Wells decided then and there to decline his mother’s invitation. For a change, he would askherfor something instead, because there was indeed a gift he could give Charles Merrinan, an object as useful as it was beautiful. He grabbed paper and ink to scribble a quick reply, vowing to put off any London visit till spring. In the meantime, the Duchess could send him the item he requested.
Let her think what she liked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Wells had gotten hold of Eleanor’s latest lengthy missive.
Dearest Charles,
John tells me you were caught in that dreadful storm and injured. You should never have left when you did. I am angry at you, sister, for again being so reckless in your . . .
He skimmed ahead.
. . . though Papa enjoyed the coffee immensely. You should have seen his face light up! It is maddening some days to be stuck alone with him though, forced to fuel his delusions. I question, at times, my own sanity, sister. Yet I have but him to contend with, not a household like you must manage. Your job is infinitely more difficult, I am sure. . .
So his housekeeper was sneaking coffee to her father, eh? Wells read on, chewing his bottom lip.
Which is why I am unhappy with how we parted, for I fear you are upset with what I said regarding Lord Wellesley, and I did not mean to upset you, Charles, trulyI did not. It is nothing to me how you should think or feel towards his lordship, because he is your employer of course, no more and no less. I am concerned only with your happiness, sister, and as one’s happiness is linked to one’s master (as mine is linked to Papa), I would be remiss if I did not ask your opinion, at least, of those with whom you now reside. Perhaps I am a little jealous, too, that you . . .
Eleanor wrote ridiculously long letters.
. . . and of course John Cuthbert. I should be lost, I think, without his visits, Charles, for it is not his baskets I look forward to so much as his company. Father is an empty husk now, but when I am with John it is like speaking to a ray of light, like there is hope and possibility in the world outside the four dull walls of our bleak little house.
But I ramble on, forgive me. I could write you pages and pages, while you . . .
Wells scanned to the end.
Write to me soon, Charles. Be kind to yourself and Lord Wellesley, whom I shall continue to bless for his generosity to our family. I pray for everyone at Almsdale but most especially for you.
Ever yours, Eleanor
Wells handed Cuthbert the letter, but stopped him before he left the room. “John?”
“Sir?”
“Has the old man—Merrinan—gotten any worse you think?”
“Worse, Yer Grace?” Cuthbert seemed confused. “Strikes me the same. Why?”
“Miss Eleanor writes how much he taxes her spirit, and how much your visits improve her mood.”
His steward’s face flushed. “Well I imagine she’s lonely is all,” he muttered, “what with her sister now here at the Abbey.”
“Yes, I am sure she is, John.” Wells stared at his man.
“That all, sir?” Cuthbert looked as if he wished to escape more scrutiny.
“Do you like her, John—Eleanor Merrinan?”
“Do I?” He seemed even more flustered. “Well o’ course I don’t dislike the gel, Yer Grace. She’s a woman what treats me like . . . Well, like a man o’ worth.”
“Yes,” said Wells, “I imagine she does treat you right, John. She is not the sort to look down on anyone, I think.” He took care with his next words. “I had thought to send someone else to deliver her the weekly baskets, rather than continue to tax your time with this errand. But perhaps you enjoy your visits to the Merrinans?”
Cuthbert’s eyes narrowed. “I do, sir.”
“Then we will leave things as they are,” Wells told him. “And you will continue to deliver me the sisters’ correspondence,notthat I need hear your continued reproach.” His voice rose a notch.
“Oi, sir,” Cuthbert growled back. “Notthat me opinion’s changed none on that front neither.”
