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“You are not and never were my guardian,” Anna said. “I was of age when Grandpapa died, and while you may control some of my funds, you never had legal control of me.”
“Seems the lady isn’t going to be going with you,” the earl said. “So you may leave, for now.”
“Now, my lord.” Helmsley shook his head. “Let’s not be hasty. I, too, brought proof of my claims with me. Perhaps Anna would like to read for herself what provision Grandpapa made?” With his left hand, he held out a second document, rolled and tied with a ribbon. As Anna took a step forward to snatch the document from his hand, the earl noticed Helmsley’s right hand was hidden in the folds of his coat.
“Anna, don’t!”
But his warning was too late. As Anna reached for the document, Helmsley reached for her, wrapping her tightly against his body, a gun held to her temple.
“That’s enough!” Helmsley jerked her hard against him, the document having fallen to the cobblestones. “Stull, come along. We’ve got your bride, and it’s time we’re going. Westhaven, you are free to call the magistrate, but we’ll be long gone, and when it comes down to it, your word against ours will not get you very far in criminal proceedings, particularly as a woman cannot testify against her spouse.” He wrenched Anna back a step, then another, keeping Anna between him and the earl.
A shot was fired, followed instantly by a second shot. Anna sagged against her brother but was snatched into Westhaven’s arms.
“I’m hit.” Helmsley’s hand went to his side, gun clattering to the cobblestones beside the document. “You bastard!” Helmsley shouted at St. Just in consternation. “You just shot me!”
“I did.” St. Just approached him, pistol still in hand. “As I most assuredly am a bastard, in every sense of the word, I suggest you do not give me an excuse to discharge my second barrel just to shut you up. Defense of a loved one, you know? Deadly force is countenanced by every court in the land on those grounds.”
“Val…” the earl’s voice was urgent. “Get Garner or Hamilton. Get me a damned physician. Anna’s bleeding.”
“Go.” Dev nodded at Val. “John Footman and I will handle these four until the constable gets here.”
Anna was weaving on her feet, the earl’s arm around her waist holding her up until she felt him swing her up against his chest. The earl was bellowing for Nanny Fran, and pain was radiating out from Anna’s shoulder, pain and a liquid, sticky warmth she vaguely recognized as her own blood.
“Hurts,” she got out. “Blazes.”
“I know,” the earl said, his voice low, urgent. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, but we’ll get you patched up. Just hang on.”
Sweetheart, Anna thought. Now he calls me sweetheart, and that hurt, too.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, though the pain was gaining momentum. “Just don’t…”
“Don’t what?” He laid her on the sofa in the library and sat at her hip while Nanny Fran bustled in behind him.
“Don’t go,” Anna said, blinking against the pain. “Quacks.”
“I won’t leave you to the quacks.” The earl almost smiled, accepting a pair of scissors from Nanny Fran. “Hold still, Anna, so we can have a look at the damage.”
“Talk.” Anna swallowed as even the earl’s hands deftly tugging and cutting at the fabric of her dress made the pain worse.
“What shall I talk about?” His voice wasn’t quite steady, and Anna could feel the blood welling from her shoulder and soaking her dress even as he cut the fabric away from her wound.
“Anything,” she said. “Don’t want to faint.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she heard the earl start swearing.
“Clean cloths,” Westhaven said to Nanny, who passed him a folded linen square over his shoulder. “Anna, I’m going to put pressure directly onto the wound, and it will be uncomfortable.”
She nodded, her face pale, her eyes closed. He folded the cloth over her shoulder and pressed, gently at first but then more firmly. She winced but said nothing, so he held the pressure steady until the cloth was soaked then added a second cloth on top of the first.
“Have we carbolic and basilicum?” the earl asked.
“We do,” Nanny Fran replied. “And brandy by the bottle.” She held her silence for long tense moments before peering over Westhaven’s shoulder again. “Ain’t bleeding so much,” she observed with grudging approval. “Best take a look.”
