.”

“What sketches?”

“Mrs. Seaton goes to the park occasionally, the same as most of London in the summer,” Hazlit said. He opened a folder and drew forth a charcoal sketch that bore a striking resemblance to Anna Seaton.

“It’s quite good,” the earl said, frowning. Hazlit had caught not just Anna’s appearance but also her sweetness and courage and determination. Still, to think Hazlit had sketched this when Anna was unaware rankled.

“It is your property.” A flicker of sympathy graced Hazlit’s austere features.

“My thanks.” The earl set aside the portrait, and gave Hazlit his full attention. “What answers fell into your lap?”

“Some,” Hazlit cautioned, “not all. There are not charges laid against her I could find in York or London, but her brother is looking for her. Her name is Anna Seaton James, she is the oldest daughter of Vaughn Hammond James and Elva James nee Seaton, who both died in a carriage accident when Anna was a young girl. Her sister, Morgan Elizabeth James, was involved in the same accident and indirectly lost her hearing as a result. The heir, Wilberforce Hammond James, was the only son and resides at the family seat, Rosecroft, in Yorkshire, along the Ouse to the northwest of the city.”

“Granddaughter to an earl,” the earl muttered, frowning. “Why did Anna flee?”

“As best my colleague and I can piece together,” Hazlit replied, “the old earl tied up his money carefully, so the heir was unable to fritter away funds needed for the girls and their grandmother. The heir managed to do a deal of frittering, nonetheless, and I took the liberty of buying up a number of his markers.”

“Enterprising of you,” the earl said, reaching for the stack of papers Hazlit passed to him. “Ye Gods…” He sorted through the IOUs and markers, his eyebrows rising. “This is a not-so-small fortune by Yorkshire standards.”

“My guess, and it’s only a guess, is that Anna knows of the mishandling of her grandfather’s estate perpetrated by the present earl, and she made the mistake of trying to reason with her brother. Then too, the younger sister, Morgan, is very vulnerable to exploitation, and if a man will steal from his sisters, he’ll probably do worse without a qualm.”

“You manage to imply a host of nasty outcomes, Mr. Hazlit,” the earl observed, “though nothing worse than my imagination has concocted. Any advice from this point out?”

“Don’t let them out of your sight,” Hazlit said. “It is not kidnapping if you are a concerned and titled brother looking for sisters whom you can paint as flighty at best. He can snatch either one, and there will be nothing you or anyone else could do about it. Nothing.”

“Can he marry them off?”

“Of course. For Morgan, in particular, that would be simple, as she was arguably impaired by her deafness, and marriage is considered to be in a woman’s best interests.”

“Considered by men,” the earl replied with a thin smile. “Well, thank you, Hazlit. I will convince the ladies to remain glued to my side, and all will be well.”

Hazlit stood, accepting the hand proffered by the earl. “Better yet, marry the woman to someone you can trust to look out for her and to manage Helmsley. The situation could resolve itself quite easily.”

“You are not married, Mr. Hazlit, are you?”

“I do not at this time enjoy the wedded state,” Hazlit said, his smile surprisingly boyish. “I do enjoy the unwedded state.”

“Thus sayeth we all,” the earl said, escorting Hazlit to the front door. “Those of us in expectation of titles sometimes particularly enjoy the unwedded state—while we can.” Something briefly shone in Hazlit’s dark eyes—regret? Sympathy?—it was gone before the earl could analyze it.

“Good day, my lord,” Hazlit said, his eyes drifting to the huge bouquet on the table, “and good luck keeping your valuables safe.”

The earl retreated to his study, penned a note asking Val to return to the townhouse at his earliest convenience, and another thanking Heathgate for the recent hospitality. For all Hazlit had been informative, though, Westhaven had the sense there were still answers only Anna could provide.

So he sat for a long time, sipping his sweetened lemonade, contemplating the bouquet in the fireplace, and considering how exactly he could keep Anna Seaton—Anna James—safe when her valise was packed and sitting on her bed, just as it had been the night they’d been called out to Willow Bend.

When darkness was beginning to fall, Westhaven was pleased to see both his brothers would be joining him for dinner. Val, with music books, wardrobe, and horse in tow, had rejoined the earl’s household, claiming the duke was bloody well enough recovered to drive anybody to Bedlam.

Dev was clearly trying to contain his questions about the fire out in Surrey, but when the meal was consumed, sweets and all, the earl asked his brothers to take an after-dinner stroll with him to the stables. Once there, away from the house and its balconies, he explained what Hazlit had told him and enlisted his brothers’ support in seeing to it Anna and Morgan were kept safe.

“But you can’t keep them under surveillance every minute,” Dev protested. “They are intelligent women, and they will soon know we’re up to something.”

“I’ll talk to Anna tonight,” the earl said. “She has to be made to see reason, or I’ll bundle her off to Morelands myself, there to be confined until she’ll marry me.”

Val exchanged a look with Dev. “So the ducal blood will out, and you’re taking the Roman example of seizing and carrying off your bride.”

Westhaven sighed. “I am no more willing to force a marriage on Anna than she would be willing to take her vows on those terms. I would live down to her worst expectations were I to even attempt it.”

“Glad you comprehend that much,” Dev said. “Best of luck convincing her she needs bodyguards. Morgan, at least, can’t argue with us.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Val said, his expression preoccupied. “I have missed my piano though, so I’ll leave you, Westhaven, to reason with Anna, while I bare my soul to my art.”

