“You really are going to have to spend some money on this place if you decide to keep it. But enough of that. What did you do to make the delightful Miss York disappear?”
Rhys hesitated for a moment before replying, “Wister cut my hair last night, and then things got out of hand.”
A raised eyebrow greeted his words. “Wister? What happened to Miss York?”
He steeled himself for a well-deserved lecture on the perils of getting too familiar with servants. A lecture he could have done with a few days ago, before he crossed those fateful, invisible lines. “I engaged her as an advisor. And we have been working closely together. And we became friendly. And…I kissed her.”
Deri fell silent for a moment, for which Rhys was most grateful. Though when Deri shrugged out of his coat and put a hand on his shoulder, Rhys noted a perceptible change in the mood of the room.
“You really do have a particular gift for being able to stuff things up when it comes to women. But…I shall leave it up to you to untangle that particular mess. Now what about that brandy, because you might need a stiff drink when I tell you what I discovered about your Miss York when I was in London,” said Deri.
Rhys shook his head. “Brandy, yes. Sorry, no.” He hadn’t had time to go looking in the cellars this morning.
Deri sighed. “I thought that might be the case, so I topped up the whisky before I left town. We have to celebrate my betrothal with something.”
Rhys wrapped his cousin up in a huge hug. “This is wonderful news. I am so happy for you, and I can’t wait to meet your fiancée. Sophie sounds perfect.”
“She is. I can’t wait to make her my wife. I am going to continue on home to Wales in the next day. I have to tell everyone at Ruthin Castle of my betrothal. After that I will probably head back to London for Christmas. Sorry, old chap, but I will have to stand you up for our orphans’ Christmas Eve supper.”
He fished around in his coat pocket and withdrew a hip flask. After pouring each of them a small dram of whisky, Deri made himself comfortable on one of the green floral monstrosities which sat in the middle of the room. His long legs were stretched out before him, his arm slung lazily over the low back of the sofa.
Rhys took a seat on the other ugly sofa, his whisky glass resting in the palm of his hand. He was excited over Deri’s news, but he also was desperate to hear what he had discovered about Wister. “If I promise that you and I will have a slap-up drunken night to celebrate your betrothal, will you tell me what you know of Wister?” he said.
Deri downed his drink and righted himself, setting the glass on the floor. “Of course, but it had better be a messy drinking session, and I expect as my best man that you will also ensure that my stag party is the stuff of legend.”
Rhys held out his hand and they shook on it. “I swear that when I am done with you, you won’t look at a bottle of whisky for a very long time.”
“Excellent. Well…I happened to mention Miss York to my mother. Wister is an unusual name, so it was not a surprise that Mama knew of her,” said Deri.
“Go on.”
“Long story short. Miss York came to Kington House some three years ago to be a lady’s companion to Lady Kington. After Lady Kington died, Lord Kington kept her on to manage the estate,” said Deri.
Rhys nodded. Wister had told him all of this already. “I am aware,” he replied.
“Ah, but what you don’t know is why your Wister is still here,” said Deri.
She wasn’t his Wister, though he was well past wishing she was. The memory of touching her, that soft skin…I am in so much trouble.
If Deri didn’t hurry up and put him out of his misery, he might have to abandon his cousin and retreat to his room.
“Lord Kington kept that poor girl here and made certain that she couldn’t ever leave. The story in town is that she applied for many positions over the past year or so, but that she was rejected due to her loose morals. She was considered unsuitable for any good homes to employ,” said Deri.
Rhys shot to his feet. Whisky sloshed onto the carpet. “What?!”
This didn’t sound the least like the Wister he knew. His Wister had fled after he had kissed her.
“It all sounded a little odd to me, but then Mama showed me a letter. Apparently, Wister applied for a position in her household a little while back. Mama would have considered her for the role except for the fact that she had already received a letter from Lord Kington informing her that Miss Wister York was not of good character.”
Rhys was stunned. Now things made clearer sense. Wister had been doing everything she could to leave Kington House, and his distant cousin had done his all to scupper her plans. Right now, he would dearly love to go out to the family burial plot and kick Lord Kington’s headstone over.
All that time, she had been given no other choice than to do her best to manage the estate and go unpaid. Rhys took in a long, deep breath, hoping it would calm his burning temper. It didn’t.
“There is a final, bitter piece to all this. Something that explains the condition of the estate and house. Remember when you said estates failed over three things—women, wagering, and waste?” said Deri.
A chill slid down Rhys’s back. Whatever Deri was about to tell him, was not going to be good. “Go on.”
“Well, I did a little digging around in the ton, and it transpires that Lord Kington not only had a serious gambling habit, but that he kept not one but two money-hungry mistresses. Little wonder the coffers are almost empty.”
Rhys downed the remainder of his whisky in one go, then stood slowly shaking his head. He now knew where all the missing money had gone. Lord Kington had spent it. And poor Wister hadn’t done a terrible job in trying to keep Kington House afloat—she had performed a bloody miracle.
Regret and self-loathing now took the place of his rage. Wister had been a virtual prisoner here. She had worked her fingers to the bone in an endless, thankless job. And what had he done? Accused her of everything from gross mismanagement to outright theft.
And don’t forget you kissed her. You are not much better than Lord Kington in taking advantage of a vulnerable young woman.
He had to set things to right. To reframe his relationship with Wister. To make her understand that she meant more to him than just an advisor.
You should be thanking her for everything she has done to keep this place going.
And he would do just that, but first, he had to find her.
Then I need to make her want to stay.
Chapter Thirteen
Lord Kington had written to prospective employers and warned them off taking Wister into their homes. Rhys could understand that by doing so, the blackguard had managed to effectively keep her as his own personal serf. Without money or means, she would never be able to leave Kington House.
But what occupied Rhys’s mind later that morning as he walked into Kington village, was how Lord Kington had known which families he should write to in order to stop Wister leaving. His aunt had received one of Lord Kington’s warning letters, and from what Deri had told him, his mother hadn’t known either Lord or Lady Kington.
The sight of the mail coach pulling away from the whitewashed Royal Oak Inn had Rhys frowning. Any letter which went to London would have had to be handled by the owner of the inn. He hurried to the front door, slipping his hat off as he stepped inside. Rhys closed the door behind him. If his suspicions were proven correct, someone was going to pay.