“Do you know why Lord Kington decided to give you the job of estate manager? You had been employed as a lady’s companion, so you must see that this whole arrangement appears a little unusual. Were the two of you close?” he ventured.
Rhys watched as realization dawned on Wister’s face. He steeled himself for harsh words of retort. If she did tear into him, he couldn’t blame her. He had basically just asked her in a polite and slightly vague way if she was a whore.
Her bottom lip immediately began to quiver. Tears quickly followed. Wister sucked in a shuddering breath, and it was all Rhys could do not to get to his feet and haul her into his arms and apologize profusely.
“No, we were not in the least bit close. Lord Kington originally told me he intended to sell off much of the estate and move permanently to London. This was supposed to be a short-term engagement of a month or so, at the end of which I would be paid for my services from the proceeds of his late wife’s jewels. I waited a respectable time and then pressed him for the money. But he had changed his mind by then and decided to keep Kington House. I have been trying to leave ever since.”
With a dejected sigh, Wister dropped into the chair. She covered her face with her hands and her whole body shook as she sobbed.
Oh no. This is terrible.
The poor girl had been left to run an estate with no support. No staff. No money. No wonder the place was a rundown shamble. She had done her best with next to nothing.
How many times had Wister played this conversation out in her head, knowing that someday someone would ask why she had remained at Kington House when Lord Kington clearly had no intention of ever paying her? The shameful truth was, she’d had no choice.
She didn’t know the first thing about Lord Carno, but there was something about the Welsh baron which made her want to trust him. Those deep green eyes of his seemed incapable of holding a lie.
There was nothing to lose in telling him the whole truth of things. She didn’t particularly care for his pity, but she was determined to have his understanding—even a modicum of respect for all her hard work. Much that it pained her, she could understand why Baron Carno would think that she and Lord Kington might have been more than simply servant and master.
“I have tried to leave. Even accepted that I may never see my money but getting another position has proven a difficult task. Over the past year, I have applied for dozens of positions as a lady’s companion, but not been successful with any of them,” she said, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.
There was a growing pile of rejections sitting on her bedside table—a constant reminder of her failure to escape. She had the right background, breeding, and experience for the job but no one in London wanted to employ her. Her lack of a reference from her previous employer was the only reason Wister could fathom for not being granted even an interview. Lord Kington had consistently promised and then failed to provide her with one.
“So, if I paid you and you left, where would you go?” he asked.
Wister sniffed as her gaze fell to the threadbare brown carpet. The truth was, money was only part of the problem. Even with a purse full of coins, she had no particular place in mind as to where she would travel.
Please. Please don’t throw me out.
Hot tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. She was not one for crying, but the past year had seen one heartbreaking setback after the other. Even the death of Lord Kington had not freed her from her troubles.
“If I had enough money, I might go somewhere and try to start again. To be honest, I don’t have any real plans,” she said.
I have never dreamed that far in advance.
Her hopes for his support dimmed as Rhys folded up the piece of paper and placed it into the desk drawer. Legally, he was not compelled to pay her. The debt for her outstanding wages should have been settled by Lord Kington’s solicitors. Instead, they had taken the money and paid their own account. The lawyers were no fools. Few courts would support the petition of a young woman asking to be paid for having acted as the manager of an estate.
“What if I were to offer you to stay here and help me over the next month? I need someone to be able to explain the workings of the estate, and to be honest, to show me where all the money has gone,” said Rhys.
Wister wiped away another tear. She too would like to know where the hundreds of pounds that should be in the estate coffers had disappeared to over the past few years. They most certainly had not made it into her hands.
“What about money? I mean, not just the wages I am owed, but will you pay me for the next month as well? I need funds to begin my life over,” she said.
He nodded. “I will write to my banker this week and organize your money. If you agree to see out the rest of this calendar year in my service, I will not only pay you for the extra month, but I shall add in a bonus payment. You could use that money to go and see your family,” he replied.
Wister closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. Three years, eight months, and eleven days. Time, they said, was a healer, but it still hurt to say the words.
“Lord Carno, I have no family. And I have no home.”
Chapter Seven
Rhys hadn’t dealt with many young women over the years. He knew a few in polite society, but they were either sisters of his friends or relatives. Time spent trying to build up the finances of his family estate in Wales meant he had not made much headway when it came to the fairer sex.
Unlike Deri, he didn’t have a functioning castle with which to tempt a possible wife. His was little more than a ruin with a cold, drafty gatehouse. When Miss York said she had no home, he could somewhat understand her predicament.
Her request to have until the following morning to consider his offer of extending her employment was less clear in his mind. But, not wishing to put her in a difficult position, Rhys had reluctantly agreed.
As the day finally drew to a close, he decided it was time to venture over to the Royal Oak and sample some more of their simple but hearty fare. It was just the way he liked his food—nothing fancy.
He headed up to his room, intending to freshen up before taking a stroll into Kington. At the top of the narrow staircase, he met Wister coming out of another room.
Is that her bedroom? I need to get a better idea of the layout of this house.
“Good evening, Lord Carno. Are you ready for your supper?” she asked.
“I was going to go into the village to eat. There is no need to cook just for me,” he replied.
Surely Polly wouldn’t have cooked for one, with Deri having taken himself off to London?
The disappointed expression on Wister’s face told him he was mistaken.
“Oh. Well, have a nice evening. Give my regards to George the tavern keeper.” She hurried down the stairs and quickly disappeared from sight, leaving Rhys to ponder her response.
Once inside his bedroom, he changed into a clean shirt and brushed his badly-in-need-of-a-good-cut hair. An unappealing beard stared back at him from his reflection in the mirror and he screwed up his face.
Miss York said she could cut hair. And she said she could wield an open razor.
Leaving his jacket and coat still laying on the bed, Rhys made his way downstairs in search of Miss York and her sharp scissors.
After a good ten minutes of wandering in and out of various rooms on the ground floor, he finally found her in the kitchen, seated at a long wooden table. A large pot of something delicious simmered on the stove, filling the room with an enticing aroma. Rhys’s stomach growled.