Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Winston exited the stables and walked towards Brockhall Manor. He was hungry but was in no mood to engage in conversation. He just wanted to eat in peace in the dining room and retreat to his bedchamber.

Under normal circumstances, he would already be back in London, attending to his affairs. However, the situation with his Aunt Sarah and her son had demanded his presence here, especially since Bennett was away in Scotland.

How he hated waiting around, twiddling his thumbs and hoping all would be well. Weeks had passed with no sign of Isaac. Winston hoped, perhaps naively, that Isaac had decided to abandon his pursuit of Sarah and their child. But deep down, he knew better. Isaac was likely lying low, waiting for the perfect moment to strike when they were least prepared.

The measures Winston had taken to protect his aunt were extensive. He had hired a Bow Street Runner to oversee her safety and relocated her to a secret location. Even he wasn’t privy to her exact whereabouts, thanks to Jasper’s discretion. This arrangement ensured that if Isaac did come sniffing around the manor, they could genuinely claim ignorance of her location .

Winston stepped into the manor and made his way towards the dining room. Once he arrived, he let out a sigh of relief. The room was empty, just as he had hoped it would be.

He took a seat, and a footman promptly placed a plate of food in front of him. As he ate, he enjoyed the silence.

But his solitude did not last long.

Elodie breezed into the room, her voice far too cheery for the early hour. “Good morning, Brother.”

Winston looked up, trying to mask his irritation. “What are you doing awake at this hour?” he asked.

Coming to sit across from him, Elodie replied, “I couldn’t sleep any longer. I thought I would seize the day.”

Winston took a bite of his food, hoping Elodie would take the hint and refrain from idle chit-chat.

His hope was short-lived.

Elodie leaned to the side as a footman placed a cup of chocolate in front of her. She reached for it and asked, “How are you this fine morning?”

“I am well,” he replied briskly.

“Did you go for a ride this morning?” she inquired, undeterred.

“Yes,” he said, keeping his responses short.

Elodie took a sip of her drink. “That is a shame. I was hoping you would want to go riding after breakfast.”

Winston placed his fork and knife onto his now-empty plate, indicating he was finished. “I have work that I need to see to,” he stated. He was already tired of this conversation, and he had a feeling that it had only just begun.

“Are you working on one of your cases?” Elodie asked in a hushed voice.

“Yes,” he replied curtly, his patience wearing thin.

“Can you tell me what the case is about?” she asked, her eyes wide with expectation.

Winston shook his head. “I’m afraid I cannot. ”

Elodie’s face fell slightly at his response. “You are no fun,” she said lightly.

Shoving back his chair, Winston stood up. “And with that, I shall leave you to your breakfast,” he said, eager to escape.

“Will you not stay and keep me company?” Elodie asked.

Winston paused, feeling a pang of guilt. He had responsibilities, and they weighed heavily on him. However, nothing was pressing at the moment, and he could spend some time with his sister.

Coming to a decision, he returned to his seat. “I shall stay for a few more moments,” he said.

Elodie’s face lit up. “Wonderful,” she declared. “What shall we discuss? Religion? Politics? The state of our economy?”

“What do you know of those things?” he asked.

“More than I should,” Elodie replied with a smile.

Winston should have known his sister would want to discuss topics that were more serious in nature, but he had no wish to be chided by his mother for doing so. “Perhaps we should discuss something that won’t get either of us in trouble with Mother.”

“It is vexing that women aren’t allowed to speak on things of true importance,” Elodie said, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“That is not true.”

Elodie shot him a frustrated look. “Do you truly care about ribbons and whatnot?”

“I could be made to care,” he attempted.

“Very well,” Elodie said with a wave of her hand. “What are your thoughts on the latest fashions?”

Winston kept his face expressionless, knowing that Elodie was calling his bluff. “I like them,” he responded vaguely.

“Can you be more specific?”

With a defeated sigh, he replied, “No, I can’t. I must admit that I care little for fashion.”

Elodie’s smile grew. “I knew it,” she replied. “Yet that is what young women must discuss. That, or the weather.”

Melody entered the room and said, “Do not forget that we can speak on embroidery and all the different kinds of stitches that we use.”

