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

Chapter 36

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“ E llie.” A voice jarred her dreams. “Sister, wake up.”

“Charles?” Eleanor pulled herself awake. “Is that you?” She opened her eyes and flung her arms about her sister. “Oh Charles, you came! Thank heavens you came home!” She held on tight and would not let Charles go.

“Ellie, we must speak. Please, it is urgent.”

Immediately she rose from her bed to follow her sister into the kitchen, where a candle was already lit.

“Charles, it is the middle of the night! Why have you come to see us so late, sister?”

“Ellie, I leave at daybreak, but I’ll not go without seeing you first.”

“What has happened? Has he hurt you more? Are you with child? So help me God if that man?—”

“No, Ellie, hush,” Charles insisted. “It is nothing of the sort. We merely quarreled, and I can no longer stay. It is imperative I leave Cumberland, at least until his lordship marries and forgets me.”

“So he will marry the lady his mother brought?” Eleanor willed herself to believe her sister now told her the truth; she knew Charles’s feelings for Lord Wellesley were no mere passing fancy.

“Yes. I don’t know. If not her, then some other lady. It doesn’t matter, Eleanor, what matters is that I cannot marry Lord Wellesley. And so I cannot stay, I can’t bear to. Surely you understand why I?—”

“Then stay with us, Charles. Papa is not long for this world, I fear, and John will not abandon you, I know it. You can live with us, at least until you decide what?—”

“No, Ellie, I cannot. I’ll not cast a pall over your honeymoon.” Her smile looked sad. “And Father won’t know if I am here, gone, or all of ten years old still. I shall say goodbye to him now and catch the first coach to London at first light.”

“But Charles, whatever will you do in London? You abhor London. We both do. Where will you stay? How will you?—?”

“I shall figure that out, Ellie. I am not unskilled. And once I’m settled I will send word, I promise. Only first, sister, you must take this.”

Eleanor was promptly handed a small bag of coin.

“Charles.” Her stomach flipped. “I cannot accept this, I will not. You will need every penny of this in London.”

***

She’d known Eleanor would refuse, but Charles would make her see reason.

“I have set funds aside for London, but this, at least, is the dowry I promised you, Ellie. It’s not as much as I’d hoped, but Cuthbert has savings too, I’m sure, and you must start your lives somehow—buy livestock and furnishings, a fresh coat of paint for the walls. And when your firstborn comes, Ellie, I shall visit and shower my niece or nephew with kisses.” She smiled through her tears, wishing desperately to chase the look of pain off Eleanor’s face, for her sister stared back at her so dismally, so unhappily, Charles could not bear to see it.

“Now then.” She swallowed. “I promised myself no tears because of course I shall see you soon enough. And you a married woman at that.” She forced another smile. “Cuthbert is a good man, Ellie. I should never have doubted him, nor you. Forgive me.” She gripped her sister’s hands. “He is more than good enough for you, dearest, and I regret past words said. I wish you every happiness, truly.”

“Oh Charles, I can’t!” Eleanor burst into tears. “I cannot let you go again! This feels worse, even, than the night you left to steal those rotten chickens. Please don’t leave us. I beg you, reconsider. Cumberland is your home, Charles, not London, not?—!”

“Ellie, I must distance myself from Lord Wellesley, for my own sake. He is not so awful as you think him, truly, only I?—”

“Do you love him, Charles?” Eleanor could be bold, when she wished.

“Yes,” she admitted, “but he does not love me in kind. He is fond of me only, he cannot . . .” allow himself more , she wanted to say but did not. “He cannot love like mortals do, he is bound by ducal duty. And I cannot remain his mistress once he marries. I will not share him with another, Ellie, I cannot.” Charles held herself in check, having wept enough already.

“Of course you cannot, sister, for you are far too much like Papa, aren’t you?” Ellie looked at her with such feeling it made Charles ache. “You give too wholly of your heart. Yet you deserve happiness too, sister. You deserve to be loved just as passionately as you yourself love.”

“I shall be fine, Ellie. I always am.” Charles thrust out her chin. “Let me say goodbye to Papa now, and this you must give Cuthbert, please.” She handed her sister a note.

Eleanor looked, at last, resigned. “I’ll make you a quick plate, Charles, to hold you on your journey. It is several days to London. I’ll pack you provisions, too.”

