Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Winston did not want to have this conversation with anyone, much less Miss Bawden. He had regretted agreeing to this carriage ride the moment he had laid eyes on her. Despite their truce, he found this situation unbearable.

The very thought of her presuming to understand him, or what he had been through, filled him with irritation. How dare Miss Bawden assume she knew anything about him? She knew nothing of his struggles, yet she looked at him with compassion, or worse, with pity. No. He didn’t want her pity.

He was a successful barrister, achieving something significant in his life. He wouldn’t allow her to minimize his burdens or reduce him to someone deserving of sympathy. The anger bubbled inside of him at that thought.

What was worse, though, was that her hand was still on his sleeve, and he didn’t want her to remove it. The touch was comforting, reminding him of a time when they weren’t so at odds with one another. A time when they had shared more than just insulting words and icy glares.

But she had rejected him.

The memory of that night, when he had laid his heart bare only for her to turn away, was still fresh in his mind. Winston couldn’t let her back in, not for any reason. His heart became impenetrable, fortified against the likes of Miss Bawden. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable again, especially not with her.

Miss Bawden removed her hand from his sleeve and glanced up at the sky. “The sun is relentless today,” she said. “Perhaps we should turn back around.”

“As you wish,” Winston said as he turned the team around.

In a soft voice, Miss Bawden asked, “Did I say something wrong, my lord?”

Yes.

Everything out of her mouth was maddening.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remain civil, acknowledging the truce that they had between them. “Your concern is noted, but unnecessary. I assure you, I am quite capable of managing my affairs.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “I wasn’t implying otherwise,” she replied. “I merely wished to offer a listening ear, should you need it.”

Winston’s jaw tightened. “I do not require your pity or your concern. My burdens are mine alone to bear.”

“Pity?” she repeated, a touch of indignation in her voice. “You misunderstood me. I never meant to imply that you were incapable. I only wanted to…”

“To what?” he interrupted, his tone harsh. “To comfort me? To make me feel better? You cannot possibly understand what I have been through.”

A tense silence followed his words.

After a long moment, Miss Bawden said, “Perhaps not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“Care?” he huffed. “Are you capable of caring?”

Miss Bawden stiffened. “I thought we had a truce between us,” she muttered.

For a moment, Winston felt a pang of regret, but he quickly buried it. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, not again. “I appreciate your concern, but it is unnecessary,” he said, his voice holding the usual cold detachment that he used for Miss Bawden. “Quite frankly, I think it might be best if we rode in silence.”

Miss Bawden nodded, her expression resigned. “As you wish, my lord.”

As the team traveled down the road, Winston kept his gaze straight ahead, determined to keep his emotions in check. He had built walls around his heart for a reason, and he wouldn’t allow anyone—especially not Miss Bawden—to breach them.

Miss Bawden’s eyes remained fixed on the woodlands as she spoke, her voice tense. “I just saw a man in the woodlands, watching us.”

Winston glanced at her skeptically. “I doubt that,” he responded. “Perhaps you saw a tree and mistook it for a person.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I can tell the difference between a man and a tree.”

“Can you?” he retorted, a hint of mockery in his voice.

“Why do I even bother trying to speak to you?” she asked.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I agree that it is a pointless endeavor.”

Miss Bawden shifted in her seat, turning to look back at the passing woodlands, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

“What are you doing?” he asked, curious despite himself.

“I told you, I saw a man watching us from the woodlands, but he is gone now,” she informed him.

Winston knew he was going to regret asking this, but he asked it, nevertheless. “What did this ‘man’ look like?”

“He appeared tall, with a stout build, and had dark hair,” she replied with certainty. “What if he was a poacher?”

“I doubt it, since our gamekeeper keeps a close eye on these woodlands. We would know if a poacher was on our lands,” Winston said dismissively.

Miss Bawden turned her gaze forward again, her chin tilted defiantly. “I know what I saw,” she stated firmly.

Winston felt the urge to get another jab in, even though he knew he should keep his mouth shut. “It wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “After all, when we were younger, you and Elodie insisted that unicorns were real.”

“That was when I was ten,” she shot back.

“Yes, but you claimed you saw a unicorn running through the woodlands,” Winston pointed out.

“True, but you had to go back eleven years to prove a point,” she said. “Whereas you have been proven wrong on a daily basis.”

Winston lifted his brow. “When, pray tell, have I been wrong?”

