Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Winston was descending the grand stairs when he saw Miss Bawden staring at her reflection in the mirror. He huffed. Why in the blazes was she here? It wasn’t time for dinner. Could she not read a clock?

He would rather chew glass than deal with Miss Bawden. He had picked a lousy time to sneak down to the kitchen for a biscuit. Perhaps if he walked swiftly, Miss Bawden wouldn’t notice him.

But as he stepped onto the marble floor, she turned her head, and he saw something unexpected. Miss Bawden’s eyes were red-lined and hairs from her elegant coiffure had escaped, cascading down her back. She looked disheveled and sad, which surprised him. He had always believed she was incapable of such emotion.

She turned her head and her eyes widened slightly. “Lord Winston,” she greeted, her words lacking any warmth.

“Miss Bawden,” he acknowledged.

Winston wanted nothing more than to be far away from her, but he had been raised to be a gentleman. And a gentleman did not ignore a young woman in distress, no matter how maddening she might be .

With compassion in his voice, he asked, “Is there something you are in need of, Miss Bawden?”

He expected a curt response, but to his surprise, she shook her head. “No, thank you, my lord,” she replied without the slightest hint of annoyance.

Now he was worried.

Miss Bawden was not one to be polite to him—for any reason. Yet, she spoke to him in a civil tone, as if they didn’t dislike one another.

Did he press her? It wasn’t his place, but something stirred deep within him. He almost felt bad for her… almost. After all, he was still working on the assumption that she was the spawn of the devil.

Miss Bawden reached up and tucked a piece of errant hair behind her ear. “Will you stop looking at me like that?” she asked.

He furrowed his brows. “How, pray tell, am I looking at you?”

“With pity,” she said, tilting her chin. “I don’t need—or want—your pity.” Her words held the curtness that he was familiar with.

“Good, because I do not pity you,” Winston replied. “I am just merely curious as to why you look…” He stopped, unsure of what he could say that wouldn’t make this situation any worse than it already was.

Miss Bawden visibly stiffened. “How do I look?” she asked, her words holding a warning. It was evident that she was waiting to be insulted.

But he didn’t want to become too predictable.

Winston took a step closer to her, but still maintained a proper distance. “You look troubled,” he settled on.

“I am fine,” she rushed out.

“Just fine?” Winston pressed.

With pursed lips, Miss Bawden regarded him. “May I ask why you care, my lord? ”

Why did he care? That was an excellent question. He had been at odds with Miss Bawden for so long, except for that one weak moment when he had kissed her. But that was over a year ago, and he was different now because of it.

Knowing Miss Bawden was still waiting for a response, he said, “Contrary to your low opinion of me, I do not wish ill will to fall upon you.”

“That is incredibly thoughtful of you,” Miss Bawden responded dryly. “I can now die happily knowing you care for me.”

Winston didn’t know why he bothered. Miss Bawden only regarded him with contempt, and here he was, trying to do the right thing. Botheration. How he hated being a gentleman at times, especially around Miss Bawden.

“I am trying to be nice,” Winston said, his voice filled with exasperation.

“Well, don’t be,” Miss Bawden snapped back. “Furthermore, I came to speak to your mother, not you.”

Winston bowed slightly. “Do not let me stop you then.”

“Thank you,” Miss Bawden replied.

He should go, but there was something that was telling him to stay. And that nagging feeling is what worried him. Why should he remain in Miss Bawden’s presence? She clearly did not want him there, and he would rather be eating a biscuit than engaging in this pointless exchange.

But as he watched her, disheveled and distressed, he couldn’t shake the urge to dig deeper. There was a vulnerability about her that he had never seen before, a crack in her usually impenetrable facade. It stirred something within him, something that compelled him to stay and try to understand what had caused her such evident pain.

“Are you sure that there is nothing I can do to help?” he asked, surprising even himself with the gentleness in his voice.

Miss Bawden’s eyes flickered up to meet his, her annoyance giving way to something softer, almost like surprise. For a moment, she seemed to hesitate, as if weighing the sincerity of his offer.

“Just… leave me be, Lord Winston,” she finally said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading.

Winston nodded, feeling a strange mix of frustration and concern. He turned to leave but couldn’t help but glance back, hoping that, perhaps, she might change her mind and let him in, just a little.

His mother stepped into the entry hall and her eyes landed on Miss Bawden. “Oh, my dear, what is wrong?” she asked, closing the distance between them.

As his mother’s arms wrapped around Miss Bawden, she fell into her embrace and let out a sob. “My aunt and uncle died,” Miss Bawden said between sobs.

