“But you were educated.”
“My father was the village headmaster, my lord.”
“Hmm,” he pondered, then took another bite of bread, deciding to change the conversation entirely. “I’ve a mind to eat this whole delicious loaf, what say you?”
She timidly smiled back. “First coffee and now butter, my lord . . . It isIwho am in heaven, sir.”
“Good,” he stated. “Then I am content, despite this morning’s upsets.” He peered at her more closely before he reached his hand to trace the bridge of her nose, landing at its tip. “You are very pretty, Charles, and will be prettier still, once we fatten you up.”
Yet she did not warm to his praise, saying only, “I am neither fair nor foul, my lord. But if it pleases you to think me pretty, so be it. Looks matter little here in Cumberland, Lord Wellesley. The land treats all the same.”
After devouring the better half of a loaf, his lordship left Charles in the kitchen with orders to bake him three more. To which she’d replied she would see that tally towards her fine started and wished to write a letter to her sister, to assure her she was well.
Lord Wellesley had simply looked at her a little strangely and nodded yes before he’d left her blessedly alone to contemplate both bread and recent events—in other words, to contemplate her sentence. But first Charles needed to take stock of kitchen staples: oats and flour aplenty yet only plain leavening in sight. She’d have to beg starter off a villager if his lordship wanted sourdough. She imagined the look of pleasure on his face once he’d tastedthat.
As she mixed and kneaded more dough her thoughts turned to the future, a future now inextricably linked to Lord Wellesley, or Wells, as his men called him. She’d met his father, the Duke of Allendale, once long ago when she was quite small, for she remembered the day he’d paid her father a visit, taking tea even with Mama. He’d been a large, grand man, she recalled, but not unkind, letting her sit upon his knee to play with his gold cufflinks. She remembered how pleased he’d been when she’d told him her name.
Wellesley was not so large as his father, or perhaps only seemed less large now that she was grown herself. He had his father’s aristocratic carriage—no, his arrogance,she amended in her head—yet his appearance lacked style. The fact he’d served her coffee and was holed up in the Abbey with but a rowdy band of Londoners to wait on him hinted at how removed he was from polite society, from acting like the Duke’s son. Not to mention those same Londoners alsoinexplicably insulted the Dukedom by addressing Wellesleyas ‘His Grace.’
Wells did not dress in terribly fine clothing either. He struck her as unkempt for a lord, having not even shaved this morning. Had he no valet? She was not sure what to make of him, nor why he’d disparaged London with such vehemence. She was not so foolish as to press him more, but she suspected Lord Wellesley was fleeing something, and she could only wonder what.
Charles wondered a great many things while her hands rolled and punched dough, wishing most of all that her new master were less handsome. She blushed to picture him naked as the dawn this morning: mischievous slate eyes above square, carved cheekbones. Proud patrician nose below curls too unruly for a man. Broad shoulders over corded torso with legs sculpted like the Greek statues she’d seen in museums Father had taken her to in London. Those images reminded her how unlike the limpid gentry Lord Wells truly looked. He was coarse by comparison, and she was shocked to discover her body tingling with renewed arousal, despite the threat of imminent ruin.
Oh God, had she just imagined her ruination?
Charles upbraided herself. It would do no good, she thought, for Lord Wells to know she found him attractive; the man was full of himself enough. Besides, she was wicked for even thinking such thoughts.
She mentally shook herself, focusing on shaping the loaves. She must think strategically now and not fall for his lordship’s physical charms. Rather, she must fall into his favor and use him to improve Eleanor’s chances at a proper match. She held no hope of marriage for herself, nor did she wish to be forever under some man’s thumb. Bad enough she was now underthisman’s thumb. The day Eleanor was securely settled and Papa at rest beside Mama was the day she would begin to see about pleasing herself.
Until that day Charles would concentrate on the here and now. As she turned the loaves out into the hot brick oven she let her thoughts wander more. Perhaps someday she’d own a little cottage all her own. Or dress as a man and travel the world. Perhaps she’d even teach in a village school somewhere as Papa had. Whatever she did it would be hers to decide and hers to own, and if she had to give her body to Lord Wellesley to achieveher freedom so be it. She’d be neither the first, nor last, woman on earth forced to resort to such means.
She only wished she’d been given a choice in the matter, rather than fall into this lord’s all-too-handsome lap.
Wellesley did indeed pay a call to stonemason Adams, surprising the man with his visit. The outcome had been favorable this time, for the mason had agreed to the work after Wells had let slip both Miss Merrinan’s name and estimation of the tradesman’s skill. His mistress was going to prove more useful than he’d hoped.
“She did, did she?”
Wellsreplayed the mason’s words once more in his mind.“Yes,”he’d answered the fellow.“Told me I’d be a fool to hire anyone else.”
The Cumberland native had laughed outright.“Aye, she’s a spitfire, milord, tells it like it is, always has. I’ll have to thank her next I’m by.”
Wells had had to remedy that thought fast“You’ll find her at the Abbey now, Adams, as I’ve employed her in my house.”
“You lookin’ for servants then, sir?”He’d eyed Wells closely.“You’ll not do better than t’ hire Charles—a wise choice as she knows who to trust and who t’ steer clear of.”
He’d told the man he might hire more staff in future, but not at present, as there was enough to deal with structurally at the Abbey. Which had set both men to talking masonry again.
Wells rode his mount back slowly, rehashing his conversation with the mason even as he took in the rocky landscape around him. Cumberland was as rugged as he remembered, the views of mountains breathtaking in theirexpanse. His horse ambled along, in no rush it seemed, and Wells let his thoughts amble in similar fashion. He’d acquired needle and thread in town, but he hadn’t known where to start when it came to purchasing bolts of cloth for his mistress, nor was he eager to have her clothed. He would send Cuthbert on that errand in a day or two, for the looks he’d received both in the small shop and on the main street . . . No wonder the girl had blenched at him hauling her into town for a fitting. Cumberland was decidedly not London. He’d need to learn local ways if he were to make the Abbey his home.
He’d also need to give Miss Merrinan a title of sorts in his household now that word would get out he’d employed her. Housemaid? Scullery? Could she cook as well as she baked? He didn’t want her sweating in a hot kitchen burning tender flesh and smelling like onions in his bed. Chambermaid was better suited to her duties as she’d be spending plenty of time in his chamber.
Yes,he smiled to himself. Chambermaid would do.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eleanor Merrinan was worried. The man who’d appeared at their doorstep that morning had politely informed both her and Papa that Charles was now employed at the Abbey. Not only would they be given food this winter in payment, but were there belongings he might take back for her sister? No? Then good day to you, miss. That’s all he’d said before he’d left her agape, a chicken under each arm and a basket of provisions at her feet.
Her father, Sir Benedict, had stood slightly behind her in the course of this conversation, yet he’d not uttered a word to the man, making Eleanor worry as much about Papa now as she did Charles. She’d need to spin Father a fine tale regarding this change in events, for his muddled mind would find no peace with Charles gone. He’d awake each day no doubt demanding to see his eldest daughter, just as he still asked daily for poor Mama.
