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

Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

D espite Charles’s best efforts, Christmas, it seemed, was anything but the celebration she had so carefully planned.

All that could go wrong, did. First there was the blasted goose—no goose at all but a pheasant, for which Cuthbert had nearly gotten his ears boxed by Jenkins. And then there was the snow, which had dropped so fast and furious that morning that the steward had been trapped by it, spending Christmas and the foreseeable future with Charles’s sister and father rather than at the Abbey, where he was sorely needed. Sorely needed because then there was the wassail, which the girls had filled generously with apples but which Pinky, in his lunacy, had neglected to place upon a table strong enough to bear the great bowl’s weight.

The day had been a disaster.

Charles had kept her chin up but was inwardly distraught. Like a string of dominoes collapsing—not least the wassail bowl—one after another of her preparations had gone awry. So when Clarice tripped and sent the Christmas pudding crashing, Charles lost her temper, laying into the girl a tad harshly. In that moment she felt she’d failed so miserably as housekeeper, she’d never hear the end of it from Lord Wellesley.

Only his lordship did not even raise his voice, surprising everyone by swiftly helping Clarice collect the spilled pudding like it was the most natural thing in the world for a duke’s son to assist his housemaid.

“Angus, Bartram, and Henry, fetch drums and whistles, boys. It’s time we had some music in this house, quick now,” Lord Wells ordered, arranging what was left of the pudding into a pile upon the plate. And then to everyone’s further amazement, he licked his fingers clean.

“Astounding, Mrs. Jenkins. No, stupendous. I must have the finest cook in all of Cumberland that a dessert should taste so good, even from off the floor.” He grinned. “Well dig in then, don’t be shy.”

Fergus, at least, did not hesitate to grab a fistful of the stuff.

Lord Wellesley turned to Charles. “You too, Miss Merrinan. I’ll not let a wee food fall, wassail spill, or other fowl upset ruin our Christmas Eve.” He winked at her before addressing present company, leaving Charles speechless.

“When you’ve spent years at sea, ladies,” his lordship proceeded, “you learn to appreciate what you have, rather than what you lack, right boys?” His gaze swept over his men. “Now drink and be merry, all of you!” He raised his glass.

“Here, Here!” came loud shouts, the men beginning to pound their mugs upon the table. “T’ Capt’n Wells! Long live His Grace!”

In no time, tin whistle and bodhran began a brisk jig, with Angus’s voice fast filling the hall. And before she knew it, every maid—including Charles—had been pulled to her feet as the unruly crew all stomped and kicked their thick-soled boots. The jig spun faster, hands clapping in increasing rhythm, girls swirling and twirling until Angus let out a resounding last whoop, the echo of his voice ringing loudly in the hall.

Thanks to Lord Wellesley, the mood had instantly, dramatically changed.

***

“Follow me, Fox.” Hand held tight, Wells slipped Charles away from the merriment, pulling his mistress behind him down the hall, far from the dancing, until she abruptly stopped.

“My lord, I should like to show you something first, if I may?” She appeared almost shy.

“As you wish, Miss Merrinan.” He allowed her to lead him up more stairs and down a dark hallway, then down another passage too, until they came to a door he knew well.

“Wait here, my lord,” she told him, “and close your eyes, no peeking.” Wells shut them tight, smiling at her order. He’d not let on he knew what lay beyond this door.

He could hear her steal about the room to light the sconces in all four corners, could picture her stoking the fire so that it blazed bright as a log shifted and flames crackled. When she returned to fetch him from the hallway, he still did not peek as she guided him inside.

“I wish to give you a gift, sir. You may open your eyes.”

When he did, he squeezed her hand. “Charles, however did you know this is my favorite room in all the world?”

“You know it, sir?”

“Of course.” He flashed her a smile. “I spent hours here at play as a boy. It is the shell room, a room my great-grandmother commissioned. It is why I set sail, Charles, why I chose to adventure at sea.”

She looked a little put out, so he attempted to explain.

“Charles, I have loved this room all my life, but to see it now, brought back to glory . . . It is the perfect gift, the very best gift you could have given me.” He traced her cheek with his finger. “Thank you, Fox, truly.”

She suddenly looked down. “You are welcome, my lord.”

“You must have spent hours in here, Charles.” He tilted her chin to look up at him. “I must inspect your handiwork.”

He began to tour the room and run his hands along the walls, across the many bumps of shells, marveling at how the room shimmered, how the mirrors reflected candlelight to give a glow to every surface. “Hmm, yes,” he proclaimed. “Just as I expected. You’ve outdone yourself, miss. I believe this proves I hired the best housekeeper in all of Cumberland.”

***

Lord Wells grinned at her, the light making his eyes dance and making Charles blush to see him so pleased. She should have guessed he knew of the room’s existence, rather than think he’d be as surprised as she was to discover it. She felt a little foolish as she fetched the wine she’d hidden earlier in the day.

