Me & Mr Jones: Unsuitable Suitors

By Ebony Oaten

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 UK English spelling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ebony Rees
• Release date: Jun 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922486097

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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, she had to admit the numbers spoke 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 one little bit.

Another tight week, after a great many tight weeks, including some weeks of awful 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, and it was getting very cold and miserable at this time of year. Who took pleasure trips around Swansea Bay in this sleet-filled weather? It had been miserable for so much of the year.

The clock chimed five. Outside, the tramcar staff were closing up for the day, holding lanterns to light their way. The winter solstice was almost upon them, and the daylight hours were achingly short. Carys shivered in sympathy for her staff as the evening closed in and a fresh gust brought icy cold wind from Swansea Bay.

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

All things considered, it would have been more economical to close everything down through the worst of winter. But then, the horses would still need feeding. Her staff would not have appreciated being out of work either. The many other businesses around The Mumbles down this end of the bay would suffer even more if there were no visitors coming around from Swansea. These were the same businesses that had suffered like her own, through their nothing-like-a-summer. She couldn't let them down.

The words, What to do, what to do? swam in her head. If only somebody had a stack of spare money she could borrow, at low rates of course. She'd pay them back with next year's takings. Hmmm. That somebody had to have blunt, not be greedy, and be extra patient.

Impossible!

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 fit so perfectly, it emphasized his broad shoulders to perfection. How she could go from grieving her father to fantasizing about Rhys Jones' shoulders made her wish she were a more sensible person. But here she was, looking at his coat, flecked with dark splashes of rain. His curly black hair clung wetly to the sides of his cheeks. His face, previously smiling and sending warm thoughts Carys' way, suddenly changed to the epitome of shock. 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,’ getting 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, her little brother. 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