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

Chapter 48

The journey back to Cumberland took a full week now that Lord Wells and his lady wife did little to rush their return. The pair spent lazy nights in inns along the way and stopped frequently to stretch their legs or picnic during the day.

Wandering into woods for clandestine tête-à-têtes also slowed their travel, though there was one flight from carriage that Wells would gladly have avoided: The day he’d confessed to reading Charles’s correspondence with her sister.

She’d stopped the driver in a rage, then taken off into the forest.

He’d known he must come clean, though it had taken him a good hour to convince his wife to return back to Cumberland with him rather than run straight back to London. He should have told her before they’d married and yet . . . It no longer mattered why he hadn’t. What mattered was that she forgave him—with the promise she’d bludgeon him in his sleep should he ever knowingly deceive her again.

In truth, Wells had no desire to keep more secrets from Charles. The entire trip back he found himself revealing more to her than she likely wished to know about her husband. A dam had broken inside him, allowing feelings to tumble out alongside the telling of all his stories. Somehow, after confessing to reading her letters, it felt safe to tell her everything.

Liberating.

Cuthbert they’d left behind in London to await Eleanor’s trousseau, for the Enrights had agreed to outfit their other granddaughter for her wedding after no small degree of arm-twisting from Wells’s mother. He had also tasked his steward with stealing a certain lady’s maid from Charles’s grandparents. Given his father’s health, Wells knew Charles would be Duchess sooner than later and the attendant duties—not to mention requisite apparel—would be more than a maid like Ruby was equipped to handle.

When the happy couple did, at last, arrive at Almsdale Abbey, Wells carried Charles over yet another threshold before demanding his staff gather in celebration. Only his wife hushed him imperiously, saying said celebration could wait until the morrow. She would not tax her staff so unexpectedly and would need first assess how everything had gone in their absence. Ought her new husband not do the same?

Fergus laughed outright to hear their exchange, and Jenkins merely nodded her approval, leaving Wells to ponder whom his servants would now obey: their future Duke, or the future Duchess of Allendale?

He’d worry about that another day.

“Oh milady, I beg you please tell us every bit of how it were his lordship found you in London! And what kind of weddin’ you had, and what you wore and . . .”

Ruby was positively breathless with excitement, talking nonstop at Charles while the other girls and Jenkins all sat about the large kitchen table, staring at the new Lady Wellesley in rapt attention.

Charles couldn’t help but grin back. “Why, I wouldn’t know where to start, Ruby. Only I must insist you call me Charles and not milady when it’s just us maids, chatting over a cup of scordy.”

But Jenkins wouldn’t have it. “Lady Wellesley,” she chided, “I’ll tolerate no sech familiarity in my kitchen, ma’am. This may not be London, but we’ve class enough in Cumberland t’ know when t’—”

“Mrs. Jenkins, please.” Charles met her gaze. “We’ll put on a good show when visitors come, of course, but when we are alone here I . . .” She took a breath. “If Lord Wellesley is allowed to roll up his shirtsleeves and work alongside Mr. Adams’s men, then I can help the household, working alongside my marras.”

A roomful of eyes peered at her in surprise.

“I beg you.” She grew desperate. “I never, ever expected to marry his lordship, so to imagine I must now become some wholly different person, why I?—”

“Well now, I s’pose we might, initially at least, grant you some leeway, milady.” Jenkins finally relented, pursing her lips. “Least until you hire more housemaids. ’Cause t’ be frank, Lady Wellesley, without your ladyship t’ scrub and polish alongside t’ rest of us, I don’t know how we’ll be ready for another visit from t’ Duchess. The moment her grace’s first grandbabby’s born, she’ll show up demandin’ another audience, eh?” She gave Charles a saucy wink.

Charles blushed as Ruby squeezed her hand. “See now, milady, we’ll not lob you out just yet, only now tell us, please , of oa’ your grand adventures with his lordship.”

Charles related her story in full, leaving certain details out, of course, but entertaining them as best she could. Surrounded by these warm Cumberland women, sipping scordy while regaling them with her London stories, she felt at last like she’d come home. Gang yam.

Wellesley’s welcome was of a very different nature.

“Found ’er where, Capt’n? At Li’s?”

“Which one o’ madam’s houses?” piped another.

“Finally wooed ’er, didya?”

“’Tisn’t in the man t’ woo a woman proper,” elbowed in the fellow beside him.

“Still feisty on ’er weddin’ night, was she?” came another’s sly retort. “’Bout time y’ made an honest woman o’ that lass!”

Wells scowled at the unruly lot, shaking his head at their lurid chaff and refusing to divulge the particulars of anything.

