“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 humored by 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.