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usually served with the evening meal.” She busied herself with substituting fresh flowers for the wilted specimens as the fragrance of roses, lavender, and honeysuckle wafted around the room.
    Val eyed his brother. “Perhaps I will avail myself of your hospitality after all, Westhaven.”
    “I would be honored,” Westhaven said absently, though he noted the speculation in his brother’s eyes. Mrs. Seaton was humming a little Handel; Westhaven was almost sure it was from the Messiah . She turned to go but flashed them a smile and a little curtsy on her way.
    “Oh, Mrs. Seaton?” The earl stopped her two steps shy of the door.
    “My lord?”
    “You may tell the kitchen my brother and I will be dining in tonight, informally, and will continue to do so until further notice.”
    “Lord Valentine will be visiting?”
    “He will; the blue bedroom will do.” Westhaven turned back to the tray, still counting four pieces of marzipan.
    “Might I suggest the green bedroom?” Mrs. Seaton rejoined. “It has higher ceilings and is at the back of the house, which would be both cooler and quieter. Then too, it has a balcony.”
    The earl considered castigating her for contradicting him, but she’d been polite enough about it, and the back bedrooms were worlds more comfortable, though smaller.
    “As you suggest.” The earl waved her on her way.
    “That is a very different sort of housekeeper you have there,” Val said, when the library door had closed behind her.
    “I know.” Westhaven made a sandwich and checked again to make sure his brother hadn’t pilfered the marzipan. “She’s a little cheeky, to be honest, but does her job with particular enthusiasm. She puts me in mind of Her Grace.”
    “How so?” Val asked, making a sandwich, as well.
    “Has an indomitable quality about her,” Westhaven said between bites. “She bashed me with a poker when she thought I was a caller molesting a housemaid. Put out my lights, thank you very much.”
    “Heavens.” Val paused in his chewing. “You didn’t summon the watch?”
    “The appearances were deceiving, and she doesn’t know I’d never trifle with a housemaid.”
    “And if you were of a mind to before,” Val said, eyeing the marzipan, “you’d sure as hell think twice about it now.”
    “And what of you?” Westhaven paused to regard his brother. Val shared the Windham height and green eyes, but his eyes were a darker green, while Westhaven’s shade was closer to jade, and Val’s hair was sable, nearly black.
    “What of me?” Val buttered a fat muffin.
    “Are you bothering any housemaids, lately?”
    “Doing an errand for Viscount Fairly earlier in the season, I met an interesting woman out in Little Weldon,” Val said, “but no, I am more concerned with misleading His Grace than in having my ashes hauled.”
    “Don’t mislead him too well,” Westhaven cautioned. “There are those who are not tolerant of left-handed preferences.”
    “Well, of course there are,” Val said, “and they’re just the ones wondering what it would be like to be a little adventurous themselves. But fear not, Westhaven. I mince and lisp and titter and flirt, but my breeches stay buttoned.”
    “It appears,” Westhaven said, frowning as he reached for the marzipan, “mine will be staying buttoned, as well.”
    He bit into a plump, soft confection shaped like a ripe melon and stifled a snort of incredulity. His breeches would be staying buttoned, and the only thing he’d be twiddling would be his… thumbs.

Two
    T HREE RULES , A NNA REMINDED HERSELF WHEN SHE reached the privacy of her own little sitting room. There were three rules to succeeding with any deception, and old Mr. Glickmann had drilled them into her:
    Dress the part.
    Believe your own lies.
    Have more than you show—including an alternative plan.
    Today, she was remiss on all three counts, God help her. A housekeeper wore caps, for pity’s sake. Great homely caps, and gloves out of doors, and