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

Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

C harles knew she could no longer avoid the inevitable. She needed to see her sister and father, and she’d need Wellesley’s permission to do so. She knocked on the parlor door with trepidation and was told to enter by the Duchess, who was taking tea with Miss Mowry and his lordship.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, Miss Mowry.” She curtsied to both before she turned to Wells. “My lord, might I impose a moment? I’m afraid it’s rather urgent.”

The Duchess immediately interjected. “I hope it is nothing serious, Mrs. Merrinan?”

“I hope not either, Your Grace, but my father’s health has taken a turn, I’m afraid.” Charles’s eyes locked on his lordship.

“Then you must go to him at once, Mrs. Merrinan.” The Duchess turned to her son. “I am sure Roland can spare you, can’t you dear?”

***

Wells wanted to throttle his mother yet again. “ I make the decisions here concerning staff, Maman, not you.” He promptly stood and motioned Charles out the door, stomping into the next room over—yet another dust-coated space riddled with grime. It would take an army of servants to fully clean the Abbey, for in truth Charles and her girls had made barely a dent.

Wells launched straight in. “So, your father is sick and you wish to visit. When? And for how long?” He’d let her know he was displeased by her distance of late.

“I should like to leave tomorrow first thing, if I may, my lord. I’ve asked Ruby to stand in for me and I will return before nightfall, unless my father worsens. I realize the timing is unfortunate, sir, but if anything were to happen to him I should never forgive myself for not?—”

“Of course you must go,” he interrupted. “If he is that poorly you must go at once, today yet, but I shall expect you by dinner tomorrow, and if you are not back by then I will come fetch you myself.”

“My lord, if I should need to stay longer I would?—”

“You will return by dinner as that is my order, Charles.”

“Your order?” Her voice raised a notch. “As I do not know how ill my father is, I can scarce promise my precise return, sir, surely you understand this.”

“Understand?” He inhaled a breath to quell his anger. “I understand very little these days, miss, as you have been avoiding me most blatantly, avoiding even looking at me lately, let alone sharing my bed.”

“Avoiding you , sir?” she got out, her face clouding over. “It is you who have avoided me these weeks past, fawning over Mowry’s fat dowry while you sample all the niceties a well-bred young lady has to offer a man of your ilk.”

“My ilk ?” The mouth on this woman! “I do not care a whit for Mowry, Charles, and you know it.” He hauled her to him. “I care for you, damn it, and I am tired of you avoiding your nightly duty to me simply because she is here.”

“Duty?” She struggled in his grasp. “You speak to me, of duty, sir?”

Wells tightened his grip, relishing the feel of her flush against his loins, the smell of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe. “Yes duty , Charles,” he hissed. “Now do your duty as my mistress and?—"

“My duty is clear!” she cried, twisting in his arms. “It matters not whether you care about Miss Mowry, sir.” He could feel her heart thudding against his chest. “What matters is that she will be your wife , and so it is your duty not to dishonor her by bedding your mistress right beneath her nose.”

“Spoken like a true lady,” uttered a voice from the door, brittle with fury. “You’d be wise to heed your housekeeper’s words, Roland.”

Maman.

He was so stunned in that moment that Charles managed to wrench herself free and flee the room, leaving him rooted to the spot, unblinking.

“Is it true, son?” His mother’s icy calm continued, her voice cracking with anger. “Have you made your housekeeper your harlot here in Cumberland?”

“Yes.” He came back to life. “And I am not ashamed to admit it.”

“Of course you aren’t.” Her rage simmered just beneath her words. “And if you had but chosen any other girl here as mistress, we’d not now find ourselves in this situation, would we?” Her eyes pierced his soul.

“What the devil is that supposed to mean, Maman ?” Wells defended himself. “Plenty of men have mistresses. Most, in fact. No doubt Father had his share too.” He aimed to hurt but saw he did not.

“Why yes, Roland, I was even friends with a few of them.” She pinched back a hollow smile. “This is not about your father, or me, or anyone else right now. It is about you and the woman you dared to defile.”

