Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,251

Miss York had just happened to be the unfortunate person who was in the way when it finally went off.

“You know what today is, don’t you?” said Rhys.

Deri nodded. “Yes, how could I forget? And it is exactly the reason why I am trying to stop you from saying or doing something you may later regret. You have to give Miss York at least the opportunity to explain things before you dismiss her.”

All the fight fled from Rhys. Making the estate manager the target of his ire and pain was out of character. Shame now piled on to his heavy emotional load. “I need to go for a short walk. Let me get my thoughts straight in my head and then I will come inside and speak to Miss York.”

“Good idea,” replied Deri.

Rhys started toward a small path which ran down the side of the house, eager to get away from people and stretch his legs. As he rounded the corner of the triple-storied, grey rendered building, he spied an orchard at the end of the garden.

Perfect. He was in desperate need of somewhere to go and spend a few minutes alone. A place where no one else could see his tears.

Chapter Four

“Bloody. Bloody. Oh!” Wister wasn’t normally one for swearing, but the rudeness of Baron Carno had pushed her to saying things that her late mother would have taken her to task over.

The dreadful man. How dare he accuse her of incompetence? He had no idea what she had been through, of the sacrifices she had made just to keep the fires of Kington House burning.

Baron or no, she wasn’t going to stand there and be insulted. She marched straight back in the front door, through the kitchen, and out into the garden without breaking her stride.

Pompous ass of a male.

Polly raced after her. “Should I put the kettle on? Will they be wanting some tea and toast?”

Remembering her manners and her place, Wister stopped and faced Polly. “Yes, please. We should offer Lord Carno and Lord Ruthin some refreshments after their long journey. Though I am not sure if they are the sort of nobles who would lower themselves to partake of such humble things.”

While Polly went back to the house, Wister kept going, heading for the orchard.

“I hope you bloody well choke on your tea and toast, Lord Carno,” she grumbled.

As she drew near to the end of the orchard, she slowed her steps. Tempting though it was to head into the nearby Kington Wood and disappear for several hours, it wouldn’t help her cause. She would have to face the new owner of the estate at some point.

Hot tears of frustration and anger filled her eyes. She had been a fool to think that he might give her a fair hearing. From the way Lord Carno spoke, it was obvious he had already made up his mind. Of course, his man of business had told him the shambles that the estate was currently in. And the baron had conveniently found someone to blame.

Me.

She slumped to the ground under one of the bare apple trees, her mind and heart in turmoil. With her arms wrapped around her knees, Wister stared back at the house. If Lord Carno’s behavior was any indication, she would be lucky to survive another day at Kington House.

“It’s your own silly fault. What were you thinking, talking to him like that?” she chided herself.

Being a lord, she probably should have curtseyed to him. Or not.

Does one curtesy to a Welsh baron?

Her mother, God rest her soul, would likely be turning in her grave at the notion of her only daughter not showing all due deference to a nobleman. But when it came to men of rank and title, experience had taught Wister not to hold them in high regard.

Lord Kington had shown her that a man may have all the wealth and position that he could want and still be lacking in honor. But he was dead, and she now had to deal with the new lord of the manor.

Speak of the devil.

Baron Carno appeared from around the side of the house. She froze, hoping to avoid his notice. The last thing she wanted right now was another confrontation with him.

As he walked, he wiped at his face. His steps continued in her direction. Blast. There was no way he could fail to spot her sitting on the ground. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her arms.

The rustle of leaves