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

Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

J ohn had read the housekeeper’s note and now stared at a bag of coin on the table—coin Charles had left Eleanor as dowry. Ellie was in the kitchen fixing him a bite. He took up the letter once more.

John,

Forgive me for leaving in haste, but you know how his lordship will react. I prefer he not know where I’ve gone. He will no doubt press you, but I beg you, tell him nothing. I know you swore fealty to his family, John, but soon we will be family too. Consider your loyalty to Eleanor in this. I trust you will make her an excellent husband, and I bitterly regret words said to you both, more than you know. You are indeed worthy of my sister, John, and worthy of my admiration and respect. I cannot say the same for Lord Wells, however, not after the words we exchanged. I wish him no harm, but he cannot continue to take what is not freely given. I have left Eleanor the dowry I promised her—a small amount for you to start your lives. You both have my blessing, John, for I know you will make her happy. Bless you also for your kindness towards our father.

With gratitude, Charles

Oi, that twist and twirl’s done herself a world of hurt by leavin’ now, John thought to himself, for Wells would not give her up so easily. Why the devil those two couldn’t find it in their hearts to forgive one another and simply allow for some happiness, he’d never understand. It seemed so simple to him and so damned difficult for them. Thank God Ellie was less stubborn than Charles. A little less, at least.

“John.” She put a plate before him, then rested her hand on his shoulder. “What does she write?”

He handed her the note. He’d keep no secrets from his betrothed. “Read it yerself, love.”

She briefly scanned the letter before wiping a tear from her eye. “Her blessing, eh?” She kissed his cheek. “I knew she approved of you, John. She was just too proud to say it, I think.”

He nodded. “Only she ain’t the only one too proud, I fear. Lord Wells won’t let her go without a fight, Ellie, not if I know the man. He’ll demand t’ know where she’s gone, if he’s not on his way here already, come t’ question us both.”

“But why did she leave, John?” Eleanor pressed. “She made no mention to me that he’d proposed. She said only that she could not marry him, so I assumed that meant he’d betrothed himself to?—”

“Sounds more like it were the manner in which he proposed.” John snorted. “His lordship ain’t the most eloquent o’ men, Ellie, and if he insulted yer sister in his askin’, it don’t surprise me one bit she’s run off to teach him a lesson.” He paused. “Question is, do we keep our promise t’ Charles, or do we tell Wells where she’s gone?” He looked Eleanor square in the face. “Y’ know her best, Ellie, better’n I ever will.”

“I do, John.” She seemed lost in thought. “Yet I don’t know the answer either. And I don’t think I will, at least not until I speak to Lord Wellesley.” Her face hardened. “I cannot deny my anger towards him, John. He deserves to be punished; I don’t care if he becomes Duke one day. He should not be allowed to take what he likes so absent of all regard. What he did to my sister was unconscionable.”

John agreed. “True, love, but for what it’s worth, he’s not always been granted whate’er he likes. At sea the man saw punishment same as any. Nor is Wells so mollycoddled he can’t take a beatin’ when deserved, only to stand back up for another round o’ knocks.”

“All well and good, John”—Eleanor stood to fetch the kettle—“because he’ll have no choice now but to take the beating Charles intends to give him.” She poured herself a cup. “He must learn to make amends, and if he does, perhaps I might be willing to forgive him past transgressions. Perhaps,” she repeated.

John smiled into his mug, which Ellie promptly refilled. He snuck an arm about her waist, pulling her close enough to rest his head upon her bosom. “Damned if I don’t love you, woman,” he rumbled into her chest.

“Damned if I don’t love you back, sir.” She kissed the top of his head, but already he’d pulled her to his lap, raining kisses on her lips, kissing her until she sighed with giddy, silly joy once more.

Until the door burst open and his lordship stormed inside.

***

“Hands off her, Cuthbert, not until you’re wed.” Wells scowled at the two lovebirds. “Where is Charles?” he demanded.

Neither Cuthbert nor Miss Eleanor made the slightest effort to acknowledge him.

“I said . . .” he threatened.

