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

Chapter 45

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

L ord Wellesley called upon Charles every blasted day now, bearing new blooms each day too, until her bedroom was a veritable hothouse. It had been a sennight since she’d arrived at the Enrights, and in that time she had managed to endear herself to every servant in the house. In the same span of time she’d also managed to infuriate Lord and Lady Enright a hundred times over. That she was punishing them was obvious to all. That she had no intention of desisting was obvious only to herself.

Jeanie proved a tolerable enough substitute for Eleanor whenever Charles felt the need to wax furious over something Lord Wellesley did or said, which was often enough. Charles knew the girl could not comprehend her wrath, nor did she trust her enough to reveal the truth of her relationship with Wells. The maid must have told Charles fifty times his lordship appeared the picture of a gentleman with his oh so fine demeanor and even finer comportment. Why, she wished some future duke would call daily asking for her hand too! Charles had bit her tongue at that.

She helped the household whenever she could, clearing her plate from table to get a rise out of her grandfather, even making her own bed most mornings if the maids didn’t get to it in time. The staff all thought her very strange, and the story of her past, of having been cast out by the Earl and Countess, began to take root amongst the servants, spreading even to other households, or so Jeanie said. Word had it the Ton itself had begun gossiping about the Enrights again, rekindling the none-too-ancient history of their eldest daughter and a certain brave soldier granted knighthood. It seemed that all of London began to buzz with news that the Duke of Allendale’s son was purportedly courting this long lost Enright granddaughter. Would he make her his future duchess? And would she accept his all-too-eager suit? Jeanie regaled Charles daily as to the latest household gossip.

Charles could not have cared less, though it pleased her just a little to know her grandparents were upset by all the talk. That she did enjoy.

Wells, meanwhile, was miserable. Not only had he vowed never to return to London, he’d vowed never to put himself through the agony of formal courtship again, yet here he was, doing both. And Charles, it seemed, had no intention of relenting.

She was proving to be a fortress of denial, and he feared she might never crack. His mother, of course, was also needling him about the renewed gossip; he could not deny the stares and titters that now greeted him on London’s streets. For every past harm he’d done Charles Merrinan, it seemed the lady would repay him—with a vengeance.

What he needed was for Cuthbert to bloody well arrive so he could be done with his steward’s knighting. If John had left the day he’d received Wellesley’s letter he might arrive as early as tomorrow, for Wells was beginning to fantasize about simply stealing his mistress back to Cumberland and reinstalling her there as his housekeeper. At the Abbey, at least, he’d have a chance in hell of speaking to her again like they used to, because the Enrights never left them alone. They were forever chaperoned, and Charles had become an insufferably polite version of her former outspoken self. Even her wardrobe began to repel him, the way the Countess outfitted her with flounces, ribbons, and lace. She looked like an overstuffed doll.

Wells missed his chicken-thieving Fox like never before.

“You want me to what ?” Wells regarded his mother with outrage. They were taking tea in his mother’s parlor—at his mother’s insistence. He rattled his cup so hard it spilled.

“Yes, I want you to ruin her publicly, Roland. I have secured the Enrights an invitation to the Sedgewicks’s garden fête this Sunday at their estate outside of London. There you will ensure a public-enough falling-out with Miss Merrinan so as to compromise her into an immediate and necessary marriage.” She looked downright smug. “And I daresay you shouldn’t find it difficult, given you’ve ruined the girl already.”

Wells fumed. Apparently, the gossip swirling about town had forced his mother and Lady Enright to form an unholy alliance of sorts with both women now hatching plans to force Charles’s hand. The rumor Miss Merrinan was comporting herself like a servant in her grandparents’ house had pushed Lady Enright over the edge.

“The difference being, Mother, that I have vowed to court Miss Merrinan honorably now, according her the respect and admiration due a lady of her station. As you yourself counseled me to do.”

“Roland, now is not the time to turn gentleman on me.”

“Do I hear you right, Maman ? You of all people now tell me to behave dishonorably, on purpose no less, all to trick the woman I love into marriage?”

“Yes,” she snarled, “because your plan is decidedly not working.”

“This time I am being patient, Mother. Unlike you, it seems.”

The Duchess took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Roland, love,” she began calmly enough, “Miss Merrinan is angry with you, with her grandparents, angry at the world no doubt. And she will remain angry until something occurs to jar her from her anger. What’s more, the poor girl is justified in her anger. You did treat her abominably and her grandparents did disown her most reprehensibly, causing her and her sister great hardship. So to prolong her agony by trapping her longer with the Enrights when you could simply carry her back to Cumberland and make her happy, well, what would you wish for her, son, you who claim to love her so?”

He had to admit, there was truth to her argument.

Yet he’d sworn he wouldn’t force or coerce Charles ever again. He’d promised her a choice when she’d been denied choice once too oft. He’d not go back now on his word to her, else she’d resent him for the rest of their married life.

If they ever married.

“I am sorry, Maman ,” he told her quietly. “I will attend this garden party but I will not willfully compromise Miss Merrinan into marriage. I cannot do that to her, not after everything I’ve already done. I simply cannot.”

Dearest Charles, Eleanor began, for Charles had snatched the letter delivered on the footman’s platter with anxious hands, fearing the worst for Father.

I cannot tell you my relief upon receiving word Lord Wellesley has delivered you into safety. How I have worried about you, sister! Only do not hate me for telling him you fled to London. At first I did not. I scolded him most harshly, John can attest. Yet had you seen him that day, Charles, frantic for you, a man brokenhearted . . .

Brokenhearted her foot. He’d fooled Ellie again, it seemed.

. . . and desperate enough I did not recognize him almost. I knew then that his lordship loves you, Charles, as much as you love him, so I could remain silent no longer. I hope you have forgiven him by now and will come home to us. I hope you will forgive me, too. It was concern for you only which made me break my promise.

Papa is well, though he remains in a weakened state. I am grateful he knows naught of your predicament. He thinks you still at the Abbey and scolds you for not visiting. At least on those days when he does not think you still his little girl, needing scolding for other reasons.

I will end by saying that our grandparents have written to me as well, and that I have responded only out of politeness to you rather than to them. It must surely be a shock to reside again beneath their roof, and I am sorry for it, though I understand his lordship’s reasons. Promise me you will not anger them too much, sister; I shall remain by letter distantly polite. Once you are home you need never see them again.

I wish only for your safe return now, for your happiness, and for you to attend my wedding. That and for me to attend your own wedding to Lord Wellesley. Do not frown so, Charles, I can picture you scowling at the very words I write. For once, sister, set aside your stubborn pride. I know you care for his lordship, as he cares for you. As Papa and I care deeply for you too. Write to me soon, I beg, that I may hear from you myself. I love you Charles—be good! Eleanor

Be good? What the devil had made her write that? Charles angrily set aside the letter, stewing not a little over her sister’s words, though she was relieved Father’s health was no worse. She would pen Eleanor a response, of course, but would mince no words about his lordship or their grandparents. That her sister could forgive Wells so readily . . . Hmph. She didn’t know the half of him.

Though she reminded herself it was in Ellie’s nature to forgive, while she was of an altogether different nature: more punishing by far.