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

Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

W ells scanned his housekeeper’s letter, looking for information he did not already know.

Dearest Ellie,

I can scarce believe winter is already upon us and I have yet to visit you again. I sense your disappointment for miles, sister. I will try. Lord Wells has given me leave, and while it will be our first Christmas apart . . .

Christmas, bah. Why did women include so many unnecessary details in their letters? He skimmed more text.

Do you remember Christmases past in London? Perhaps you were too young to recall, Ellie. I remember them well. Mother’s family would put on such a lovely show. I imagine they still do. Sometimes I wonder how our grandparents are. But I remind myself they did not want us, they wanted our obedience only. Is it any wonder mother left? I should have done the same if I were her.

He skipped another section.

. . . and I have made peace with everyone, even his lordship. He has proven himself most generous, Ellie, and I am ashamed, almost, to have written the things I did before. Though I admit he mystifies me still. Did you know he captained a sailing ship with Cuthbert? Only imagine their adventures! I am jealous at times of all men may do which is forbidden us women . . .

Wells handed Cuthbert Charles’s letter without a word. What had her life in London been like? And why had her mother’s family abandoned them? Surely if they’d known the state she and her sister had been relegated to they would have sent for their grandchildren, cared for them. Yet perhaps the Merrinan girls had not wanted to be cared for. Perhaps the conditions placed upon them were such that they would rather starve in Cumberland than spend a cozy Christmas in London. He could well imagine his Fox refusing assistance for pride. God knew he’d rather freeze in this drafty old Abbey than be squeezed into some overstuffed London drawing room making chitchat with his mother’s circle of acquaintance.

Perhaps that was what appealed about his mistress: She did not fawn or simper, did not feign interest in him either. In fact, she’d resisted him to no end at first. Nor had she delusions as to their relations. He couldn’t marry her, a commoner, even if he wished. No, he truly did believe she enjoyed his company. After all, she came to him now nights; he no longer had to threaten, cajole, or even ask. And it was damn refreshing to have a woman like him as he was. It was almost liberating after his experience in London. Hell, he’d take a Cumberland lass any day over the Ton’s scheming debutantes. Charles Merrinan was a hidden gem, and he was deuced happy to have her.

Perhaps foolishly so.

“Goose!” threatened the widow Jenkins, shaking her fist at John. “You promised me a goose, man, not a?—!”

“Oi, you’ll get yer goose, woman.” He glowered at her. “Though I don’t see as why it must be goose for Christmas when any fowl should do.”

“Any fowl will not do, sir, and as I’m cook here, I’ll decide what t’ serve his lordship for Christmas dinner, his first Christmas in Cumberland, eh, and it’ll be t’ finest goose Lord Wellesley’s ever had!”

“I am sure it will be, Mrs. Jenkins,” the housekeeper interjected, having entered the kitchen to witness yet another temper flare. John knew Charles did not want staff more ruffled than they already were.

“Cuthbert,” she smoothed, “I am less concerned with fowl than I am the kitchen staples we’ll need to get us through winter. How are the larders looking? Shall we take stock?”

He was doing his best to still scowl at Jenkins. “Might as well, miss.” He motioned Charles to follow him out the kitchen toward the Abbey’s cellars, winding their way through a house they both knew far better than three months ago.

“Have you word from my sister again, John?” she asked.

“I do, miss.” He pulled a letter from his pocket. “Meant t’ give this to you earlier and forgot. I ’spect she’ll be missin’ you more’n ever now what with winter upon us.”

Charles looked pained. “Has she enough peat to burn to get them through, John? Did you look?”

He met her eyes with understanding. “Aye. Checked the house too. It’s chinked tight enough now, barn roof’ll hold. Been bringin’ her extra of everythin’ lately.”

She took his hand, stopping him a moment. “Thank you, John, truly. I cannot tell you how much it means to me to know?—”

“Oi, now.” He patted her hand in his own, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “I’d worry same if it were me own family. ’Tis only natural.”

She smiled at him then, a smile that reminded him of her sister.

“Well I am grateful, is all.” Charles squeezed his hand before they continued down the passage. “And your family, John? Have you siblings too?”

“No, miss,” he told her bluntly. “Wells is all the family I know. The Duke took me in as a yob off the streets, been an orphan long as I can remember.”

“Took you in? Off the streets of London?”