“Thank you, Ellie.”

Charles trod softly to their father’s bedroom, to say farewell to Papa. She prayed it would not be forever.

“Cuthbert.” Wells pulled him aside. “Have you seen Miss Merrinan?”

John thought his lordship looked oddly aggrieved, considering the circumstance. They’d just seen the Duchess and Miss Mowry off, having loaded trunks and servants back into the ducal carriage. He’d expected Lord Wells to be relieved—not that either lady had looked terribly pleased during their send-off.

“No, sir,” John finally answered, still angry at Wells for snatching that last letter.

“If you see her, tell her I wish a word.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And John.” Wells hesitated. “You were right to call me out last night. I should not have spoken as I did.”

“I know, sir.”

“Ruby.” Wells caught the maid’s attention. “Have you seen Miss Merrinan? I require her assistance.”

“Miss Merrinan’s left, milord. Surely you’re aware, sir?”

“Surely I am not.” The force of his words made the girl pale. “What the devil do you mean she’s left?”

“Resigned, sir.” She looked nervous. “Said her oal fella were taken ill and needed tendin’. Left a note this morn. Said I were to take over her duties till your lordship found a new housekeeper, like.”

“A note? Do you have it? Give it me at once,” he demanded.

She reached into her pocket, hands shaking. “’Twere addressed t’ me, sir, or I’d’ve shown it to your lordship sooner. Only I assumed she’d, well, that she’d told you herself she were leavin’, milord.”

Wells did not reply; he was engrossed in the note, having waved the maid off with a flick of his hand.

Ruby,

I am sorry to leave so rashly now, but my father’s health requires that I go to him at once. I do not know how long I will be gone. I trust you’ll be a stalwart housekeeper to his lordship in my absence, for you are skilled, efficient, and courteous to all. I am only sorry to leave you so much work, with visitors still about, and beg forgiveness for this burden. Someday I shall make it up to you, I swear. I have told Lord Wellesley he must hire more staff to finish the Abbey. Perhaps you can impress this upon him better than I was able.

Give my regards to all, but most especially to Jenkins and Cuthbert, as they were the best of partners to me and I shall miss both dearly. I shall miss everyone, even his lordship’s crew. Only I beg you, Ruby, make sure the girls do not flirt with the men. I should hate for you to lose any staff for obvious reasons.

You do me proud, Ruby Barrows. Hug Ginny, Clarice, and Marta for me. ~ Charles Merrinan

Christ , Wells bitterly swore. She’d actually up and left. Well, he’d see about that. It was an hour’s walk to Squire Merrinan’s house and he’d have it out with her there, get down on one knee and propose properly if needs must. Was that what this was about? A formal courtship, her father’s permission? And then he remembered Sir Benedict’s words, how he’d given Wells his blessing over a blasted game of chess. He almost laughed aloud to realize all that nonsense her father had blabbered at him had been true. And given what he now knew, of course the old man had assumed their betrothal. Oh, wait until he told Charles! She’d be tickled.

Eventually.

First she’d need convincing, stubborn woman. He’d go see her this afternoon, just as soon as he had the house in order. He’d tell Jenkins and Cuthbert the news of their betrothal. He felt sure it would be well received.

“Milord.” Jenkins’s face was bright with anger; he’d never seen her like this. “You can’t marry Miss Merrinan, sir, ’tis out of t’ question, despite . . .” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Well, I know full well what you’ve been up to. I daresay everyone in this house does.”

Wells was gobsmacked. “What do you mean, everyone?”

“Well, anyone what matters,” she ground out. “But that don’t mean t’ future Duke of Allendale can maff matters by marryin’ a common Cumberland lass, ’specially not one who’s served your lordship as housekeeper.”

“But she is not a commoner, Mrs. Jenkins. That is what I have been trying to tell you.” He was duly upset. “Her mother was born a lady, Lady Adelaide Enright, and her father, Sir Benedict Merrinan, was knighted for bravery in battle. He was squire here for years before his wife passed, was he not?”

“Well, sure, afore he lost his nappa, he were a fine squire, milord, but a soldier’s still no?—”

“Her mother was the daughter of an earl, Mrs. Jenkins, the Earl of Denbigh. I should think that bloodline would suffice.” Wells was growing more frustrated by the minute but could tell Jenkins wasn’t ready to let go her grievance. Yet.

