***
“Which is why I shall never marry you, Lord Wells.” Charles pulled from him roughly. “You cannot take what is not freely given, and I will not marry a man who would just as soon marryanother. I will not be molded into a proper duchess to suit you or your mother’s whims. Nor will I be kept prisoner here in my grandparents’ house.” She drew herself up with every shred of dignity she still had left, though inside her soul was crumbling. “So make Mowry your bride and leave me the hell alone.”
Charles bolted from the courtyard and ran into the house, to the comfort of her bedroom, locking the door behind her and throwing herself upon the bed to cry herself silly like some moonstruck girl of fifteen. The last time she’d cried so hard in this house she’d been that very age and just as distraught, only for the sake of a very different love back then: love for her father, her family, her mother freshly lost.
Always and ever, it seemed, Charles wept for love.
Wells eventually returned to the drawing room in a haze of dejection, feeling wrung out to dry. The last thing in the world he wished to do was converse more with Lady Enright, who had surely witnessed their quarrel through the courtyard’s glass panes. He dreaded her words as her skirts rustled in impatience, yet he took his seat with resignation.
“Charles Merrinan is worse than her mother, Lord Wellesley.”
He looked up, surprised.
“More obstinate, obstreperous, obnoxious even than Adelaide was. And it is entirely my own fault for ignoring the girl.” The Countess almost snorted. “I raised Adelaide properly, you know, her sole undoing that rakish soldier Merrinan. But my granddaughter’s undoing, I now see, stems from a decade’s worth of neglect. I have no one to blame but myself.”
Wells suspected the lady was trying to finesse this union before all hope was lost, though if the Countess suspected he had compromised her granddaughter, she might very well attempt to force matters.
And that, he knew,would incense Charles only more.
The lady huffed more loudly, as if the last thing she’d expected or desired at her age was to suffer both character slanderandher granddaughter. Yet here she was, dealing with both.
Wells did not want to deal with her a moment more.
He rose to excuse himself, and the Countess politely stood too.
“Lord Wellesley, allow me to see you out, sir.”
“No need, Lady Enright,” he replied. “I shall call again tomorrow, same time.”
“You will?” She quickly collected herself. “Good. That is, I am pleased to hear it.” Oddly, she patted his arm. “It will take time for Charles to acclimate herself again to life here, my lord. Though no doubt you show great patience with her already.”
Wells merely grumbled, “I have not always been so patient with her, Countess, so the least I can do is grant it her now.”
Later, after Charles had cried herself dry, her maid, Jeanie, rapped softly at her door. She let the girl in with a fresh tray of tea and the parcel Lord Wellesley had brought, and then she asked her to bring his lordship’s flowers to her room too.
Upon returning with the bouquet though, Charles could barely thank the girl for the fresh onslaught of tears that again bathed her face. She held his lordship’s silver timepiece grippedin her palm as she stared at Ruby’s print frock strewn across the bed.
For the life of her she didn’t know why both objects made her weep.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Lord 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 toit 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 theTonitself 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.Thatshe 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 aboutsimply 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 towhat?” 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.
