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

Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

C harles had very little time in which to ready the two additional servants’ rooms needed for more staff. These were in even worse repair than Mrs. Jenkins’s had been. Cuthbert and Pinky were repairing the windows in both as she hunted for furniture. Two beds were needed in each, narrow ones at that, and if she didn’t find any that fit she’d need Cuthbert to build her some. Tomorrow. Oh, it was a headache to be a housekeeper!

Yet she was eating well—they all were—thanks to Mrs. Jenkins. The Abbey’s new cook, at least, was a bright spot in the house and Charles was grateful for the female company. She’d avoided Lord Wells since their last fraught conversation, and she’d avoided Cuthbert too, embarrassed by the tears she’d let flow on his shoulder. He was a decent enough fellow, she’d decided, and his crew of men also more decent than first assumed. They certainly treated her better now that she had introduced them to Miss Griswald. Charles would need to pay the village madam a call again to find out how well that arrangement was going.

She was surprised, however, that his lordship continued to work the south wall alongside Adams’s men. She thought by now he’d tire of such hard labor, but it seemed he’d tired of her instead. It had been three days since she’d last shared his bed—not that she minded. And not that she’d be able to anyway, now that her courses had started. It was an added nuisance to wash the bloody rags, but at least she wasn’t with child.

And thank heavens for that.

Cuthbert had also brought her another letter from Eleanor, which she’d devoured, relieved Father was well and that the food they’d been receiving had begun to fatten him up. She had the distinct impression his lordship’s steward enjoyed making deliveries to her sister, as if he were a little sweet on her. She certainly hoped not. Cuthbert may be rough around the edges, but underneath his gruff exterior he was a virile enough young man—and gentleman enough to court a woman properly, unlike Lord Wellesley.

Only she did not want Cuthbert courting Eleanor. She had greater plans for her sister.

Wells was accompanying his steward to the Merrinans, not quite an hour’s walk east of the Abbey. It was early and they moved at a brisk pace, Cuthbert with basket in hand while Wells read the letter only grudgingly handed him, as it was intended for Charles’s sister. John had protested the invasion of privacy, but Wells had insisted, ignoring his man’s deep frown.

“’T’ain’t right, sir,” his steward had muttered. “That were given me in good faith I’d deliver it t’ Miss Eleanor.”

“And deliver it you shall, John,” Wells had replied. “I am simply reading it before you do.”

“Oi, sir, readin’ a private letter not meant for anyone’s eyes but?—”

“Enough!” he’d ground out.

And Cuthbert had blessedly shut his trap.

Eleanor,

You cannot know my relief to receive your letter! It eases my heart, though your loss is keenly felt. I hold out hope Lord Wellesley will grant me leave to visit soon, but I must be patient, as he is not an easy master to read. I try, for the sake of us all, to remain in his good graces so that he continues to feed you and Papa this winter. That is my sole aim and desire, though I have surely offended him once too oft. I have vowed to do better and be better as housekeeper, but some days it is like a storm blows through me, Ellie. I wish I could be more even-tempered like you. I wish for so much in this world, too much, I know. Mama would scold me for even writing such words, but whom else can I confide in? I am lonely, sister, and dearly miss your counsel. Lately, I find myself in sore need of it.

So, Charles was lonely. And wished for far too much. Well, he was lonely too; lonely enough he’d taken her on as mistress. And God knew he wished for what he’d never get in this life: his freedom.

Mrs. Jenkins, at least, has me feeling less maudlin, for I am no longer the sole woman here at Almsdale, and there is comfort in that, as well as in her dishes. Lord Wellesley is pleased with her too. Next week I will have more help: Ginny Maines for laundry, Ruby Barrows for housemaid, and Clarice Helmsworth and Marta Brooks for scullery and kitchen. All girls I can depend on. And so the Abbey slowly becomes a house befitting of a future duke. It is hard work though, Ellie, work I was not raised to. I manage as best I can, but some days when I think of Mama and all she dreamt for us, I ache.

Yet I must share with you my little plan, and believe me when I promise it will indeed come true. I shall set aside my wages for as long as possible. You will have a season, as Mother always wished, to find yourself a good and honorable match. And when you do, you will become the lady you were born, whom you were always meant to be.

A season? Wells paused in his reading. What the devil was she talking about?

I hope Cuthbert delivers you this missive soon. And that he is respectful when he visits. He is coarse, but kind. I think I might call him friend now, as much as any man might befriend a woman. He looks out for me, though, which is more than I can say for Lord Wellesley. Him I take great care to avoid.

Kiss Papa and write to me soon, I beg?—

Charles

***

John watched Wells refold the letter and roughly hand it back.

“And?” he asked.

“And what?” his lordship snapped.

“You find what y’ wanted, sir?”

