Текст книги "The Heir"
Автор книги: Grace Burrowes
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“And if he sues, it ensures you are embroiled in scandal.”
“The Windham family is of sufficient consequence Stull’s paltry accusations won’t be but a nine days’ wonder. Marry me, Anna, and your troubles will be over.”
Anna chewed her fingernail and regarded the man rocking so contentedly opposite her. Marry him, and her troubles would be over…
Marry him, she thought bitterly, and her troubles would just be starting. He’d never said he loved her, never asked for her brother and his nasty friend to descend like this. She wasn’t raised to be a duchess, and polite society would never let him forget he’d married, quite, quite down.
“I am flattered,” Anna said, staring at her hands in her lap, “but can we not wait to see how matters resolve themselves?”
“You are turning me down,” Westhaven said. “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.” He rose and smiled down at her. “But then, if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d be married to Stull by now, and that isn’t an eventuality to be considered even in theory. I’ve put you in the largest guest room, and you are dead on your feet. Let me light you up to your bed, Anna.”
She hadn’t realized he’d had her things moved, and so accepted his arm in a daze. She was tired—bone weary and emotionally wrung out. The day had been too eventful, bringing with it both joy, relief, and loss.
“You are my guest,” the earl said when he’d lit the candles in her bedroom. “I will wish you sweet dreams and promise you again to see this entire matter sorted out. You will consider my proposal and perhaps have an answer for me in the morning.”
He bowed– bowed!—and withdrew, leaving Anna to sit on the bed, staring unseeing at the hearth.
Since he’d learned she was betrothed to another, the earl had not touched her, not as a lover. He’d offered his arm, his hospitality, and his name in marriage, but he had not been able to touch her as a lover.
It spoke volumes, Anna thought as she drifted off. He was a dutiful man and he needed an heir and he was sexually attracted enough to her, despite her deceit, that he could get a child or two on her. She owed him more than that, though, and so her last thoughts as she found sleep were of how she could spare him the very thing he dreaded most: A wife chosen out of duty.
Several doors down the hall, the earl lay naked on his bed, cursing his solitude, his houseguest, and his own lack of charm. Give up and marry me?What manner of proposal was that? He was tempted to get up, stomp down the hall, and drag her back to his bed, but desire on his part was not the same thing as capitulation on hers.
“Well, Papa,” he muttered into the night, “I cannot see the rest of my life without her, but alas, I am certain the sentiment is not reciprocated.”
A soft knock on his door had his heart leaping in hopes Anna was seeking him out. He tossed on his dressing gown and opened the door to find Dev standing there, smiling slightly.
“Saw the light under your door and thought you might want to know Stull is again at liberty.”
“I thought we had at least a few days to catch our breath.”
“The magistrate had to leave Town and moved up his hearings,” Dev reported. “Somebody came along and made bail for the dear baron.”
“Come in.” The earl stepped back and busied himself lighting a few more candles. “Do we know who might have bailed him out?”
“One Riley Whitford,” Dev said. “Better known as old Whit, late of Seven Dials and any other stew or slum where vice runs tame.”
“You know the man?” the earl asked, settling on the sofa in his sitting room.
“He was involved in a race-fixing scheme just about the time I left for the Peninsula.” Dev ambled into the room as he spoke. “Clever man, always knows how to put somebody between him and the consequences of his actions.”
“He was the one managing the surveillance of my house.” The earl scowled. “Stop pacing, if you please, and sit quietly like the gentleman Her Grace believes you to be.”
“How she can be so deluded?” Dev rolled his eyes, looking very much like a dark version of His Grace. But he sat in a wing chair and angled it to face his brother. “What will you do with Anna?”
“I’ve proposed and proposed and proposed.” The earl sighed, surprising himself and apparently his brother with his candor. “She’ll have none of that, though the last time, she put me off rather than turn me down flat.”
“Things are a little unsettled,” Dev pointed out dryly.
“And marriage would settle them,” the earl shot back. “Married to me, there wouldn’t be any more nonsense from her brother, not for her or Morgan. Her grandmother would be safe, and Stull would be nothing but a bad, greasy memory.”
“He is enough to give any female the shudders, though maybe Anna has the right of it.”
“What can you possibly mean?” The earl stood up and paced to the French doors.
“You and she are in unusual circumstances,” Dev began. “You are protective of her and probably not thinking very clearly about her. She is not a duke’s daughter, as you might be expected to marry, not even a marquis’s sister. She’s beneath you socially and likely undowered and not even as young as a proper mate to you should be.”
