Chapter 43

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

C harles awoke for the first time in a long time rested. She relaxed into the comfortable bed before wrapping herself into the fresh-smelling sheets, burrowing her head deeper into the soft down pillow. She lay there a moment longer before she stretched luxuriously, then righted herself, heart thudding.

She was suddenly all-too-conscious of her strange environs.

Her body tensed as she scanned the room to ensure she was alone, then slipped from the bed, noting she wore a long cotton night-rail, a most proper cotton night-rail buttoned to her neck. She tiptoed to the door and, finding it open, turned the knob to peer down both ends of a dim, empty hall. Just as quickly she returned to the room to look for clothes. Finding none, not even a robe, she grabbed a thick crystal vase from a table and again slipped out the door, gliding down the hall as silently as possible in her bare feet. Wherever she was, she needed to find clothes before she could make her escape. She only prayed no one would see her.

As she clutched the weight of the crystal in her fist, it occurred to her she’d been here before. Not in this hallway but in this very same position: awaking in a strange bed without her clothes. Was she forever destined to?—?

Out of nowhere stepped a smart-looking maid in a starched cap and apron. She looked a far cry from the Abbey’s staff.

“Why, miss, I were about t’ check on yer!” the girl rushed to speak. “Come back at once, please, an’ let me assist. Lady Enright’s lookin’ for a suitable dress for yer, an’ Cook’s set aside breakfast too.” The girl took Charles by the arm to begin marching her back towards the room.

She was so shocked by this, she allowed herself to be led.

“There now.” The maid shut the door behind them. “You sit right here an’ let me begin on yer hair, miss. An’ I beg yer, put down the vase afore y’ do something rash. There’s no one here as means yer any harm.”

She gave Charles a kindly smile, and suddenly the previous night came rushing back.

Charles was in her grandparents’ house— la maison d’grand-père et grand-mère —where, as a girl, she’d learned to speak French.

She was too appalled by this realization to utter serious protest, so she simply allowed herself to enjoy the fact that someone else now tamed her hair. It had been a long while since Ellie had done the honor, and Charles stared at herself in the mirror—at a wan, thin face which stared back, dark circles beneath her eyes. Events were beginning to return with more clarity now, and she was shocked Lord Wells had bothered to seek her at all. Why had Ellie told him where she’d gone? It felt like a betrayal, yet knowing Eleanor, fear had likely gotten the better of her.

And Charles had to admit, she’d not done well for herself since returning to London.

Yet why the devil had Wells lied to her in the carriage last night? He didn’t love her; he simply needed a wife. No doubt he was still trying to appease his mother, and he could try all he liked, because she had no intention of giving him what he wanted. He may very well need her, but she did not need him.

“You’ve ever such lovely hair, miss.” The girl began to prattle. “Cook said yer mam had the very same hair, y’ look just like her, she says. An’ Cook says she remembers yer an’ yer sister comin’ for Christmas near every year when you was little, though I’ve not been here long enough t’ . . .”

Charles tuned the maid out, closing her eyes. Her conversation with Lord Wellesley still swirled in her mind, while the thought of facing her grandparents filled her with dread. Would she were anywhere but here! Though here was a step up from the Wayward Inn, or God forbid, Madame LeBrecht’s house of ill repute. How the devil Wells had found her there she’d no idea, nor did she wish to know. She’d demand an explanation from him eventually, but not today. Today she must deal with grand-père et grand-mère.

She pushed his lordship from her thoughts.

“Tell me your name again?” she asked the maid. “Forgive me if you already did; I fear I am in shock still.” She tried a faint smile on the girl.

“Jeanie, miss. Jeanie Trengove.” The girl bobbed a curtsy. “I’m t’ be yer lady’s maid, miss.”

“Well, Jeanie Trengove, you shall have to tell me who’s who and what’s what in this house so I don’t wear out my welcome with the staff. I should hate to?—”

“Why, miss!” the girl burst. “Y’ couldn’t if y’ tried! ’Tis we who mustn’t offend yerself.”

Charles remained firm. “Jeanie, I was housekeeper before arriving here, and most recently shop girl. I’ve been in service long enough to know what work like yours entails.”

The maid’s eyes grew wide. “Y’ can’t mean it, miss. Y’ can’t have been no shop girl nor housekeeper, not as Lady Enright’s granddaughter.”

“Lord and Lady Enright disowned me and my sister; how else should I expect to make my way if not by gainful work?” Charles decided to plant a seed in the girl’s head, in hopes it would grow. Gossip usually did.

“Only whyever would the Countess do such a thing, miss?” The girl looked genuinely confused.

“Because my mother married a commoner, Jeanie, a mere soldier.” Old anger rose in her throat. “There’s no love lost between myself and my grandparents. ’Tis the reason you found me in the hall with a vase clutched in my hand. I’d not put it past Lady Enright to lock me up and throw away the key now that?—”

“Miss!” Jeanie clapped a hand over her mouth.

Charles knew she had the girl on her side. “Now don’t tell a soul upstairs what I just told you, Jeanie, but tell every servant below stairs how the Earl and Countess of Denbigh may be blood, but to me they are dead, just as sure as my sister and I were dead to them when they threw us out onto the street.”

Jeanie looked fit to explode at this, no doubt bursting to tell all she’d just heard. Charles was satisfied she’d started a rumor that would not only reach her grandparents’ ears, but hopefully affect their reputation. They feared scandal more than anything else.

And deserved no less for their actions.

“Jeanie, I’d love some breakfast yet before I leave, and if the same dear cook I once knew is still here, I’ll kiss her cheek in gratitude. In fact, I’ll dine below stairs with the rest of staff rather than where I’m not wanted. Can you fetch me some clothes first? I’d borrow a dress from you if you think it would fit.”