Winston felt like an interloper in his own home. Not entirely sure of what he should be doing in this moment, he removed his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and extended it towards Miss Bawden.

She accepted it and stepped out of his mother’s embrace. Wiping her face with the handkerchief, she said, “I do apologize for the display of my emotions.”

“That is utter nonsense. Don’t be ashamed to cry, especially when your wounded heart needs it,” his mother declared. “Come, let’s continue this conversation in the drawing room over a cup of tea.”

“Tea would be nice.” Miss Bawden turned to face him. “Thank you for the handkerchief, my lord.”

He smiled in response. “You are welcome.”

His mother slipped her arm over Miss Bawden’s shoulders and started leading her towards the drawing room. For some inexplicable reason, he felt compelled to follow them. It wasn’t because he wanted to, but rather because he felt it was the right thing to do. Which was odd. Why did he want to be a part of this conversation? He didn’t. He just wanted a blasted biscuit .

But his biscuit could wait, at least until he could offer some comfort to Miss Bawden.

As he stepped into the drawing room, he found a chair adjacent to the settee where they were both sitting. His mother cast him a questioning look, but refrained from asking him why he was there. Despite being at odds with Miss Bawden, he couldn’t bear to see someone in pain without offering some form of comfort.

His mother spoke up. “Tell me everything that has happened.”

Miss Bawden took a deep breath, no doubt in an attempt to compose herself. “My grandfather, aunt and uncle traveled to India to oversee their business dealings, leaving behind their daughter, Francesca,” she shared. “And we just received word that my aunt and uncle died from the fever and my grandfather is still recovering.”

“That is terrible news,” his mother murmured. “How may I help you at this most difficult time?”

Miss Bawden ran a hand down her gown. “We need to go into mourning, but I am at a loss of what I should do.”

His mother offered her an understanding smile. “You have come to the right place, Dear,” she said. “You will need to get mourning gowns and accessories and a black armband for your father.”

His mother continued, “The dressmaker in the village will know what fabric to use, but typically bombazine is most often used in the countryside. Since you are mourning an uncle and aunt, I would recommend you go into mourning for at least three months. But I would strongly encourage that your cousin mourns her parents for six months.”

“I intend to dye a gown or two until we can commission our mourning gowns,” Miss Bawden said.

“I would advise against that since you can afford to buy mourning gowns. Dyeing gowns is more for the people who lack funds to do so,” his mother explained. “And you are now the daughter of a viscount. You must act the part, always.”

A maid stepped into the drawing room with a tea service in her hands. She placed it down on the table in front of his mother. “Would you care for me to pour, my lady?”

“No, thank you,” his mother replied as she reached for the teapot. She poured three cups of tea and extended them to the group.

Miss Bawden took a sip of her tea before asking, “What of notifying our relatives of my uncle’s and aunt’s deaths?”

His mother placed her teacup down onto the tray. “The announcements will need to be trimmed in black, and some people send black gloves along.”

“Are the black gloves necessary?” Miss Bawden asked.

“Not in my opinion,” his mother replied. “I would recommend a hatchment to be placed over the front door for at least six months.”

Miss Bawden nodded. “I believe we still have the mourning wreath from when my mother passed away.”

“That is good,” his mother said. “Just try to remember to breathe. Many people will have opinions on how you should mourn, but it is much more relaxed in the countryside.”

Tears welled up in Miss Bawden’s eyes. “I can’t believe my aunt and uncle died. It just seems unreal to me.”

Lady Dallington reached for her hand. “I am sorry for your loss, and I want to express my deepest sympathy to you and your family.”

“Thank you,” Miss Bawden murmured. “I shall pass along your condolences to my father. I know he will appreciate them.”

Winston observed the genuine sorrow in Miss Bawden’s eyes. Despite their differences, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of empathy for her, considering he had only lost his uncle five months ago .

But what could he possibly do to ease her pain? And did he even want to?

His mother’s voice cut through the stillness. “Do you wish to borrow any mourning jewelry?” she asked.

Miss Bawden put her hand up. “That is not necessary,” she replied. “I do not anticipate going to any social events while I am in mourning.”

“Normally, I would recommend you delaying your debut if your father or sister died, but I do not think it is necessary in this case, considering it was an uncle and his second wife,” his mother shared. “Based upon your elevation in status, I think it is wholly appropriate for you to be presented to Court this Season.”

Miss Bawden looked at his mother in disbelief, as if she couldn’t quite believe the words that were being said. “I have never considered attending a Season before because of our humble circumstances, but everything has changed.”

His mother leaned forward, her expression softening. “It has,” she said. “And I would be happy to host you, right alongside Elodie and Melody, assuming your father has no objections.”

