“You went north,” the earl repeated, needing and dreading to hear what came next.

“On her application,” Hazlit went on, “Mrs. Seaton put she was willing to work as a housekeeper or in a flower shop, which caught my eye. It’s an odd combination of skills, but it gave me a place to start. I took her sketches and what I knew, and wrote to a colleague of mine in York. Some answers essentially fell into my lap from there.”

“What sketches?”

“Mrs. Seaton goes to the park occasionally, the same as most of London in the summer,” Hazlit said. He opened a folder and drew forth a charcoal sketch that bore a striking resemblance to Anna Seaton.

“It’s quite good,” the earl said, frowning. Hazlit had caught not just Anna’s appearance but also her sweetness and courage and determination. Still, to think Hazlit had sketched this when Anna was unaware rankled.

“It is your property.” A flicker of sympathy graced Hazlit’s austere features.

“My thanks.” The earl set aside the portrait, and gave Hazlit his full attention. “What answers fell into your lap?”

“Some,” Hazlit cautioned, “not all. There are not charges laid against her I could find in York or London, but her brother is looking for her. Her name is Anna Seaton James, she is the oldest daughter of Vaughn Hammond James and Elva James nee Seaton, who both died in a carriage accident when Anna was a young girl. Her sister, Morgan Elizabeth James, was involved in the same accident and indirectly lost her hearing as a result. The heir, Wilberforce Hammond James, was the only son and resides at the family seat, Rosecroft, in Yorkshire, along the Ouse to the northwest of the city.”

“Granddaughter to an earl,” the earl muttered, frowning. “Why did Anna flee?”

“As best my colleague and I can piece together,” Hazlit replied, “the old earl tied up his money carefully, so the heir was unable to fritter away funds needed for the girls and their grandmother. The heir managed to do a deal of frittering, nonetheless, and I took the liberty of buying up a number of his markers.”

“Enterprising of you,” the earl said, reaching for the stack of papers Hazlit passed to him. “Ye Gods…” He sorted through the IOUs and markers, his eyebrows rising. “This is a not-so-small fortune by Yorkshire standards.”

“My guess, and it’s only a guess, is that Anna knows of the mishandling of her grandfather’s estate perpetrated by the present earl, and she made the mistake of trying to reason with her brother. Then too, the younger sister, Morgan, is very vulnerable to exploitation, and if a man will steal from his sisters, he’ll probably do worse without a qualm.”

“You manage to imply a host of nasty outcomes, Mr. Hazlit,” the earl observed, “though nothing worse than my imagination has concocted. Any advice from this point out?”

“Don’t let them out of your sight,” Hazlit said. “It is not kidnapping if you are a concerned and titled brother looking for sisters whom you can paint as flighty at best. He can snatch either one, and there will be nothing you or anyone else could do about it. Nothing.”

“Can he marry them off?”

“Of course. For Morgan, in particular, that would be simple, as she was arguably impaired by her deafness, and marriage is considered to be in a woman’s best interests.”

“Considered by men,” the earl replied with a thin smile. “Well, thank you, Hazlit. I will convince the ladies to remain glued to my side, and all will be well.”

Hazlit stood, accepting the hand proffered by the earl. “Better yet, marry the woman to someone you can trust to look out for her and to manage Helmsley. The situation could resolve itself quite easily.”

“You are not married, Mr. Hazlit, are you?”

“I do not at this time enjoy the wedded state,” Hazlit said, his smile surprisingly boyish. “I do enjoy the unwedded state.”

“Thus sayeth we all,” the earl said, escorting Hazlit to the front door. “Those of us in expectation of titles sometimes particularly enjoy the unwedded state—while we can.” Something briefly shone in Hazlit’s dark eyes—regret? Sympathy?—it was gone before the earl could analyze it.

“Good day, my lord,” Hazlit said, his eyes drifting to the huge bouquet on the table, “and good luck keeping your valuables safe.”

The earl retreated to his study, penned a note asking Val to return to the townhouse at his earliest convenience, and another thanking Heathgate for the recent hospitality. For all Hazlit had been informative, though, Westhaven had the sense there were still answers only Anna could provide.

So he sat for a long time, sipping his sweetened lemonade, contemplating the bouquet in the fireplace, and considering how exactly he could keep Anna Seaton—Anna James—safe when her valise was packed and sitting on her bed, just as it had been the night they’d been called out to Willow Bend.

When darkness was beginning to fall, Westhaven was pleased to see both his brothers would be joining him for dinner. Val, with music books, wardrobe, and horse in tow, had rejoined the earl’s household, claiming the duke was bloody well enough recovered to drive anybody to Bedlam.