Chapter 5 Rhys
Rhys
Once upon a time Rhys had believed in fate.
He had believed his scholarly pursuits were for a noble cause.
But when his father died and forced him to take on the earldom, he all but abandoned those pursuits.
He’d been too consumed with the problems he’d inherited: Tenant farmers who needed support.
The estate’s fast-creeping debt. Economic challenges brought on by the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars.
The dwindling livelihood of families whose farms had been on their land for hundreds of years was now his responsibility.
Not to mention a crumbling historic manor with a leaky roof, still in desperate need of repairs.
He had not been prepared for any of it. He didn’t know the first thing about how to run an estate, and his father hadn’t either.
Rhys’s love of language could not provide for his family, and if he didn’t do something drastic quickly, then his tenants would lose their land.
Unfortunately, he had missed his chance to marry Lady Flora Winslow due to his father’s untimely death and his family’s mourning period. Flora had gone on to marry a duke three times her age.
Now the family’s time in mourning was past and they were back in society, and Rhys needed to face his responsibilities, which was how he had arrived at the terrible idea of hosting a house party for two weeks to get to know a small, select group of eligible ladies he had invited to Hereford Manor.
To his surprise, his overly romantic and sentimental mother had tried to talk him out of it, not wanting Rhys to enter into marriage “like a sacrificial lamb chop.” Her own marriage to his father had been a love match, and she wanted the same for her three children.
Rhys replied that his younger brother and sister could have their love matches, but he was the heir.
And as the heir, not only did he have to save the estate, their home, and the farms, he needed to save the labyrinth and the stone circle.
It had been in the family’s care for centuries.
So he had hand selected the ladies and stubbornly sent out the invitations, including one to Flora Winslow’s sister, Lady Fauna.
If his father were alive, he would have pointed out that fauna technically meant animal life in Latin.
To which Rhys would have replied it also was the name for the goddess of the woodlands.
Flora . . . Fauna, it did not matter to Rhys.
What mattered was the ladies’ father, Sir Winslow, could spot a good investment and had made a fortune on the steam locomotive’s emergence only this year with Stephenson’s Rocket.
If Rhys married Lady Fauna, their financial woes would be solved.
It was either that or sell part of the land or the library off book by book.
Rhys knew his father would have approved of neither.
Now all the girls and their families had arrived today to stay a fortnight in the guise of a house party and enjoy the outdoors, hunt, fish, play lawn games, frolic, and picnic. But everyone knew the real reason was Rhys would choose a bride.
Sisu was the Finnish word for persevering with dignity through a crazy, hopeless situation, and sisu was exactly how he felt.
Which is why, now that the guests were here and settling in, he found himself heading to the labyrinth, the one place he knew he could be alone because no one could find the center but him.
However, when he reached the center and saw the young woman lying on the ground in the middle of the stone circle, his first thought was, Good God, one of them has found me! But when she didn’t stir or sit up to greet him, he realized the poor girl was unconscious.
He ran and knelt beside her, panic now setting in.
Who knew how long she had been there? His imagination began to run wild with the possibilities, each one perfectly horrible. She must have gotten lost in the labyrinth, stumbled into the center, and collapsed.
Was she dead?
She was lying on her stomach with her head turned away from him, her long hair a tangled mess and crowned with flowers. He touched her outstretched hand, finding her pulse steady. He puffed out a breath of relief and sat back on his heels.
Who was she? Whose daughter? From which family on the list?
He thought he had met all the young ladies in attendance when they’d arrived in their carriages earlier today, but he had never met this one.
He would have remembered her. She looked straight out of a fairy tale with a crown of tiny roses on her head, and her dress was practically medieval in design.
How on earth had she ended up here? He looked around. If they were found alone together like this, the scandal would be unthinkable. Her family may even force him to propose to save her reputation. He at least wanted to be able to choose the bride he was being forced to marry.
What a dreadful start to a dreadful house party!