“Young?” the earl expostulated. “You mean I can get her to drop only five foals instead of ten?”
“You have a duty to the succession,” Dev said, his words having more impact for being quietly spoken. “Anna understands this.”
“Rot the fucking succession,” Westhaven retorted. “I have His Grace’s permission to marry for love, indeed, his exhortation to marry only for love.”
“Are you saying you love her?” Dev asked, his voice still quiet.
“ Of course I love her,” the earl all but roared. “Why else would I be taking such pains for her safety? Why else would I be offering her marriage more times than I can count? Why else would I have gone to His Grace for help? Why else would I be arguing with you at an hour when most people are either asleep or enjoying other bedtime activities?”
Dev rose and offered his brother a look of sympathy. “If you love her, then your course is very easy to establish.”
“Oh it is, is it?” The earl glared at his brother.
“If you love her,” Dev said, “you give her what she wants of you, no matter how difficult or irrational it may seem to you. You do not behave as His Grace has, thinking that love entitles him to know better than his grown children what will make them happy or what will be in their best interests.”
Westhaven sat down abruptly, the wind gone from his sails between one heartbeat and the next.
“You are implying I could bully her.”
“You know you could, Gayle. She is grateful to you, lonely, not a little enamored of you, and without support.”
“You are a mean man, Devlin St. Just.” The earl sighed. “Cruel, in fact.”
“I would not see you make a match you or Anna regret. And you deserve the truth.”
“That’s what Anna has said. You give me much to think about, and none of it very cheering.”
“Well, think of it this way.” Dev smiled as he turned for the door. “If you marry her now, you can regret it at great leisure. If you don’t marry her now, then you can regret that as long as you can stand it then marry her later.”
“Point taken. Good night, St. Just. You will ride in the morning?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Dev smiled and withdrew, leaving his brother frowning at the door.
Dev was right, damn him to hell and back. In Westhaven’s shoes, His Grace would have married Anna, worn her down, argued, seduced, and argued some more until the woman bowed to his wishes. It was tempting to do just that—to swive Anna silly, maybe even get her pregnant, lavish her with care and attention, and send Stull packing.
But her brother had tried to take her choices from her, and His Grace had made many efforts to take the earl’s choices from him. It was not a respectful way to treat a loved one.
So… He’d solve her problems, provide her sanctuary, and let her go, if that was what she wanted.
But he’d resent like hell that honor—honor and love—required it of him.
“I trust you slept well?” the earl inquired politely over breakfast.
“I did.” Anna lied with equal good manners. “And you?”
“I did not,” the earl said, patting his lips with his napkin. “Though riding this morning has put me more to rights. I regret you will not be able to leave the house today.”
“I won’t?” Anna blinked at him over her teacup. He was very much the earl this morning, no trace of humor or affection in his eyes or his voice.
“Stull has made bail,” Westhaven explained. “I do not put it past him to make another attempt to abduct you.”
“I see.” Anna put down her tea cup, her toast and jam threatening to make an untimely reappearance.
The earl laid a hand on her arm, and she closed her eyes, savoring the comfort of that simple touch. “You are safe here, and he can’t force you to do anything, in any case. You won’t go beyond the back gardens, though, will you?”
“I will not,” Anna said. “But what happens next? I can’t simply wait here in this house until he gives up. He won’t—not ever. It’s been two years, and he’s spent considerable coin tracking me down.”
“I’ve had him arrested on charges of arson,” the earl reminded her. “He is likely not permitted to leave London itself, or he will violate the terms of his bond, baron or no baron. You can have him arrested for assault, though if he does have a betrothal contract, that likely won’t fly very far.”
“He has one,” Anna rejoined. “I was trying to recall its particulars last night as I fell asleep, but it was more than two years ago that I signed it, and my brother did not want me to read the document itself.”
“I cannot wait to meet this brother of yours. My sisters and my mother know better than to sign anything—anything—without reading each word.”
“You are a good brother. And they are good sisters.”
The earl looked up from buttering his toast. “You would have been a good sister to Morgan by allowing Stull to marry her?”
“No”—Anna shook her head—“but I am hardly a good sister to Helmsley for having refused to marry the man myself.”
The earl put down his toast and knife. “You had two choices, as I see it, Anna: You could have married Stull, in which case he was essentially free to take his pleasure of you or Morgan, or to use Morgan to control you. In the alternative, you could have married Stull and left Morgan in your brother’s care, in which case he’d just be auctioning her off behind Stull’s back. Those options are unthinkable.”