“I found she despises me and is quite fond of you,” he said tersely.

John grinned. “Well I’ll be . . . Clever girl, t’ realize old Cuthbert ain’t the demon she thought.”

“Oh no.” His lordship chewed his lip. “She considers you her friend now, and me the devil himself, to avoid at all cost.”

“Well now, sir, I’m sure she don’t mean half o’ what she?—”

“What reason should she have to lie in a private letter to her sister?” He sounded hurt.

“I told you not t’ read the letter.”

“From now on you are to bring me all her correspondence, including that of her sister,” Wells ordered.

“I will not!”

“You will, as it is my direct order, John.”

“It’s abuse o’ power, is what it is.”

“You swore an oath to me, Cuthbert.”

“Oi,” he said, disgusted, “I did. Only that oath ne’er said I had t’ keep me mouth shut.” He increased his steps, looking to lose his lordship behind him and furious at Wells for such behavior. He was better than this, ought to be at least, because for this gel to get under his lordship’s skin was a sure sign Wells was not himself.

Yet there was Miss Eleanor, gliding towards him, a vision to behold. John promptly forgot all about Lord Wellesley.

“Mr. Cuthbert!” she exclaimed, swiftly taking his arm to walk him towards the house, not at all noticing his lordship some paces back. “So good of you to come, sir. I just put the kettle on before I went to fetch eggs. You’ll have a bite with us, won’t you?” She looked eagerly up at him.

“Don’t mind if I do, miss.” He smiled back, pleased as punch she took his arm so readily now. And then he remembered Wells, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Is something the matter, John?” she asked.

“ John already, is it?” came a voice from behind them, making Eleanor whirl about. “Didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis already, Cuthbert.” Wells spoke cuttingly as John hastened to make introductions.

“Lord Wellesley, if you’ll allow me, sir, this is Miss Eleanor Merrinan, sister t’ yer new housekeeper, Charles Merrinan.”

Eleanor’s eyes grew wide. “My lord.” She sank into the lowest curtsy John had ever seen a woman accomplish—holding it—until Wells gave her leave to rise.

“Please, Miss Eleanor, there is no need for you to prostrate yourself so.”

She rose, her face flushed. “Will you join us, my lord, for breakfast? We would be honored to have you as our guest.” And she bent her head again, meekly almost, making his lordship only more uncomfortable, John could tell.

“The honor, I am sure, is all mine, Miss Eleanor. Pray proceed.” Wells waved her forward, though she no longer took John’s arm but hurried up the hill to the house, no doubt wishing to reach her father first in order to prepare the old man for visitors.

Only it wouldn’t have mattered either way, because Mr. Merrinan already sat at the table, drooling, when they entered the house. He looked up bleary-eyed at Eleanor.

“Charles, dear, that you?” he asked.

“No, Papa, I am Eleanor,” she corrected. “Remember, Charles works at the Abbey now, for his lordship.”

“For his grace?” The fellow was confused, as usual. “Whatever does she do there, Ellie?”

“Not his grace, Papa, his grace’s son, Lord Wellesley. She is his housekeeper, Father. Now look sharp, for Mr. Cuthbert has brought Lord Wellesley to visit us this morning. You are to address him accordingly, yes?” She nudged him again. “Father?”

Only his eyes had sunk in on themselves, all their light extinguished, as his chin dropped, in another stupor.

Eleanor looked to John, who smiled with reassurance, before she turned to Lord Wells. “You must forgive my father’s lack of decorum, my lord. Ever since our mother’s death he’s not been himself. He shall revive again as soon as I serve breakfast. I beg you, please be seated. I shall have plates ready in no time.” She curtsied again, hurrying out.

John sat down and indicated his lordship ought to do the same.

***

Wells followed his steward’s lead, seating himself across from Mr. Merrinan and looking about him in some shock. There were barely any furnishings in this house. In fact, it looked as if the very rugs had been sold from underfoot, in a home run down but decidedly more grand than he’d expected. It looked like a rural magistrate’s house, or a clergyman’s, roomy enough and hewn of stone, with a slate, rather than thatched roof. No wonder Adams had been by for repairs in past.

The walls were cracked, though patching had been attempted, and faded plaster showed where paintings once had hung. Even the curtains were few and far between. His Fox had not lied; this dwelling confirmed her family had been starving.

Miss Eleanor returned with tea, but no milk or sugar, and out of politeness Wells did not remark. He’d keep his mouth shut this visit, for Charles’s sister was behaving with perfect grace; he’d make damn sure he did too.

Mr. Merrinan in that moment perked up, his eyes meeting Wells’s with surprise. “Wellesley?” he asked. “That you, man? How the devil do you look so young, sir, when I am grown so old?” He laughed.

