Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,252

being crunched under foot grew louder as he approached. “Miss York?”

Wister waited a moment before lifting her head and meeting his gaze. What she saw took her by surprise. There was no mistaking the red which rimmed the dark green of his eyes. He had been crying.

“Lord Carno.” To her further amazement, he tucked the bottom of his coat under his knees and sat next to her on the damp grass.

“The apple trees look well-tended. What else do you grow in the orchard?” His voice had lost much of its hard edge from their earlier encounter. If she had to describe it now, Wister would have said it was almost melancholy. There was a sadness to him.

She pointed toward a row of trees close to the far side of the orchard. “Plums. Lemons. A couple of walnut trees. And we have a blackberry bush at the end of the lane just before you step off into the wood.”

“No cherry trees?”

She shook her head. It would have been nice to have had the time and money to plant more fruit varieties in the orchard, but she had learned to make do with what they had.

“Pity. My mother had several cherry trees at Carno Castle. They used to produce the most beautiful fruit,” he said.

“What happened to them?”

“The trees died the year after she did. A bacterial canker took them—the flu claimed her and my father.”

Wister nodded. Lord Carno appeared upset, and she didn’t want to add to his misery by offering up her own tragic story. She barely knew the man and they had not got off to a great start. “I am sorry,” she replied.

“So am I.”

They sat for a few minutes, neither saying a word. Wister finally turned as Rhys got to his feet. To her surprise, he held out his hand. “My cousin has gone inside looking for someone to make him a cup of tea. How about you and I join him?”

Wister reluctantly accepted his offer of assistance, and Rhys drew her up to stand alongside him. A soft, shy smile was briefly exchanged.

He slipped his hat off and Wister got her first glimpse of his rich brown hair. When Rhys ruffled his fingers through his lengthy locks, she wished for nothing more than to be able to stuff her hands in her pockets. It was either that or offer to finger comb his hair.

The green-eyed Welsh devil was delightfully shaggy.

“I don’t suppose you have a gentleman’s barber in the village, do you? I could do with a cut and a shave,” he said.

She could simply say no and leave it at that, but Wister had been raised in a good home where manners were valued. “We don’t, but I’ve a fine pair of sharp scissors in the house and I know my way around a cutthroat blade. I could give you a trim and free you of that beard.”

He gave her an unsure look. Not five minutes ago he had berated her, and now she was offering to hold a blade to his throat.

“Is this the part where I apologize for my rude behavior?” said Rhys.

Wister nodded, offering reassurance. “Trust me, Lord Carno, you are not the first noble to raise his voice to me. If I can survive working for Lord and Lady Kington, dealing with someone who simply wants answers about the estate will be a positive delight. Besides, you have every right to examine the books and question the staff. I overstepped the mark with my earlier comments. It is I who should be offering an apology.”

She gave a quick check of her skirts, brushing off a couple of damp leaves, then started toward the house. Rhys followed. At the back door, Wister stopped and scraped the wet leaves from the soles of her boots.

“Speaking of servants, how many do we have here at Kington? So far, I haven’t seen anyone other than yourself,” said Rhys.

The baron’s man must have failed to mention the issue of servants and the lack thereof in his report. A grand estate such as Kington House would normally retain a full retinue of staff.

Brace yourself, Lord Carno. This is going to be the first of many disappointments.

“Including Polly and myself, you have the grand sum of two.”

Chapter Five

“The books themselves have been kept in good order. It’s just the figures which are so bloody horrible.” Rhys closed the last of the account ledgers and pushed back from the desk.

Deri was seated on a nearby couch nursing a glass