“And what?” his lordship snapped.
“You find what y’ wanted, sir?”
“I found she despises me and is quite fond of you,” he said tersely.
John grinned. “Well I’ll be . . . Clever girl, t’ realize old Cuthbert ain’t the demon she thought.”
“Oh no.” His lordship chewed his lip. “She considers you her friend now, and me the devil himself, to avoid at all cost.”
“Well now, sir, I’m sure she don’t mean half o’ what she?—”
“What reason should she have to lie in a private letter to her sister?” He sounded hurt.
“I told you not t’ read the letter.”
“From now on you are to bring me all her correspondence, including that of her sister,” Wells ordered.
“I will not!”
“You will, as it is my direct order, John.”
“It’s abuse o’ power, is what it is.”
“You swore an oath to me, Cuthbert.”
“Oi,” he said, disgusted, “I did. Only that oath ne’er said I had t’ keep me mouth shut.” He increased his steps, looking to lose his lordship behind him and furious at Wells for such behavior. He was better than this, ought to be at least, because for this gel to get under his lordship’s skin was a sure sign Wells was not himself.
Yet there was Miss Eleanor, gliding towards him, a vision to behold. John promptly forgot all about Lord Wellesley.
“Mr. Cuthbert!” she exclaimed, swiftly taking his arm to walk him towards the house, not at all noticing his lordship some paces back. “So good of you to come, sir. I just put the kettle on before I went to fetch eggs. You’ll have a bite with us, won’t you?” She looked eagerly up at him.
“Don’t mind if I do, miss.” He smiled back, pleased as punch she took his arm so readily now. And then he remembered Wells, stopping dead in his tracks.
“Is something the matter, John?” she asked.
“Johnalready, is it?” came a voice from behind them, making Eleanor whirl about. “Didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis already, Cuthbert.” Wells spoke cuttingly as John hastened to make introductions.
“Lord Wellesley, if you’ll allow me, sir, this is Miss Eleanor Merrinan, sister t’ yer new housekeeper, Charles Merrinan.”
Eleanor’s eyes grew wide. “My lord.” She sank into the lowest curtsy John had ever seen a woman accomplish—holding it—until Wells gave her leave to rise.
“Please, Miss Eleanor, there is no need for you to prostrate yourself so.”
She rose, her face flushed. “Will you join us, my lord, for breakfast? We would be honored to have you as our guest.” And she bent her head again, meekly almost, making his lordship only more uncomfortable, John could tell.
“The honor, I am sure, is all mine, Miss Eleanor. Pray proceed.” Wells waved her forward, though she no longer took John’s arm but hurried up the hill to the house, no doubt wishing to reach her father first in order to prepare the old man for visitors.
Only it wouldn’t have mattered either way, because Mr. Merrinan already sat at the table, drooling, when they entered the house. He looked up bleary-eyed at Eleanor.
“Charles, dear, that you?” he asked.
“No, Papa, I am Eleanor,” she corrected. “Remember, Charles works at the Abbey now, for his lordship.”
“For his grace?” The fellow was confused, as usual. “Whatever does she do there, Ellie?”
“Not his grace, Papa, his grace’s son, Lord Wellesley. She is his housekeeper, Father. Now look sharp, for Mr. Cuthbert has brought Lord Wellesley to visit us this morning. You are to address him accordingly, yes?” She nudged him again. “Father?”
Only his eyes had sunk in on themselves, all their light extinguished, as his chin dropped, in another stupor.
