The Fox: in his Henhouse (The Dubious Mates #1)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

W ells rolled up his sleeves as he approached the worksite, the crack of stone being hewn punctuating the brisk morning air. He spotted Adams and made his approach.

“Put me to work, sir. I’ve a need for it.”

“Milord, I don’t know as ’tis wise for?—”

“I don’t care if it’s wise, man,” Wells stated gruffly. “I pay your wages and I’ll work my own wall if I please.”

“As y’ like, Wells.” Adams dared the informal. “Only if y’ work my styan, y’ work for me too, sir.”

The two men’s gazes met.

“I’ll not have no Duke’s heir do wrong by my wall, even if he’s t’ one as is payin’ for it.”

Wells’s scowl tipped into a grin. “Sir, ’tis why I hired you. Now put me to work, Adams.”

And with a smirk, the good man did.

Almsdale’s new cook arrived at noon by wagon, her belongings stacked high behind her. Charles watched Mrs. Jenkins approach—seated ramrod straight beside Cuthbert—then remembered to pull off her hastily made apron before she ran downstairs to greet her. As she hurried across the courtyard, patting her hair into place, she passed Mr. Adams at work on the south wall and waved up to him as he waved back. And then she nearly tripped her feet, for she could have sworn she’d stared straight at his lordship’s muscular back, lifting stone beside another man.

Adams climbed down from the scaffold. “Good day, Miss Merrinan.”

“Mr. Adams.” Charles nicked her head.

“That Mrs. Jenkins I spy, t’ be Lord Wellesley’s new cook?” He nodded towards the wagon.

“It is indeed, sir.” Charles suppressed a proud smile. “And his lordship’s not a clue how sporney he is.”

“Nor you, miss.” Adams’s eyes sparkled back, looking her over in approval. They both knew how fine a chef Jenkins was, just as Charles knew Adams’s roving eye meant no harm. The stonemason remained an incorrigible flirt, but the benign sort: married. “You’ll be eatin’ well now, miss. Cuthbert’ll be pleased too.”

“Aye.” She grinned. “’Tis a grand day for us all.” But her smile faded fast as she looked back at the Abbey’s wall. “Mr. Adams, I could have sworn I saw Lord Wellesley . . .” Charles worried her bottom lip. “Surely he is not laboring alongside your men, sir?”

Adams winked. “Surely is.” He lowered his voice. “Came out all in a fratch this mornin’ and said I were t’ put him t’ work. Said I could even order him about.” He looked near gleeful telling her this.

Charles’s jaw slacked.

“Couldn’t believe my ears, I know,” he told her. “But he’s no dosser, miss. He’s worked hard as any gadgie this day, and I’m grateful t’ have him. We’ll make good progress if he keeps this up.”

She was still stunned Lord Wellesley would dirty his hands at stonework.

Adams met her eye. “So you make sure he gets a good rest after, miss. A hot bath I should think for sore muscles, and Mrs. Jenkins’s fine supper for his belly with a glass or two of his cellar’s best. I’d like Wells back at work t’morrow, if you catch my drift.”

In wonder, Charles watched his lordship continue to work. He was so focused on his task he was oblivious to her presence in the yard.

“Aye, Mr. Adams, I’ll turn down his bed with an extra pillow tonight. He’s sure to need it.” She was still staring, making Adams stare back at her.

“Well get on then, miss. Looks as if Jenkins is waitin’ for you t’ stop eyein’ his lordship and go greet her like t’ proper housekeeper you now is.”

Charles startled back into action, quickly striding over to welcome the new cook inside the Abbey in order to show the lady to her room—finished in the nick of time for her arrival.

True to form, Jenkins immediately began to order Cuthbert about, telling him where to put her things, and he did not look pleased. Charles had failed to mention that Mrs. Jenkins was not only a fine cook but a bossy cook, thinking it would do the Abbey’s ruffians good to have another woman here to keep them in line.

“Miss Merrinan, the room’s sommit lovely, right down to its rug. You’ve made me most welcome, dear,” the lady praised as she looked about.

“Ma’am, we are honored to have you cook for his lordship and welcome you to our staff.”

“Aye,” said Jenkins, “only where’s t’ rest of your staff, miss?” She frowned. “I’ll need a scullery at t’ least, not t’ mention a girl t’ help me chop.” Her face scrunched. “And just how many mouths am I t’ feed?”

It was Charles’s turn to frown. “Did you not discuss the particulars of your employment with Lord Wellesley, Mrs. Jenkins?”

“I did not.” The widow’s lips pursed. “I were told his housekeeper’d see t’ all my needs.”

Charles’s heart sank, thinking Wellesley had done this to her on purpose, the blackguard.