Wells frowned but Cuthbert interrupted before he could reply. “Mr. Merrinan, sir, ’tis his grace’s son come t’ visit, not his father, the Duke. Lord Wellesley’s restoring Almsdale Abbey, sir, where yer daughter, Charles, is now housekeeper, remember?”

“Housekeeper?” The old man’s bushy brow knit with consternation. “Charles ought to be married and settled by now, not working as someone’s housekeeper.” He harrumphed. “Who does his grace think he is, employing my daughter as if she were some common?—”

Eleanor rushed in. “Father!” she hissed from the door. “You will address Lord Wellesley respectfully, sir, or I shall send you to your room.” She threw Wells a worried glance. “Charles is fortunate to have the position she does at the Abbey and Lord Wellesley has been kind enough to keep us both fed, so you”—she almost lost her temper—“keep your thoughts to yourself, Papa.” She nearly spilled the cup she pushed at him. “Drink your tea,” she hissed again, apologizing profusely, “My lord, he is not of right mind anymore, you mustn’t take what he says personally. I am terribly sorry if he offended in any way, truly.” Her gaze pleaded.

Wells smiled kindly at her. “No offense taken, miss. I promise not to mind a thing he says, have no fear.”

She breathed a sigh of relief before disappearing again into the kitchen.

Wells met Cuthbert’s eye. “I see now what you meant.”

His man nodded. “He’s right befuddled, he is.”

Yet the old fellow was back within moments. “Duke’s boy, eh?” Merrinan eyed Wells closely. “I remember when he was but a lad, came to visit us he did, ran around with Charles out back.” He again laughed. “All grown up I see.” He sank back into thought. “Eleanor, where is Mother?” he suddenly called out. “She ought to be here with our guests. Go and fetch her, dear. And where is Charles? That girl is never where she’s needed. She’ll be the death of me, she will.”

Eleanor returned bearing food, serving Wells first and then Cuthbert. “Father, Mother is not well, remember? And Charles is tending to her, so you must entertain our guests. Be good, now, and I shall bring your plate.”

She looked to Cuthbert, who took it upon himself to speak.

“Mr. Merrinan, it’s right fine weather we’re havin’ this fall, wouldn’t you say, sir?”

“Weather?” The old man glared at Cuthbert. “The weather is beastly out here, man. Stole my wife it did, took her from me, my love.” His eyes filled with tears, making Cuthbert look as though he rued the words he’d just said.

“Tell me, sir, did you know my father, the Duke of Allendale?” Wells interrupted, hoping to divert the old man’s thoughts while curious as to his past.

“Know him?” Merrinan scoffed. “Served beside him I did! Two bloody campaigns!” He shook his head. “Tell me, does he love his hounds still? The man could talk for hours on end about his?—”

“Father.” Eleanor glared daggers at him as she put down his plate. “Eat,” she urged, and then stepped away, asking, “More tea, gentlemen?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Cuthbert smiled at her.

“No, thank you, miss, though breakfast is delicious.” Wells did his best to remain polite, yet he was disappointed she’d interrupted the old man’s ramblings.

“Where the devil is Charles?” Merrinan suddenly looked up. “Charles! Girl, where are you?” he shouted with more force.

Eleanor rushed over. “Papa, keep your voice down, we’ve guests. Charles is not here, she’s tending to Mama. You mustn’t shout. It is unseemly.”

Wells suddenly felt bad for this girl, to have to manage her old man, though it was also a labor of love, he could tell.

“Your daughter, Charles, is a fine woman, Mr. Merrinan. She keeps house well and plays a keen game of chess,” he told him.

“’Course she does, smart as a whip,” he answered, frowning. “Taught her myself, I did. Knows Latin, Greek, and French as well. She’ll make you a fine wife, Your Grace. Would please your father immensely, I’m sure. Glad we had this talk.”

Cuthbert’s jaw dropped as Eleanor’s face turned beet red. The sudden silence in the room was deafening until Wells rescued the moment, looking at Eleanor with assurance before he turned to her father.

“I am honored, sir, that you should find me worthy, and promise always to take care of your daughter, you have my word.” He ignored his racing pulse.

Charles’s sister exhaled a breath even as her father’s face relaxed, sank to the table, and with a crash, landed in his plate, a jagged snore erupting. She gently removed the plate from under his face and motioned to Cuthbert for help. The two of them each took an arm to drag him from the table into the next room, where they gently laid him upon his bed.

Wells, meanwhile, shook his head at the thought that this confused old man considered his daughter worthy of a duke’s son. And then he felt bad for deceiving the befuddled fellow, even if it had seemed best to lie in the moment rather than upset him more.

When Eleanor returned with Cuthbert she still looked pained. Wells decided to speak with her alone before they left.

“Miss Eleanor, would you do me the honor of a walk about the garden while we leave John to clean up?”

