Me & Mr Jones Read online

  Me and Mr Jones

  Unsuitable Suitors, Book 2

  Ebony Oaten

  Me & Mr Jones

  Copyright © 2021 by Ebony Oaten

  ebook ISBN 978-1-922486-09-7

  First Published © 2020 in A Regency Christmas Together, published by Dreamstone Publishing.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Me and Mr Jones

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Thank you

  About Ebony Oaten

  Also By Ebony Oaten

  Me and Mr Jones

  Wallflower Carys Talbot is desperate to keep her late father’s Swansea tramcar company running, but patronage is down and winter is closing in. She needs a business partner, and quickly.

  * * *

  Everyone thinks Rhys Jones is a lad from the valleys. If anyone discovers his secret, he’ll be run out of town. That’s why he needs Carys Talbot to make an honest man out of him.

  * * *

  This story uses US English spelling.

  Chapter 1

  Wales, December 1816

  Carys Talbot loved numbers. She loved the way they came to life at the end of her pen as the ink flowed onto the page. She loved the way they consistently behaved themselves and followed the rules. She especially loved the way they could be relied upon to tell the truth, even if that truth was not to her particular liking.

  This afternoon, those numbers were not to her particular liking at all.

  However, they did speak the truth.

  On the slim chance she’d missed something along the way, she added the numbers a third time.

  But the truth was still there and she very much didn’t like it.

  The numbers told the truth of another tight week.

  After several such tight weeks, including a few weeks of losses.

  There would be no tidy bonus for the staff this Christmas, nor extra-large carrots for the horses.

  Drat and botheration.

  The numbers didn’t lie, and that was that.

  It wasn’t surprising that patronage was down in the colder months. Who took pleasure trips around Swansea Bay in this miserable weather? And it had been miserable for so much of the year.

  The clock chimed five. Outside, staff were closing up for the day, holding lanterns to light their way. The winter solstice was almost upon them. Carys shivered in sympathy for her staff as the evening closed in and a fresh gust roared over the bay.

  She sanded the page to dry the fresh ink, then hummed a mournful hymn as she tipped the grains into the tray.

  Maybe it would have been better to close everything down through the worst of winter? No, that wouldn’t have helped. The horses would still need feeding, and the other businesses around The Mumbles would suffer even more if there were no visitors coming around from Swansea. These were the same businesses that suffered through their nothing-like-a-summer and might not survive to see in the next.

  The words, “What to do, what to do?” swam around her head. She had to do something, and her options were slim.

  Responsibility weighed heavily. She took a leaf of paper to write to her father for advice, then stopped as fresh grief whipped through her. A slow breath took some of the sting out, but not all, as she was reminded, yet again, that the family scion was no longer with them. How long would it take for this wound to heal?

  The door to her office creaked open.

  The handsome, smiling face of Rhys Jones appeared. He held onto the handle with his strong, tapered fingers, as if ready to pull it closed again. His brown coat which only seemed to emphasize his broad shoulders, was flecked with splashes of dark rain. His curly black hair clung wetly to the sides of his cheeks. His face, previously smiling, changed to the epitome of shock and his dark brown eyes stretched wide as he realized she was in here.

  Carys made a half smile. “Mister Jones. You were expecting to see my father sitting here, weren’t you?”

  He let go of the handle and took his soft tri-corner coachman’s hat off, squeezing the brim. His eyes were downcast, which treated Carys to his thick eyelashes that appeared even longer now they were wet. “It’s going to take some adjustment. I can come back later if you need to get the numbers in.”

  The numbers in. That’s what her father had called it, when he’d been in charge. Every night David Talbot would ‘put the numbers in,’ and he would get himself in a lather in the process. Every week for the past two years, Carys had worked by her father’s side, learning the business. Then, when he’d left the office to check on the horses, she’d fixed the numbers so they spoke the truth. Lately, she’d even tried teaching the numbers to Young David, but he’d shown little interest.

  “The numbers are in, Rhys, and all is right with the world,” Carys felt a fresh pang at borrowing her father’s expression. That and the fact all was not right with the world, but there wasn’t much point telling anyone that. Not until she could work out what to do about the way things were going so very wrong. Time to talk of milder things. Time to see a smile again on that handsome man’s face. “How are the horses?”

  But the expected smile did not come as Rhys said, “They’re in strange order, Miss Talbot. In fact, Sally is not all there herself, tonight. That’s why I came to see you, in fact.”

  Two in facts in two sentences. What did Rhys have to be worried about? “Is Sally ailing?”

  “You read me like a book, Miss Talbot. She won’t let me touch her. When I delivered her last foal in September, she was sunshine and spring flowers. But she won’t let me near her tonight.”

  “My father could always charm the mares.” Carys slapped her hand over her mouth and regretted her nostalgia. “I’m sorry, Mister Jones, I did not mean to be maudlin.”

  Rhys gripped the edges of his hat in his strong hands, turning it nervously. “No, Miss Talbot, it is I who’s the sorry one. It’s the night for maudlin, to be honest. I clear forgot Mister Talbot was no longer with us, and barged in here to ask for help with Sally. And it all came crashing down on me to see you at his desk.”