“Aye, and you knew this when ?” she jabbed. “You’d no right t’ make that girl your lass, milord, no right at’all, preyin’ on her heart like you did, ’specially not if you knew who she were. Installin’ her in your house respectable by day and deplorable by night.”

He deserved her words; they still appalled.

“If I know Charles Merrinan, she’ll want nowt t’ do with your lordship now, proposin’ only after you’ve had her, and she a lady like you say. No sir, she’ll not have you, Lord Wellesley. ’Tis no wonder she’s gang. You’re better off takin’ Mowry as bride and bringin’ on some London mistress once you’ve made your heir and spare.”

Wells stared at his normally kind cook as if she’d grown horns.

Jenkins merely stared back.

“Madam,” he began, “I will admit to having acted a cad, but let me assure you that I’d no idea of Miss Merrinan’s lineage when first we met, and we met under circumstances which painted her in a most unsavory light, such that I?—”

“It matters little t’ circumstance what were , milord.” Her voice remained icy. “What matters now is you leave that poor girl be. And if she’s runnin’ scared because she’s carryin’ your?—”

“Mrs. Jenkins!” He finally found his voice. “You forget, Madam, with whom you speak!”

She at last looked chagrined. “I beg your pardon, milord. You’ll forgive an oal widow her razzie, I hope.”

And with that she turned her back on Wells to continue rolling out her dough, wholly unconcerned that Ginny and Marta had been standing there the entire time, mouths agape and eyes wide as saucers.

The entire household was abuzz with the news as one after another of his staff brazenly weighed in on Wellesley’s betrothal. He overheard Pinky whisper it was high time his lordship got ’imself a ‘trouble and strife’ and Marta claim she could recall more’n a few deccs passed betwixt them two .

Meanwhile, Wells searched the Abbey for Cuthbert, stung by the incriminating looks he got wherever he went—not to mention the tongue lashing he’d received from Jenkins. Her words still rang in his ears, making him feel lower than low. He’d naively thought his staff would be pleased by his proposal.

Apparently not.

“Ruby, where’s Cuthbert?” He found her rifling through receipts in his housekeeper’s cold bedroom office.

“Makin’ a delivery t’ Miss Merrinan’s family, I ’ spect, milord.”

“Right, yes. I should have guessed as much.” Wells suddenly felt lost.

“Milord, I should like t’ congratulate you on your betrothal t’ Miss Merrinan. If you should need aught from me I?—”

“Thank you, Ruby. I appreciate your stepping in now as housekeeper. I shall increase your wages accordingly.”

“Thank you, sir, happy to. Only what I meant were”—she gently met his gaze—“should you need an ear, sir . . .”

Wells was grateful for the girl’s kindness, his body sagging almost under the weight of the morning as he slumped against the closet door, swinging it shut.

“I do, Ruby. I need an ear something awful right now, for I’ve bungled things terribly with Miss Merrinan, making her run off not on account of her father’s poor health but because of the manner in which I . . .” He struggled to admit it even to himself. “Well, the way I proposed marriage to her.”

Ruby merely took his rough hands into her own two small ones, squeezing tightly. “Lord Wellesley, Miss Merrinan’s most fond of you, sir, of this I’ve no doubt. It may take a bit t’ convince her, milord, but we should all like nowt better’n t’ see you both wed, eh.” Her smile was genuinely warm, making his heart ache more.

“I’m afraid Jenkins does not share your opinion,” he muttered.

“Och, Jenkins,” she scoffed. “She’s true housekeeper here, lavishin’ praise and punishment on oa’ us staff. She’ll change her tune soon like.” She grinned at him, then looked instantly contrite, dropping her eyes and his hands as she blushed red. “Do forgive me for speakin’ so bold, sir. I don’t know what came owwer me just now, as I should ne’er presume t’ know what your lordship feels or thinks towards Miss Merrinan.” She looked a hot mess.

“Ruby.” He took her hands in his. “Don’t apologize for your kindness, girl. I need it right now.” He exhaled. “You’ve been a friend to Miss Merrinan, and a friend to me. I’ll not forget it.”

Wells forced a smile and left Ruby to her work, determined to find Cuthbert and Charles and put things right. To put an end to his misery.