“I don’t know how you can jest about this,” Elodie remarked. “I would rather speak about the weather than embroidery.”

Taking a seat next to her sister, Melody responded, “You must not be doing it right, then.”

“I am pretty sure there is only one way to talk about embroidery, and it is boring,” Elodie joked.

Turning her attention towards Winston, Melody gave him a pointed look. “We could always discuss Aunt Sarah, and when, and if, we will ever meet her.”

Winston shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You know about Aunt Sarah?”

Elodie spoke up. “We have known for some time now, but what we don’t know is why no one will talk about it with us.”

“It is for your own safety,” Winston said.

“How so?” Elodie inquired.

Winston glanced at the footmen in the room and ordered, “Leave us.” If he was going to have this conversation, he wanted to do so in private.

After the footmen departed from the room, closing the door behind them, he turned his gaze back towards his sisters. “Aunt Sarah and her son are somewhere safe. That is all you need to know.”

“Why are they not residing with us?” Melody asked. “Would it not be safer than hiding out somewhere else?”

“Aunt Sarah was terribly abused by her husband, Isaac, and she only had the courage to leave when he turned his heavy hand on their son,” Winston informed them. “Since Father was estranged from his sister, we thought it would be best to keep up the charade until Isaac no longer posed a threat.”

“How do you know that Aunt Sarah is safe?” Melody pressed.

Winston reached for his glass and took a sip. “A Bow Street Runner is ensuring her protection.”

Elodie’s eyes widened. “I have always wanted to meet a Bow Street Runner. Just think of the stories they could share.”

“You are not going to meet this particular Bow Street Runner,” Winston said. “He is remaining close to Aunt Sarah for the time being.”

Melody grew solemn. “What can we do?”

“For now, just go on as normal, and with any hope, Isaac will not dare attempt to approach Father about his wife’s whereabouts,” Winston responded.

“Do you think that is likely?” Melody prodded.

Winston grimaced. He didn’t want to worry his sisters, but he didn’t want to lie to them either. He felt that they deserved the truth. “No, I do not,” he admitted. “I think it is only a matter of time before Isaac shows up on our doorstep.”

Elodie held up a knife in the air. “Then we shall fight to protect our own!” she exclaimed with dramatic flair.

“That is wholly unnecessary,” Winston said with a shake of his head. “We will just inform Isaac that we do not know where Aunt Sarah is, and he will leave.”

“And if he doesn’t leave, then we fight!” Elodie declared.

Winston glanced skyward in exasperation. “Good gads, there will be no fighting, at least not with knives. We can solve this problem with our words.”

Melody laughed. “Elodie is always looking for a fight.”

Placing the knife down, Elodie said, “But Isaac stands to lose out on Aunt Sarah’s inheritance if he doesn’t find her. That is the motivation for him not to leave quietly.”

Winston groaned. “How did you know about Aunt Sarah’s inheritance?”

Not looking the least bit ashamed, Elodie replied, “You might want to close the doors when you speak to Father.”

“Eavesdropping is a terrible habit to have,” Winston chided, giving his sister a stern look. “But Elodie is correct. Aunt Sarah is to receive one hundred pounds per annum. In order for Isaac to collect the money, he must have his wife present. Uncle Richard stipulated that requirement in his will.”

“Do you think Uncle Richard knew Isaac was hurting Aunt Sarah?” Melody asked.

“I don’t know, considering Father had no idea,” Winston said. “He hadn’t spoken to his sister since she had eloped to Gretna Green with Isaac.”

Elodie lifted her brow. “When do you think we can meet Aunt Sarah and our cousin?”

“Not until this is all over,” Winston replied.

As he uttered his words, his mother stepped into the room and announced, “I am calling a family meeting.”

Winston eyed his mother curiously. “Should we not have Father present during this family meeting?” he asked.

His mother waved her hand in front of her. “I will relay what we discuss with him. Do not worry,” she replied. “But I am worried about Mattie. As you all know, I have offered to host her for the upcoming Season, and I think we must help prepare her for what is to come.”

Winston rose. “And that is my cue to leave.”

“Sit down,” his mother ordered. “This is a family meeting, and no one leaves until I give you permission to do so.”