“Defile?” he snorted. “I’ll let you know, Mother, that until you showed up, uninvited and unwelcome, with an unwanted lady in tow, Charles Merrinan and I were perfectly happy defiling one another. Ask her yourself, go right ahead. She’s been more than willing and eager until now to share my?—”

“You’ve no idea who she is, do you?” She cut in, her tone biting. “Her father, Roland, was your Uncle Carlton’s dearest, closest friend during the war, a man who saved not only your own father’s life but nearly died trying to save your uncle’s life too. The Duke himself petitioned the King for Merrinan’s knighting for bravery during the war, then made him his squire here in Cumberland. Sir Benedict even named his firstborn after Uncle Charles.”

Wells stared at his mother in disbelief.

“The Duke of Allendale knows Sir Benedict Merrinan to be the very best of men, son, and it is his daughter I now discover you have dishonored, shamelessly. Charles Merrinan is a lady, Roland, who should never have been made your housekeeper, let alone your mistress .” She hissed the word in pure fury. “Miss Merrinan’s mother was daughter to the Earl of Denbigh, and though the lady’s own family felt she married beneath her to take a mere soldier as husband, not once, I am sure, did Adelaide Enright ever in her worst nightmares imagine her firstborn reduced to such utter ruination as this.”

Wells was still shocked. And by now furious. “And just how , Mother, should I have known any of this, pray? When Charles’s mother is long dead, her father mad as a hatter, and she herself told me nothing of her family’s lineage?” He wanted to rip the righteous look off his mother’s face and stomp on it.

Instead, he used his words. “Do you know how I met her, this fine lady you speak of? Cuthbert caught her thieving my chickens, Maman , right from out of my henhouse. And when forced to confess, the girl spat in my face—a she-devil, reeking of chicken shit. Should I have presumed from such behavior, Maman , that she was a lady? Should I?” he pressed.

The Duchess ground her teeth. “Roland, I do not blame you for not knowing her history, but this does not change the fact you must remedy this situation forthwith. If your father knew the damage you’ve done Benedict Merrinan’s daughter, he would never forgive you or himself. You will marry her at once and make her your Duchess.”

“I . . . Marry her ?” Wells’s head hurt. He could barely speak.

“Yes, Roland.” Her voice remained clipped. “And I should think you’d be pleased. For if the two of you have enjoyed one another as much as you claim”—she made a face—“then I daresay she will make you a most pleasing bride indeed.”

Wells remained stunned.

“I will inform your father of your betrothal to Miss Charles Merrinan and will vacate the premises tomorrow first thing. Though I daresay Miss Mowry will require considerable consolation: a marquess at the very least.”

And off she strode, leaving Wells querulous, confused, and in one devil of a quandary as to how to break this news to Charles. For from housekeeper to future Duchess was indeed a momentous change.

He was himself still processing his mother’s words. How could he possibly have known who Charles was? And why the hell hadn’t she told him? Did she not know herself? It would explain much, yet still explained so little.

He dropped heavily into a dust-shrouded chair and stared at the wall before him, imagining his mistress his wife. He’d not thought of her as anything but his lover, yet deep in his gut a spark alit, for he’d wanted her anyway, hadn’t he? He’d told her as much when he’d said he cared more for her than Mowry. Hell, he cared more for her than any other woman ever foisted on him in past. What was more, Charles would not balk at living at the Abbey rather than in London. Cumberland was her home. Its people her people. They would adore her as their Duchess.

He began to warm to the idea, to slowly even embrace it. Lady Charles Wellesley, Duchess of Allendale , he thought to himself. His Duchess, and his alone. To have and to hold each night as he’d had her these many nights past. Perhaps this wasn’t such a terrible turn of events. Perhaps the perfect wife had been staring him in the face all along, here in his home, in his bed, brought to heel that fateful night covered in chicken shit.

A contented, slow smile began to spread over his face, as his heart whispered yes, Charles Merrinan, my Duchess . And a damn fine duchess at that.