“Not yet,” the earl said, “not until the bleeding stops. Time enough to clean her up later.”
By the time the physician arrived—Dr. Garner—Anna’s wound was no longer bleeding, and her shoulder had been gently cleaned up but no dressing applied.
“Capital job,” the physician pronounced. “It’s a deep graze, right over the top of the shoulder. Few inches off, and it would have been in the neck or the lung. Looks as if the powder’s been cleaned adequately. You’re a lucky girl, Miss James, but you are going to have to behave for a while.”
He put a tidy dressing on the wound and urged rest and red meat for the loss of blood. He prescribed quiet and sparing laudanum if the pain became too difficult. He also pulled the earl aside and lectured sternly about the risk of infection. The doctor’s demeanor eased a great deal when the earl described the initial attention given the patient.
“Well done.” The doctor nodded. “Fairly will be proud of you, but your patient isn’t out of the woods yet. She needs peace and quiet, and not just for the wound. Violent injury takes a toll on the spirit, and even the bravest among us take time to recover.”
“And if she’s breeding?” the earl asked quietly.
“Hard to say.” The physician blew out a slow breath. “She’s young and quite sturdy, generally. Not very far along and strikes me as the sensible sort. If I had to lay odds, I’d say the child is unaffected, but procreation is in hands far greater than ours, my lord. All you can do is wait and pray.”
“My thanks.” Westhaven ushered the doctor to the front door. “And my thanks, as well, for your efforts with my father. I know he hasn’t been an easy patient.”
“The old lords seldom are.” The doctor smiled. “Too used to having their way and too concerned with their dignity.”
“I’ll try to remember that”—the earl returned the smile—“should I ever be an old lord.”
When the doctor was on his way, Stull and Helmsley had been taken into custody, and the household settling down, the earl was surprised to see evening was approaching. He made his way to Anna’s sitting room and the small bedroom beyond it.
“I’ll sit with her, Nanny,” the earl said, helping the older woman to her feet. “Go have a cup of tea; get some fresh air.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Nanny bustled along. “Cuppa tea’s just the thing to settle a body’s nerves.”
Westhaven frowned at his patient where she reclined on her pillows. “I hate that you’re hurt.”
“I’m none too pleased about what happened either,” Anna said. “But what, exactly, did happen?”
“Your brother attempted to abduct you,” the earl said, taking the seat Nanny had vacated. “St. Just deterred him by means of a bullet, but the gun your brother had trained on you discharged, as well.”
“You mean my brother shot me?”
“He did. I cannot say it was intentional.”
“How is he faring?” Anna asked, dropping his gaze.
“He’s gut shot, Anna,” the earl said gently. “We sent him Dr. Hamilton, whom I believe to be competent, but his prognosis is guarded, at best.”
“He’s wounded and in jail?” Anna said, her voice catching.
“He’s enjoying the hospitality of the Crown at a very pleasant little house St. Just owns, with professional nursing care in addition to armed guards. He is a peer, Anna, and will be cared for accordingly.”
It was more than Helmsley deserved.
“Anna.” The earl’s hand traced her hairline gently. “Let me do this.”
Sh
e met his gaze and frowned, but he wasn’t finished. “Let me put matters to rights for you. I will take care of your brother and see to final arrangements if any need be made. If you like, I will notify your grandmother and have her escorted south. We can do this in the ducal traveling coach, in easy stages, I promise.”
“Do it, please,” Anna said, wiping at her eyes with her left hand. “My thanks.”
“Anna.” Westhaven shifted to sit at her left hip and leaned down over her. He carefully cradled her cheek with his left hand and tucked her face against his neck. “It’s all right to cry, sweetheart.”
She wiggled her left arm out from between them and circled his neck, pulling him close, and then turned her face into his warmth and wept. Unable to move much beyond that, her tears streamed from her eyes into her hair and onto the earl’s cheek. He held her and stroked her wet cheeks with his thumb, letting her cry until his own chest began to ache for her.