He went back to buttering his toast, his voice cool and controlled. “You created a third option, and it was the best you could do under the circumstances.”
“It was,” Anna said, grateful for his summary. But then, why did he still appear so remote?
“Until you met me,” the earl went on. “You had a fourth option, then.”
“I could have broken my word to my grandmother.” Anna rose. “And taken a chance you would not laugh at me and return me to Stull’s loving embrace, errant, contractually bound fiancées not something your average earl is willing to champion at the drop of a hat.”
He remained sitting. “I deserve better than that.”
“Yes,” she said, near tears, “you most assuredly do, and if we marry…”
She whirled and left the room, her sentence unfinished and her host unable to extrapolate her meaning. If they married… what?
“I see we’re starting our day in a fine temper.” Dev sauntered in.
“Shut up.” The earl passed him the teapot. “And do not attempt any more advice so early in the day, Dev. I do not like to see Anna upset.”
“Neither do I.” St. Just poured himself a cup of tea and frowned at the earl. “I don’t like to see you upset either. What is the plan for the day?”
“I have to meet with Tolliver, of course, and I asked Hazlit to stop by, as well. I’ve sent for a dressmaker to see to Anna, and expect that will keep us out of each other’s way for the day. What of you?”
“I am going to visit with some old army friends,” Dev said, getting to work on a mountain of scrambled eggs. “I should be back by midday and will make it a point to join Anna for lunch.”
“My thanks.” The earl rose, feeling none too pleased with the day before him. “Tell her…”
Dev shook his head. “Tell her yourself.”
The morning was interminable, with no Anna tapping softly at the door with a little lemonade or marzipan for him, no water for his bouquets, no anything but work and more work. He sent Tolliver off well before luncheon but was pleased to find Benjamin Hazlit had chosen that hour to call.
“Join me for luncheon,” the earl suggested. “My kitchen is not fancy, particularly in this heat, but we know how to keep starvation at bay.”
“I will accept that generous offer,” Hazlit said. “My breakfast was ages ago and not very substantial.” The earl rang for luncheon on a tray, sending up a small prayer of thanks he’d have a valid excuse for not joining Anna and Dev on the back terrace. When lunch came, it showed that Anna was not behaving herself exclusively as a guest: There was a single daisy in a bud vase on each tray, and the marzipan was wrapped in linen, a little bouquet of violets serving as the bow.
“Your kitchen isn’t fancy,” Hazlit remarked, “but somebody dotes on their earl.”
“Or on their lunch trays,” the earl said. He quickly brought Hazlit up to date regarding Baron Stull’s allegations of a betrothal, and the need to secret Morgan with Their Graces.
“Good move,” Hazlit said. “Divide and conquer, so to speak. When I got your note, I did some poking around regarding Stull.”
“Oh?” The earl paused in the demolition of his chicken sandwich.
“He’s a bad actor,” Hazlit said. “Been making a nuisance of himself in the lower-class brothels, trying to procure young girls, and using thugs to spy on your house.”
My poor Anna.
Hazlit went on to advise the earl Stull had been identified as the purchaser of a large quantity of lamp oil, “right down to the grease stains on his cravat.” The tallish gentleman with him, however, had remained in the shadows. Hazlit further suggested there would be another attempt to kidnap Anna.
“Why won’t the baron just take his lumps and go home?”
Hazlit’s gaze turned thoughtful. “So far, the evidence for arson is all circumstantial. The charges won’t stick. He has a betrothal contract he thinks is valid, and he has Helmsley over a barrel, so to speak, financially. He wants Anna, and he wants her badly. You haven’t described him as a man who is bright enough to cut his losses and find some silly cow who will bear him children and indulge his peccadilloes.”
“And she would have to be a cow,” the earl muttered, grimacing. “I hate just sitting here, waiting for those idiots to make the next move.”
“And they hate just sitting there”—Hazlit reached for a piece of marzipan—“doing nothing. You should probably prepare yourself for some kind of legal maneuvering.”
“What kind of maneuvering?”
“Charges of kidnapping or alienation of affections, breach of promise against Anna, demands of marriage from Helmsley.”
“Demands that I marry her?” The earl scowled thunderously. “In God’s name why?”
“If Helmsley sees you are a fatter pigeon than Stull, he’ll rattle that sword.”
“Christ.” The earl got up and paced to the window. Anna and Dev were on the terrace, and she was smiling at something he’d said. Dev’s smile was flirtatious and a little wistful—charmingly so, damn the scoundrel.