“We heard what you said, my lord.” Eleanor broke the silence, her face defiant. “But you’ll not command us in our own home.”

“ Your home?” He raised his brow, furious at this woman for resembling her sister so much. “I believe I own this house, miss, and the land beneath it, so it is not exactly your home, now is it?”

“Oh no, my lord, it’s not, thank you ever so much for the reminder. I am sure my sister was ever so grateful when you reminded her, too, of the terms of her sentence for thieving chickens.” Her eyes shot daggers at him.

Wells flinched. “Miss Eleanor, I have apologized to your sister for past behaviors which were reprehensible, to say the least.”

“Yet you’ve not apologized to me, sir, nor to our father, have you?” She got up off Cuthbert’s lap to stand before him. “Is it any wonder Charles wishes nothing more to do with you, Lord Wellesley?”

“Miss Eleanor, please,” he started, “allow me to?—”

“You don’t deserve the allowance, sir,” she lashed back, and Wells knew he was in for a beating as bad as the one his Fox had meted out.

“I know I deserve your wrath, miss, yet I beg you, let me speak with Charles in private, that she and I might?—”

“She is not here, sir, and I will have that apology, straightaway.”

Cuthbert looked at Eleanor in awe.

Wells took a slow, deep breath, willing himself to give this woman her due. “Miss Eleanor, you have my deepest and most sincere apology for the manner in which I treated your sister the night my steward caught her thieving my chickens. I abused my position as local magistrate in order to gain personally from her sentence. I am not proud of my behavior, but nor, in all honesty, do I entirely regret that night either, for it brought your sister into my life, and I have been the better for it.”

“And her, sir?” she cried bitterly. “Is she the better for it too? You paid her coin as your housekeeper, true, and you’ve kept us warm and fed this winter, none of which I’m ungrateful for, my lord. But what have you otherwise left her? A broken heart, ruined reputation, and a future now doing God only knows what.”

Wells was reeling. “Eleanor, where has she gone? Tell me where she is.” His heart began to race. “If she’s done something foolish now I should never forgive myself. You must tell me where she is. Eleanor, tell me where’s she’s gone!”

She almost told him, he could see it in her eyes.

“No, Lord Wellesley,” she said quietly. “I honor my sister’s wishes now, not yours.” She leveled her gaze. “She no longer wishes to see you.”

“Yes, but that is because . . . !” He was so incensed he nearly punched the wall with his fist, stopping himself at the last second. Wells balled his hands at his sides. “Eleanor, I beg you, consider but a moment my intent. I wish to make amends to Charles. I wish to marry her, to make her the next Duchess of Allendale.”

“And?” The lady was ruthless.

“And I can think of no better woman to be my Duchess. Cumberland is already her home, she is respected by its citizens, she is accomplished and capable and has assisted in countless ways already to restore the Abbey . . .” He was shocked to see her face remain so impassive, so cold.

“Is that how you proposed marriage, my lord?” Eleanor asked. “To Charles? Is that how you spoke to her?

“Well, along those lines, yes,” he mumbled, utterly confused now by the expression on her face.

“Then no wonder she refused you.” Eleanor glared at him before she stormed into the kitchen, leaving him alone with Cuthbert.

Wells turned to his steward. “John, why the devil is no one in all of bloody Cumberland pleased that I’m to make Charles Merrinan my wife?”

“Are you, Yer Grace?” Cuthbert regarded him critically. “Seems t’ me yer bride’s run off again, not the first that’s happened, now is it?”

Wellesley’s face burned to be reminded, but Cuthbert would not stop.

“Y’ talk as if it’s a done deal, Yer Grace, as if you’re already betrothed, when y’ know full well she turned you down. Y’ can’t force her t’ marry you, not the way y’ forced her t’ bed you, sir.”

“John, I did not?—”

“Y’ did, sir, and y’ know it.”

Wells sank his head in his hands, collapsing onto a chair. “What have I done?” he got out, strangled.

“Driven off the one woman able to take yer on, that’s what. And damned if you’ll get her back now.”

“Losing her isn’t an option, John, it simply isn’t. I want her. I’ve wanted her from the moment I first laid eyes on her, covered in chicken shit. And knowing her as I do now only makes me want her more.”

