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

Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A package from London had arrived early by post, and along with it another embossed ducal missive John delivered to his lordship, curious as to its contents.

“Leave the box, Cuthbert, I’ll unpack it later.” Wells had a gleam in his eye.

“And the letter, sir?”

His lordship grimaced. “Leave that for later, too. I’ll not have my mother ruin a perfectly good day. And John,” he added as he exited his bedroom, “give my regards to our housekeeper’s family. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to see her.”

Lord Wells headed for the south wall, to put in his labor before what looked to be a gathering storm, while John hastened to the kitchen in search of Charles. Along the way he pondered his master’s mood, for his grace had gone from foul to fair-tempered ever since the accident. John suspected Wells had made good again with his mistress, though he’d heard not a stitch more grumbling from the men, nor fresh complaints from the new girls, regarding loud ‘activities’ about the house. In fact, now that more staff had come on, Charles seemed positively rosy herself.

Which made him think of the housekeeper’s sister, picturing her rosy demeanor. He wished Miss Eleanor were his to keep warm nights, engaged in all manner of sweetness.

“Ready, Cuthbert?” Charles sidled up, disturbing his reverie. “You do realize I might deliver this basket myself, sir.”

He sniffed. “His grace don’t trust you that much, miss. I don’t care how well you two now get along.” He pinned her with a look.

“We get along just fine, yes.” She grinned back. “Fine enough that his grace is now letting me visit my family. So I dare not pick another fight with him, and least of all with you, John, who have been so kind to my father and sister.”

John blinked, afraid she’d read his thoughts about Eleanor, but then he straightened his spine. “’T’ain’t hard bein’ kind t’ folks what deserve it, miss.” He grabbed the basket waiting on Cook’s broad work table. “Come on then, let’s not dally.”

The walk went by quickly, and Charles reveled in the familiar steps that brought her ever closer to home. She was a little anxious, truth be told, for she’d not seen Ellie nor Papa for over two months. She also feared her face might give away too much of her new life at Almsdale; lately, she had only to think of Lord Wellesley before her skin prickled with awareness. Yet the moment she saw her sister standing at the doorstep, all fear vanished.

She rushed to embrace Eleanor.

“Why Charles, let me look at you, sister!” Ellie held her at arms’ length a moment. “Most proper indeed in new housekeeper dress—it suits you well.”

“And a fine job she does as housekeeper, too,” Cuthbert added in an uncustomarily friendly manner.

Eleanor granted the steward a warm smile. “Come in, both of you, come and sit.”

Within seconds it was as if no time had passed, and Charles greeted her father with a bear hug. “Papa, I’ve missed you so!” She almost wept her relief into his shoulder, the old man so stooped now she stood a full head taller than he.

“That you, Charles?” He looked at her and blinked. “Where’s Mother got off to? I don’t know why you are so happy to see me, girl, when but an hour ago you beat me roundly at chess.”

Charles laughed. “Of course I beat you, Father. I learned from the best.” She again hugged him to her tightly, not caring what reality his poor, befuddled mind might currently live and breathe.

Eleanor returned with tea to pour them all cups, then took Charles’s hand across the table, squeezing it a little. “Now sister, you must tell me everything that has happened these long weeks past.”

“Ellie, I’ve written everything in my letters. There’s not much else to tell.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Her eyes met Cuthbert’s. “John here says you’ve turned a new leaf with his lordship. Says he fancies you reformed.” She winked at Cuthbert, who looked mildly horrified by her candid manner.

“Did he now?” Charles shot daggers at John. “ Reformed is an awfully charged word, Ellie. Though I believe it is Lord Wellesley who is changed since the accident at the south wall.”

Cuthbert met Charles’s gaze a little sheepishly before he set down his cup. “Well, as I’ve a leakin’ roof to tend to in the barn, I’ll leave you to it.” He again smiled at Ellie, who smiled right back. A look not lost on Charles, that .

“Thank you, Cuthbert,” she told him. “We’ll not be long. The weather’s looked ominous all morning, so we ought not dally.”

“Oi.” He nodded. “Storm’s a brewing.” And out he strode.

Eleanor immediately launched in. “You look well, Charles, and well fed too. It must be Mrs. Jenkins’s cooking. Your cheeks are flush with health and . . .” She peered more closely. “But you are blushing, Charles. It is not health but something else which makes you glow. What has you blushing, sister?” She frowned. “What is it you are not telling me?”

Charles briefly panicked. “Nothing. I am simply overcome with joy to see you and father again.” She quickly changed tack. “And I blush, I think, to witness your response to John Cuthbert.” Charles met Ellie’s eyes with resolve. “What is it you are not telling me , Eleanor?”

***

Eleanor felt her own cheeks pink. “I assure you, Charles, I am merely grateful for John’s company.” She looked away. “You know what poor conversation Father is. John, however, listens to me, treats me like a thinking, feeling human. So of course I’ve grown somewhat . . .” She broke off. “Well I admit I am a little fond of him, I suppose.”

Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “Eleanor Merrinan, you must not allow yourself to grow any fonder of the man, promise me.” Charles’s tone was terse. “Cuthbert is decent enough, I’ll grant, but he is not of your caliber, Ellie. You are a lady, despite how you live, and you must not forget it. You will marry an upstanding gentleman one day with a respectable title, ample means, and?—”

“Stop, Charles,” she got out, her ire rising. “Stop at once. You are a lady too, yet embrace instead now your position in service to Lord Wellesley. You cannot insist on something for me which you do not insist for yourself, nor may you decide who it is I do or do not grow fond of.”