“Just moments ago, you claimed I couldn’t tell the difference between a tree and a man,” Miss Bawden said. “And I know what I saw.”

“Yes, but I did not see a man,” Winston argued, his tone clipped. “I only saw trees.”

“Why can’t you just take my word for it?” Miss Bawden asked.

Winston gave her a pointed look. “I deal in facts, and I rarely take someone’s word for anything. That is how you lose cases.”

Miss Bawden fingered the strings of her bonnet. “But I am not one of your cases or clients, for that matter.”

“No, you are not,” he agreed. But what she was, he couldn’t quite define. They had known each other most of their lives, and at times, albeit briefly, they had been friends. Yet now, they seemed perpetually at odds.

In a curious voice, Miss Bawden asked, “How is it that even with a truce in place we still find things to argue about?”

Winston’s expression softened slightly. “It is far more familiar to me. ”

Miss Bawden lowered her hands to her lap. “I suppose you are right,” she said.

The carriage jolted slightly as it rolled over a bump in the path, causing them both to sway. Winston took a moment to steady the reins, his mind racing. He glanced at Miss Bawden and sighed.

“There was a time,” Winston began, surprising himself with his candor, “when we weren’t always at each other’s throats.”

A small smile played on Miss Bawden’s lips. “I remember,” she said. “Whenever you would visit Brockhall Manor, we used to play together in the gardens, before…”

“Before everything changed,” Winston said, finishing her thoughts.

“Why did it change?” she asked.

Winston hesitated, grappling with his emotions. “I suppose… life happened. Expectations. Responsibilities. We grew up and became different people.”

Miss Bawden nodded slowly. “I miss those days,” she admitted. “When things were simpler.”

“Do you?” Winston asked. “I always thought you relished our arguments.”

She laughed. “Perhaps I do, in a way. They are a part of who we are now. But sometimes I wish…” Her voice trailed off.

“What do you wish?” Winston prompted, his heart beating a little faster.

“That we could find a way to be friends again,” she said, her gaze meeting his. “Without the insults and arguments. Just… friends.”

Winston felt a lump form in his throat. He had not expected this conversation, nor the emotions it stirred within him. “I would like that, too,” he admitted. “Perhaps we can start anew.”

Miss Bawden smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached her eyes. “I would like that, as well,” she said. “But how do we accomplish such a feat?”

“That is an excellent question,” Winston said. “I think we start by being nice to one another.”

“That is easier said than done, my lord.”

Winston chuckled. “Why don’t we offer each other a sincere compliment?” he asked. “Surely we can do that.”

“I suppose so, but you go first,” Miss Bawden said.

“All right, I will try,” Winston replied as he considered her for a moment. There were many things that he admired about her, from her intelligence to her fierce independence, but he didn’t dare voice those thoughts. If he did, she might suspect that he harbored feelings for her—which he did not. He decided it would be best if his compliment was vague and unassuming.

“I like your red hair. It suits you,” he said.

Miss Bawden’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “That was a terrible compliment.”

“I thought it was more than adequate,” Winston defended, his tone light.

“You can do better than that, surely,” she teased.

Winston knew she was right. “Fine. I admire your tenacity. You never back down from a challenge… ever. You would rather fall on your own sword than be proved wrong.”

Miss Bawden’s smile grew. “Thank you,” she said. “And for my part, I admire your dedication to your work. You have become quite accomplished as a barrister, and it is evident that you care deeply about what you do.”

Winston felt warmth spread through him at her words. “I appreciate your kind words,” he said.

“This isn’t so difficult, after all,” she remarked.

“No, it isn’t,” Winston agreed. “Perhaps, if you are not opposed, we can keep this up.”

Miss Bawden winced, but her eyes held a mischievous glint. “Yes, but it might be best if we forgo complimenting each other all the time. People might become suspicious if we are too familiar with one another.”

“Agreed,” Winston said. “We do not want people to start talking about us.”

“Do you suppose we should start calling each other by our given names once more?” she asked, her voice tentative. “You used to call me Mattie when we were younger. It only changed after…” Her words came to an abrupt stop, her cheeks flushing slightly.

The kiss.

Everything changed after that moment.

Winston cleared his throat, trying to ignore the sudden rush of memories. “I have no objections to calling you Mattie, but you must call me Winston. And no more ‘my lording’ me. It is grating on my ears.”

“I would like that, Winston,” she said.