“And did y’ try tellin’ her that?” Cuthbert shook his head. “Did y’ try at’all speakin’ from yer heart and not yer bloody duke’s voice?” His look needled Wells. “A woman like Charles, sir, has got to know a man wants her, desires her, needs her in his life.”

“But she does know,” he cried. “She must! When all I have done these past months is to show her again and again just how much I?—”

“Y’ desired her person, sir, but not her true bein’. ’T’ain’t the same thing.”

“But I love her, damn it. All of her, body and soul! I don’t want some other woman as wife, John. I want Charles Merrinan. I can’t lose her, I simply cannot.” He beat his head upon the table in three hard whacks, nearly splitting open his skin he was so angry at himself.

Silence fell upon the house, stilling the room a good long moment before a voice spoke softly from the kitchen door. “Then go and fetch her, Lord Wellesley.” Eleanor’s tone surprised. She must have overheard all. “She loves you too.”

Wells lifted his head in shock.

“She’s fled to London. I’ve no idea where in London, but she left on the first coach this morning. If you leave now, you may just catch her on the road, my lord.”

“Why tell me this now, Eleanor?” he asked, still staring at her, shaking his head almost in puzzlement.

“Because you love her, Lord Wellesley, and if you’d only told her that when you proposed, she’d not have left as she did, I’m sure of it.”

Wells got up and gripped Eleanor’s hands tightly in his own. “Thank you, miss. Thank you for telling me. I know I don’t deserve her, but I swear to you I’ll find her and bring her home. And if she’ll have me, I will not ever again, so long as I live, dishonor her more.”

“You’d best not, sir.” Ellie held his gaze. “Or I’ll send John here to murder you.” She cracked a shy grin at Cuthbert before she put her hands on her hips and ordered, “Out now, both of you. And bring my sister home to me, in time for my wedding and hers.”

***

John and his lordship left Eleanor in a hurry to return to the Abbey. Along the way, Wells peppered him with tasks he wanted done while he’d be in London, and John took mental note of the growing list, knowing full well he’d never get to it all; his lordship was always overly ambitious.

“Sir, I’ll see to as much as I can, as will Ruby. She’s a good head on her shoulders and will stand in well for Charles, I’m sure.”

“Well, I should hope so, for if I return to find everything in disarray again at the Abbey I’ve a mind to install all new staff, especially after the dress-downs I received from those ingrates this morning. Jenkins was worst of all. The cheek of that woman, John, the very?—”

The steward grinned to himself, secretly pleased the widow had tongue-whipped his lordship. “Well now, Yer Grace, seein’ as how you yerself admit the treatment o’ yer housekeeper were anythin’ but?—”

“You needn’t keep reminding, John.” Wells sulked. “Why the hell does everyone feel the need to remind me when my memory is punishment enough?”

“Is it, sir?” John’s grin widened.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Cuthbert.”

“Can’t, sir. ’Bout time y’ grew a conscience towards yer housekeeper.”

“You know damn well I have a conscience.”

“I do, sir. We’d not be best mates if y’ didn’t. Meant only it were time that conscience be applied t’ yer mistress.”

His lordship’s tone turned solemn. “I know I treated her abysmally, John. I couldn’t help it somehow. No, I’ll not make excuses. Only she got under my skin in ways no other woman has, which made me do devilish things to her, as if she were deliberately testing my limits. And all the while, all along, I kept wishing desperately to do better and be better by her.”

John fell silent a moment. “Love’ll do that to a man, I think. Push him to his limits. You’re not alone.”

“And do you love Eleanor the same? Have you . . . ?” He paused. “That is, I imagine unlike myself you’ve gone about courtship much more admirably.”

“I have, sir, and near killin’ me, ’tis!” John laughed. “If I could order Ellie t’ bed me I’d be sore tempted, Yer Grace.”

Wells at last smiled. “You would, eh?” He clapped John on the back. “Well, with any luck, my friend, we’ll both be wed in under a fortnight. I’ll fetch us both licenses in London.”

