He was so stunned in that moment that Charles managed to wrench herself free and flee the room, leaving him rooted to the spot, unblinking.
“Is it true, son?” His mother’s icy calm continued, her voice cracking with anger. “Have you made your housekeeper your harlot here in Cumberland?”
“Yes.” He came back to life. “And I am not ashamed to admit it.”
“Of course you aren’t.” Her rage simmered just beneath her words. “And if you had but chosen any other girl here as mistress, we’d not now find ourselves in this situation, would we?” Her eyes pierced his soul.
“What the devil is that supposed to mean,Maman?” Wells defended himself. “Plenty of men have mistresses. Most, in fact. No doubt Father had his share too.” He aimed to hurt but saw he did not.
“Why yes, Roland, I was even friends with a few of them.” She pinched back a hollow smile. “This is not about your father,or me, or anyone else right now. It is about you and the woman you dared to defile.”
“Defile?” he snorted. “I’ll let you know, Mother, that until you showed up, uninvited and unwelcome, with an unwanted lady in tow, Charles Merrinan and I were perfectly happy defiling one another. Ask her yourself, go right ahead. She’s been more than willing and eager until now to share my?—”
“You’ve no idea who she is, do you?” She cut in, her tone biting. “Her father, Roland, was your Uncle Carlton’s dearest, closest friend during the war, a man who saved not only your own father’s life but nearly died trying to save your uncle’s life too. The Duke himself petitioned the King for Merrinan’s knighting for bravery during the war, then made him his squire here in Cumberland. Sir Benedict even named his firstborn after Uncle Charles.”
Wells stared at his mother in disbelief.
“The Duke of Allendale knows Sir Benedict Merrinan to be the very best of men, son, and it ishis daughterI now discover you have dishonored, shamelessly. Charles Merrinan is a lady, Roland, who should never have been made your housekeeper, let alone yourmistress.” She hissed the word in pure fury. “Miss Merrinan’s mother was daughter to the Earl of Denbigh, and though the lady’s own family felt she married beneath her to take a mere soldier as husband, not once, I am sure, did Adelaide Enright ever in her worst nightmares imagine her firstborn reduced to such utter ruination as this.”
Wells was still shocked. And by now furious. “And justhow, Mother, should I have known any of this, pray? When Charles’s mother is long dead, her father mad as a hatter, and she herself told me nothing of her family’s lineage?” He wanted to rip the righteous look off his mother’s face and stomp on it.
Instead, he used his words. “Do you know how I met her, this fine lady you speak of? Cuthbert caught her thieving mychickens,Maman, right from out of my henhouse. And when forced to confess, the girl spat in my face—a she-devil, reeking of chicken shit. Should I have presumed from such behavior,Maman, that she was a lady? Should I?” he pressed.
The Duchess ground her teeth. “Roland, I do not blame you for not knowing her history, but this does not change the fact you must remedy this situation forthwith. If your father knew the damage you’ve done Benedict Merrinan’s daughter, he would never forgive you or himself. You will marry her at once and make her your Duchess.”
“I . . . Marryher?” Wells’s head hurt. He could barely speak.
“Yes, Roland.” Her voice remained clipped. “And I should think you’d be pleased. For if the two of you have enjoyed one another as much as you claim”—she made a face—“then I daresay she will make you a most pleasing bride indeed.”
Wells remained stunned.
“I will inform your father of your betrothal to Miss Charles Merrinan and will vacate the premises tomorrow first thing. Though I daresay Miss Mowry will require considerable consolation: a marquess at the very least.”
And off she strode, leaving Wells querulous, confused, and in one devil of a quandary as to how to break this news to Charles. For from housekeeper to future Duchess was indeed a momentous change.
He was himself still processing his mother’s words. How could he possibly have known who Charles was? And why the hell hadn’t shetoldhim? Did she not know herself? It would explain much, yet still explained so little.
He dropped heavily into a dust-shrouded chair and stared at the wall before him, imagining his mistress his wife. He’d not thought of her as anything but his lover, yet deep in his gut a spark alit, for he’d wanted her anyway, hadn’t he? He’d told her as much when he’d said he cared more for her than Mowry. Hell,he cared more for her than any other woman ever foisted on him in past. What was more, Charles would not balk at living at the Abbey rather than in London. Cumberland was her home. Its peopleherpeople. They would adore her as their Duchess.
He began to warm to the idea, to slowly even embrace it.Lady Charles Wellesley, Duchess of Allendale, he thought to himself.HisDuchess, and his alone. To have and to hold each night as he’d had her these many nights past. Perhaps this wasn’t such a terrible turn of events. Perhaps the perfect wife had been staring him in the face all along, here in his home, in his bed, brought to heel that fateful night covered in chicken shit.
A contented, slow smile began to spread over his face, as his heart whisperedyes, Charles Merrinan, my Duchess. And a damn fine duchess at that.
Charles hid in Ruby’s room, shaken to her core. She knew she’d have to leave now—no way out from this. If only she’d kept her mouth shut and not provoked his lordship again! If only she’d remained reserved, her voice lowered so that the Duchess hadn’t overheard, hadn’t stumbled into that room and discovered her so thoroughly compromised.
She put her face in her hands and wept, because Charles did not want to leave, not when things had been going so well at the Abbey—at least, before Miss Mowry and the Duchess had appeared. She was proud of the household she’d assembled, proud of the shell room she’d restored, even, in truth, proud of the man she’d come to . . .
But she snuffed that thought before it could spread like fire. Roland Wellesley had never been, nor ever could be, hers. He’dsaid as much himself that no position here was permanent. She had no right to feel anything for the man. She’d been his mistress, was all. And now she’d no longer be his housekeeper, either.
Charles dried her tears, washed her face, and straightened her hair, stilling her racing heart with deep gulps of air. She would face her shame and leave the Abbey with as much dignity as she could muster.
Somehow, she would survive this blow and forge a new path forward. It’s what she did, over and over again.
“But . . . !”
On his search to find Charles, Wells overheard his mother deliver Miss Mowry the news. He paused to listen outside the parlor door.
“I know, my dear, I am sorry, but I promised your mother I would find you a match and I am determined to succeed.”
