Page 2 of A Tenuous Betrothal
Mrs. Powell was motherly to all the workers, and pretty much everyone in town loved her, Rhi included. “It’s not right, is it?” She clucked and tsked and busied herself in such a way that she was even more endeared to Rhi. “Not after all your family’s done. Not after you spoke up for us like you did.”
Mrs. Powell and her family all worked in Rhi’s father’s mines—now her uncle’s mines. Rhi cringed, thinking of the dear woman in Uncle’s clutches. As soon as her father had passed on, Uncle had immediately tried to implement longer hours, more children in the mines, and women doing the bulk of the menial labor. Rhi had not stood for it. In front of the entire factory, she’d called out her disdain, and enough workers had grumbled in agreement that Uncle had acquiesced. But soon after, she’d been exiled from their estate home and the mines to this hunting cottage in the back corner, where she’d been for the past two months, planning other ways in which to pester and perturb her uncle while assisting her beloved miners.
“It’s what any Davies should have done, now, isn’t it?” Rhi seethed inside at her uncle, but she also feared him, not with a fear that had her shaking in indecision but with the fear of the intelligent, the wise. He had power now, and she’d better watch herself. She stood taller. “But we’re not to cower, are we, Mrs. Powell? There’s still hope.”
“Don’t you be worrying about us, now.” Mrs. Powell gave her a short squeeze. “It’s time you care for yourself. Marry, find some protection. Fight your battles when you’re settled.”
“And how will the rest of you fare if I’m off marrying?”
Mrs. Powell laughed, a jolly-stomach kind of noise. “I’m sure we’ll be all right now. Your uncle wouldn’t cut off his workers completely, would he? Where would he be with mines and no miners?” She shook her head. “We’ve weathered worse here in our valley. Your father would want you to protect yourself.”
Rhi’s eyes burned, but she refused to give in to the tears that wanted to come. She swallowed the feeling of a knife in her throat so she could laugh, but it was a humorless noise. “Wish he’d made it a mite easier on me.” She’d been left with nothing from the will that was not governed by her uncle, a man who seemed to care nothing at all for her well-being.
Mrs. Powell shook her head. “I can’t account for it. You, left at your uncle’s mercy.” Her strong hand pressed into Rhi’s shoulder with the warmth of a mother who’d been toughened around the edges and a fire stoked and blazing inside.
Rhi hoped to find that same fire. The Welsh had it in them.“A fire in their heart and a song in their bones.”Wasn’t that what Grandma had always said? What would Grandma, the powerful matriarch in a mining dynasty, have done? Of course, they hadn’t always been a dynasty. They’d started small, just like anyone else. They’d farmed the land their ancestors had left them, working the estate as best they could with only a few tenant families who had also been around for generations. But they were blessed to discover coal in their land, and it helped that they had the means to mine it.
That was the crux of success in Carmarthenshire. Coal.
What would Grandma have done if suddenly orphaned, torn from her inheritance, and controlled by an antagonistic uncle? Rhi almost laughed at a memory of Grandma with a pitchfork and the voice of a warrior.
She would have stayed and fought.
Mrs. Powell patted her shoulder one more time with thick, strong hands, her nails lined in black. “You take care now.”
As Rhi watched her leave and turn the corner down the lane in front of the old hunting cabin, she had an odd premonition that she might never see the dear woman again.
She settled in at her small table, ready to enjoy some of the excellent gifts from a group of miners and Mrs. Powell’s kitchen and the love that had come with them. But an uncomfortable and familiar feeling settled, the feeling of someone watching her.
She whipped her head around, searching out the window into the depth of the trees all around. She saw nothing. She never did. But the shivering perception repeated itself at least once a day. Even though the biscuits tasted delicious, warm, and soft, the wonder of love from the dear miners had been dimmed by the presence of something that sought ill. She pulled her drapes closed, shutting out the sunlight but also the eyes from deep in the shadows.
She’d heard noises at night too. One evening there had even been a knock at the door and then no one standing there when she opened it. Once, a group from town had come too close to her cabin, calling out in a drunken stupor to each other, boasting of all manner of ill. She’d clutched at a knife and pulled her covers up to her chin.
This feeling of being watched was not new, no, but she wasn’t quite sure how to be rid of it.
New sounds distracted her—horses, metal clanging—and then the Davies carriage arrived in front of her door.
Her father’s carriage. Only, it would never again carry him. It was now the property of her uncle, along with the house, the lands, and the dynasty.
Her family’s servant Thadd stepped out. “Miss Davies, your uncle is requesting an audience.” His eyes held sympathy and then disapproval as his gaze traveled over her secluded abode. “Are you here alone, then?”
“I am.” She sighed. “Uncle forbade me from bringing a servant.”
He pressed his lips together, and she knew only the most professional training kept him from saying more.
“I find the cabin and I fit each other nicely. I see no reason to leave.” She crossed her arms. “Even for a summons.”
Thadd would be stuck in the middle of her stubborn refusal to obey her uncle’s orders, but he raised his chin in approval, his eyes sparkling with what looked like respect. “Your uncle sent this note. I’m afraid he doesn’t leave much choice.” He made a show of looking around once more at her surroundings. “If you’re not to stay in the house where you rightfully belong, I suppose this cabin is as good as any.”
She smiled and took the note.
You will come. I have news. And an addendum to the will.
“Well now, that is the only thing that would encourage me to go.”
Thadd dipped his head and opened the carriage door for her.
Once inside, she breathed deeply in relief. Her uncle and his odious perfumes and dogs were not yet corrupting the air in her father’s equipage. As she ran her fingers over the velvet softness of the carriage bench, slightly worn from her father’s use, her use, her mother’s use, she closed her eyes. She could almost pretend they were all sitting in the carriage together.