“Y’ would, sir?” John was surprised. “I thought simply t’ ask the vicar here to?—”

“Cuthbert.” His lordship elbowed him. “The Merrinan girls are proper ladies, you know. Their mother was daughter to the Earl of Denbigh.”

John’s face paled. “Christ.”

“So you’ll need a proper license to marry Eleanor, and I’m going to get you knighted if I can, good man, to install you here as my squire, just as my own father had Merrinan knighted.”

John’s eyes nearly popped from his head.

“Don’t look so shocked, Cuthbert, it’s done often enough and should merely require some groveling on my part, which in this instance I am prepared to do.” His lordship’s mouth pinched in distaste.

“Yer Grace, I can’t let you?—”

“You can and will. I don’t give a damn where my father found you, or who your parents were, John. You’ve saved my neck more than once, man, and I’ll not lose you to a woman. If the only way to keep you is to let you keep Eleanor Merrinan, so be it.”

John was still reeling from the news. “An honest t’ God earl’s granddaughter, Christ,” he again muttered. “She could do better’n me, sir. No wonder Charles were so put out.”

“My future Duchess put out by her sister marrying my steward?” He arched his brow. “All the more reason to knight you, Cuthbert!” Wells laughed roundly. “Besides, it’s about time you learned how it feels to be a person in charge of others. You might not bludgeon me so often with criticism once you’re made squire.”

“Oh I’ll not give that up, sir.” John grinned back. “’Tis the one thing brings me joy, Yer Grace—to see yer put in yer place.”

“You lout, you.” Wells gave him a shove, much as they had as boys, and John shoved him back, till they were both in better spirits, hopeful once again.

Along the road, Charles felt sick to her stomach. The swaying and lurching of the coach made her nauseous, as did the sense she was making a mistake. What if she never saw Papa again? What if she ran out of coin before she found work in London? What if she missed not only Ellie’s wedding but the birth of her sister’s first child? What if, what if, what if . . . Her thoughts took the same twists and turns as her stomach, which tied itself into ever tighter knots.

What if she never saw Roland Wellesley again?

She brutally quashed that thought. She was still bitter over his arrogant proposal. It had hurt more than she wanted to admit, her pride smarting on too many counts. And she couldn’t admit why it had hurt so much either, at least not to Eleanor.

Partly it was because Cuthbert, blast him, had gone about everything right. He’d been respectful, patient, and loving while courting Ellie, proving time and again how much he cherished her. Wellesley had only ever taken what he wanted, when he wanted it, always considering his own needs above hers. Even in proposing marriage he’d spoken only of how it might benefit him and the Duchy—as if her family’s lowered state would make Charles leap at the chance to raise her station through marriage.

As if it would be a bloody privilege to bear his heirs.

He’d not proposed, he had presumed , and she was done being his servant.

The carriage lurched left as Charles’s head bounced painfully against the coach. She fell deeper into despair, because for all her wounded pride, it was her soul, in truth, that ached. Despite all intentions otherwise, she’d fallen under his lordship’s spell these past months—his every act of tenderness and passion making her imagine he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She had secretly hoped he might even grow to need her, too.

But she didn’t need him, she berated herself. He was an arrogant lord who would become an arrogant duke. His arrogance could be attractive in the bedroom, was no doubt necessary, even, when captaining a ship, but it was not conducive to a loving marriage. Wellesley was made to lead, as all dukes must, but he could never love like mortals did.

Like her parents had.

Like Cuthbert loved Eleanor.

Charles’s eyes filled with tears she angrily brushed aside. She forced herself to stare out the window at the bleak landscape, staving off overwhelming feelings of regret.

Once, when the coach stopped to pick up more travelers and roused her from an uneasy sleep, she thought she saw the ducal carriage hurtle past. At least, it looked like the Allendale coat of arms. She wondered why the Duchess would leave now—unless the Duke’s health had suffered a turn. Perhaps, like her own father, he was not long for this world. They were surely of similar age.

Charles’s gut twisted again, recalling how she’d said goodbye to Papa while he slept, ignorant of all that had befallen her, of all that was to come.

It was likely for the best.