“Damn.” Dev watched his youngest brother depart and smiled at the earl. “And here I’ve been baring everything else to the wenches at the Pleasure House. Which of us, do you suppose, has it right?”

“Neither.” The earl smiled. “When it comes down to it, I’m having to admit in the things that matter most, it’s the duke who has gotten closest to the mark.”

Devlin cast him a curious glance then ambled off to tuck in his horses. Westhaven was alone in the darkened alley when he heard the barest thread of a whisper summoning him farther into the shadows.

“This is short notice, your lordship.” Hazlit studied the Earl of Westhaven by the light of the candles in the man’s library. It was a handsome room, and Hazlit had noted at their earlier meeting the whole house appeared well cared for. The bouquets were fresh, the wood work polished, the windows sparkling, and not a speck of dust to be seen.

“I apologize for the lateness of the hour, Hazlit,” the earl said. “May I offer you a drink?”

“You may.” Hazlit accepted the offer, in part because the quality of the drink served told him about a man’s character, but also because he had the sense the earl was offering not in an attempt to manipulate but out of sheer good breeding.

“Whiskey or brandy?”

“Whatever you’re having,” Hazlit replied. “I assume we meet to discuss the same matter?”

“We do,” the earl said, handing Hazlit a generous tot of whiskey. “To your health.”

“Yours.” Hazlit sipped cautiously then paused. “Lovely, but I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s a private label.” The earl smiled. “Heathgate owns the distillery and calls this his bribing vintage.”

Hazlit nodded. He hadsampled this vintage before but not often, and it wasn’t something he’d admit about one client to another. “My compliments. Now, how can I assist you?”

“Shall we sit?” The earl gestured to the long, comfortable-looking leather sofa, and Hazlit sank into one corner. The earl took up a rocking chair, his drink in hand. “I have become aware my house is being watched, front and back. I had a very interesting discussion last night when I went to bid my horse good night. I was accosted by an urchin loyal to David Worthington, Viscount Fairly, who was picketed in my mews unbeknownst to me.”

Hazlit merely nodded, his eyes locked on the earl.

“More significantly,” the earl went on, “I was informed my house is also being watched by the minions of one Whit, who is in the employ of two gentlemen from the North, one of whom is obese.” The earl paused to sip his drink. “I recently purchased a modest property a short distance from Town, Willow Bend by name. The stables there were burned last week, and other buildings were soaked with lamp oil. By chance, acquaintances happened to see the stables burning and summoned help before the rest of the property could be set ablaze.

“Fortunately, the place was not yet occupied, and only the stables were lost. I hired a runner, who was able to deduce that two men, well dressed, one quite portly, bought a quantity of lamp oil the day before my stables burned, from the last likely source before one leaves Town for the Surrey countryside.”

“You suspect these men were sent after Mrs. Seaton,” Hazlit suggested.

The earl met Hazlit’s eyes. “I suspect one of them of being her brother, the earl. Is he reported to be portly?”

“He is not.” Hazlit fished in a pocket of his coat, and brought out a small pad of a paper. “Have you a pen?”

The earl got up and went to his desk, setting out ink, pen, sand, and knife on the blotter. Hazlit brought his drink to the desk, assumed the earl’s wingback chair, and with the earl looking over his shoulder, sketched a figure of a man.

“Helmsley,” Hazlit said tersely, tearing off the sheet and starting another sketch, this one of the man’s face. While Hazlit sketched, the earl studied the little ink drawing.

“Helmsley has bulk to him,” Hazlit said as he worked. “He’s close to six feet, and bad living is going to ensure middle age is a short interlude before the man’s shoulders are stooped, his gut sagging, and his face lined. There.”

Hazlit tore off the second drawing. “He bears a slight resemblance to your housekeeper around the eyes and perhaps in the texture and color of the hair.”

“He does.” The earl frowned. “He’s older than Anna?”

“He is. He is not your portly man, though. He qualifies as well fed but not obese.”

“Can you take this picture to the man who sold the lamp oil?” the earl suggested, picking up the second drawing. “And maybe get a description of the other fellow?”

“I can. I can also go back north and ask around regarding the portly man.”

“That will take some time.” The earl leaned against the arm of the sofa. “I hardly need tell you to spare no expense.” He appeared lost in thought, and Hazlit waited. “Do you think Anna’s grandmother is well enough to travel?”

“She hasn’t been seen much off the estate since her husband died,” Hazlit replied. “That does not suggest good health, but it might also mean she’s a virtual prisoner.”

The earl looked up sharply, and Hazlit had the sense his casual comment snapped something into place in the earl’s mind.

“If we cannot establish Anna’s brother is here in London,” the earl said slowly, “then I want you to go north and figure out just where the hell he is. I believe he is the primary threat to Anna’s welfare, and his leverage is that he holds her grandmother’s welfare in his hands.”

“And the fat man?” Hazlit rose. “We know he’s in Town and that he’s probably lying in wait for Mrs. Seaton.”

“But waiting for what?” the earl mused. “For the brother to come to Town and have the legal right to reclaim his sisters, perhaps?”

“Good question,” Hazlit agreed. “Let me take the sketches with me, and maybe by tomorrow, I can have some answers for you.”

“My thanks,” the earl said, showing his guest to the front door.

Westhaven sat in the library for long moments, sipping cold tea and staring at the first sketch. When Anna came in, he slid the drawing into a drawer then rose to meet her.