Her sister stared at her in shock, and Eleanor barely knew herself for the words that had so rashly tumbled from her mouth. She watched Charles pause her response, and in that pause Ellie felt awash with such concern and dismay she could stand it no longer. She burst into tears.

“Oh Charles, I do not wish to argue! You have only just arrived and already we are fighting. I don’t know what’s come over me of a sudden, only I couldn’t bear it if you were angry with me. I didn’t mean it, truly. I only meant that I . . . that since you left I’ve . . .”

Her sister gripped her hand. “You’ve grown up, Ellie, I see that now. It is I who must apologize.”

Eleanor hastily brushed back tears.

Charles continued. “I left you all alone, not by choice you understand. I am sure you figured that much out. Lord Wellesley has not trusted me till now to visit, else I would have come sooner, believe me. But perhaps it’s been good for you to fend for yourself here with Papa. I am proud you stayed strong in my absence, proud even that you now take me to task.” Charles finally smiled. “Let us not argue further, Ellie. My time here is short; I wish only to spend it with you happily.”

“As do I, Charles,” Eleanor exclaimed. “Nor do I blame you for what happened. I can scarce complain when we are well fed and nearly stocked for winter.” She looked down a moment. “I worry more for you than us, Charles, on your own with all those men at the Abbey. John tells me they are harmless, but I know how you turn heads.”

***

This was too close to the truth for Charles. “Ellie, I assure you, as housekeeper of Almsdale Abbey no one dares to disrespect me.”

“And Lord Wellesley?” Eleanor asked, not yet appeased. “Your letters describe him so varyingly I hardly know what to think of him. His visit to us was rather odd, was it not?”

Charles swallowed. “He puzzles me, yes. But so long as he is happy with my work and keeps you and father fed, I cannot complain.” She hoped this would spell the end of all such talk.

It did not.

“But your letters gave the impression you did not like him, and then they gave the impression that you did, and I am confused, is all, when you of all people rarely?—”

“Eleanor.” Charles took great care to compose her face. “I do not wish to discuss Lord Wellesley more. He is my employer, that is all. It matters little what I think of him and only what he thinks of me. And I certainly do not entertain thoughts of whether or not I like the man!”

***

Eleanor stared at her sister in surprise. Charles only ever raised her voice when inflamed, and the sentence she’d just uttered sounded altogether impassioned. Yet she knew better than to poke a dragon.

“Of course, Charles. I meant nothing by it, truly. He is a duke, after all, or as good as one. Forgive my indiscretion, please.”

“Oh Ellie, it is no indiscretion. It is only that?—”

Mr. Cuthbert returned just then with a worried look on his face. “Beg pardon, ladies, but we ought t’ leave at once.” He looked at Charles. “Storm’s headed quick; we’ll need t’ make haste t’ outrun it.”

Charles peered out the window at the darkening sky and at once rose from her seat. “You’re right, we must leave. Yet I almost forgot.” She pulled a small bag from her pocket. “A gift for Papa, Ellie.” She handed it to her. “Will you remember how to brew it?”

Eleanor was confused until she pressed the item to her nose. “Of course I remember! Oh, he’ll be overjoyed, Charles! It will bring back such fond memories of his days debating books in London’s coffee houses.”

Charles kissed Ellie on both cheeks, kissed their still-sleeping Papa goodbye, then followed Cuthbert out the door, the wind whipping her skirts into a frenzy.

Eleanor watched them both disappear down the path.

***

In no time at all their clothes were soaked through, the wind driving the stinging drops straight thought their cloaks. John took Charles by the arm and held on to her tight, dragging her behind him so they’d not lose each other in the torrent. He could barely see the path, which had already turned to mud, and the howling gale chilled him to the bone.

Still they soldiered forth. There was nothing else for it.

It seemed like an eternity of walking, the storm slowing their progress and the wet earth growing more treacherous as sections of trail washed out. At one point Charles tripped and fell, John yanking her back upright. He fell once too, pulling her down with him. They were muddied and muddled but knew better than to stop, for there was no shelter along this path, only the fells to either side. Their sole hope was to reach the Abbey.

And they nearly did before Charles slipped again and went reeling back, taking John down with her. He landed hard on his arse, but when he shook off the fall, he saw she’d landed dead on her head. And looked dead, to John, who in shock picked her up and simply carried her the rest of the way back. He prayed she’d only knocked herself cold.

When the Abbey took shape in the distance at last, John picked up his pace, then spied a figure heading towards them through the deluge. It was Lord Wells, shouting through the gale, “John, where the devil have you been? Why the hell did you not . . . ?” He took one look at Charles’s limp form in John’s arms before he grabbed her from him, rushing her into the house and demanding a bath be brought to his room at once.

Men scurried to obey as John entered right behind, feeling like some soggy clay golem as he collapsed against the wall.

Fergus glanced at him and hollered, “Two baths, lads! Warm mead! An’ stoke the fires!”

Outside, the storm raged and buffeted the Abbey. The windows shook and rattled, and beams creaked and sang, while inside, fires crackled and flared, exuding heat and light against the fierce, descending dark. The servants huddled in groups about the kitchen’s bright, warm flames, whispering amongst themselves. The men spoke of squalls at sea, while the girls told of Cumberland storms past.

Mrs. Jenkins nodded sagely at their talk as she set soup to simmer and mead to warm. John settled his chair closer to the great hearth’s warmth. It would be a long night before such storm as this was over, and likely one he’d not forget.