Charles hid in Ruby’s room, shaken to her core. She knew she’d have to leave now—no way out from this. If only she’d kept her mouth shut and not provoked his lordship again! If only she’d remained reserved, her voice lowered so that the Duchess hadn’t overheard, hadn’t stumbled into that room and discovered her so thoroughly compromised.

She put her face in her hands and wept, because Charles did not want to leave, not when things had been going so well at the Abbey—at least, before Miss Mowry and the Duchess had appeared. She was proud of the household she’d assembled, proud of the shell room she’d restored, even, in truth, proud of the man she’d come to . . .

But she snuffed that thought before it could spread like fire. Roland Wellesley had never been, nor ever could be, hers. He’d said as much himself that no position here was permanent. She had no right to feel anything for the man. She’d been his mistress, was all. And now she’d no longer be his housekeeper, either.

Charles dried her tears, washed her face, and straightened her hair, stilling her racing heart with deep gulps of air. She would face her shame and leave the Abbey with as much dignity as she could muster.

Somehow, she would survive this blow and forge a new path forward. It’s what she did, over and over again.

“But . . . !”

On his search to find Charles, Wells overheard his mother deliver Miss Mowry the news. He paused to listen outside the parlor door.

“I know, my dear, I am sorry, but I promised your mother I would find you a match and I am determined to succeed.”

He could picture the young lady’s displeasure plastered to her face.

His mother further reassured her. “It is simply imperative we now return to London to complete our mission. I can think of two eligible marquises and three perfectly good earls who would more than suffice.”

“But . . . !” The lady tried again.

“There, there, Miss Mowry. I daresay you weren’t terribly enamored of living out here in Cumberland with my Roland, now were you? We shall find you a London husband instead, and if we leave tomorrow we’ll be back by week’s end, just in time for all the spring gallery openings.”

Wells snuck away, satisfied. Maman would leave and take Miss Mowry with her. He was certain the lady would find some titled, London husband more to her liking.

He crept back down the hall, aware he’d dodged a blow by not marrying Mowry. As, no doubt, had she.

“Charles!”

She heard Wells shout, closer this time. His lordship’s voice bellowed into the servant’s wing, ensuring the entire Abbey heard him.

“Miss Merrinan, you are to see me this instant! I know you are hiding, come out at once!”

Of course she was hiding; she’d not present him her neck. Charles would slip away after dark, visit Ellie and Father overnight, and then make off at dawn. So long as she avoided both his lordship and the Duchess all would be well. It would. It must.

She shut her eyes tight in the cramped broom closet, having shut herself into the nearest hiding space she could find as soon as she’d heard his shouting. Only she was not prepared to have the door wrenched open and Wellesley loom before her, his ability to softly tread floorboards surprising her for the last time, surely.

She blinked in his face before he yanked her out and dragged her down the hall to the next nearest room, slamming the door behind them.

“Why are you hiding from me?” he demanded.

“I should think that obvious, my lord.” Charles willed herself to remain calm.

He dismissed her answer with a snort. “Why did you not tell me who you are?”

“I did, sir. I gave you my name and you even met my family.” She did not understand his question.

“Why did you not tell me of our families’ connection?” he insisted. “The connection to your name?”

“What connection, my lord?” She was in truth now confused. “I met your father but once, as a child, and told you as much.”

“You are named after my Uncle Charles—Lord Carlton Wellesley—whose very pocket watch I gave you.” His eyes searched her face. “Your father was my uncle’s dearest friend on earth, my mother tells me, and saved my own father’s life in battle more than once. Do you honestly know none of this?”

Charles mirrored his lordship’s disbelief. “Your uncle ?” she blurted. “I assumed my parents wished me born a boy, and named me so; there was no talk of Lord Carlton Wellesley or any such stories as these, sir, else I surely should have known.”

“And your mother?” Wells pressed. “Why did you not tell me she was the Earl of Denbigh’s daughter? Why not seek assistance from her family when your father fell ill? Why come to Cumberland and starve yourselves instead?”

His voice had risen in pitch, even as her own was quick to match.