“But I have nothing to contribute to this meeting,” Winston attempted as he returned to his seat. He truly didn’t wish to speak about Mattie. He had more important things to do with his time.

“Au contraire, Son,” his mother said. “You are an integral part of this plan.”

“What plan?” Winston asked with dread in his voice. What did his mother have planned? And why did he need to be a part of it?

His mother smiled as she walked further into the room, making him feel even more unsettled. “I would like you to take Mattie on a carriage ride this afternoon.”

Winston could not have been more surprised by what his mother was asking. “Why me?” he blurted out.

“Because you have known Mattie for years and you two are comfortable around each other,” his mother responded.

“We hate each other,” Winston muttered.

“Hate and admiration go hand in hand,” his mother countered.

Winston huffed. “Not in our case.”

His mother’s smile grew. “It is one carriage ride. I am not asking you to marry the girl,” she said. “And I will expect you to behave like a gentleman.”

“Again, why me?” Winston asked, his voice much harsher than he intended. “Surely you can convince another gentleman in the village to do so.”

“Mattie is in mourning, but it is perfectly acceptable for a friend of the family to console her by taking her on a carriage ride,” his mother replied.

Rising, Winston declared, “We are not friends, and I am a grown man. I will decide who I take on a carriage ride.”

His mother approached him and patted his cheek. “Of course, my dear. But it is just one carriage ride, and I ask so little of you,” she said.

“Mother…” he sighed, “I am a trained barrister. Your tricks are not going to work on me.”

“You are right,” his mother said as she turned towards Elodie. “How would you like to drive a carriage?”

Winston frowned. “Surely you jest. Father would be furious if Elodie drove one of the carriages.”

“Would he?” his mother asked, feigning innocence.

He knew precisely what his mother was doing and it vexed him to no end. But he wasn’t about to let Elodie drive a carriage. What would people think if they saw her? He did not wish to open their family up to gossip. “Fine,” he mumbled. “I will do it.”

His mother met his gaze. “What was that, Dear?”

With a clenched jaw, he said, “You win. I will take Miss Bawden on a carriage ride, assuming she even wants to go on one.”

She clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. I will see to the carriage being brought around front,” she said before departing from the room.

Elodie giggled. “That was entertaining to watch.”

Melody bobbed her head in agreement. “Mother would have made an excellent barrister,” she said.

Winston dropped down onto his seat. The last thing he wanted to do was spend time with Miss Bawden but he had been outplayed by his own mother.

Mattie stood in the drawing room of her cottage, her eyes fixed on her mother’s dresses spread out before her. The sight filled her with a sense of overwhelming frustration. Each dress, though once elegant, now seemed hopelessly outdated. A small part of her had hoped she could alter one of her mother’s gowns for the Season, but that would be an impossible feat. It would take far more effort than she had anticipated to transform even one of these gowns into something suitable for high Society.

A loud knock echoed through the cottage, breaking her concentration. Mattie barely acknowledged it, assuming Mrs. Watson would see to it. After all, no one ever visited her, and it was more likely that someone was seeking out her father.

With a sigh, she crouched down and picked up a pink gown, examining it closely. The fabric was still beautiful, and she thought about repurposing the material to line the inside of her bonnets or even her reticule.

The knock came again, this time more insistent. Mattie called out, “Mrs. Watson!” but received no reply. Annoyed, she placed the pink gown back among the others on the floor. This was absurd. She was capable of answering the door herself, even if Mrs. Watson believed it was beneath her station.

Determined, Mattie walked briskly to the door, prepared to face whoever was on the other side.

As she opened the door, Mattie was greeted by the sight of Lord Winston, his face etched with annoyance.

“Good gads!” he exclaimed. “You are answering the door? Do you have no shame, Woman?”

Mattie mustered up a polite smile. “Did you come all this way to insult me, my lord? If so, what a delightful treat.”

“No, that was not my intention,” he said, his tone softening slightly.

“Then what was your intention?” she asked, halfway considering slamming the door in his face.

Lord Winston peered over her shoulder into the house. “Shouldn’t Mrs. Watson be answering the door?”

“I am perfectly capable of opening a door.”

“But you are the daughter of a viscount now,” he pointed out, his brow furrowing.

