“Three, and I wanted to speak with you about a practical matter.”

“Dinner is very practical.

“Dinner is… yes, well.” He glanced at the door. “I have commissioned a fair amount of furniture for Willow Bend, but the place needs drapes, carpets, and so forth. I’d like you to see to it.”

“You want me to order those things? Shouldn’t your mother or perhaps one of your sisters take that on?”

“Her Grace is bouncing between Town and Morelands and preparing for the summer’s house parties. My sisters have not the expertise, nor do I have the patience for working with them on a project of this nature.”

“But, my lord, one of them will eventually be living there. My tastes cannot possibly coincide with those of a woman I’ve never met.”

“Not possibly.” The earl smiled. “As yours will be better.”

“You should not say such things.” Anna’s frown became a scowl. “It isn’t gentlemanly.”

“It’s brotherly and the truth. Even I know salmon and purple don’t go together, but that’s the kind of scheme my sisters would consider ‘daring,’ or some such. And they would pester me endlessly, while you, as I know from firsthand experience, can turn a house into a home with very little guidance from its owner.”

“I will take this on,” Anna said, chin going up. “Be it on your head if the place turns out looking like one of Prinny’s bad starts. What sort of furniture have you commissioned?”

“Why don’t we finish this discussion in the library?” the earl asked. “I can make you lists, draw you some sketches, and argue with you without every single servant and both brothers hearing me.”

“Give me a few minutes to talk with Cook, and I will join you.”

“Twenty minutes, then.” The earl took his leave, going up to his bedroom, where he’d no doubt Stenson was attempting to address more than a week’s worth of others making shift with his responsibilities.

“Mr. Stenson?” The earl strode into the room without knocking—and why would he?—and caught the fellow actually sniffing the cravat discarded over the edge of the vanity mirror. “Whatever are you doing in my quarters?”

“I am your valet, my lord.” Stenson bowed low. “Of course I must needs be in your quarters.”

“You will stay out of here and busy yourself with Lord Val and Colonel St. Just instead.”

“Mr. St. Just?” Stenson might as well have said: That bastard?! But Dev would have great good fun putting Stenson in his place, so Westhaven added a few more cautions about the bad form exhibited by the lower orders when they couldn’t be bothered to knock on closed doors, and took his leave.

When he returned to the library, he did not immediately begin to list the furniture he’d ordered for Willow Bend. He instead wrote out an order to have all the interior locks above stairs changed and only two sets of keys made—one for him and his brothers, one for his housekeeper.

Sniffing his cravat, for God’s sake. What on earth could Stenson have been about?

The question faded as Westhaven spent two hours arguing good-naturedly with his housekeeper over matters pertaining to Willow Bend. That was followed by an equally enjoyable dinner with both of his brothers, during which he realized he hadn’t dined with them together since Victor had died months before.

“Will you two help me with my horses?” Dev pressed when they were down to their chocolates and brandy.

“If you insist.” Val held his snifter under his nose. “Though coming up from Brighton has left me honestly saddle sore.”

“I’ll be happy to pitch in, as Pericles can use light duty in this heat, but if I’m to be up early”—Westhaven rose—“then I’d best seek my bed. You gentlemen have my thanks for keeping Mr. Stenson busy, though I don’t think he was exactly pleased with the reassignment.”

“My shirts will be pleased,” Dev said. “It’s mighty awkward having to always wear one’s jacket and waistcoat because one’s seams are all in jeopardy.”

“And I found every mud puddle between here and Brighton just to make sure Mr. Stenson was gainfully occupied.”

“I am blessed in my brothers,” Westhaven said, leaving them with a smile.

“So tell me the truth,” Dev said, pushing the decanter at his youngest brother. “You are willing to ride with us because you think it would be good for Westhaven. Just like his housekeeper has been good for him.”

Val smiled and turned his glass around on the linen tablecloth. “It will be good for all of us, being together, living here, even if it’s only for a little while. I find, though, that I’ve sat too long here in the evening breezes.” He got to his feet and quirked an eyebrow at his oldest brother. “Shall we stroll in the moonlight?”

“Brother”—Dev grinned—“I have heard rumors about you.”

“No doubt,” Val said easily as they moved off. “They are nothing compared to what one hears about you.”

“And that gossip is usually true,” Dev said with no modesty whatsoever as they neared the mews. “Now why are we out here stumbling around in the night?”

Val turned and regarded his brother in the moonlight. “So I can remind you not to make disparaging remarks about Mrs. Seaton or her situation with Westhaven where anybody could overhear you. You know what the duke tried to do with the last mistress?”

“I’d heard about Elise. Then you are aware of a situation between Westhaven and Mrs. Seaton?”

“He’s considering marrying her,” Val said. “Or I think he is. They’re certainly interested in each other.”

“They’re a bit more than interested,” Dev said, rubbing his chin. “They were all but working on the succession when I came upon them in the library last night.”

“Ye gods. I came upon them in her sitting room this afternoon, door open, all hands in view, but the way they look at each other… puts one in mind of besotted sheep.”

“His Grace will be in alt,” Dev said on a sigh.

“His Grace,” Val retorted, “had best not get wind of it, unless you want Westhaven to immediately lose all interest.”

“Gayle wouldn’t be that stupid, but he would be that stubborn.” Dev tossed a companionable arm around Val’s shoulders. “This will be entertaining as hell, don’t you think? I’m not sure Westhaven’s wooing is entirely well received, and he has to go about it in stealth, winning the lady without alerting the duke. And we have front-row seats.”

“Lucky us,” Val rejoined. “Doesn’t working on the succession comport with welcoming a man’s suit?”

Dev’s grin became devilish. “That, my boy, is a common misunderstanding among the besotted male sheep of this world. And the female sheep? They like us befuddled, you know…”

“It’s a speaking tube,” Val explained. Morgan quirked an eyebrow at him, and he smiled reassuringly. “A lot of invalids take the sea air in Brighton,” he went on, “so the medical community is much in evidence there. I discussed your loss of hearing with a physician or two, and I’ve brought it up with Fairly, as well. He’d like to examine you, though he isn’t a specialist in the field of deafness.”