“Why?” she fumed. “Why indeed, sir. Perhaps because our grandparents planned to have our father committed, that’s why, to the most notorious and worst of London’s heinous, inhuman asylums. We would neither doom him to that hell, nor remain their wards, pretending he’d died from grief. They gave us only that choice, so of course we fled. How could we not? And why should I tell you about my mother’s parents when they chose to disown us, wanting nothing further to do with us once we’d left, pretending we didn’t even exist? We are nothing to the Enrights, we are Merrinans only now, for Cumberland, at least, took us in, gave Father the position of headmaster when he could no longer manage as squire. Cumberland, my lord, accepted him as he was while revering him for the soldier and scholar he’d been.”

Charles steadied herself. “For ten years, Lord Wellesley, we have lived and breathed an honest life here, far from the stench of London’s treachery. You of all men, I should think, might understand this.”

***

Her eyes blazed at Wells with such intensity he was overcome with feeling, his body flooding with emotions he could not begin to name.

He took her hand tightly in his own. “Charles, I would have made the same choice myself if I’d been you, I do understand. Only why wait until now to tell me this? Why allow me to treat you as I did that night, humiliating you and your family by assuming you were a common thief, a village bumpkin, when all the while you?—”

“ Allow you?” She shook her head, wrenching back her hand. “Oh that is rich, sir, truly. As if I’d had any choice at all that night, any power whatsoever to sway you. Don’t you dare place blame on me now, my lord, for your own despicable actions. I was wrong to steal your chickens, I’ll admit, but you forced me into servitude and nothing I said that night or in the days that followed would have made you see me as aught but some impoverished, thieving chit.”

Her words struck daggers to his breast.

“And the truth, Lord Wellesley? I was that chit! I’d become a lowly thief, just as you’d become a pirate, taking your every pleasure. Using your position as Lord of Almsdale Abbey to slake your base desires.”

Wells was at once awestruck and aggrieved, for every word Charles spoke was true. He loathed himself for behavior he was anything but proud of, sickened by the manner in which he’d dishonored and debased her.

“Charles, I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’ve no right to.” He swallowed, nervous. “My actions were despicable that night, regardless of crime or family. To treat even a village girl the way I treated you was, I admit, the misdeed of a pirate and not the behavior of a lord. But let me make it up to you now, Fox. Marry me! Be my future Duchess, stand beside me that we may finish the Abbey together. Share my bed, my name, bear my heirs, and remain here with me, far from London’s evils. You needn’t be my housekeeper any longer, Charles. Not if you are my wife.”

Her eyes swelled to round, inscrutable pools of murky green he could not read, could not find answers within.

“Is this what your mother wishes, sir?” Her words came out clipped. “And what of Miss Mowry, my lord? I can offer you no dowry, not like she can.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about Mowry’s dowry.” Wells stepped closer. “And yes, it is what Maman wishes. Just now she told me we must marry to preserve your and your father’s honor. And after all I have discovered, it is of course the most reasonable solution to?—”

“Ah yes.” Her voice grew cold. Implacable. “Reasonable, logical Lord Wellesley can now reasonably marry his lusty mistress, knowing her lineage, rather than relegate himself to bedding fresh virginal flesh. How perfect for you, Your Grace .” She skewered him with the title. “How utterly, perfectly delightful for you. For why shouldn’t I now fall further into your lap, giving you all that you desire: a body to lay your seed in and a native who knows her people, who’ll no doubt convince them to revere their dashing new Duke .”

She curtsied in such egregious, mocking display he flinched, as if slapped.

“Only I will not, Lord Wellesley.” Charles drew herself tall. “I will not marry you, not now, and not ever, for you do not get to order me into obedience, nay, into subservience now through marriage, sir!”

Her eyes were so icy he shivered.

“I told you before you’d not claim my soul, and I proclaim it now loud. You do not own me, Roland Wellesley, nor will you ever .”

She knocked the wind from his lungs as she hurtled past him, jabbing him hard in the chest as she flew out the door, her legs bearing her away at terrific speed.

For a moment Wells could not breathe. Until he gasped for air, in pain.