“We can hope it’s a moot question,” Hazlit said, rising to his feet. “If Stull attempts to remove her from your property, then you bring the kidnapping charges, and that will be the end of it. Unless she’s married to the man, she can testify against him in any court in the land.”
“What was the extent of the old earl’s estate?” the earl asked, staring out the windows. Hazlit named a figure, a very large and impressive figure.
The earl continued to watch as Dev and Anna laughed their way through lunch. “If Helmsley has gambled that away, then he is guilty of misfeasance?”
“He most assuredly is,” Hazlit replied, coming to stand where he, too, could look out at the back terrace.
“So I need to prove Helmsley guilty of misfeasance,” the earl said, “and foil the baron’s attempts at kidnapping, and then Anna should be safe but penniless.”
“Not penniless. There is a trust fund that simply cannot be raided, not by God Almighty or the archangel Gabriel, as it is set aside for Anna’s exclusive use. Her grandmother has seen to it the money was wisely invested.”
“That is some good news.” The earl turned finally, as Dev was escorting Anna back into the house. “Do you know how much she has left?” Hazlit named another figure, one that would keep even a genteel lady comfortably for a very long time.
The earl turned, watching as Hazlit gathered up his effects. “If nothing else, I appreciate my family more, my siblings and my parents, for this glimpse into Anna’s circumstances.”
“You are a fortunate man,” Hazlit said. “In your family, in any case. I’m off to loiter away the afternoon at the Pig. I’ll report when something warrants your attention.”
“I will await your communication,” the earl said, seeing his guest to the door. “But patience is not my greatest strength.”
The earl had no sooner returned to the library than Dev appeared, Anna in tow.
“So who was that?” Dev asked.
“Who was who?”
“That handsome devil who eyed us out the window, the one who stood right beside you,” Dev shot back.
“Benjamin Hazlit. Our private investigator.” The earl turned his gaze to Anna. “He thinks you should marry me.”
“Let him marry you. I think I should join a convent.”
“Now that,” Dev said, “would be an inexcusable waste.”
“I quite agree.” The earl smiled thinly. “Hazlit says we wait now and expect either the baron to try to abduct you again or your brother to bring kidnapping charges.”
Anna sat down in a heap. “As a man cannot kidnap his wife, we have another brilliant reason to marry me to you.”
“Sound reasoning,” the earl said. “I gather you are not impressed.”
“I am not impressed.” Anna rose abruptly. “And what do you mean, Westhaven, by summoning a dressmaker here?”
“I meant you to have some dresses,” the earl said. “Dresses that are not gray or brown or brownish gray or grayish brown. I meant for you to enjoy, at least, the fashions available to you here in London and to spend some time in a pursuit common to ladies of good breeding. I meant to offer you diversion. What did you think I meant?”
“Oh.” Anna sat back down.
“I believe I will check on my horses and maybe take one out for a hack,” Dev said and headed for the door.
“In this heat?” the earl asked, incredulous. Dev was nothing if not solicitous of his horses.
“A very short hack,” Dev conceded over his shoulder, leaving Anna and the earl alone in the library.
Why are you ignoring me?Anna silently wailed. But she knew why: Westhaven was treating her as a guest, and not as a guest with whom he was in love.
In all her dealings with him, Anna realized, she had worried for him. Worried he would suffer disappointment in her, worried his consequence would suffer for associating with her, worried she wasn’t at all what he needed in a duchess. In hindsight, she saw she should have saved a little worry for herself—worry that her heart would break and she would be left to pick up the pieces without any clue as to how to go about it.
Westhaven was frowning at her. “Anna, are you perhaps in need of a nap?”
“Like a cranky child? Yes, I suppose I am. Are you?”
He smiled at that, a slow, wicked, tempting grin that heartened Anna immeasurably.
I missed you last night, but she didn’t say it. Couldn’t say it, with his frown replacing that grin.
“Did you know,” the earl said, “you’re a wealthy woman?”
“I am what?” Anna shot back to her feet. “Your jest is in poor taste, Westhaven.”
“You aretired.” The earl shifted to sit in his rocker. “Sit down, Anna, and let us discuss your situation.”
“My situation?” Anna sat as bid, not liking the serious light in his eye.
“You are wealthy,” the earl repeated. He described her trust fund and her grandmother’s stewardship of it. “You can do any damned thing you please, Anna James, and in terms of your finances, you needn’t marry anybody.”
“But why wasn’t I allowed to use my own money?” Anna wailed. “For two years, I’ve not had more than pin money to spare, and you tell me there are thousands of pounds with my name on them?”
