“Hungry still, sir?” she called out.
“Don’t mind if I do, miss,” he answered, watching her. He could watch this girl all day, he thought. And then he berated himself. He’d more errands to run. He couldn’t just sit here staring at her.
She served him again then joined him at the table, her father having nodded off at his plate, his soft snores making his chin wobble a little. John looked from her father to her and crinkled his eyes.
The small smile she flashed him was pure sunshine.
Charles sat in the parlor, knitting, while Lord Wellesley and his steward sat across a chessboard, deep in thought. She’d been at Almsdale for over a week now and had managed to send Eleanor a letter and receive one in return, relieved to hear both her sisterand father were well, having been visited not a few times already by John Cuthbert and his baskets. They were provided for, as promised, and she had slept the better for it, though she wished to God she might lay eyes on them again herself. That would depend entirely on his lordship’s whim, of course, something Charles was as yet unwilling to test.
He’d still not debauched her, letting her bottom heal and letting her settle in as housekeeper too. Which is not to say he hadn’t taken advantage of her otherwise, for she’d been manhandled plenty in his bed, here in his sitting room, in the kitchen, even in the Abbey’s halls. That he could sneak up on her so stealthily still took her aback, but he’d not been more cruel; she counted herself lucky, though she recalled his warning well enough. She also recalled how she’d taken matters into her own hands, or mouth, as it were, that day she’d learned on her knees how she might controlhim. Lord Wellesley may have made her his mistress, but that’s all he would get from her, and not a bit more.
Charles had also taken in his lordship’s breeches and shirt, fitting these to her person better and feeling more comfortable in male garb. She found she liked men’s clothes; Lord Wells told her he liked her in trousers too. But this would change as soon as her new uniform arrived from the dress shop.
She almost wished it wouldn’t.
She’d begun airing two bedrooms already, layers of neglect nearly overwhelming at the outset, but she’d told herself she had a job to do and would do it doggedly. Her family would have food and heat this winter—that’s all that mattered. She’d taken stock of several of the Abbey’s rooms with his lordship, the two deciding together which should be scrubbed and which would require more structural repairs first.
In secret she’d also begun work on the sea room, though she’d not told Lord Wellesley this, wishing to keep it to herself.Every morning she went first thing, after she’d finished baking and while the men were still noisily at breakfast. She gave herself an hour only in the magical space, but already she’d made progress.
***
Wells stole a peek at his mistress across the chessboard and thought of all he now knew about her, and just how little that truly was. He had used his ability at stealth—a skill he’d perfected at sea of all places—to secretly follow his housekeeper about on her first day of work. Unsurprisingly, he’d found her in the shell room, busily scrubbing. Yet he was gratified she found pleasure in her new position, because a happy mistress was, after all, a pleasing mistress. Wells might like his women spirited, but Charles Merrinan had pushed his limits before; he had no desire to cob her again. Ever.
He watched Cuthbert frown at the board, searching for a move with which to deflect.
“Take your time, John.” Wells got up to fetch himself a drink. “More whiskey?” he called over his shoulder.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Cuthbert answered even as Wellesley’s ears pricked.
“Rook to castle,” he thought he heard Charles mutter to his steward. From the corner of his eye Wells watched her casually walk over to whisper something else into John’s ear, then continue to the hearth to stoke the fire, cool as a cucumber.
Wells returned to the board and handed Cuthbert his glass.
“Interesting move, John.” He neatly countered with his own. “Where to now?” He looked his steward in the eye as he settled back into his seat.
Cuthbert swigged his drink and grimaced.
“Or should I ask Miss Merrinan’s opinion instead?”
She stiffened but remained focused on her task, stitches moving fast about her four needles in click, wrap, clack.
“I should think I have no opinion, my lord,” she answered calmly.
“Oh I should think you do,” Wells said, just as calm.
***
Charles sucked in her breath.
“Sit with us, miss,” Lord Wellesley ordered, and she knew at once she’d been found out.
Cuthbert downed the rest of his whiskey and set his glass aside with a clink. “I’m out, sir, let her play t’ end. I’ve an early start tomorrow as ’tis.”
“Very well,” his lordship replied. “Good night, John.”
“Yer Grace.” Cuthbert left them.
Alone.
