Wells quietly fumed.
“She cares for you, clear as day, and even if you don’t, you’ve a duty by her.” Cuthbert raised his hand to stop Wells from interrupting, because he’d been about to open his mouth in protest. “You’ve a duty by her as you took her honor, sir, so you must ensure her reputation ain’t further sullied. It’s all that gel’s got in this community, and though her family’s dirt poor they were once of some class. I see and hear it in her sister’s every word and breath. Those two were raised t’ be ladies, good as any, and what happened to ’em I couldn’t say, but I will say this: Charles Merrinan weren’t raised to take orders, Yer Grace, and it’s fallin’ hard on her to take ’em from you now.”
Wells was only slightly mollified. He knew he had a responsibility to his mistress, but neither did Cuthbert have the right to needle him like this. He knew she was educated, spoke well, rode well, played chess well. If shehadbeen raised a lady then why didn’t her family live accordingly? Why thieve chickens from his coop in the middle of the night?
He grudgingly told his man, “I shall take your words under advisement, Cuthbert, but right now I intend to get some sleep. See to it you help Miss Merrinan ready the rooms for the new staff tomorrow. And the next visit you pay her family, I will accompany you.”
“Yer Grace.” Cuthbert nicked his head in exit, leaving Wells suddenly less offended and perhaps more spurred to action.Perhaps he ought to reevaluate his housekeeper’s position, not only at the Abbey, but also in his bed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Charles had very little time in which to ready the two additional servants’ rooms needed for more staff. These were in even worse repair than Mrs. Jenkins’s had been. Cuthbert and Pinky were repairing the windows in both as she hunted for furniture. Two beds were needed in each, narrow ones at that, and if she didn’t find any that fit she’d need Cuthbert to build her some. Tomorrow. Oh, it was a headache to be a housekeeper!
Yet she was eating well—they all were—thanks to Mrs. Jenkins. The Abbey’s new cook, at least, was a bright spot in the house and Charles was grateful for the female company. She’d avoided Lord Wells since their last fraught conversation, and she’d avoided Cuthbert too, embarrassed by the tears she’d let flow on his shoulder. He was a decent enough fellow, she’d decided, and his crew of men also more decent than first assumed. They certainly treated her better now that she had introduced them to Miss Griswald. Charles would need to pay the village madam a call again to find out how wellthatarrangement was going.
She was surprised, however, that his lordship continued to work the south wall alongside Adams’s men. She thought bynow he’d tire of such hard labor, but it seemed he’d tired of her instead. It had been three days since she’d last shared his bed—not that she minded. And not that she’d be able to anyway, now that her courses had started. It was an added nuisance to wash the bloody rags, but at least she wasn’t with child.
And thank heavens for that.
Cuthbert had also brought her another letter from Eleanor, which she’d devoured, relieved Father was well and that the food they’d been receiving had begun to fatten him up. She had the distinct impression his lordship’s steward enjoyed making deliveries to her sister, as if he were a little sweet on her. She certainly hoped not. Cuthbert may be rough around the edges, but underneath his gruff exterior he was a virile enough young man—and gentleman enough to court a woman properly, unlike Lord Wellesley.
Only she didnotwant Cuthbert courting Eleanor. She had greater plans for her sister.
Wells was accompanying his steward to the Merrinans, not quite an hour’s walk east of the Abbey. It was early and they moved at a brisk pace, Cuthbert with basket in hand while Wells read the letter only grudgingly handed him, as it was intended for Charles’s sister. John had protested the invasion of privacy, but Wells had insisted, ignoring his man’s deep frown.
“’T’ain’t right, sir,” his steward had muttered. “That were given me in good faith I’d deliver it t’ Miss Eleanor.”
“And deliver it you shall, John,” Wells had replied. “I am simply reading it before you do.”
“Oi, sir, readin’ a private letter not meant for anyone’s eyes but?—”
“Enough!” he’d ground out.
And Cuthbert had blessedly shut his trap.
Eleanor,
You cannot know my relief to receive your letter! It eases my heart, though your loss is keenly felt. I hold out hope Lord Wellesley will grant me leave to visit soon, but I must be patient, as he is not an easy master to read. I try, for the sake of us all, to remain in his good graces so that he continues to feed you and Papa this winter. That is my sole aim and desire, though I have surely offended him once too oft. I have vowed to do better and be better as housekeeper, but some days it is like a storm blows through me, Ellie. I wish I could be more even-tempered like you. I wish for so much in this world, too much, I know. Mama would scold me for even writing such words, but whom else can I confide in? I am lonely, sister, and dearly miss your counsel. Lately, I find myself in sore need of it.
So, Charles was lonely. And wished for far too much. Well, he was lonely too; lonely enough he’d taken her on as mistress. And God knew he wished for what he’d never get in this life: his freedom.
Mrs. Jenkins, at least, has me feeling less maudlin, for I am no longer the sole woman here at Almsdale, and there is comfort in that, as well as in her dishes. Lord Wellesley is pleased with her too. Next week I will have more help: Ginny Maines for laundry, Ruby Barrows for housemaid, and Clarice Helmsworth and Marta Brooks for scullery and kitchen. All girls I can depend on. And so the Abbey slowly becomes a house befitting of a future duke. It is hard work though, Ellie, work I was not raised to. I manage as best I can, but some days when I think of Mama and all she dreamt for us, I ache.
Yet I must share with you my little plan, and believe me when I promise it will indeed come true. I shall set aside my wages for as long as possible. You will have a season, as Mother always wished, to find yourself a good and honorable match. And when you do, you will become the lady you were born, whom you were always meant to be.
A season? Wells paused in his reading. What the devil was she talking about?
I hope Cuthbert delivers you this missive soon. And that he is respectful when he visits. He is coarse, but kind. I think I might call him friend now, as much as any man might befriend a woman. He looks out for me, though, which is more than I can say for Lord Wellesley. Him I take great care to avoid.
Kiss Papa and write to me soon, I beg?—
Charles
***
John watched Wells refold the letter and roughly hand it back.
“And?” he asked.