The way she said his name made his heart pound in his chest. He hoped that she couldn’t hear it. The memory of their kiss lingered between them, an unspoken tension that neither wanted to address directly.

“Well, then, Mattie,” Winston said, trying to keep his voice steady, “we are almost to your cottage.”

“Yes, we are,” she agreed. “Do you remember when we used to play in these woodlands as children?”

“I do, particularly the time when we played in poison oak, not knowing any better,” Winston remarked.

Mattie giggled. “We were both so miserable after that. I had never experienced such a painful rash before.”

“Yes, but we learned our lesson the first time,” Winston said.

As they neared Mattie’s cottage, Winston stole a glance at her. The strands of red hair that framed her face caught the sunlight, giving her an almost ethereal glow. He didn’t dare tell her that red was his favorite color because of her, nor that he had never met a more beautiful girl than her. These were things he could never tell Mattie. The barriers he had built around his heart were too strong, too necessary, to let such truths escape.

The coach came to a gentle stop in front of the cottage. Winston jumped down and walked around to Mattie’s side, offering his hand to help her dismount. She took it, his touch sending warmth through her. He steadied her as she stepped down, causing their faces to be close enough that she could see flecks of gold in his blue eyes.

“Thank you for the ride, Winston,” Mattie said, her voice soft but sincere.

He smiled. “You are welcome, Mattie,” he replied. “I am glad that we came to a new agreement.”

“So am I,” she admitted. “It was nice to talk without the usual arguments, even if only for a moment or two.”

Winston nodded. “Perhaps we can do this again when we are in Town for the Season,” he suggested.

“I would like that,” she responded.

As she turned to walk to her cottage, Mattie felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to say something—anything—that might delay his departure. But the words stuck in her throat, held back by the memory of the pain he had caused her.

She reached the door and turned back to give him one last smile before entering the cottage.

As she stepped inside, she saw Mrs. Watson pacing in the drawing room. “Good, you are back,” the housekeeper declared. “I don’t know what to do with your cousin. She has refused to eat all day.”

“Would you like me to speak to her?” Mattie suggested.

Mrs. Watson stopped pacing. “If you don’t mind,” she responded. “She is in her bedchamber. ”

Mattie approached the white-haired housekeeper. “We need to give Franny the space to grieve on her own.”

“She is so young to lose her parents, but not as young as you when you lost your mother,” Mrs. Watson said. “You both handled the grief so differently.”

“People do not grieve the same, and that is all right,” Mattie remarked. “Frankly, there is no right way to grieve.”

Mrs. Watson offered her a weak smile. “Go speak to your cousin, and then I want to hear all about your carriage ride with Lord Winston.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Mattie said. “He asked me to go on a carriage ride and I went.”

“But, why now?”

Mattie smiled her understanding. “Lady Dallington asked him to take me on a carriage ride and she can be quite persuasive when she wants to be,” she explained. “We have come to a new understanding.”

Mrs. Watson’s brow shot up. “An understanding?”

She shook her head. “Not that type of understanding,” she insisted. “We are going to attempt to be friends.”

“Attempt?”

“Well, Lord Winston does manage to say the most infuriating things,” Mattie said. “I can only hold my tongue so much.”

Mrs. Watson laughed. “I have never quite understood why you two are at odds with one another. You used to be childhood friends.”

“People grow up and change,” Mattie remarked. “But I should go see to Franny.”

“You can run, but you can’t hide from this conversation,” Mrs. Watson joked. “The cottage is not that big.”

Mattie placed a hand on the housekeeper’s sleeve. “I promise we will talk later,” she assured her. “I am hoping to coax Franny out of her bedchamber and bring her to the kitchen for some food.”

“I wish you luck.”

Turning on her heel, Mattie headed up the stairs and down the corridor that led to Franny’s bedchamber.

She came to a stop in front of the door and knocked.

No response.

The next time, she knocked and opened the door. “Franny?”

As she stepped into the room, she saw her cousin was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“How are you faring today?” Mattie asked, taking a seat beside her on the bed.

Franny turned her head, her eyes filled with sadness. “I’m not quite sure how to feel,” she admitted, her voice trembling with emotion.

Mattie reached for her hand. “There is no right way to feel.”

Tears welled up in Franny’s eyes as she confessed, “I am angry, and sad, and lonely…” Her voice trailed off, a sense of despair creeping into her tone. “Will it ever get any easier?”