“Will you raise a glass, my lord, to toast the room?”

“I shall.” He accepted the drink and held it high. “To Miss Charles Merrinan!” he declared.

“To Lord Roland Wellesley,” she responded, their glasses meeting with a clink as each took a sip. Before she knew it, his arm stole around her waist to pull her to him, his lips tasting like wine upon her tongue.

“Yours is the best gift of all this night, Fox,” he told her softly. “Shall we stay a while longer here, in this beautifully restored room?”

“Of course, sir. Only I must apologize for all the mishaps that threatened this evening’s celebration. I am so very sorry the?—”

“Hush.” He placed a finger to her lips and pulled her down to the floor, bringing the bottle with him. “All accidents, wholly unforeseeable. As if it were your fault the snow fell and Pinky’s not fit to set a table.” He topped off her glass. “I have every intention of getting you soused tonight, my dear. I want you so drunk you laugh yourself silly.” He smiled at her so warmly she felt her heart skip a beat. “I like it when you laugh, lass.”

She tried to suppress her smile but could not. “I think you merely wish to take advantage of me, Lord Wellesley.”

“I’d do no such thing,” he feigned hurt.

“You do such things all the time, sir, and you know it,” Charles teased back.

Lord Wells grabbed her for another satisfying kiss, this one longer than the last, until he broke off. “Woman, you distract me so much I forgot entirely my gift to you! Close your eyes at once, Charles.”

She did, shutting them tight while not a little afraid of what he would give her. Something smooth and cool fell into her palm and she felt it a moment with her fingertips, perplexed. “May I open my eyes, sir?”

“You may, Charles.”

She looked at the object in her hand with surprise, turning it over gingerly almost and flipping open the lid to reveal an exquisite timepiece with inlaid mother-of-pearl numerals. There was a compass in one corner and all twelve months engraved about the facing. And on the exterior case, the initials CW, making her furrow her brow.

“Do you like it, Fox?”

“I . . .” she began. “It is . . .” She thrust it back at him. “Lord Wellesley, I cannot accept your gift. It is much too fine, and far too?—”

“Don’t you dare, Charles.” His tone threatened. “You may not return a gift. And it is not too fine, it is practical instead. I specifically chose a useful gift for you, nothing overly pretty, because I suspected you’d reject finery. So no protest,” he insisted.

She remained dumbstruck.

“Go on, then,” he goaded. “Am I not to receive thanks?”

“Oh, Roland!” She threw her arms about him, forgetting all sense of decorum. “Of course you have my thanks, my warmest thanks, though I still say it is too fine a gift, however practical. It is much, much too beautiful for the likes of me.”

***

Wells shushed her with his lips. “Do you not wish to know why it bears the wrong initials?” he prodded. “I thought you’d wonder at that W.”

Her pretty brow dimpled. “Why yes, I suppose it ought to be the letter M instead.”

“Drink up, Charles, and listen.” He poured them each more wine before he leaned his head back to gaze up at the ceiling, the constellations high above them shimmering in the shadowy light thrown by candle and fire.

“The piece belonged to my father’s brother, my uncle, Carlton Wellesley. You share his first name, see, for they also called him Charles, and though I never knew him, I heard many a rousing tale of him growing up. My father kept this pocket watch, his brother’s, on him for years, because it saved his life in battle. Turn it over and you will see the dent, there on the back, where a musket ball hit the timepiece rather than pierce my father’s chest.”

Charles ran her finger over the indentation.

“Uncle Charles bid his brother take the watch from his breast pocket as he lay dying on the battlefield, and no sooner had Father tucked it into his own uniform than he was shot and hit too, right at the exact spot. So the timepiece, you see, is not a little lucky. When I went to sea, Father gave it to me in hopes it would protect me on my travels, which it did, for I stand on land today, in safe return. And I wish you to have it, Fox, that it might protect and keep you too.”

Only upon hearing the end of his tale, his mistress looked so appalled she again thrust the timepiece back at him, exclaiming, “Surely you cannot expect me to accept a family heirloom, my lord. You must take it back, I insist.”

Wells pursed his lips. “Miss Merrinan, I have given past mistresses more lavish gifts for far less than what you have given me these months in companionship. I shall be insulted if you do not take it, and God willing, remain protected by it. I am no longer adrift at sea but settled here now. And besides, you share its owner’s first name. Flip the W on its head and you’ll have an M for Merrinan.”

Yet despite his attempts at levity she remained distraught. Wells drew her to him, settling her between his legs there upon the floor, resting her into the hollow of his chest. “Charles, do not be stubborn. You would be angry if I’d given you some fancy bauble instead, would you not? Is this not a better gift for my mistress-cum-housekeeper, my wicked chicken thief?”

“You needn’t have given me anything, sir.” She finally spoke, her voice quiet. “You have fed my family and paid fair wage—trade enough for services I admit I now enjoy.”

