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

Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

W ells watched Miss Mowry across the table break her fast. The lady was indeed not unattractive. He’d have no trouble bedding her for an heir, and she was young enough, at nineteen, to no doubt be fecund. With any luck he’d get her with child within the first month of marriage, meaning he needn’t touch her again for another year at least. Then, once a second heir was born he’d be done with her entirely. And so long as he convinced Charles to remain his mistress . . .

“Roland, dear, what are you mulling this morning?” The Duchess broke his reverie.

“Mulling, Mother?” He looked up. “Why, matrimony.” He kept his gaze cool. “I have been mulling matrimony, Maman .”

Her own eyes widened, as did Miss Mowry’s.

“Well, that is indeed a pleasant subject to be mulling, dear.” She coolly smiled back. “Might you share your thoughts upon the subject with us?”

Bold as ever, his Maman.

“Miss Mowry and I were discussing the topic just yesterday on our tour about the Abbey—what it is we each find most appealing about marriage,” he answered.

“Oh?” The Duchess raised a brow. “How intriguing. Do continue, Roland.”

“Perhaps Miss Mowry would like to continue instead?” He cast the young lady a look.

She demurred. “Goodness no, Lord Wellesley. Her grace posed you the question, sir, not me.”

She outmaneuvered nicely; not a bad trait.

“Well I, for one, consider the best part of matrimony to spell the end of unexpected visits.” He watched the Duchess flinch. “That and of course bedding my virgin bride.”

His mother’s face contorted. “Roland, I did not raise you to be an ill-mannered boor!”

“You certainly did not, Mother. My apologies, Miss Mowry.” He peeked at the young lady, whose cheeks bloomed scarlet.

“Shall I tell her what you told me yesterday, miss?” He forged ahead, not waiting for her answer. “Miss Mowry, rightfully so, looks forward to the protection of a man’s title and, of course, his fortune.” His mother’s face now positively glowered. “She does not mind in the least if her husband takes a mistress and otherwise ignores her entirely,” he finished.

“My lord!” the young lady protested.

“Roland, enough!” His mother’s fist clenched the tablecloth. “Were you not a grown man I’d?—”

“What, Maman , have me paddled? Send me to bed without dinner? I need neither your approval nor your affection anymore, and as I am master of my own house and own life, I think it is time you and Miss Mowry took yourselves back to London and let me be. You may report to Father that I am doing my best to restore his beloved Abbey and that I intend to live out the rest of my days here in Cumberland serving its people as their Duke—with or without a duchess.”

Miss Mowry looked ready to faint into her plate, yet being trained rigorously to preserve the peace at all cost, proceeded to defuse the tension as best she could.

She really would make a good duchess .

“Lord Wellesley,” she interjected, “would you be so kind as to show me the exterior of Almsdale Abbey today, to complete our tour?” Her eyes begged him to behave. “I should like to see the grounds and do not mind donning boots. The sun appears even to shine a little,” she pleaded.

He took pity on the girl. “Of course, Miss Mowry, happy to oblige.” He gave her a pinched smile. “Allow me to see to a few matters first, and within the hour I shall be at your disposal.”

“Thank you, sir.” She wanly smiled back.

Maman opened her mouth as if to speak but must have determined silence more golden in the moment. She shut it just as fast.

Wells, meanwhile, returned to his plate of food and ignored both women for the remainder of breakfast. He had a great many things on his mind more important than marriage.

Later, as they strolled arm in arm outside the Abbey, Miss Mowry felt slight beside Wells; she was half a head shorter than Charles, though her figure was shapely enough. He was pondering his situation again, only half listening to her prattle on about London. Forever bloody London.

“. . . and I assume you’ve been to Gunter’s in Mayfair, my lord, at Berkeley Square?”

“I have indeed, Miss Mowry, it is a fine establishment.”

“I do so love their tarts, don’t you?” She smiled prettily.

“Yes, who doesn’t love a good tart?” He smirked but was immediately bored. Conversation with this lady was an arduous pursuit. It did not mean she was arduous. That would be unfair. She’d merely been hampered and pampered like every other debutante he knew, making her, well, tedious. Why did women think na?veté an attractive trait?

“Will you visit London again this season, sir?” She sounded hopeful.

“No, Miss Mowry, I’ve sworn off society for good. I intend to make Cumberland my permanent home now.”

“But surely you will keep a townhouse?”

“No, I think not. I intend to settle fully here. The climate and environs suit me.”

“I see.”

“Do you not like Cumberland, miss?” He could not resist poking.

“Oh no, sir, it is just . . . Well, it is rather remote.”

“Yes, remote unto the ends of earth. Precisely why I find it so appealing. Reminds me of my years at sea: endless ocean with nothing in sight but miles upon miles of?—”

“Lord Wellesley,” she interrupted.

“Hmm?” He was feeling pleased with himself.

“Why do you fight with your mother so, my lord? Has she done something to upset you? That is, other than our visit?”

Her forwardness again surprised, granting him a glimmer of her humanity, and he was warmed by it, though also chastened. He’d behaved poorly at breakfast, though she did not seem to hold it against him now.

“The Duchess and I rarely see eye to eye on matters,” he answered honestly. “And as I’ve no other siblings to distract her, I am the subject of all her focus, and so, it seems, the sum of all her disappointment as well.”

“Surely she is not disappointed in you, sir.”

Wells laughed. “Dear lady, I can assure you she most certainly is!”

“But that is . . . Rather, what could she possibly find disappointing in your person when you are clearly?—?”

“Duty, Miss Mowry.” He caught her eye. “I disappoint by failing so terrifically to do my duty by her.”

“But I do not see how you have failed when you?—”

“I should prefer we change the subject, miss, as I’d rather not spoil a perfectly fine day discussing my mother. Allow me to show you what will someday be Almsdale’s gardens. Once I’ve finished with the house, that is.”

He took her arm to lead her around the back end of a buttress, yet once there Wells surprised himself by asking, “Might I kiss you, Miss Mowry?”

She startled. “I . . . Well I suppose . . . If you should like.”

She was so noncommittal he simply took her face in both his hands and stared into her panicked eyes a moment, deciding he might at least try to seduce her, see how she’d react.

Yet the moment his lips pressed her own he felt nothing. No spark, no invitation, not even a slight softening. It was like kissing a dry leaf. Hell, even Charles had responded better, drunk on his lap that first night, than this girl did sober by daylight.

He hid his disappointment behind a thin smile. “Thank you, Miss Mowry. I hope I was not too bold just now.”

“Not at all, sir,” she hurried to reply. “Only I have not been kissed so often as to, well, know how it is one should respond.”

Wells was suddenly saddened this woman thought one was taught to respond, when one simply did, or did not, enjoy a kiss. When it truly was that simple.

“You were perfect in your response, miss.” He lied to spare her any hurt. “Only it grows chill out here without the sun to warm us. Shall we return to the house for tea?”

“Yes, please.” She latched on to his suggestion. “A cup will do wonders, I am sure, to revive me.”

Charles chose the worst possible moment to look up from her labors and out the window onto the Abbey’s back gardens. For there below her, Lord Wellesley proceeded to declare his intentions more clearly than if he’d spoken the words out loud. She watched him kiss Miss Mowry’s dainty lips and felt her heart recoil. It was not just her sister she would lose to Cuthbert now. She’d lose his lordship too, far sooner than expected.

Charles would lose the man she’d somehow, impossibly, come to love.