It did not.
“But your letters gave the impression you did not like him, and then they gave the impression that you did, and I am confused, is all, when you of all people rarely?—”
“Eleanor.” Charles took great care to compose her face. “I do not wish to discuss Lord Wellesley more. He is my employer, that is all. It matters little what I think of him and only what he thinks of me. And Icertainlydo not entertain thoughts of whether or not I like the man!”
***
Eleanor stared at her sister in surprise. Charles only ever raised her voice when inflamed, and the sentence she’d just uttered sounded altogether impassioned. Yet she knew better than to poke a dragon.
“Of course, Charles. I meant nothing by it, truly. He is a duke, after all, or as good as one. Forgive my indiscretion, please.”
“Oh Ellie, it is no indiscretion. It is only that?—”
Mr. Cuthbert returned just then with a worried look on his face. “Beg pardon, ladies, but we ought t’ leave at once.” He looked at Charles. “Storm’s headed quick; we’ll need t’ make haste t’ outrun it.”
Charles peered out the window at the darkening sky and at once rose from her seat. “You’re right, we must leave. Yet I almost forgot.” She pulled a small bag from her pocket. “A gift for Papa, Ellie.” She handed it to her. “Will you remember how to brew it?”
Eleanor was confused until she pressed the item to her nose. “Of course I remember! Oh, he’ll be overjoyed, Charles! It will bring back such fond memories of his days debating books in London’s coffee houses.”
Charles kissed Ellie on both cheeks, kissed their still-sleeping Papa goodbye, then followed Cuthbert out the door, the wind whipping her skirts into a frenzy.
Eleanor watched them both disappear down the path.
***
In no time at all their clothes were soaked through, the wind driving the stinging drops straight thought their cloaks. John took Charles by the arm and held on to her tight, dragging her behind him so they’d not lose each other in the torrent. He could barely see the path, which had already turned to mud, and the howling gale chilled him to the bone.
Still they soldiered forth. There was nothing else for it.
It seemed like an eternity of walking, the storm slowing their progress and the wet earth growing more treacherous as sections of trail washed out. At one point Charles tripped and fell, John yanking her back upright. He fell once too, pulling her down with him. They were muddied and muddled but knew better than to stop, for there was no shelter along this path, only the fells to either side. Their sole hope was to reach the Abbey.
And they nearly did before Charles slipped again and went reeling back, taking John down with her. He landed hard on hisarse, but when he shook off the fall, he saw she’d landed dead on her head. And looked dead, to John, who in shock picked her up and simply carried her the rest of the way back. He prayed she’d only knocked herself cold.
When the Abbey took shape in the distance at last, John picked up his pace, then spied a figure heading towards them through the deluge. It was Lord Wells, shouting through the gale, “John, where the devil have you been? Why the hell did you not . . . ?” He took one look at Charles’s limp form in John’s arms before he grabbed her from him, rushing her into the house and demanding a bath be brought to his room at once.
Men scurried to obey as John entered right behind, feeling like some soggy clay golem as he collapsed against the wall.
Fergus glanced at him and hollered, “Two baths, lads! Warm mead! An’ stoke the fires!”
Outside, the storm raged and buffeted the Abbey. The windows shook and rattled, and beams creaked and sang, while inside, fires crackled and flared, exuding heat and light against the fierce, descending dark. The servants huddled in groups about the kitchen’s bright, warm flames, whispering amongst themselves. The men spoke of squalls at sea, while the girls told of Cumberland storms past.
Mrs. Jenkins nodded sagely at their talk as she set soup to simmer and mead to warm. John settled his chair closer to the great hearth’s warmth. It would be a long night before such storm as this was over, and likely one he’d not forget.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Charles awoke groggy, her head aching and eyes swimming before she shut them tight against the world. A voice murmured at her ear,rest, lass,as she sank back into darkness.
“Mr. Cuthbert,” Jenkins’ voice snared him where he sat, “where’s Miss Merrinan, sir? I’ve not seen her since you returned. ’Tisn’t like our housekeeper t’ have not checked with me, ’specially in weather like this.”
John tensed. “Restin’, ma’am.” He took care what he said. “Fell and hit her head while we were headed back. Nothin’ too bad, no more’n a lump t’morrow, I’m sure.”
“Well I ought to check on her, bring her some scran.” She rose from her seat before John stopped her fast.
“No need, ma’am. Checked on her meself. She’s sleepin’ now, said she’d let me know if she needed aught.”
Jenkins frowned. “I should like t’ see her anyways, Cuthbert, ’specially in that cold laal room of hers. She’s like as chilled t’death and should be sleepin’ with me or Ginny and Ruby, where there’s a mite more warmth.”
John knew it was a losing battle. “Lord Wells offered his room, ma’am, on account o’ that very reason—it bein’ closest t’ Miss Merrinan’s. He’ll sleep in her room tonight instead,” he added, pleased to have come up with such a reasonable explanation.