  “Oh, really?” Had she said that aloud or merely thought it?

  Rhys rushed an apology. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your person, it’s always lovely to see you,” his face crimsoned, “It’s just that … you … weren’t the person I thought I’d be seeing.”

  “I miss him too, Mister Jones. It’s going to be a long winter without him, that’s for sure.” Carys closed the ledger and placed it on the shelf. A pot of tea sat on the cast-iron lid of the nearby wood heater, keeping the contents warm. “There’s enough for two, here. We may as well finish it and then see about Sally.”

  The hat-brim-clenching continued with Rhys. “I wouldn’t feel right delaying for tea, Miss Talbot. I will see myself out.”

  “In that case, I’ll be right out now in a minute.” Carys grabbed her long coat and slipped a small jar of honey into the pocket. Then she poured two large mugs of tea without bothering with a strainer. It didn’t matter how many leaves splashed in, the mugs would most likely turn cold before she finished hers anyway.

  Rhys blessed her with a nervous smile. She did so enjoy his smiles. And his lovely dark eyes that were often filled with concern for the staff and the horses. Actually, it was probably the other way around. He was devoted to the animals. Maybe he would … no, best not mention
that idea just yet. It would terrify him. They would see to Sally first and then she might raise the issue.

  Chapter 2

  Tea splashed onto the ground as they headed outside. The gale winds! On afternoons like these, Carys could swear there were icebergs in Swansea Bay. The horses whinnied in complaint as Rhys heaved open the barn door and let in the chill.

  Once the door was secured shut, she handed Rhys his mug of tea, then walked straight over to Sally’s stall.

  Their beautiful brown girl, definitely a workhorse not a show pony, was looking much the worse for wear.

  “She is in a bad way,” Rhys said.

  Sally had worked the tram line since the company had begun, and was a favorite sight along the tramway. Tonight, she was a terrible sight, as drool slipped from her lips, falling into puddles on the ground.

  “You were right to come and get me,” Carys said. “Good grief, she’d dribbling like an old Grandpa! I’ve never seen the like of it.”

  “Neither have I, Miss Talbot, and so you see my concern.”

  Dylan the stable hand came forth with some towels over his arm and said, “Miss Talbot, I know everything she’s had to eat and drink here, and I swear there’s nothing untoward in her food to cause this.”

  “Is she teething? But no, she’s far too old for that.” Carys put her tea down on a nearby barrel and stroked the mare’s forehead, careful to avoid the voluminous quantities of saliva pouring forth. “Her head isn’t too warm, so that’s a good sign she’s not running a fever. Maybe she’s eaten something sharp? Has she an ulcer perhaps?”

  “Easy, girl,” Rhys stepped forward to check Sally’s mouth.

  As he did, Sally whinnied and sharply flicked her head. A thick spray of equine spit covered Carys’s face. She yelped in disgust and shock. Shutting her eyes, she turned to flee and stepped directly into Rhys’s path, her face hitting him on the chest, spreading slippery fluid over his coat and sloshing the rest of his mug of tea out.

  She looked at him.

  He looked at her.

  They both burst out laughing at the mess.

  “Oh dear, Miss Talbot,” Rhys grabbed a towel from Dylan and attempted to wipe the worst of it off Carys’s face.

  Dylan creased up laughing. “I’m so sorry, Miss Talbot, you do look a sight!”

  Carys kept right on laughing. What a mess! It was the first time she had truly laughed since … yes. It felt good, and there was no real harm done.

  Rhys said, “Thank you for bringing the towel, Dylan. That was prescient of you.”

  “There you go again using big words on a young lad,” Dylan said.

  Carys wiped a (clean) tear (caused by laughter, not sorrow) from her cheek. “It means you thought ahead. And thank you. I would have been wandering around blind for some time if you’d not thought to bring towels.”

  With laughter subsiding, Carys had to think about how they could help Sally.

  Rhys seemed to read her thoughts. “I’ve checked her over, no other signs of distress. She only did the morning run to Swansea and had a full rest there, it wasn’t until the return home this afternoon that she had an accident.”

  Worry coursed through Carys. “There was an accident?”

  “No damage, Miss Talbot. Only a bit of a stink. The children on the tram thought it funny, but it made a mess of the tracks.”

  “The poor love.” Carys turned to Sally. “We’ll need to clean you up.” She used her towel to wipe Sally’s mouth. “I wonder if she has an ulcer perhaps?”

  “That might explain the dribbling at the front, but not the back,” Rhys said. “I’ve given her a thorough clean under the tail, and there’s been no more.”

  That was a relief. Mucking out stables wasn’t beneath Carys. She’d done it many times. Horses made a regular stinky mess sure as night followed day. And the mess made the gardens grow beautifully. But in all her twenty-three years she’d never seen a horse in such a way as Sally was now. She had to think, and thinking required tea. She found her cup again and took a sip. It had cooled considerably. The drink was bitter and over-brewed, so she opened the honey jar. Being early winter, the honey was cold and as thick as pitch. Glancing around the stables, she spotted a brown twig with a green leaf sticking out. Some sort of pine, perhaps? She coaxed out some honey from the jar and stirred it in.