Miss Bawden’s breath caught. “Do you mean it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His mother patted her hand. “Yes, it would be my honor.”

Miss Bawden grew silent, and Winston’s gaze drifted to the window where rain streaked the glass. Conflict churned within him. He had a mix of sympathy for Miss Bawden’s circumstances and a selfish desire to keep her away. If his mother hosted her for a Season, he would never get Miss Bawden out from underfoot. She would always be there, waiting to torment him, just by her mere presence alone.

Mattie couldn’t quite believe the situation she found herself in. She had never considered the Season before due to her family’s humble circumstances. But everything had changed now that her father was the Viscount of Wythburn. It was as if fate had shifted the pieces on the chessboard, granting her a move she hadn’t anticipated.

But her heart grew heavy. Could she truly participate in the Season, knowing her cousin was still mourning her parents deeply?

“If you don’t mind, may I think on the Season?” she asked. “I am not quite sure if I am ready for such a thing.”

Lady Dallington’s eyes held understanding. “Of course. Take all the time you need,” she said.

Elodie’s voice came from the doorway. “Oh, Mattie!” she exclaimed. “You simply must come to Town with us. We would have such fun.”

Winston chuckled as he rose to address his sister. “I see that your habit of eavesdropping on private conversations has not gone away.”

“If you wanted it private, you should have closed the door,” Elodie said with a shrug. “It was hardly my fault.”

“Do you mean to insinuate that you consciously waiting at the door to overhear conversations is somehow our fault?” Winston asked.

Elodie didn’t look the least bit ashamed by her actions. “Perhaps we both share some of the blame.”

Winston shook his head. “If you will excuse me, I have some things I must see to.” He bowed. “Ladies.”

Mattie gripped the white handkerchief in her hand as she resisted the urge to thank Winston for his kindness. No good would come from that, she thought. Winston was already so full of himself. He didn’t need any further encouragement to swell his ego.

Yet, despite everything, he had shown her a moment of genuine kindness and perhaps it was only fair to acknowledge that.

In a steady voice, Mattie called out, “Lord Winston.”

He paused near the door and turned to face her, his eyes questioning. “Yes, Miss Bawden?”

“Thank you for the use of your handkerchief. I shall wash it and return it to you at once,” Mattie said.

For a moment, the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, creating the faintest hint of a smile. It was such a fleeting expression that she almost thought she had imagined it. “You may keep the handkerchief,” he replied. “My sisters keep me well stocked in them.”

Mattie noted the warmth in his eyes, a stark contrast to the usual coldness she was accustomed to. “Oh, that is most kind of you,” she responded.

Winston tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Take care, Miss Bawden,” he said softly.

As she watched him depart from the room, Mattie sat back, her thoughts swirling. She found herself momentarily distracted from her grief, pondering the unexpected gentleness she had witnessed in Winston.

Elodie must have noticed Winston’s unusual behavior as well. “That was unnerving,” she remarked. “You two are usually at odds with one another.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t read too much into it,” Mattie said.

“You are right,” Elodie responded as she walked over to the chair that Winston had just vacated. “Regardless, I heard everything, so you don’t need to explain anything.”

Lady Dallington cleared her throat. “Is there something you wish to say to Mattie?”

Elodie nodded. “Yes, I am deeply sorry for your loss,” she said, her tone filled with genuine sympathy. “How are you faring?”

“I suppose I am as well as can be expected,” Mattie replied with a small, weary smile.

“Well, then, we must give you something else to think about to distract you,” Elodie declared. “Just think of what fun we shall have this Season!”

Lady Dallington gave her daughter a pointed look. “Truly, Child. You need to learn to be more sympathetic.”

“It is all right,” Mattie assured her. “I doubt that Elodie was acquainted with my aunt or uncle.”

With a shake of her head, Elodie replied, “I knew of your uncle, Lord Wythburn, but I had never met him or any of his wives.”

“Well, he had only two wives,” Mattie said, knowing her friend was just trying to lighten the conversation, for which she was most grateful. “The first one died within their first few years of marriage and then he married my Aunt Edith.”

Elodie sat down and reached for a biscuit on the tray. “If I ever choose to marry, I think I would like to haunt my husband, assuming I died, and he remarried.”

Mattie giggled. “Why would you haunt your husband?”

“For fun,” Elodie replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “After all, surely I will be bored in the afterlife. What else would I be doing but haunting someone?”

Lady Dallington did not look amused. “I am pleased that you have resigned yourself to the fact that you will marry… at least someday.”

Elodie waved her hand dismissively in front of her. “If I do marry—and do not hold me to that—it will be for love, just as Delphine and Bennett have.”