“Listen, louts,” he ordered. “A man does not discuss a wife the way he might discuss a mistress, so you can all sod off.” He grumbled to himself, “Asking questions to which I’ll give no goddamn answers.”

Their disappointment was palpable.

He raised his hand as if on deck. “However, winter is past us, men, and I promised you positions only till spring winds beckoned. If you’re of mind to return to port I’ll arrange for transport back to London.” He paused, falling serious. “Although if you wish to stay on here in Cumberland, at the Abbey, I could use the help.” He took a breath. “And I’d be honored if you did.”

The men fell silent, looking one to another as if they’d already discussed the matter amongst themselves.

“Remain with you, in bloody Croakumshire?” Pinky hollered from the back.

Fergus stepped forward. “Yer Grace, we’ll all stay on, as one.”

“All of you?” Wells was taken aback. “I figured some might, but?—”

“We’re a crew, sir,” Fergus told him plain. “Loyal t’ our Capt’n, so if you’ll have us, you’ll have t’ keep us—to a man.”

Wells grinned, clapping Fergus on the back. “Damn right you’re a crew. Finest bloody crew to ever sail the oceans, lads.” His grin broadened. “I am humbled you’d choose to stay with me on land and promise you each a respectable position in this house, although it might”—he turned a sharp look on some—“require a change in grooming and uniforms, eventually,” he amended. He could hear the start of mutterings and knew they’d balk at this. “But first, crew, we’ve a celebration to plan in honor of my marriage, yes?”

To which shouts of Here, Here! were heard, amidst less exemplary exclamations.

“We’ll feast and drink and dance and?—”

“Yer Grace,” Fergus interrupted, “the lads an’ I’ve been discussin’ certain work conditions in yer absence, Capt’n, an’ we think it’s time y’ hired more staff, if y’ ken me drift.”

Wells arched his brow. “Would you be referring to more female staff, Fergus?”

“I would, sir.”

“Then I’m afraid you must take the matter up with Lady Wellesley, good sir, because I am no longer in charge of household decisions.”

Disjointed groans filtered through their crowd.

“But she’ll hire only ugly ones!” shouted one man.

“That woman’ll thwart us at every turn,” claimed another.

“She keeps ’er girls so penned in tight they’ll not even?—!”

“Now you yobs listen good.” Wells fixed them with a stare. “Charles Merrinan gave you Mamie Griswald, did she not? So don’t you dare insult my wife by saying she . . .” Only he thought better and instead deepened his scowl. “I’ve no doubt Lady Wellesley will hire the goddamn prettiest girls in Cumberland just to torture you brutes further.”

His crew groaned to imagine such a fate: forever tempted yet never allowed to touch.

“You play your cards right, boys, staying on, and you may just meet and court a proper village lass one day, settle down and marry even.”

“Marry?” someone said. “Only fools marry.”

“Damn right.” Wells laughed. “Lucky fools at that.”

Although he wished for nothing more than to spend more time alone with his lovely new wife, that same afternoon Wells accompanied Lady Wellesley to her father’s house, to deliver Charles to her sister, as promised.

Eleanor greeted them at the door by throwing her arms about her sister in a hug that would not end, until Wells had to interrupt them, coughing a little to indicate he should like to be welcomed also.

Eleanor peered sharply at him over Charles’s shoulder, but then motioned him inside, where he greeted Benedict Merrinan with the utmost respect.

“The Duke of Allendale sends his regards, Sir Benedict, and wishes you well, sir.”

The fellow’s watery eyes looked up. “Make an honest woman of my daughter, did you?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” Wells answered. “She is now Lady Wellesley, sir, and will one day be Duchess of Allendale.”

“Good, good.” Merrinan nodded. “And your father, boy? Still standing, I presume?”

“Barely, sir,” Wells reported. “I fear he lies abed most days.”

“Damn shame, damn shame,” Merrinan muttered. “Terrible to grow old, I tell you. God-awful business.”

“My mother sends her regards as well, Sir Benedict.”

“Fine woman, yes. Fierce, but very fine. Always did like your mother, boy. Gumption . . .” he trailed off.

Charles put her hand on her father’s arm. “Papa, would you like to lie down a bit and rest?”

“That you, Addy? Where is Charles? She run off again? Tell her his grace is here to visit. He’s brought his boy, let them play.”

“I will, Papa.” She helped him rise and gently guided him towards his bed.

Eleanor fixed her gaze on Wells. “I should like a word alone with you, my lord.”

Wells knew he was in for it but gave her his arm anyway. “Shall we take a stroll about your garden, miss?”

She accepted his offer, but once outside, she tightened her grip and her words. “My lord, as your sister now, I am at liberty to speak freely, am I not?”