“There are, just waiting for you to claim them.”
“Why wouldn’t my grandmother have told me of this?”
“She might not have known at the time of your departure exactly what funds were available for what purpose,” the earl suggested gently. “She was unwell when you came south, and solicitors can be notoriously closemouthed. Or she might not have wanted to risk Helmsley getting wind if she tried to communicate with you. You must ask her.”
“I knew we had dowries,” Anna said, shaking her head. “Of course my brother would not tell me I had my own money. Damn him.”
“Yes,” Westhaven agreed, pulling her to her feet. “Damn him to the coldest circle of hell, and Baron Lardbucket with him. You still look like you need a nap.”
“I do need a nap,” Anna sighed and looked down at his hand linked with hers. There was something she needed much more than a nap, but the earl was apparently not of like mind. Well, damn him, too.
“I’ll leave you, then,” Anna said, chin up, tears threatening.
“You will see me at dinner,” the earl warned her. “And Dev and Val, as well.”
She nodded, and he let her go.
Now what in blazes, the earl wondered, could make a sane woman cry upon learning she was financially very well off indeed?
For his part, the knowledge was more than justification for tears. When Anna thought herself penniless and facing lawsuits, she hadn’t accepted his offer of marriage. How much more hopeless would his situation be when she had the coin to manage without him entirely?
Anna presented herself freshly scrubbed for dinner, but she’d slept most of the afternoon away first. She had not joined all three brothers for a meal previously and found them to be formidably charming, the earl less overtly so than Val and Dev.
“So what will you do with your wealth?” Dev asked. “The only suitable answer is: Buy a horse.”
“She could buy your stud farm,” Val remarked, “and then some.”
“I will look after my grandmother and my sister,” Anna said. “Nothing else much matters, but I would like to live somewhere we can grow some flowers.”
“Will you move back north?” Val asked, his smile faltering.
“I don’t know. All of my grandmother’s friends are there; my best memories are there.”
“But some difficult memories, too,” the earl suggested, topping up her wine glass.
“Some very difficult memories. I’ve always thought it made more sense to grow flowers in a more hospitable climate, but the need for them is perhaps greater in the North.”
“Will you grow them commercially?” Dev asked.
“I simply don’t know,” Anna said, her gaze meeting the earl’s. “Until things are resolved, and until I have a chance to sort matters through with Grandmama and Morgan, there is little point in speculating. Shall I leave you gentleman to your port and cigars?”
“I never learned the habit of smoking,” the earl said, his brothers concurring. “Would you perhaps rather join us in a nightcap, Anna?”
“Thank you, no.” Anna stood, bringing all three men to their feet. “While your company is lovely, my eyes are heavy.”
“I’ll light you up,” the earl offered, crooking his arm at her. Anna accepted it, taking guilty pleasure in even that small touch. When they were safely out of earshot, the earl paused and frowned at her. “You aren’t coming down with something, are you?”
“I am just tired.”
“You have every right to be.” He patted her hand, and Anna wanted to scream. She held her tongue though, until they’d gained her bedroom.
“Is this how it’s to be, Westhaven?” She crossed her arms and regarded him as he lit her candles.
“I beg your pardon?” He went on, carefully lighting a candelabra on her mantle.
“I am suddenly a sister to you?” Anna began to pace. “Or a stranger? A houseguest to whom you are merely polite?”
“You are not a sister to me.” The earl turned to face her, the planes of his face harsh in the muted light. “But you are under my protection, Anna, as a guest. You are also a woman who has repeatedly told me my honorable intentions are not welcome. I will not offer you dishonorable intentions.”
“Why not?” she shot back, wishing her dignity was equal to the task of keeping her mouth shut. “You certainly were willing to before.”
“I was courting you,” he said, “and there were lapses, I admit. But our circumstances are not the same now.”
“Because my grandfather was an earl?”
“It makes a difference, Anna.” Westhaven eyed her levelly. “Or it should. More to the point, you are likely to be the victim of another attempted kidnapping in the near future, and your brother is guilty of misfeasance, at the very least.”
“You can’t prove that,” Anna said. But more than fatigue, what she felt was the weight of the earl’s withdrawal.
He walked over to her, hesitated then reached up to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear. “You are tired, your life is in turmoil, and while I could importune you now, it would hardly be gentlemanly. I have trespassed against you badly enough as it is and would not compound my errors now.”
“And would it be ungentlemanly,” Anna said, turning her back to him, “to simply hold me?”
