“Does she love another?”
“I don’t believe there is another, no,” he answered honestly.
“Then she’ll come round. If Benedict Merrinan hadn’t gotten to Adelaide Enright first, I swear I’d have had a chance with her, I would.”
Wells smiled to himself, imagining his father head over heels for Charles’s mother. “You sly devil you, sir. I can’t say I’ve ever thought of you in such light, old man.”
“You’re not the only handsome duke in London, boy,” his father teased, and then began to cough in earnest.
“Father, should I call for someone?”
“No, no.” He hacked bright spots into a handkerchief, then fell back heavily upon the pillows. “Water is all . . . Hell, pour me a whiskey instead.”
Wells went to fetch a glass from the sideboard.
His father took the drink with trembling hand. “Now, I want to hear of your progress on the Abbey and of Merrinan’s daughter. I assume you met her there, in Cumberland?”
Wells nicked his head.
“It’s good she’s of the land. Your mother forced me back to London, you know, or I’d have stayed forever. Bloody fine country it is. You’re wise to restore Almsdale, son. Lay claim to the Duchy once more. Give up the London townhouse once your mother dies. Waste of upkeep, I say.”
“You’ve read my mind, Father.”
“Fine, yes.” He appeared lost in thought. “And Roland . . .”
“Sir?”
“You’ve done me proud, boy, despite the horseshit she lays on you.” He was, of course, referring to his Duchess. “Proud of you for captaining a ship, for taking on the Abbey.” He closed his eyes. “Marry Charles Merrinan, son. She’ll make you a fine duchess.”
And Wells decided right then he’d tax his father no more with talk. Instead he sat with him in silence until the Duke felldeep asleep. He promised himself he’d sit with the old man again tomorrow and tell him about the work on the Abbey’s south wall.
It was enough to know his father lived and breathed and shockingly, seemed to care.
Though Charles had been in London well over two weeks, she could not grow used to the city. Not only did it stink—worse than Fergus ever had—it was a callous town, its inhabitants surly. The inn was a den of noise at night, with crashing brawls and even louder laughter that rudely kept her awake. And her first day atLeBrecht’shad been anything but easy. In fact, it had been humiliating.
The shop had two separate entrances, one for theMesdamesand one for theMessieurs, and she, of course, was relegated to working theMessieursside. She was not alone either, for there was a steady stream of pretty girls who occupied this half of the store and worked alongside her, using the back room to model items for the gentlemen all purporting to be making purchases for their ‘sisters’ or ‘wives.’
Charles had yet to indulge a single gentleman by modeling undergarments for him, and her pay was a clear reflection of this, forMadamecompensated primarily on commission, which meant Charles earned very little for her time. At this rate she’d either need to find a different job, different lodgings, or come to terms with showing more skin than she’d like.
One gentleman in particular called almost daily on her, intent on purchasing a pair of burgundy stockings and ribbons for his presumed wife and insisting Charles model the ensemble for him. He claimed he could not possibly make such purchase without being assured how the stockings would look on hiswife’s long legs, legs which were apparently of just her own length and shape, or so he claimed. Charles had held out for days, but by his fourth visit she was worn down. His purchase would mean coin enough for her to eat dinner again, and she was hungry like she used to be, like the day their last two hens had been stolen by that fox.
She gave in.
“Mademoiselle, they are exquisite.” The impeccably dressed gentleman looked upon her ankles with his own form of hunger.
“Très bien, monsieur.” She pasted on a smile. “Shall I box them up for you?” She knew her voice was overeager.
“Not yet, miss.” His eyes met hers. “I should like to see the ribbons, too, of course.”
Charles nearly wept that it had come to this, as she grudgingly raised her skirt so he might gaze upon the bright, neat bow tied just above her knee, the shape of her calf on full display, a hint of bare thigh just beyond reach. He extended his hand to touch when for sheer instinct she slapped him away.
He recoiled at once, his face amused, while her own, no doubt, seethed.
“You are angry with me,chérie,” he drawled.
“You have taken liberties, sir,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Gentlemen are allowed certain liberties atLeBrecht’s, dear Charlotte.” His lips curled. “If you wish to earn more here you’ll need to be a bit more accommodating toMadame’sclients.” He’d said the last word in French while his ice blue eyes, more determined than ever, met hers. “Allow me to touch,chérie, and I shall buy two pairs.”
