To Win a Widow - Alexa Aston Page 0,1

least wash my hands.”

“Be quick about it. They don’t like being kept waiting.”

Rhys assumed the footman meant the viscount. But why was the nobleman out of bed at this hour, having only come home shortly before? If Mowbray was going to fire a lowly groomsman, would he do it at this hour?

They exited the stables and he went to the pump, priming it and then washing his hands. He pulled his lone, tattered handkerchief from his pocket and wet it, running it along his face and neck and wringing it out before jamming it back inside his pocket. He combed his fingers through his hair, hoping the thick, unruly mess now looked somewhat tamed and presentable.

“Get moving!” the footman ordered, lording over him as only a house servant might do when speaking to another servant in a lower position.

They entered the kitchens, which now bustled with activity. Rhys nodded to Cook, who always treated him with kindness, as he followed the footman. They left the kitchens and went through a long corridor and up a staircase. He wished they could slow down so he could take in the grand surroundings. He had never been inside the main house before and was overwhelmed by the thick carpeting and elegant furnishings.

On the first floor, they continued down a long hallway and then arrived at a closed door.

“Wait,” the footman commanded before knocking and entering the room. A moment later, he stuck his head back out and hissed, “Come in.”

With trepidation, Rhys entered the most magnificent room he had ever seen. He clinched his jaw, else it might hang open like a dog’s. Though he longed to study the art on the walls and take in the fine furniture, he knew he had been summoned for a reason and couldn’t tarry.

He spotted Viscount Mowbray sitting in a chair across the room, his gray hair askew. He had some kind of robe on which shimmered in the light. Rhys approached him and saw another man, fully dressed, sitting in a nearby chair. He had never seen this gentleman, who studied him with keen eyes as Rhys came forward and then stopped before them.

“This is the boy?” the stranger asked.

“Yes, yes,” the viscount said. “Rhys Armistead. He’s the one.”

He wondered why he had been singled out. Why this man wanted to know who he was. Why he had been sent for. Yet he knew it wasn’t the place of a lowly groomsman to ask any questions. He was here to answer them, whatever they might be.

The man cleared his throat. “I am Mr. Goolsby, solicitor for the Earl of Sheffington. Have you heard of him?”

“No, Sir. Why would I have?”

Distaste crossed the man’s face and Rhys realized he shouldn’t have asked a question. He reminded himself to only answer what was asked of him so he could hopefully return to the stables and never be troubled again.

“The Earl of Sheffington is a very rich, powerful man,” the solicitor said. “His country seat is in Surrey, several miles west of Addlestone.”

He neither knew where Surrey was nor this Addlestone, which he assumed was a town. His education had only lasted for two years, where he had learned to read and write and do sums. Geography hadn’t been a part of his lessons. He nodded but kept silent.

The solicitor’s mouth tightened. “It has come to light that your mother is a distant cousin of the Earl of Sheffington. Which means you, as well, are very distantly related to his lordship.”

This was certainly news to him. He knew his mother spoke very well and had a beautiful hand when it came to writing but he couldn’t picture her as a part of the nobility.

“The chain of relations is complicated and too long to get into now,” Mr. Goolsby continued. “Suffice it to say that you are related, however. Because of that, the earl wishes you to come to Sheffield Park.”

“As a groom?”

Goolsby harrumphed. “No, lad. Not as a groom.”

“Then what?” he challenged, disregarding his previous promise to himself to keep quiet. “I have a good job with Viscount Mowbray. I know horses well and love what I do. Why should I leave the viscount’s employ?”

“Because Viscount Raleigh isn’t in the best of health.”

Now, Rhys was totally confused. “Who is this viscount? What does he have to do with me?”

His employer stood. “I am weary, Goolsby. See to things. I am off to bed.” He glanced to Rhys. “Good luck to you, boy. You did well teaching my Rebecca