Westhaven levered up enough to meet her gaze. “You must allow me to manage what I can for you now. All I want is to see you healed, the sooner the better.”
“For now, have you a handkerchief, perhaps?”
“I do.” He produced the requisite handkerchief and wiped at her cheeks himself before tucking it into her left hand. “And I am willing to read you Caesar, beat you at cribbage, discuss interior decoration with you, or speed your recovery by any means you please.”
“I am to be served my own medicine,” Anna said ruefully.
“Or perhaps you’d like to be served something to eat? Maybe just some toast with a little butter or jam, or some soup?”
“Toast and butter, and some cold tea.”
“It will be my pleasure.” The earl rose and left her. And Anna felt his absence keenly. Nanny Fran was dear, but she muttered and fussed and did very little to actually ensure the patient was comfortable. The earl returned, bearing a tray with cold tea, buttered toast, a single piece of marzipan, and a daisy in a bud vase.
“You brought me a flower.” Anna smiled, the first genuine smile she’d felt in ages.
“I have been trained by an expert.” The earl smiled back. He stayed with her while she ate then beat her at cribbage. When night fell, he asked Val to play for her, the slow, sweet lullabies that would induce a healing sleep. When she woke in the night, he got her to the chamber pot and back into bed and held her left hand until she drifted off. Nanny Fran shooed him out the next morning, but by early afternoon he was back.
When Dr. Garner reappeared to check the wound, the earl stayed in the room, learning how to replace the dressing and how to identify the signs of proper healing. For three more days, he was by her side, until Anna was pronounced well enough to sit in the gardens and move about a little under her own power.
On the fifth day, the duchess came to call with Morgan. While Anna and Morgan chatted volubly in the back gardens, the duchess took her son aside and pointed out some difficult truths.
Anna was the acknowledged granddaughter of an earl, and the danger of infection was diminishing with each day.
Morgan missed her sister.
The earl’s offers of marriage had been rejected not once but several times.
The earl was running a bachelor establishment, not just for himself but for his two equally unmarried brothers.
Something was going to have to be done, the duchess concluded, her preferred something obvious to her son.
“Give me a couple more days,” the earl reasoned. “Anna is still uncomfortable, and even a short carriage ride will be difficult for her.”
“I can understand that,” the duchess said, “and she deserves some notice of a change of abode, but, Westhaven, what will she do now?”
“We’ve discussed it, we’ll discuss it some more. Plan on receiving her the day after tomorrow before tea time.”
“Morgan will be very pleased.” The duchess rose. “You are doing the right thing.” The earl nodded, knowing his mother spoke the truth. It was time to let Anna get on with her life and to stop hoarding up memories of her for his own pleasure.
Her convalescence had been pleasant. They’d spent hours together, mostly talking, sometimes reading. The earl worked on his correspondence while Anna slept or while she dozed in the shade of the gardens. They talked about the Rosecroft estate up in Yorkshire and the effect of her brother’s lack of heirs; they talked of Morelands and how pretty it was. He apprised her of the rebuilding of the stables at Willow Bend and brought her correspondence from the Marchioness of Heathgate and Gwen Allen, wishing her a speedy recovery.
When those good wishes made her cry, he lent her his handkerchief and his sturdy shoulder and brought her bouquets to cheer her up, and still, they did not talk about what mattered.
“Has my mother put you to rights?” the earl asked. He looked handsome to Anna, in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his cuffs turned back as he wandered onto the back terrace where she was enjoying the sunshine on a chaise.
“She clucked and fussed and carried on appropriately,” Anna said. “I am to make a speedy and uneventful recovery by ducal decree.”
“Your grandmother will be here late next week, you know, if all goes well.” Westhaven sat on the edge of her chaise, regarding her closely. “You don’t look so pale, I’m thinking.”
“I don’t feel so pale,” she assured him. “I’ve not taken the time to just sit in the sun for more than two years, Westhaven. It’s bad for one’s ladylike complexion, but in the North, we crave the sun.”