“Well,” she forced a smile, “I’m afraid his lordship failed to mention such detail to me , but I will discuss matters with him today in order to procure you more help, Mrs. Jenkins. There are nineteen of us currently at the Abbey, including yourself, and with the exception of we ladies and his lordship’s steward, Mr. Cuthbert, the only person you need truly cook for is Lord Wellesley. The rest can eat swill for all I care,” she added under her breath.

“Good t’ know, Miss Merrinan.” The widow grinned. “Looks like I’ll be cookin’ for four then, and merely feedin’ t’ other fifteen.”

Charles smiled. “I think we shall get on well together, ma’am.” She made for the door. “I’ll let you unpack before I show you the kitchen.”

“And your room, miss?” the widow called after her. “Should I need t’ find you?”

“I shall show you that as well, yes.” Charles hurried downstairs to grab paper and ink to start another long list. She intended to sit down with Lord Wellesley that evening to make a few things abundantly clear.

“Madam,” Wells started, his mouth crammed full of food as he simultaneously attempted to swallow and speak, for he was that hungry after the day’s labor—and his palate that pleased. “You’ve outdone yourself, truly.” He gobbled another mouth-watering bite. “I am beyond impressed.” His satisfied smile made the widow beam.

“Well then, you enjoy your meal, milord. Looks as if you’ve earned it.” She took in his disheveled state with a critical eye as Wells looked down at his rolled-up shirtsleeves and recalled the scratch marring his cheek. The scratch still smarted.

“Mmm.” He tried to speak again. “Best damn meal I’ve had in months.” He checked himself. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Jenkins.”

“No offense taken, milord.” She gave him a bright smile. “Miss Merrinan said you’d appreciate my cookin’, and I see now as she were right.”

Only at the mention of his housekeeper Wellesley’s humor turned; he was still hurt by her behavior from the morning.

“Has she seen you well settled, madam?”

“She has, sir. A fine housekeeper you’ve hired in Charles. Everyone knows that girl for t’ good head on her shoulders. Smartest young lady for miles, t’ come from sech family as hers.”

But before he could ask what she meant by ‘such family,’ Miss Merrinan herself appeared, stopping short at the doorway to see him still shoveling food into his mouth.

She proceeded to ignore him. “Mrs. Jenkins, I came to enquire if?—”

“If it were time for dinner? Aye.” The widow laughed. “Only his lordship here found me first, and starvin’ man that he were, set t’ eatin’ afore I could even set him a proper plate.”

Charles scowled at Wells, who chose to ignore her too.

“Well, you let me know when he has finished”—the impertinent miss spoke right over his head—“and then I’ll send the others up with Cuthbert.” She paused. “And if you’d like to dine separately with me, Mrs. Jenkins, you may find it considerably more agreeable than sharing a table with Almsdale’s horde .”

And out she flounced as Wells continued his meal, deciding he was not done being angry at her, either.

Later that evening, as Wells soaked his aching body in the delicious hot bath he’d found waiting in his room, his housekeeper marched in unannounced. She had her ledger in hand and pulled up a chair beside him.

“You might have knocked,” he muttered.

“And you might have sent me away.”

“I may still.”

“Then I’d best be quick.” She tossed him a look as he sank below the water, refusing to respond to her sass.

When he eventually came up he found her still there, glaring at him. “Go on then,” he growled, “out with it.”

“You did not tell me Mrs. Jenkins required a scullery and sous-chef.”

“Well that’s a housekeeper’s job to figure out, now isn’t it?”

“I can hardly figure something out when I am denied information, my lord.”

“Really?” He raised a brow. “And here I thought you clever, Charles.”

He watched her swallow, as if debating her retort.

“We are going to require additional staff, my lord, if you wish to see Almsdale restored sooner rather than later.”

Wells found her formal tone amusing.

“There will be more laundry now, and if I’m to prepare more rooms, I shall need help cleaning. I will need at least two more girls to handle this work, plus the two Jenkins needs in her kitchen, and if you wish to entertain, my lord, we will need footmen as well, for I do not think a single one of your men capable of?—”

He cut her off. “I shall not be entertaining.” Then he promptly sank back underwater and remained there a good long while. When he resurfaced, he saw alarm etched on her face.

Wells could hold his breath for ages. What he could not always hold was his tongue. “Why must you pester me with household details, woman, when I wish only to relax in my bath?”

She harrumphed. “I beg your pardon, my lord, for simply doing my job.” She got up to leave. “I take it you approve the cost of hiring four additional staff?”

He waved her away, closing his eyes. “Yes, yes.”

“And I may hire whom I like without receiving your approval first?”

“Yes, of course. You’re housekeeper here, aren’t you?” He was in no mood to discuss matters further.

“Very good, Lord Wellesley, enjoy your bath.” She closed the door with a pronounced slam as he filled his lungs and sank back under, the water drowning out her angry footsteps receding down the hall.