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’shouse 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 thiswhen?” 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 whatwere, 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 washigh time his lordship got ’imself a ‘trouble and strife’and Marta claim she could recallmore’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.”