“I were but a mite then, and up t’ no good it seems. Brought me home with him, the Duke did, said his boy needed a playmate and I needed a scrubbin’. The Duchess gave me a meal and I’ve served their family ever since.”

“So you knew his lordship as a boy.” She looked amazed. “What was he like, John?”

“Like?” He laughed. “Like every other hot-headed boy, miss! Same as any of us.” John grinned. “Bit of a troublemaker, but loyal. When they sent him t’ Eton, t’ school, and I were left behind, he wrote t’ me still, y’ know. Never forgot me in all his years there.”

“And did you write him back?” she asked.

“’Course I did.” He frowned at her. “Hell, I signed up t’ sail with him, didn’t I? Me, who couldn’t swim a stroke back then.”

“Cuthbert.” Charles stopped them in their tracks. “Why did Lord Wells go to sea? It is unlike a duke’s heir to seek such pursuits.”

John hesitated. “Wells never liked t’ put on airs, miss. ’Twixt you and me, I think he didn’t much want t’ be born a duke’s son. He’d rather his father live forever than be forced to take over the Duchy. He’s always run from it, first t’ sea and now here, to the Abbey, though the Abbey’s part of the Duchy. Lookin’ for escape wherever he can.”

“I see.” She mulled a minute, then wagered one last question as they reached the cellar steps. “And leaving London . . . Did something happen there to upset him?”

John debated telling her more. “He were engaged t’ marry, miss, as his mother, the Duchess, has been houndin’ him for years. Only the lady ran off with a friend of his, right under his nose. Wounded his pride, I think, more’n his heart.”

“I see.” The housekeeper looked like she might chew this bit of story a good while longer.

John would rather forget the fat mess. “But enough o’ the past, miss, on to the larder now. ” He lit a wall sconce and descended the stone steps. “Watch yer head. It’s right low down ’ere.”

Much later, Charles eagerly tore into Eleanor’s letter.

Dearest Charles,

Just a quick note, sister, as John is in a rush to return. He tells me the Abbey is being transformed for the holidays and oh, how I wish I might see it! You must write and describe every last detail, promise, for then I shall be able to picture it perfectly. He says there is even mistletoe hung about. Make sure you’re not caught and kissed. Though I should like to be kissed someday. Every girl ought to be kissed once before she marries, don’t you think?

Charles harrumphed. Not a good sign Ellie was penning words about kissing.

But enough silliness. Father sends his love and best wishes for Christmas, not in so many words but in my translation. You understand. I shall make our little dinner here the best it can be, and a far better dinner than last year’s, thanks to you, sister. We grow round here now, I swear I’ve put on weight. John says it suits me, which made me blush that he should notice. But never fear, I’ve not made eyes at him. Though he is easy on the eyes, I admit. I am allowed to look, am I not? I can see you frowning as you read this, Charles, but I shall not be made to feel guilty for merely looking at a man. There. I can be stubborn, too.

Yet John is watching from the door and eager to be off. If you cannot come till January we shall simply look forward to you then. I love you, Charles, and miss you terribly.

Your Eleanor

Charles folded the letter. Her sister was most definitely making eyes at Cuthbert, for the more she proclaimed the opposite, the more it was surely true. She must ask Lord Wells to send a different man with baskets. She’d insist. For even though John was a decent enough fellow, he was no proper gentleman. A London street urchin for God’s sake! Mother would never have allowed such a match for Eleanor, and it was Charles’s duty to ensure her sister married well. Which she would. Just as soon as she had enough saved to launch Eleanor herself.

She sat a moment longer in her cold closet room and let her thoughts stray to his lordship in bed this morning. He, too, was easy on the eyes and her body flushed just picturing him. She still struggled to reconcile the woman she had been with the wanton she’d become, for like his rowdy band of men, she, too, now craved bodily comfort. It did not align with who her parents had intended her to be, but she could not deny how it made her feel to join her person to Roland Wellesley.

And why should anything that felt so good be in truth so great a sin? Having long trusted experience over rhetoric, she began to consider that perhaps her mother’s grand pronouncements—the very rules of fine society itself—were askew. Perhaps both London and Cumberland were wrong to insist a woman’s unspoiled virtue was her greatest asset. Perhaps the body, more than the mind, knew a great deal more.

She got up from her seat, eager for his lordship’s touch.