“O’ course, miss.” She bobbed another curtsy. “Quick as I can I’ll return, just you wait here.”

“Thank you, Jeanie.” Charles smiled gratefully at the girl. There was no better way to know a house than to befriend its servants, and she would need a friend or two to escape her grandparents’ house again.

Wells sat at his father’s bedside, pleased the Duke was in good spirits. He’d informed him of his rescue of Miss Merrinan, quizzed him on how to knight Cuthbert, and then regaled him with the story of the south wall, of his own labors there and how they’d lost a man that fateful day, not to mention several limbs. His father had listened, rapt.

“Son,” he told him, “you’ve done right to restore the Abbey. Always did admire your gumption, your willingness to put in the work.”

“I fear Maman might disagree, sir.”

“Of course she would, it’s her job to disagree. You’re just like her, after all.”

Wells smiled. “Are you saying you regard us both with despair, sir?”

“Yes.” His father remained straight-faced. “The bane of my existence, the pair of you.” He grinned. “Your young lady will no doubt find you difficult, too, if my life with your mother is any indication.”

“She already does, sir.” Wells grimaced. “I fear she won’t have me.”

“She’ll have you,” his father assured him. “Adelaide Enright fought plenty with Benedict Merrinan, but the two always reconciled.”

“And just how would you know this, sir?”

“Visited them plenty. We both lived in Cumberland back then, made him my squire didn’t I—just to keep tabs on him and his lady wife, mind. Used to take you along to visit. Don’t you recall?”

“No.” Wellesley shook his head, early childhood a blur.

“Well, they fought, trust me, but their quarrels only fueled their fire I suspect.” The Duke looked distant, as if his thoughts wandered. “You say you saw him again—Merrinan—but that he’s no longer of sound mind?”

“Indeed, sir, he flits between times. One minute he’s wholly present but the next he speaks as if his wife still lives. It’s tragic, really, to see how randomly events play out in his head. Nor has it been easy for his daughters to manage him thus.”

“I imagine not.” The Duke looked away. “I’d assumed he was well settled when he retired from being squire. Didn’t even bother to install a new man there as things seemed to run themselves” His father looked pained. “I should have checked on Merrinan and his daughters. I’ve not been in good health for some time, Roland. I’ve let things slide.” He sighed. “But for the Earl of Denbigh to abandon them so . . .” He shook his head. “Damned disgrace, the whole matter.”

“Enright is an arse, yes,” Wells interjected with force.

“Prudish son of a bitch more like it,” his father muttered.

Wells could tell his old man was growing tired. “I’ll stop in again tomorrow, sir, you ought to get some rest.”

But the Duke, unsurprisingly, had already fallen asleep.

“Lord, Miss Charles, but ain’t you the spittin’ image o’ yer mother. Why, when y’ walked in just now I thought I saw a ghost, I did!”

Cook stood by the kitchen’s hearth, arms crossed in satisfaction as Charles dug into her plate with gusto. Staff sat about the table watching her eat—with fascination.

Charles smiled up at the portly old woman, recalling well her delicious fare. “Your dishes, Cook, have only gotten better with the years.”

“Y’ could use some fattenin’ up, child.” The lady’s own frame generously filled the kitchen. “It’s good t’ see yer, miss. We all did think on you an’ yer sister over the years, y’ know.”

“We thought of you, too,” Charles told her. “Eleanor especially, I admit. Christmas was never the same for her after, and being so young still, but a child really, I fear she missed more than just your fine meals.”

“Well, what matters is you’re here now, miss,” Cook indulged. “An’ we’re that glad for it, ain’t we?” she demanded of the staff, most of whom had no idea who Charles was, but who all nodded in vigorous agreement.

All of which changed the instant the Countess swept in.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Enright stopped in her tracks. “Hopkins!” Her tone was sharp, directed at Cook. “Why is my granddaughter not being served breakfast upstairs in the dining room?”

Charles swiftly interjected. “Because I prefer to dine downstairs, Grand-mère, as befits my station.”

“Charles,” her grandmother intoned, “a word, now .”

“Whatever you wish to say to me can be said here.” She continued to blithely eat, ignoring her grandmother.

Lady Enright scowled before she snapped her fingers, dismissing her staff who scurried like so many mice. Then she pulled out a chair across from Charles and stiffly seated herself.

“My dear, I realize you are?—”

“You realize nothing .” Charles lost her temper, insides ablaze. She hadn’t known such rage as still harbored in her breast. “I don’t know what Lord Wellesley told you to make you take me in, Lady Enright, but I am not staying in this house with you, and I refuse to acknowledge you as family.”

Her grandmother’s lips thinned. “I am not surprised by your anger, Charles, but you really must learn to curb your temper now that Lord Wellesley has offered for you.”

“So that is why I am here, is it? How rich.” She shook her head. “How perfectly rich, all of it,” she muttered, stabbing a fresh forkful of egg.

“My dear,” her grandmother soothed, “it is a great honor indeed that his lordship should court you now, considering how?—”

“Oh yes, considering how unsuitable I now am, deplorable even. I am sure the Ton do not even recall my existence. No, it is nothing short of remarkable, isn’t it, that I should so suddenly suit you and Grand-père so well, should be so desirable now as granddaughter, thanks solely to my potential alliance with the future Duke of Allendale.”

“Charles Adelaide Merrinan.” Her grandmother drew herself tall. “Your mother did not raise you to speak to your elders in such impudent, ill manner. I will not tolerate such disrespect in my own house, young lady, and you will?—”

“And I will not tolerate the abject disrespect you showed Father after Mother’s death. Nor will I be ordered about as if I were a child, madam, when I am now a grown woman.”

Charles stood in a huff, threw down her napkin, and stormed from the kitchen.