Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,254

a pity that the only woman I have got within five feet of in the past six months is the same woman I am about to send packing.

Chapter Six

Deri departed from Kington House the following morning, leaving Rhys to deal with the question of what he was going to do about the estate and Miss York. After another morning spent going through the estate records and not being able to make complete sense of them, Rhys finally decided it was time to talk to his estate manager.

“Have a seat please, Miss York,” he said.

Wister stood in the doorway of the sitting room, lips pursed, clearly nonplussed at being summoned by him. When he motioned to the chair in front of the desk where he currently sat, she gave a derisive sniff.

She walked over and stood between the desk and the chair. After placing a piece of paper in front of Rhys, she stepped back and stood with her arms crossed, glaring at him. She was definitely not in a convivial mood. “If you are going to dismiss me, could you please just get it over and done with? The coach for Birmingham passes through the village at midday and I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Rhys gritted his teeth, doing his best not to get angry over her defiant stand. Someone had to be the adult here. He glanced at the note. On it was written a number which made him decidedly uncomfortable. One hundred and fifty guineas.

“That is the total of my outstanding wages. If you pay me, I will go immediately to my room and pack,” she said.

Wages? She was the estate manager. Why hadn’t she been paying herself?

He picked up the note, examined it closely once more to confirm the number, then frowned. “You haven’t been paid in over three years? I don’t understand.”

She sighed. “Lord Kington wasn’t one for taking care of his estate or his staff. That is why there is only the two of us remaining. Polly takes most of her wages as eggs, milk from the cow, and some of the food that she bakes.”

But if Miss York hadn’t been paid in all that time, why had she stayed? No sensible person would have remained while not being compensated.

“You are wondering why any servant would stay here when they were owed money,” she said.

He nodded.

“If you look closely at my note, you will see that it covers the two roles I have occupied during my time at Kington House. The first two years were as the late Lady Kington’s companion, while the last year or so was—”

“You were employed as a lady’s companion?” Rhys interrupted.

“Yes. But after Lady Kington passed away, I was asked to take on the role of managing the house and land. That led from one thing to another, and I have been more or less keeping the place going single-handedly since then,” she replied.

Her words had Rhys sitting back in his chair, more than a little surprised. He hadn’t realized she had been managing things for all that time. He had assumed she had taken on the role as a temporary measure when Lord Kington’s health had begun to decline. Women didn’t run estates—it simply didn’t happen.

Of course, there was the occasional mature-aged chatelain who oversaw the workings of a grand house, but not the entire estate. Females, in his experience, didn’t know enough about crops and livestock to be able to handle the role. “And you haven’t had the services of any male servants or staff during the past year?”

When she met his gaze this time, he caught the hint of discomfort on her face. Miss York clearly wasn’t used to people asking difficult questions—ones which might expose and undermine her.

Her employment history was interesting enough, but it still didn’t answer the question as to why she had remained at Kington House when the tight-fisted Lord Kington had not seen fit to pay her. She was a young woman, attractive, and she seemed to have a degree of intelligence. So why would she stay?

And then a cold sliver of dread slipped down Rhys’s spine.

Could she have had other reasons to want to remain here? With him? And just who was using who? Lady Kington has been gone for well over a year, and I suppose these things do happen.

Had an invisible line been crossed between Lord Kington and Miss York—an employer and employee relationship transforming into a sexual liaison? It certainly would make sense of many of Rhys’s private