Eleanor looked to John, who smiled with reassurance, before she turned to Lord Wells. “You must forgive my father’s lack of decorum, my lord. Ever since our mother’s death he’s not been himself. He shall revive again as soon as I serve breakfast. I begyou, please be seated. I shall have plates ready in no time.” She curtsied again, hurrying out.
John sat down and indicated his lordship ought to do the same.
***
Wells followed his steward’s lead, seating himself across from Mr. Merrinan and looking about him in some shock. There were barely any furnishings in this house. In fact, it looked as if the very rugs had been sold from underfoot, in a home run down but decidedly more grand than he’d expected. It looked like a rural magistrate’s house, or a clergyman’s, roomy enough and hewn of stone, with a slate, rather than thatched roof. No wonder Adams had been by for repairs in past.
The walls were cracked, though patching had been attempted, and faded plaster showed where paintings once had hung. Even the curtains were few and far between. His Fox had not lied; this dwelling confirmed her family had been starving.
Miss Eleanor returned with tea, but no milk or sugar, and out of politeness Wells did not remark. He’d keep his mouth shut this visit, for Charles’s sister was behaving with perfect grace; he’d make damn sure he did too.
Mr. Merrinan in that moment perked up, his eyes meeting Wells’s with surprise. “Wellesley?” he asked. “That you, man? How the devil do you look so young, sir, when I am grown so old?” He laughed.
Wells frowned but Cuthbert interrupted before he could reply. “Mr. Merrinan, sir, ’tis his grace’s son come t’ visit, not his father, the Duke. Lord Wellesley’s restoring Almsdale Abbey, sir, where yer daughter, Charles, is now housekeeper, remember?”
“Housekeeper?” The old man’s bushy brow knit with consternation. “Charles ought to be married and settled by now, not working as someone’s housekeeper.” He harrumphed. “Who does his grace think he is, employing my daughter as if she were some common?—”
Eleanor rushed in. “Father!” she hissed from the door. “You will address Lord Wellesley respectfully, sir, or I shall send you to your room.” She threw Wells a worried glance. “Charles is fortunate to have the position she does at the Abbey and Lord Wellesley has been kind enough to keep us both fed, so you”—she almost lost her temper—“keep your thoughts to yourself, Papa.” She nearly spilled the cup she pushed at him. “Drink your tea,” she hissed again, apologizing profusely, “My lord, he is not of right mind anymore, you mustn’t take what he says personally. I am terribly sorry if he offended in any way, truly.” Her gaze pleaded.
Wells smiled kindly at her. “No offense taken, miss. I promise not to mind a thing he says, have no fear.”
She breathed a sigh of relief before disappearing again into the kitchen.
Wells met Cuthbert’s eye. “I see now what you meant.”
His man nodded. “He’s right befuddled, he is.”
Yet the old fellow was back within moments. “Duke’s boy, eh?” Merrinan eyed Wells closely. “I remember when he was but a lad, came to visit us he did, ran around with Charles out back.” He again laughed. “All grown up I see.” He sank back into thought. “Eleanor, where is Mother?” he suddenly called out. “She ought to be here with our guests. Go and fetch her, dear. And where is Charles? That girl is never where she’s needed. She’ll be the death of me, she will.”
Eleanor returned bearing food, serving Wells first and then Cuthbert. “Father, Mother is not well, remember? And Charles istending to her, so you must entertain our guests. Be good, now, and I shall bring your plate.”
She looked to Cuthbert, who took it upon himself to speak.
“Mr. Merrinan, it’s right fine weather we’re havin’ this fall, wouldn’t you say, sir?”
“Weather?” The old man glared at Cuthbert. “The weather is beastly out here, man. Stole my wife it did, took her from me, my love.” His eyes filled with tears, making Cuthbert look as though he rued the words he’d just said.
“Tell me, sir, did you know my father, the Duke of Allendale?” Wells interrupted, hoping to divert the old man’s thoughts while curious as to his past.
“Know him?” Merrinan scoffed. “Served beside him I did! Two bloody campaigns!” He shook his head. “Tell me, does he love his hounds still? The man could talk for hours on end about his?—”
“Father.” Eleanor glared daggers at him as she put down his plate. “Eat,” she urged, and then stepped away, asking, “More tea, gentlemen?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Cuthbert smiled at her.
“No, thank you, miss, though breakfast is delicious.” Wells did his best to remain polite, yet he was disappointed she’d interrupted the old man’s ramblings.
“Where the devil is Charles?” Merrinan suddenly looked up. “Charles! Girl, where are you?” he shouted with more force.
Eleanor rushed over. “Papa, keep your voice down, we’ve guests. Charles is not here, she’s tending to Mama. You mustn’t shout. It is unseemly.”
Wells suddenly felt bad for this girl, to have to manage her old man, though it was also a labor of love, he could tell.
“Your daughter, Charles, is a fine woman, Mr. Merrinan. She keeps house well and plays a keen game of chess,” he told him.
“’Course she does, smart as a whip,” he answered, frowning. “Taught her myself, I did. Knows Latin, Greek, and French as well. She’ll make you a fine wife, Your Grace. Would please your father immensely, I’m sure. Glad we had this talk.”
Cuthbert’s jaw dropped as Eleanor’s face turned beet red. The sudden silence in the room was deafening until Wells rescued the moment, looking at Eleanor with assurance before he turned to her father.