  “Is that rhododendron?” Rhys asked.

  “I don’t know. My father was the botanist in the family. I singularly failed to inherit his love for plants. Young David, on the other hand…”

  Rhys stepped closer and looked at the twiglet. “I do believe it is a Rhody. Where did you find it?”

  “On the bench there.”

  Dylan ran to check the bench. “Oh dear,” he paled.

  Carys delicately spat her tea back into her mug, “It’s not poisonous, is it?”

  Dylan and Rhys exchanged a worried glance. Rhys said, “Not to a human, but to a horse, it might explain her illness.”

  Dylan checked the feedbag that hung on the wall near the tramcar harnesses. “Found the culprit.” He held a twig aloft.

  Rhys confirmed, “It’s a rhododendron all right. Somebody must have offered it to Sally as a treat. Oh, Sally, this will teach you to be a guzzle guts.”

  Some well-meaning but clueless child must have given it to her. Or an equally clueless adult. Not Sally’s fault at all.

  “How are the rest of the horses?” Carys asked as she sloshed her now tepid tea into the muck pile that was ready to go onto the wagon tomorrow.

  Dylan bragged, “They’re all good, Miss Talbot, Charlie is in top condition and make no mistake. Mary is fit and well, and Queen Caroline is all fine.”

  It was some good news to make up for the bad. A sick horse was the last thing Carys needed, but at least none of the horses from the other companies were ailing. That meant they could return Charlie and Queen Caroline to the Swansea depot tomorrow in good conscience.

  Sally, however, was still dribbling, much to Carys’s concern. “We’ll have to pull her off duty until she’s better. Mary will have to take over the reins.”

  Rhys nodded. “We’ll also need to speak to our customers to make sure nobody feeds them any treats without permission. Can’t have our best workers out sick. Now Miss, I’ll stay with Sally and keep an eye out. You’d best be getting home.”

  Going home was the last thing Carys wanted to do. “I won’t get any sleep, so there’s no point. Our Annie will be at home to take care of my brother and sisters.” Our Annie was their part-governess-part-maid-part-housekeeper-part-miracle-worker.

  “You’ve taken on so much responsibility, lately. Don’t wear yourself out,” Rhys said.

  Carys nodded. “You’re sweet to worry about me, but I won’t get any sleep tonight worrying about Sally, so I may as well be here where I can offer some help.”

  Dylan spoke up. “What about Doris and Joan? They’re in the Swansea depot tonight.”

  Doris and Joan were their Welsh pit ponies, and they had a special two-horse harness to pull the tram. Children loved it when the ponies were on duty.

  Now she realised the extra problem. “Doris and Joan are in more danger of unauthorised treats than Sally here, once things start again in the morning.”

  Rhys said, “Good thinking. You stay here and I’ll walk to Swansea.”

  “In this wind? It will take more than an hour. And you’ll be frozen stiff before you get half way around the bay.”

  “Got any other suggestions?”

  Was he challenging her to walk there with him? Her mind raced for a way out of this mess. Inspiration struck. “Yes. We’ll harness big Charlie and return him home to Swansea, and then we’ll bring the girls back on the return trip.”

  As an added benefit, she and Rhys would be able to talk about the company without other staff overhearing. Because what she needed to tell him did not need anyone else’s ears around.

  Chapter 3

  Charlie the horse was not happy to be working in the dar
k. He flared his nostrils and kept jerking his head to the side whenever Carys tried to get the bit in his mouth.

  Rhys’s voice sang out, “Come now, boyo, no need for that sort of behaviour.” His words calmed Charlie enough that he accepted the bit and allowed them to get on with assembling the rest of the harness.

  “It does feel a little grand, the big tram just for the both of us,” Carys said.

  They would have attached the open wagon except it was highly likely to rain, so the covered tram car it was. It felt completely natural to Carys to climb up to the driver’s seat and take the reins while Rhys closed the heavy doors behind them.

  But when he climbed up and sat beside her, she became all thumbs. Especially when he put his arm behind her. She knew it was so he could hold on to the low edge of the seat and keep himself steady, but it felt so … intimate.

  She hadn’t thought that much about sitting beside him all the way to Swansea, and now she was … well, should she move? It would be rude, and really dull, to go and sit inside the carriage. And it wasn’t raining. Yet.

  It would rain, guaranteed.

  The reins felt natural in her hands, and she had no intention of handing them over. Ever since her father had joined the consortium to run the passenger trams along the bay, she’d dreamed of one day driving them. Finally, her dream had come true.

  And so, until it actually did rain, she would sit right here, next to Rhys, their bodies touching on the driver’s-seat-for-one.

  It felt … daring. Nothing untoward, of course. It was dark, they were both wearing heavy coats and hats. It would take someone with extraordinary eyesight to see they were not two men driving the carriage.