The thought only tortured Charles more.
CHAPTER TEN
Cuthbert had brought not only a uniform back from town that afternoon but news that Mrs. Jenkins would arrive at week’s end to take over as cook, sending Charles into a fresh tizzy.
“And just where are we to put her?” She settled both hands at her hips.
“Well, seein’ as you’re now housekeeper here,” Cuthbert’s voice jeered, “I ’spect you’d know better’n me, miss.”
“But we haven’t . . . ” She bit her lip. “We haven’t evenbegunyet to air the servants’ quarters, Cuthbert. I know of but one room there barely suitable for sleeping.”
“Y’ look right upset, miss.” He grinned. “Too much for yer, is it? Better t’ serve the master in bed than serve his house, eh?”
She scowled at him. “You wipe that look off your face, John Cuthbert. I’m your equal in this house, Lord Wells said so himself, so you’ll address me with respect.”
“True, miss, only you’ve two positions here, and one of ’em’s neither upright nor respectful, now innit.” He laughed until she kicked his shin, making him yelp, “Whadya go and do that for, damn it?”
“Because you deserved it!”
“Well you’ve a mite better t’ do than kick folks, seein’ as how this Jenkins’ll no doubt wonder where Lord Wellesley’s housekeepersleepsnights.”
Charles grew grave, for she’d had the very same thought not a second before. She steadied herself. “Apologies for the kick, Cuthbert, but you must help me find a room close to Lord Wellesley. Somewhere I may purport to bed.” Her eyes pleaded with him for help.
His face softened. “Well, ’tis true the master’ll want you close by.” He chewed his lower lip above his burly beard; Cuthbert was decidedly unkempt. She wondered how old he truly was beneath the forest on his face, for though large in frame his body did not look or move as one much older than his lordship. He might be younger even, for all she knew.
And Charles suddenly realized she’d no idea how old Lord Wellesley was either. God help her,she knew next to nothing of the man who’d just . . .
She shook off all thought of debauchery. “Help me, Cuthbert, and I shall return the favor, I swear,” she begged outright.
“And just what favor might that be, miss?” His look was canny.
She met his eyes, stating, “Butter,” and knew at once he was in.
Later that day Cuthbert proposed to Charles that they turn a linen closet near Lord Wellesley’s bedroom into the housekeeper’s office. It was just wide enough for a narrow bed and table, even a small chair, with shelves lining both walls high enough to clear one’s head when seated below. There was a single window opposite the door for light, with panes blessedlyintact. Charles would surely freeze in such a room come winter, but given she’d like as not be sleeping in Lord Wellesley’s bed it wouldn’t matter. What mattered was that she’d have a respectable room of her own, where she might also store supplies.
It was perfect. There were even hooks below the shelves to hang clothes and cloak. She smiled “yes” at Cuthbert before he left to go procure the room a bed.
Charles remained in the space a moment longer, looking about her little closet with hope. She’d not had a room of her own in so long—notsleptalone in so long—that the idea felt strange. She wondered if Lord Wellesley wouldn’t desire her less anyway, now that he’d had her. Perhaps he’d tire of her, and she could keep this room all to herself. Perhaps he’d send to London for a proper mistress and she would be only housekeeper here at Almsdale. She imagined what that might feel like, to be free of him, yet was surprised to discern a tingle of dismay. Did she enjoy his attentions after all? Or was it simply her body responding, not her mind? What did she care if he bedded another woman? She was but flesh to him—he’d told her as much himself—and he but flesh to her too.
Albeit handsome flesh.
Charles exited her new bedroom to fetch a mop and pail. There was work to do aplenty before Mrs. Jenkins would arrive. Best get to it.
The new uniform Cuthbert had delivered chafed. Oh it fit well enough, the dark grey wool even properly somber. Charles at last looked like a housekeeper and need only sew herself an apron for it, yet she missed the ease of breeches. For over two weeks she’ddressed like a man, lived only with men, even been debauched by a man. It had changed her. Attired again as a woman, she felt suddenly constrained—not that Lord Wells or his men had treated her differently in trousers.
Still, she’d felt more liberated in her movement, more like their equal. Even though she was anything butfree.
Charles had scrubbed and polished her small closet spotless and now worked on Mrs. Jenkins’s room next. The servant’s wing was in need of significant repairs, but one bedroom was intact enough to house Almsdale’s new cook. Charles wished to make the space as hospitable as possible for the widow, knowing the cozy cottage she was leaving behind. She would find curtains and rug and a small painting even to hang in the room. She wanted Almsdale’s cook to feel at home here, for she’d be Charles’s sole female companion—not to mention staunch arbiter of propriety. It would not do for Mrs. Jenkins to think her anything but perfectly suited to the position of housekeeper. Nor would it do for her to witness what utter ruffians Lord Wellesley employed here otherwise.
When Wells snuck into the kitchen that evening—having successfully avoided his mistress all day—he grabbed a bowl of what he hoped would be the last damn stew he’d need ever eat. And then he went in search of his steward, hoping John might shed light on their housekeeper’s current mood.
“Busy today, that one. Looks the part in her new uniform too. Picked it and the rest o’ the items up as ordered. Jenkins movin’ in end o’ the week has her in fits though, lookin’ t’ find herself and the cook proper bedrooms. It’s all worked out, Yer Grace.She’s started in on both. All should be ready by arrival, rest assured.”
Wells merely stared at Cuthbert, shocked to imagine the day had progressed so productively, normally even. It seemed his housekeeper knew how to complete her duties well. He was impressed by her efficiency, if not a little irked she’d been so unaffected by him.
“And she seemed otherwise fine to you, did she? Not overly upset about anything?” he pressed.
“No sir, ought she’ve been?” Cuthbert gave him a look. “You two quarrel again? I warned Yer Grace that gel were trouble, yet you insisted she?—”