“My lady?” he asked. “My lady?” He raised his voice and tried again, needing the riddle of her solved at once. “My lady, will you wake?”
The lady would not. As he continued to look at the sleeping woman, his imagination began to take over.
His father, the day before he died, had said a woman would arrive and that Merlin’s sister’s diary was hers.
Had he literally meant Merlin’s sister would come to collect her diary?
And somehow the labyrinth’s stone circle would bring her here?
As the whimsical idea whirled in his head, everything tangible and logical in the world crushed it.
The very thought was madcap. Absurd. Ridiculous!
Still, his eyes went to the standing stones towering over them like ancient sentries.
After his father’s death, it had taken Rhys months to return to the labyrinth and collect all the musical instruments his father had strung up for his time machine that a child could have made.
While dismantling it, Rhys had cried tears like a child for the father who had been his best friend and was now gone.
Rhys dismissed the whole wild notion for the woman. She was not a time traveler. She was either a guest or an interloper.
Becoming impatient, he took a blade of grass and tickled the back of her neck to wake her.
Again and again he tried, until her hand came up to swat at him like a fly.
Then her eyes flew open and she sat up, making him sit back, startled.
For he found himself staring into the most extraordinary green eyes he’d ever seen.
Eyes as green as the leaves on the labyrinth’s walls.
And for a singular moment he thought indeed the labyrinth had conjured her.
Even more astounding, she looked like the woman in the painting.
The painting he had found in his father’s studio after his death.
Rhys would bet his life on it, although the painting in question had been dated 1799, years before both he or this woman had been born.
The very idea she was the woman in his father’s painting made Rhys feel like he was losing his mind.
Of course she wasn’t the woman from the painting.
The possibility was ludicrous. Just as ludicrous as the fleeting thought she had time traveled from the sixth century.
The woman was gazing at him with the oddest expression on her face.
He finally found his voice. “Are you injured?”
“I don’t know.” She winced, touching her head. “I must have fainted.” She had an accent that sounded like an American diplomat’s he had met in London.
“You are a guest of the party?”
“No, I’m the harpist.” She leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. “Were you at the wedding?”
Rhys struggled to find a polite answer to such a nonsensical question.
What wedding? And why was she touching him?
Such a breach of propriety. Surely she knew who he was.
Drawing upon a cloak of politeness, he said rather stiffly as he pulled his arm away, “I’m afraid we have not been introduced yet.
Did anyone accompany you? Were you escorted? ”
“Escorted?” she parroted back and looked at the garden with surprise.
“Or did you become lost and find your way to the center by accident?”
“The center of what?” Her eyes were riveted by the standing stones. “Where am I?”
Rhys scowled, his suspicions growing. “Did someone send you in here to meet with me alone?” Truly it wouldn’t be the first time some lady’s mother had tried to put her daughter in his sights.
But this was beyond the pale if the poor woman had been made to suffer by lying in wait for him in the labyrinth all day.
She ignored his question. “How did I get here?” Truly she seemed bewildered. “Where’s the church?” Then her hand covered her mouth in horror. Her other hand landed on his arm again, and she squeezed it.
Rhys could only stare at her hand gripping his sleeve. She had the most exquisite hands he’d ever seen. He tried to focus on what she was saying.
“Did the poles flip? Were you at the wedding too? I don’t remember you.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Did we die? Is this heaven?”
Oh dear. Oh lud. Was she serious? Suddenly this encounter was becoming all too Shakespearean. She thought herself dead. He gently pulled his arm from her grip. The young woman was clearly delirious, and suddenly he felt like a complete ass for scolding her.
He tried again. “Rest assured, we are not dead. You’ve simply fainted and are obviously overcome. You must have wandered the labyrinth for some time.” He stood and gallantly offered her his hand. “Here, let me assist you. I will lead you back to the house.”
“What house?” She stood with a wobble, ignoring his hand. “Are we near the church?”