Mattie sighed, a touch of weariness in her voice. “Thank you for reminding me,” she said. “Will that be all?” She began to close the door.

Lord Winston quickly placed his hand against it, preventing it from closing. “I have a purpose for being here.”

“Do you, now?” she asked, her interest waning.

Lowering his voice, he mumbled, “Would you like to…” His words trailed off, making him seem even more un comfortable.

Mattie arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. Can you speak up? I couldn’t hear you.”

Looking rather pained, Lord Winston cleared his throat. “Would you care to go on a carriage ride with me?” he asked.

No.

Absolutely not!

That is what she wanted to say, but instead she found herself asking, “Why?”

He dragged his fingers through his dark hair, clearly frustrated. “It is a nice day for a carriage ride. Is it not?” he asked, his eyes darting everywhere but at her.

Realization dawned on her, knowing there would only be one reason why Lord Winston would ask her to go on an outing such as this. “Your mother asked you to take me on a carriage ride. Did she not?” she asked.

Finally, he met her gaze. “She did,” he replied.

Now Mattie was intrigued. She no more wanted to go on a carriage ride with Lord Winston than eat a shoe for dinner. But the fact that the prospect made him so uncomfortable made her want to go even more.

“A carriage ride sounds nice,” Mattie found herself saying.

Lord Winston’s expression fell, a look of mild panic flashing across his face. “Are you sure? There must be something else you want to do with your time.”

Mattie smiled, and this time it was genuine. “There is no other place I would rather be.” Just seeing Lord Winston’s reaction made it that much more worth it.

“Wonderful,” Lord Winston said through gritted teeth.

Opening the door wide, Mattie asked, “Would you care to come in while I collect a hat for our carriage ride?”

Lord Winston reluctantly stepped into the entry hall, stopping just in front of her. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone laced with exasperation.

Her smile widened. “Very much, my lord.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained quiet .

As she moved towards the drawing room, Lord Winston followed closely behind. “What are all these dresses doing in here?” he asked, gesturing to the array of gowns.

“They were my mother’s,” she explained, turning to face him. “I had been half-hoping to create a new gown with the fabric for this Season.”

Lord Winston’s eyes roamed over the gowns, a look of incredulity on his face. “Surely, you jest. A woman of your station does not make her own clothes.”

“You seem to forget that my father only just inherited his title,” Mattie said. “I have been making my own clothes for years as the daughter of a vicar.”

“But the life that you once knew is over,” Lord Winston remarked, meeting her gaze. “Have you even spoken to a dressmaker?”

Mattie nodded. “Yes, she is making us mourning gowns, but it will be months before I can commission new gowns.”

“Well, you can’t wear these,” he declared with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Placing a hand on her hip, she asked, “And why not… Lord Whineston?”

Lord Winston visibly tensed. “You have not called me that since we were children,” he said, his voice strained. “I do not miss it.”

“Well, you walked into my home and started dictating what I should be doing,” Mattie said, her tone sharp.

“I am trying to help you,” he insisted.

Mattie dropped her arm to her side. “I never asked for your help.”

Lord Winston took a deep breath. “You are impossible to get along with.”

“I could say the same about you, my lord,” Mattie countered.

After she retrieved a blue bonnet from the corridor, she returned to the drawing room and saw Lord Winston standing by the window, his hands clasped behind him.

For a moment, she allowed herself to admire him. It didn’t help that he was handsome, with his broad shoulders, dark hair and strong jawline. And when he smiled—truly smiled—it had the power to make her heart race. But he must never know that.

“I have my hat,” she announced, breaking the silence.

Turning to face her, his eyes studied her. “Good, I was worried,” he said in a mocking tone.

Mattie pressed her lips together, debating if this carriage ride was a good idea. No doubt they would spend the entire time arguing. However, the thought of his discomfort brought a wicked sense of satisfaction.

She placed the bonnet on her head and tied the strings with precise movements. “Shall we?” she asked.

Lord Winston put his hand out, gesturing that she should go first.

As they approached the door, Mattie turned abruptly, almost colliding with his chest. His hands came up to steady her, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. “Careful, Miss Bawden,” he murmured, his voice unexpectedly gentle.