“So you enjoy me, Fox? Now that, see, is another gift you have just given me!” He laughed outright. “I enjoy you too, lass, very much. Sometimes a bit too much, I fear.”

“What do you mean, too much?” She twisted around to look at him. “Roland, how many mistresses have you kept besides me, giving them overly generous gifts? How many women have you enjoyed over the years?”

He hushed her with his mouth. “None as much as you, Fox. I swear I have enjoyed none as much as?—”

She harrumphed. “I am sure you said that to each of them.”

“Jealous, are you?” He smirked. “I must say, Jenkins is quite a good dancer for a woman her age, handsome still too. Maybe I’ll try her next.”

Charles struggled to escape him, but he held her fast between his legs. “And Ruby is quite pretty, you know, though a tad simple for my taste. I like a woman with some fire in her.”

And this time she did manage to wriggle free, fleeing to the opposite end of the room with a wild gleam in her eye.

“Ah, my mistress disobeys me yet again, and here I thought I’d tamed her.”

“Tamed me, sir?” She thrust her chin at him, sending a jolt through his loins. “I merely let you think me your pet.”

“Minx!” He lunged for her, chasing her about the room until he’d caught and wrestled her to the floor, her laughter infectious as they laid in a pile of limbs, tangled and teasing, both catching their breaths. Charles finally dusted herself off to go fetch them more wine.

“You shall ruin my new dress,” she told him primly, straightening her skirts before pouring them each a fresh glass. “Now tell me about this room, please. I wish to know why it was built and what the many details all mean.”

“Very well.” Wells patted the space beside him on the floor for her to join. “I promise not to tear your pretty dress, Charles, only give me your new timepiece, so I might explain.”

***

Charles handed him the watch, already feeling its loss from her skirt pocket, for it truly was a beautiful gift.

Lord Wellesley opened it to show her the compass. “Here you see the four corners of the earth, and here in this room the same four directions in each far corner. The constellations are positioned in this ceiling as in the night sky, and the shells were all collected from travels around the globe my grandparents embarked on.”

“Both? Your grandmother traveled too?” Charles was amazed.

“She did.” He grinned. “Sailed alongside Grandpapa on his many expeditions. Quite the hellion, or so I was told.”

“Oh how I envy her!” Charles burst out, forgetting herself. “What is it like, Roland, tell me, please! What is it like on a ship at sea, miles and miles from everyone and everything you know?”

“Frightening as hell and invigorating as nothing else, Fox,” he answered, staring deep into her eyes. “Freedom near boundless, yet with it near constant fear of death. The sea shows no mercy when she is angered, and a man can be driven mad out there, with nothing but blue sky and blue water reflected back, day upon day. And yet at night, to see the stars, Charles, is the most magnificent, most humbling experience imaginable. To gaze at all those lights and realize just how tiny, how insignificant you are on a ship in the middle of such vast space . . .” He stopped himself, his voice almost wistful.

Charles closed her fingers over his own, pressing his hand to hers.

“I shall take you one day, so you can experience it yourself,” he told her, impassioned. “I’ll take you with me like Grandfather took Grandmother. You must sail the ocean too, Charles.”

“Do not make promises you cannot keep, Roland.” Charles swallowed her pain. “I beg you, don’t.”

***

“And why should I not keep my promise?” Wells was hurt by her words. She perplexed him anew, this woman. She forever surprised.

“Because you cannot, and we both know it.” Charles sounded sad but by no means angry. “Take me with you now instead, my lord. Hold me in your arms and whisper in my ear stories from your travels, your adventures. Let me experience those wonders through your words, Roland. Take me with you, please,” she begged.

And the look in her eyes so beseeched, he’d not have denied her for the world. He gazed at her with such tenderness he made her look away, as if she were embarrassed by his feeling. He settled his mistress deep into his arms and began to regale her with stories of daring and despair, of longing and loss. Of tempests and tall ships marooned and tossed.

She softened in his arms as Wells minced no words. He’d no reason to lie and so told her everything now: the sorrow, the pain, and the terror alongside moments of awe and joy. He even told her of his vow to his men made deep in the East Indies that day they’d threatened to mutiny. He’d ordered the ship straight into danger to rescue a royal lady—and as a result, now suffered their taunts as ‘their grace.’

Charles listened rapt; she did not interrupt or interject. At times he heard her gasp in surprise, but mostly, his mistress soaked up his words. He felt as though he could tell her anything, anything at all now, and she would accept him no matter what devilry he revealed. He wished, suddenly, to reveal everything about himself to her—every last cowardly act or heroic feat. She was like a raft upon which he might be buoyed and saved.

That night in the shell room he did indeed wish to whisk Charles away to sail off to some far-flung island where they would be no longer master and maid, but simply Adam and Eve in God’s garden: two halves of one whole, without shame or reproach. Free from scrutiny.

Wells wished to keep Charles all to himself—to be a better, more noble self. If only he knew how.