“Will you be going back there?”
Anna fingered the cuff of her sleeve. “I do not want to. I want to remember Rosecroft as it was in my grandfather’s day, not in the neglect and disrepair my brother allowed.”
“You don’t ask about him,” Westhaven said, taking her hand.
“I assume he is malingering.”
“He is not doing well. It’s to be expected.”
“And Stull?”
“Made bond. But seems content to await trial at the Pig. I did bring trespass charges, just for the hell of it, and assault and conspiracy to assault in your name, as well.”
“Will any of it stick?”
The earl smiled, and the expression had a lot of big, white, sharp teeth to it. “It’s a curious thing about assault, but it’s both a tort and a crime.”
“A tort?” Anna frowned.
“A civil wrong for which the law provides a remedy.” The earl quoted. “Like, oh, slander, libel, and the like.”
“You are saying I can sue him personally, not just bring criminal charges?”
“You already have,” the earl informed her. “On the advice of the duke, of course.”
“Why would I do such a thing, when lawsuits take forever to resolve, and all I want is to be shut of that man immediately?”
“Civil matters are often settled with money judgments, Anna, and while you might think you have sufficient capital, Morgan might not be of the same mind, nor your grandmother.”
“I see.” Anna pursed her lips. “I trust your judgment, Westhaven. Proceed as you see fit.”
“I will,” he said and brought her hand up sandwiched between both of his. “There’s something else we need to discuss, Anna.”
“There is?” She watched him matching their hands, finger for finger.
“Your grandmother will be scandalized to find you dwelling with three bachelors, and my mother has reminded me Morgan is worried about you.”
“Morgan just visited, and my grandmother will hardly be scandalized to find I’m alive and well.”
“Anna…” He met her gaze. “I’ve made arrangements for you to remove to the mansion the day after tomorrow, where you will complete your convalescence under my mother’s care.”
“Westhaven…” He rose abruptly, and Anna came to her feet more slowly. “Gayle? Is this what you want?”
He looked up at her use of his name, a sad smile breaking through his frown.
“It is what must be, Anna.” He kept his hands in his pock
ets. He did not reach for her. “You are a well-bred young lady, and I am a bachelor of some repute. If it becomes known you are under my roof without chaperonage, then your future will be bleak.”
More bleak, Anna wanted to rail, than when Stull and Helmsley were hounding me across England?
“I will miss you,” Anna said, turning her back to him, the better to hide her tears. God above, she’d turned into a watering pot since getting involved with the earl.
“I beg your pardon?” He’d stepped closer, close enough she could catch his scent.
“I will miss you,” Anna said, whirling and walking straight into him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and clung, while his arms gently closed around her. “I will miss you and miss you and miss you.”
“Oh, love.” He stroked the back of her head. “You mustn’t cry over this. You’ll manage, and so will I, and it’s for the best.” She nodded but made no move to pull away, and he held her as closely as her wounded shoulder would allow.
In the library, Val looked up from rummaging for a penknife and frowned at Dev.
“Are you peeking?” Val asked, moving to stand beside his brother at the window.
“Enjoying my front-row seat,” Dev replied, scowling. “I do not understand our brother, Valentine. He loves that woman and would give his life for her. But he’s letting her go, and she’s letting him let her go.”
“Could be a flanking maneuver.” Val watched as Anna cried her heart out on Westhaven’s shoulder. The couple was in profile, though, so when Westhaven bent his head to press his lips to her temple, the expression on his face was visible, as well.
“Come away.” Val tugged at Dev’s sleeve, and Dev left the window. “We should not have seen that.”
“But we did see it,” Dev said. “Now what are we going to do about it?”
“We will not meddle,” Val said. “We are not the duke, Devlin. I have every confidence Westhaven will let Anna catch her breath and then approach her properly.”
“Why wait?” Dev pressed. “They love each other now. And I have my suspicions as to why Anna cries so easily these days. I am years your senior, and I can recall the duchess’s last few confinements.”