Being this close to him reminded her of the night that they had kissed. The way he had looked at her had caused her heart to beat only for him. It was the most magical of nights, one that she would remember forever.

“Miss Bawden?” Lord Winston’s gruff voice snapped her out of her reverie.

She blinked and took a step back out of his arms. “My apologies,” she said, flustered. “I was woolgathering.”

Lord Winston gave her a look of disapproval. “Well, I do not have all afternoon to wait on you.”

“Out of curiosity, how much time have you allocated for this carriage ride?” she asked. “I wouldn’t wish to deprive you out of a moment to spend time alone in your bedchamber. ”

“Why do you care what I do with my time?” he retorted.

Mattie shrugged. “I don’t,” she replied. “I am just attempting polite conversation.”

“You will have to do better than that when you are mingling with people of the ton ,” Lord Winston stated.

“I assure you, I can be quite pleasant when the situation warrants it.”

“And this situation does not warrant it?”

A dry laugh escaped her lips. “Of course not, my lord,” she declared. “You are only taking me on a carriage ride because your mother asked you to.”

Lord Winston clucked his tongue, his annoyance barely concealed. “I suggest that we call a truce, for now.”

“A truce?”

“Yes, we attempt to be civil to one another on the carriage ride, and when it is over, we both go our separate ways.”

Mattie considered him for a moment, her eyes searching his for sincerity. “And the truce is only for the carriage ride?”

“Yes,” Lord Winston confirmed.

“Very well,” she agreed. “A truce it is.”

With that agreement, they stepped outside and approached the waiting carriage. Mattie couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation at the prospect of spending time with Lord Winston under a fragile truce. It was both daunting and intriguing.

Lord Winston came to a stop next to the carriage and offered his hand. Mattie placed her hand into his and allowed him to assist her up. His grip was firm and steady, and she couldn’t help but feel a spark at his touch.

Once she was situated, Lord Winston came around the other side and settled beside her, their legs brushing against one another in the confined space.

He reached for the reins and urged the team forward, his gaze straight ahead. “It is a fine day we are having, is it not?”

The weather. That was a safe topic. “Yes, it is quite lovely.”

“Do you think it will rain?”

Mattie glanced up at the cloudless sky. “I do not think so, but it is England. It always rains, does it not?”

Lord Winston nodded. “It does.”

Mattie wasn’t quite sure which was worse: arguing with Lord Winston or discussing a mundane topic such as the weather. Both seemed equally tedious. She decided she would much rather have a frank conversation with Lord Winston and hoped that he felt the same.

“I have read about your cases in the newssheets,” she said, turning slightly towards him. “You must be proud of your accomplishments.”

Instantly, she knew she had struck the wrong chord.

Lord Winston’s back grew rigid. “Proud?” he repeated, a bitter edge to his voice. “No, that is not the word I would use to describe it.”

“Then what word would you use to describe it?” she pressed, genuinely curious.

Mattie noticed the hard stare. The clenched jaw. And realized that whatever she had said had upset Lord Winston. His usual confident demeanor was replaced with something darker, more troubled. The reins tightened in his grip, and his knuckles whitened.

“Obligated,” he said, his voice low and tight. “I do what is necessary, not for pride or recognition, but because it must be done.”

She paused as she carefully considered her next words. “That sounds… burdensome.”

“It is,” he admitted, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead. “But such is the weight of responsibility.”

Mattie studied him for a moment, hearing what he wasn’t saying. Lord Winston had wanted to be a barrister for as long as she had known him. So why did he seem so troubled? Most people in his position would be boastful. But not him. Why? It led her to only one conclusion. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?” he asked.

She placed a hand on his sleeve. “For whatever it is that has happened to you.”

He turned his gaze towards her, his eyes hard and searching. “Why do you suppose something has happened to me?” he half-asked, half-demanded.

“Am I wrong?” she asked softly.

Lord Winston’s chest heaved as if he were trying to control a storm of emotions. He dropped her gaze and returned to staring straight ahead, the reins slackening slightly in his grip.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Mattie could see the internal battle waging within him, the vulnerability he so desperately tried to hide. She had never seen him like this, so raw and exposed. It made her heart ache for him in a way she hadn’t anticipated.