He walked around to the front of her, his eyes unreadable.
“Get into your nightclothes,” he said. “I’m going to fetch you some chamomile tea, and then we’ll get you settled.”
Anna just stood in the middle of her room for long minutes after he’d left, her heart breaking with the certain knowledge she was being humoredby a man who no longer desired her. She desired him, to be sure, but desire and willingness to destroy a good man’s future were two different things.
Still, it hurt terribly that while she missed him, missed him with a throbbing, bodily ache, he was not similarly afflicted. She had disappointed him then refused his very gentlemanly offers and now he was done with her, all but the wrapping up and slaying her dragons part.
“You are ready for bed,” the earl said, carrying a tray with him when he rejoined her. “Your hair is still up. Shall I braid it for you?”
She let him, let him soothe her with his kindness and his familiar touch and his beautiful, mellow baritone describing his conversation with his father and the various details of his day. He lay down beside her on the bed, rubbing her back as she lay on her side. She drifted off to sleep, the feel of his hand on her back and his breath on her neck reassuring her in ways she could not name.
When she woke the next morning, it was later than she’d ever slept before, and there was no trace of the earl’s late-night visit.
Anna slept a great deal in the days that followed. Her appetite was off, and she cried easily, something that put three grown men on particularly good behavior. She cried at Val’s music, at notes Morgan sent her, at the way the odd-colored cat would sit in the window of the music room and listen to Beethoven. She cried when her flower arrangements wouldn’t work out, and she cried when Westhaven held her at night.
She cried so much Westhaven remarked upon it to his father.
“Probably breeding.” The duke shrugged. “If she wasn’t one to cry before but she’s crying buckets now, best beware. Does she toss up her accounts?”
“She doesn’t,” the earl said, “but she doesn’t eat much, at least not at meals.”
“Is she sore to the touch?” The duke waved a hand at his chest. “Using the chamber pot every five minutes?”
“I wouldn’t know.” The earl felt himself blushing, but he could easily find out.
“Your dear mother was a crier. Not a particularly sentimental woman, for all her softheartedness, but I knew we were in anticipation of another happy event when she took to napping and crying.”
“I see.” The earl smiled. There were depths to his parents’ intimacy he’d not yet glimpsed, he realized. Sweet depths, rich in caring and humor.
“Mayhap you do.” The duke’s answering smile faded. “And your mother was most affectionate when breeding, as well, not that she isn’t always, but she was particularly in need of cuddling and cosseting, much to my delight. If this woman is carrying your child, Westhaven, it puts matters in a different light.”
“It does.”
“I’m not proud to have sired two bastards”—the duke frowned—“though in my day, these things were considered part of the ordinary course. Times aren’t so tolerant now.”
“They aren’t,” Westhaven agreed, sitting down as the weight of possible fatherhood began to sink in. “I would not wish bastardy on any child of mine.”
“Good of you.” The duke smiled thinly. “The child’s mother is the one you’ll have to convince. Best not fret about it now, though. Things sometimes work themselves out despite our efforts.”
The earl barely heard him, so taken was he with the idea of creating a child with Anna. It felt right: in his bones it felt right and good. She would be a wonderful mother, and she would make him an at least tolerable father.
Papa.
The word took on rich significance, and the earl turned to regard his own sire.
“Weren’t you ever afraid?” he asked. “Ten children, three different women, and you a duke?”
“I wasn’t much of a duke.” The old man snorted. “Not at first. But children have a way of putting a fellow on the right path rather sooner than he’d find it himself. Children and their mothers. But to answer your question, I was fairly oblivious, at first, but then Devlin was born, and Maggie, and I began to sense my own childhood was coming to a close. I was not sanguine at this prospect, Westhaven. Many of our class regard perpetual childhood as our God-given right. Fortunately, I met your mother, and she showed me just how much I had to be fearful of.”
“But you kept having children. Fatherhood couldn’t have been all that daunting if you embraced it so frequently.”
“Silly boy.” The duke beamed. “It was your mother I was embracing. Still do, though it probably horrifies you to hear of it.”
“No.” Westhaven smiled. “It rather doesn’t.”
The duke’s smile faded. “More to the point, you don’t have a choice with children, Westhaven. You bring them into this world, and you are honor bound to do the best you can. If you are fortunate, they have another parent on hand to help out when you are inclined to be an ass, but if not, you muddle on anyway. Look at Gwen Hollister—or Allen, I suppose. She muddled on, and Rose is a wonderful child.”
