“Oh, Your Grace. If you could talk to him, I should be so grateful.”
“But should Feeley decide to take you with him after all, are you sure you want to leave England? Especially now, when you have become a skilled lady’s maid? You may not find such work in Cork.”
“You’ve been so very good to me, Your Grace. I know I wasn’t up to snuff when you first employed me. But a servant’s life isn’t a rich life. I want a home, a man’s love, and his children.”
Nellie silently agreed. But how long would the romance last once they were faced with poverty? “Of course you do. I shall speak to His Grace when he comes home.”
As Charles returned from a ride with Jason, Nellie met him on the path.
Jason waved and continued on, while Nellie explained about Lilly.
“I know Feeley is returning to Ireland, and I’ve provided him with a reference. I’ll talk to him, sweetheart, but I can’t make my valet take your maid with him if he doesn’t wish to.” He gave a wry grin, which she was pleased to see, as he’d been so dreadfully subdued of late. “I must say I’m surprised he hasn’t had his way with her, seeing as she’s willing. Not Feeley’s style.”
“Maybe he loves her?”
Charles wrapped an arm around her. “Well, maybe he does. And maybe he’s being sensible about it.”
“You’ll talk to him?”
“Yes. I’m not sure what good it will do, though. Jas tells me as Mother’s improved a little, they are to return home in a couple of days. He can’t leave matters to his staff indefinitely.”
“No, of course, not. I will miss them.”
Nellie would have liked to confide in Beverly about the baby. But Dr. Chapman had left without her consulting him. She wanted this baby so much, she almost feared she was conjuring him up. She must tell someone. Marian was increasing and would be her usual supportive self, offering great advice. Nellie would write to her this afternoon.
Charles spent each night with her. It was wonderful to lie in his arms again. The distance from London made her worries ease, but not vanish completely. She tried not to think of the little boy and his mother, the Frenchwoman who had been so determined to hang onto Charles.
Did Charles love her? He was passionate and caring with Nellie, but she still waited for the words she longed to hear. If and when he said those words, it would complete her.
*
The sun beatdown on Charles and Jason as they sweated and toiled together, digging a ditch at the Jameson’s farm. Charles took a moment to wipe his brow with his handkerchief. His tenant farmer, Mr. Jameson, had fallen ill a month ago, and as he was not quite up to scratch yet, Charles preferred not to have him undertaking such heavy work. If he became ill again, his wife and family would be in trouble.
Jason stopped to stretch his back. “Do you think Mother appeared better this morning?”
“Certainly brighter,” Charles said, resting on his shovel. “But we must accept that it will not last.”
Jason shoved his hat back on and took up his spade, savagely attacking the irrigation ditch.
“It’s not alive, Jas,” Charles said with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t need to kill it.”
Jameson carried over two tankards of draft. “Me missus can’t believe her eyes. A duke and a lord diggin’ ditches for us. She’s plannin’ a feast for ye.”
“Tell her not to go to any trouble, Jameson,” Charles said.
He’d hoped to have luncheon with Nellie. He constantly thought about her when she wasn’t with him and cherished their nights together. He had never intended his marriage to be more than convivial, nor expected to feel so deeply about another person. It seemed that where Nellie was concerned, he was helpless. If he was setting himself up for heartbreak again, so be it. He would screw his courage to the sticking place, as Shakespeare had written. He had never considered himself a coward, but he admitted he had been in matters of the heart. The air seemed to lighten around him with a sense of new purpose.
Jason took the tankard with a nod of thanks and raised it to his lips. “I could certainly eat a plowman’s lunch.”
“Aye. Cheese, fresh from the dairy, milord, sausage, and bread.”
“Pickles?” Jason asked, downing the rest of the beer.
“Aye, and pickles.” Jameson chuckled and walked back to the house.
When Charles arrived home several hours later, Feeley waited to assist him with a much-needed bath and a change of clothing. “I have ordered hot water, Your Grace. I expected you’d want a bath.”
“You anticipated correctly, Feeley.” His valet always did. He would miss him.
