Perhaps foolishly so.
“Goose!” threatened the widow Jenkins, shaking her fist at John. “You promised me a goose, man, not a?—!”
“Oi, you’ll get yer goose, woman.” He glowered at her. “Though I don’t see as why it must be goose for Christmas when any fowl should do.”
“Any fowl will not do, sir, and as I’m cook here,I’lldecide what t’ serve his lordship for Christmas dinner, his first Christmas in Cumberland, eh, and it’ll be t’ finest goose Lord Wellesley’s ever had!”
“I am sure it will be, Mrs. Jenkins,” the housekeeper interjected, having entered the kitchen to witness yet another temper flare. John knew Charles did not want staff more ruffled than they already were.
“Cuthbert,” she smoothed, “I am less concerned with fowl than I am the kitchen staples we’ll need to get us through winter. How are the larders looking? Shall we take stock?”
He was doing his best to still scowl at Jenkins. “Might as well, miss.” He motioned Charles to follow him out the kitchen toward the Abbey’s cellars, winding their way through a house they both knew far better than three months ago.
“Have you word from my sister again, John?” she asked.
“I do, miss.” He pulled a letter from his pocket. “Meant t’ give this to you earlier and forgot. I ’spect she’ll be missin’ you more’n ever now what with winter upon us.”
Charles looked pained. “Has she enough peat to burn to get them through, John? Did you look?”
He met her eyes with understanding. “Aye. Checked the house too. It’s chinked tight enough now, barn roof’ll hold. Been bringin’ her extra of everythin’ lately.”
She took his hand, stopping him a moment. “Thank you, John, truly. I cannot tell you how much it means to me to know?—”
“Oi, now.” He patted her hand in his own, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “I’d worry same if it were me own family. ’Tis only natural.”
She smiled at him then, a smile that reminded him of her sister.
“Well I am grateful, is all.” Charles squeezed his hand before they continued down the passage. “And your family, John? Have you siblings too?”
“No, miss,” he told her bluntly. “Wells is all the family I know. The Duke took me in as a yob off the streets, been an orphan long as I can remember.”
“Took you in? Off the streets of London?”
“I were but a mite then, and up t’ no good it seems. Brought me home with him, the Duke did, said his boy needed a playmate and I needed a scrubbin’. The Duchess gave me a meal and I’ve served their family ever since.”
“So you knew his lordship as a boy.” She looked amazed. “What was he like, John?”
“Like?” He laughed. “Like every other hot-headed boy, miss! Same as any of us.” John grinned. “Bit of a troublemaker, but loyal. When they sent him t’ Eton, t’ school, and I were left behind, he wrote t’ me still, y’ know. Never forgot me in all his years there.”
“And did you write him back?” she asked.
“’Course I did.” He frowned at her. “Hell, I signed up t’ sail with him, didn’t I? Me, who couldn’t swim a stroke back then.”
“Cuthbert.” Charles stopped them in their tracks. “Why did Lord Wells go to sea? It is unlike a duke’s heir to seek such pursuits.”
John hesitated. “Wells never liked t’ put on airs, miss. ’Twixt you and me, I think he didn’t much want t’ be born a duke’s son. He’d rather his father live forever than be forced to take over the Duchy. He’s always run from it, first t’ sea and now here, to the Abbey, though the Abbey’s part of the Duchy. Lookin’ for escape wherever he can.”
“I see.” She mulled a minute, then wagered one last question as they reached the cellar steps. “And leaving London . . . Did something happen there to upset him?”
John debated telling her more. “He were engaged t’ marry, miss, as his mother, the Duchess, has been houndin’ him for years. Only the lady ran off with a friend of his, right under his nose. Wounded his pride, I think, more’n his heart.”
“I see.” The housekeeper looked like she might chew this bit of story a good while longer.
John would rather forget the fat mess. “But enough o’ the past, miss, on to the larder now. ” He lit a wall sconce and descended the stone steps. “Watch yer head. It’s right low down ’ere.”
Much later, Charles eagerly tore into Eleanor’s letter.
Dearest Charles,