“Why . . .” She turned to Cuthbert in confusion, who merely nicked his head in accord. “Why, of course, my lord, allow me to fetch my shawl.”

“Yer Grace.” Cuthbert pulled him aside. “Be gentle with her, please. She’s not t’ blame for her old man’s daft words.”

“Of course she’s not to blame.” He frowned at his man. “What do you take me for, John?”

But Miss Eleanor had already returned to wait by the door, and Wells followed her out, leaving Cuthbert standing there with a worried expression plastered to his face.

“Thank you for being so gracious just now with my father, Lord Wellesley,” Miss Eleanor began. “He does not know whereof he speaks. I am so grateful my sister was not present to witness his . . .” She clearly could not bring herself to say it. “It would have embarrassed her greatly, I am sure.”

She looked at her feet as they walked, Wells accompanying her in a slow stroll about the house exterior, noting both the rot in the eaves and a gaping hole in the barn roof. He clasped his hands behind his back, as a gentleman would, and she walked careful of her step, with absolute propriety. He understood now why Cuthbert had called her a lady, for she truly was nothing like Charles.

“Miss Eleanor, it must be difficult for you, all alone here with your father, to care for him as you do. I admit I am sorry for having stolen your sister, as it were.” Wells grimaced a little as he said this.

“Oh no, my lord!” she effused. “We are extremely grateful for the position you’ve given Charles, truly. She is not like me, you see, and it has stifled her some, to be stuck here with the two of us.” She smiled at him, appearing to relax some. “She is much livelier than I, more . . . spirited. So I am glad she has something to occupy her, an entire household to manage, no less. It is surely challenging work, but Charles can do anything she sets her mind to, my lord. Why, without her I don’t know what we would have done when Mother . . .” She again looked down at her feet. “Forgive me, my lord, I do not mean to prattle on so.”

“Pray continue, miss. I could not agree more with your assessment of your sister’s abilities. I can only presume you miss her greatly.”

“Oh I do, sir. But Mr. Cuthbert’s visits help, for he is kind enough to bide a while when he comes. And when he delivers Charles’s letters it’s as if she visits me herself.”

The smile she beamed at him was so genuine, so radiant, he felt his heart warm to her. No wonder John was so enamored.

“Cuthbert is the best man I know, Miss Eleanor.” He surprised himself by the force of his words. “He is like a brother to me, for I have no siblings.”

“None, sir?” She looked shocked. “Then I am glad you have a friend in John.” She smiled again. “For to be without a friend in this world . . .” she trailed off. “It is indeed a sorry fate.”

“I am glad your sister has you, miss.” He smiled back. “She is lucky indeed.”

They lapsed into silence, but it was not an awkward one, and then Miss Eleanor wagered more.

“My lord, if I may be so bold as to ask you . . .”

He nodded.

“I know my sister can be outspoken, Lord Wellesley, and her letters have implied that you and she have been, well, in disagreement at times.”

He flashed his eyes at her.

“I do not mean to disparage you, sir, in saying this, truly. I meant only to ask if you might be patient with her, my lord, as she has not had it easy.” Eleanor dropped her gaze. “Were it not for Charles, Lord Wellesley, we’d never have survived our escape from London I am sure.”

“London?” He raised his brow. “You lived in London before coming here?”

“Why yes.” She frowned. “How else do you think my sister came to be so accomplished, my lord?”

“She said she was a native of Cumberland, miss.”

“And so she is, sir, so are we all.” She blinked at him. “But we spent winters in London, with my mother’s family, and only summers here.”

It suddenly made sense. “And when your mother passed, you no longer went back?”

A shadow crossed her face. “She passed away here, sir, in childbirth. When we returned to London, to her parent’s house, they . . .” She faltered. “It is in the past, my lord, and we are simply grateful to be a family still.” She smiled at him once more. “Charles was scant fifteen at the time and I but ten, so she mothered me, you see.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Miss Eleanor. Your father must have loved his wife very much, to have been affected so deeply by her death.”

“Yes.” Her smile pinched. “She loved him enough to . . .” Yet again she stopped herself. “It was so long ago, my lord, it seems another lifetime I am sure.”

Wells could tell she was done talking. It was also time he left.

“I must return to Almsdale, Miss Eleanor. Business awaits, I’m afraid.” He brought her hand to his lips. “Tell Cuthbert I have gone, he needn’t catch up. Let him finish in the kitchen for you.” He winked at her, making her eyes widen. “You might even offer him another cuppa,” he continued, “for he likes to sit and chat, especially with a lady as pretty as yourself, I’m sure.”

Which made her blush and fumble another deep curtsy, as Wells hurried off to make his way back to the Abbey, a multitude of thoughts crowding his mind.