“Eleanor, I believe you are at liberty to call me Roland, and I recall you did not hesitate even before I married your sister to speak freely to me.”

She pursed her lips. “Be that as it may, Roland ”—she tried on the name—“not only are you now my brother, but John too, by marriage, will soon be brother to you also.”

Wells was pleased by the thought. “Why, so he shall, Eleanor. It seems I will be doubly blessed.”

“And doubly cursed, sir.” Her eyes locked on his. “For if you ever again mistreat my sister in so shameless and baseless a manner as you did before, so help me God both John and I will?—”

He stilled his steps to take both her hands in his. “Eleanor, I believe this conversation were better had with Charles, for I am a reformed man and shall endeavor the rest of my days to please my wife. She, on the other hand, shall likely punish me for the rest of our married life.” He did his damnedest to look contrite. “So I would beg you remind your sister not to abuse her husband too terribly in future, though he may rightly deserve it.”

Eleanor took one look at his face and threw her head back in merry laughter. She slipped her arm in his, reminding him very much of his wife in that moment. “I look forward to deepening our acquaintance, brother, for I’ve a feeling we shall both be turning to one another in future when it comes to Charles.”

“I’m scared, Fox,” Wells quietly told her as they lay spent upon the shell room’s floor, having snuck away from the evening’s revelry—their own wedding celebration no less. They’d fled the festivities just as they’d fled them at Christmas, finding refuge here amongst the sea and stars.

She pursed her lips. “Dread Pirate Wells, what in heavens has you scared? You, who are without doubt the most brash, cocksure, vainglorious, conceited?—”

“You, Charles,” he told her truthfully. “I am scared you will regret marrying me now and run off again, taking a new lover and leaving me here to?—”

“What nonsense is this?” She leaned up on one elbow to stare him down, looking every bit a haughty, naked duchess.

“You can be rather frightening.” He was unwilling to meet her eyes.

“Roland, look at me.”

He did, grudgingly.

“You are not only foolish to think such things, you are a coward even to speak them.” He tried interrupting but she would not let him. “No, it is true—and exactly what I feared would happen.” She let out a snort. “Now that you have gotten what you wished, you no longer want it.” Her mouth hardened into a line. “Husband, have you tired of me already?”

He was pained to think she thought so little of him so soon. “No, you misunderstand entirely, Charles. I am in earnest, for I fear that despite marriage now I still don’t . . . That is, I won’t ever have you in the truest sense.” He met her eyes at last.

She stared at him a moment in shock. “You wish to own me.”

“God no!” he cried. “As if I ever could, woman. As if I’d even want to break the very spirit that endears you to me so.”

“Then I do not understand you, sir, that you should question so utterly the vows we spoke in marriage. Do they mean so little to you?” She seemed suddenly rather bitter, and he was at once desperate to fix matters.

“No, Fox. Only my own father kept mistresses, my own mother took men to her bed, and they, like us, spoke the very same vows before God.”

“Yet they are not us, Roland, and we are not them. My parents took no other lovers; you see how my father suffered the loss of his wife. So do not tell me love is fickle. Do not tell me vows are made in jest, for I meant every word I spoke the day we wed. Every word.”

“You did not mean the vow of obedience to your husband, Charles,” he wagered.

She sniffed, her lips at last softening. “Well, that is a ridiculous vow no woman ever spoke in earnest.”

Hope alit in his breast.

“And I certainly don’t expect you to be like my father, mad from grief the day I die. Not when I know you’ll quickly find another to warm your bed.”

“Well I should hope I don’t go mad.” He huffed. “I intend to poison myself upon your death, like Romeo beside Juliet.”

She poked him in his middle, hard enough that he grabbed her wrists.

“You think I jest, woman?” Wells stared fiercely into her eyes. “I do not, Charles.” He grew grave. “Do not even speak to me of death, love. I could not bear it. I cannot bear the thought of losing you . That is what I fear. I’ll not deny I’ve not enjoyed the chase, have not relished taming you these many months past, but life is fickle, Fox, its tempest never fair, so I will never have you in the purest sense of having.”

“Roland Rutherford Wellesley.” She raised her chin, possessed of some secret, feminine knowledge, he thought. “You will kiss me now and cease such nonsense, here in the ocean of this room. You will make love to me again and forget all your fears and worries, all that consumes you by day. Each night you will come to me so that together we may make things right, even though we shall argue and disappoint and yet again fight. For so long as love be true, husband, all other fears shall be put to bed, to rest. I promise you this.”

And in that instant he believed her, wholly and completely. Wells took her lips in a kiss leagues deep, knowing in his soul his Fox would anchor him forever, even when everything would inevitably go wrong again.

Perhaps that was having after all—having faith in love to steer life right.

The End