“May I ask what changed your mind?” Lady Dallington asked, her tone softening with curiosity.

Elodie paused, a thoughtful look on her expression. “Seeing Delphine and Bennett together, witnessing their genuine affection and partnership, made me realize that love is not a weakness. It can bring two vastly different people together and bind them together in unison.”

Lady Dallington smiled in approval. “Love is indeed a powerful incentive. I am glad that you recognize its importance.”

“Well, I suppose if I’m going to be bound to someone for life, it might as well be someone I love,” Elodie declared. “But don’t expect me to get married anytime soon. I did, however, compile a list of attributes that I want in a husband.”

Lady Dallington sighed. “Dear heavens,” she muttered.

Mattie couldn’t help but ask, “What is on that list?”

Elodie retrieved the paper from the folds of her gown and held it up. “The usual attributes, I suppose. I want him to be tall, dark and handsome.”

“That sounds rather vague,” Mattie said.

Elodie continued to read the paper. “I will not tolerate someone with bad breath, overindulging in alcohol or nonstop chattering.”

“But you tend to chatter constantly,” Mattie pointed out.

“Yes, but it is a fine quality to have in a woman, not a man,” Elodie countered. “Everyone knows that.”

Mattie puckered her brow, knowing the list was rather straightforward and her friend was anything but predictable. “Any other unusual traits that we need to be aware of?”

“Oh, yes,” Elodie replied. “I cannot tolerate a slow blinker or someone that eats their peas one at a time. Both are non-negotiable.”

Lady Dallington gave her daughter a long, disbelieving stare. “Where did I go wrong with you, Child?”

Unfazed, Elodie responded, “Marriage is not something that I am going to happen upon. It will only happen after serious contemplation.”

“Love is not something you can plan,” Lady Dallington argued. “It just happens.”

“Nothing happens by chance,” Elodie asserted.

Lady Dallington frowned. “We shall continue this conversation later. Right now, we need to console Mattie. Her life has changed considerably.”

Mattie glanced between the two women, a small smile forming. “You do not need to worry about me. This conversation has been most riveting and has helped me forget my troubles—if only for a moment.”

“You are most kind, but Elodie should put that list away and focus on ensuring our guest feels welcome,” Lady Dallington insisted.

Elodie returned the paper to the folds of her gown. “Done,” she said, her eyes drifting over to the window. “I think a game of pall-mall might lift Mattie’s spirits.”

“As much as I would love that, shouldn’t I be in mourning?” Mattie asked.

Lady Dallington’s eyes held compassion. “It might be just the distraction you need,” she replied. “Besides, we would never tell anyone.”

Mattie carefully considered Lady Dallington’s words. They were in the countryside, so the mourning requirements were far less stringent. And it would be nice to be outside.

Coming to a decision, Mattie said, “I think I would like to play a game of pall-mall.”

Elodie clapped her hands together. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “We will have to ask Winston to join us to even out our numbers.”

Mattie weighed her words carefully. “Do we have to invite Lord Winston?” she asked.

“Is there a problem with Winston?” Elodie asked, feigning innocence.

“It is just that… playing pall-mall with Lord Winston hasn’t always been the most enjoyable experience,” she admitted. “He has a tendency to cheat.”

Elodie raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You two both have a very different recollection of what happened during that particular game.”

Mattie pointed at her forehead. “I have a memory like a hawk.”

“A hawk?” Lady Dallington asked. “I haven’t heard that expression before.”

“Melody came up with that expression and I do think it fits,” Mattie shared as she rose. “Thank you for the reprieve, but I do think it is time that I return home and start on my tasks at hand.”

Rising, Elodie asked, “Is there anything that I can help you with?”

“You are kind, but I have to do these things on my own,” Mattie replied. “At times like this, I especially miss my mother.”

Elodie placed a hand on Mattie’s sleeve. “No matter what happens, you will always have us.”

“Unless I become a slow blinker,” Mattie quipped.

“Well, that goes without saying,” Elodie countered with a grin. “Come, I will walk with you to the door.”

As they made their way towards the main door, Mattie felt grateful for her visit to Brockhall Manor. Lady Dallington and Elodie had briefly made her forget her troubles. It still baffled her that they were related to the ornery Lord Winston. Although he had surprised her on this visit. He had shown a depth of compassion that she didn’t think was possible for him.

Standing at the door, Elodie gave her a final, reassuring embrace. “Remember, Mattie, we are always here for you.”

Mattie felt a small but genuine smile form on her lips. “Thank you, Elodie. I will remember.” With that, she stepped out into the fresh air, ready to face the tasks awaiting her at home.