“I wish I could tell you that it does, but I won’t lie to you,” Mattie replied. “You have to go through the hard part before you can come out on the other side.”

“I’m not sure if I can,” Franny said weakly.

Mattie squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You are a Bawden. I know you are capable of doing things that are unbelievably hard.”

A tear escaped Franny’s eye and rolled down her cheek. “I am tired of crying, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“To begin with, you should eat, at least enough to keep your strength up,” Mattie encouraged.

“I’m not hungry.”

Mattie nodded. “I understand, but you can’t lose too much weight or else you won’t fit into the mourning gowns that we ordered,” she said.

Franny turned her head to look back up at the ceiling. “ Sometimes, I wish that I would wake up from this terrible nightmare and my life would be the same as it was before. My parents would be alive and we would be back at our country estate.”

The plea in Franny’s voice made Mattie’s eyes fill with tears, knowing she had felt the same way when her mother had died. The fear of living without her mother was crippling, but she had waded through the grief. Now she just had to help Franny do the same.

“I may have only lost my mother, but I understand what you are going through,” Mattie said. “But lying in bed is not going to help. You need to learn to live without your parents.”

Franny sighed deeply. “I am tired of looking at these four papered walls,” she admitted, her voice weary.

Mattie released her hand and stood up. “Then let us go to the kitchen and get you something to eat.”

As if on cue, Franny’s stomach growled, and she gave her a shy smile. “Perhaps I am hungrier than I realized.”

“If you are not opposed, we could go on a walk after you eat,” Mattie suggested, trying to sound encouraging.

Franny sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said, rising. “I am not sure if I am ready to go outside and encounter other people just yet.”

Mattie laughed. “You won’t have to worry about that. We live by the chapel, and only members of the parish come by to visit my father. It would be entirely different if we lived in the village.”

“Your village is so quaint,” Franny remarked as they walked.

“I would imagine it is rather small compared to the one by your country estate,” Mattie replied.

Franny grew quiet, a shadow crossing her face. “It is your country estate now, is it not?”

Mattie looped her arm through her cousin’s. “It will always be your home, no matter what happens,” she stated firmly.

“I am just an orphan now,” Franny declared, her voice heavy with sorrow.

“You are my father’s ward and a very loved member of this family,” Mattie said as she guided her towards the door. “I do not want you to think otherwise.”

They departed the bedchamber and headed towards the kitchen on the main level. Once they arrived, Mattie saw Mrs. Watson bustling around the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour.

The housekeeper stopped when her eyes landed on them. “Ladies,” she greeted warmly. “Please sit and I will bring you both food.”

Mattie dropped her arm and sat down at the table. She was pleased when Franny claimed the seat next to her.

Mrs. Watson brought over two plates with food on them and placed them down in front of the young women. “Would you two care for something to drink?” she asked. “I just made a pitcher of lemonade.”

“Yes, please,” Mattie responded, glancing at Franny, who nodded in agreement.

While Mrs. Watson went to retrieve the lemonade, Franny started eating the sandwich that was in front of her.

After a few bites, Franny said, “Thank you, Mattie.”

“We are family,” Mattie replied with a gentle smile. “We take care of each other, always.”

Franny continued to eat as Mrs. Watson placed glasses of lemonade down on the table. “Drink up,” she encouraged before she started tidying up the kitchen.

As Mattie reached for the glass, her father stepped into the room with a weary expression. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes carried the weight of a long day.

“Good, we are all here. I have an announcement to make,” her father said. “I just received word that they found a vicar to replace me. He will arrive in a fortnight.”

Mattie grew silent, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. Her whole life was here. She was tied to this parish and its people. The thought of leaving was unsettling, but she knew it was inevitable.

Her father interrupted her musings. “We will depart for Darlington Abbey once the vicar arrives and we spend a day or two discussing the parish.”

“That is wonderful news, my lord.” Mrs. Watson retrieved a plate and placed it onto the table for her father. “Go on, you must eat before your next meeting.”

As her father began to eat, a thought suddenly occurred to Mattie. “What will Mrs. Watson’s new position be when we move to Darlington Abbey?” she asked. “After all, I must assume there is already a housekeeper.”

Her father cleared his throat. “About that…” He hesitated, exchanging a poignant look with the housekeeper. “We discussed it, and Mrs. Watson has decided to remain here to help the new vicar ease into his position. Furthermore, her son lives in the village and she wants to remain close to him.”

Mattie blinked, taken aback by what her father had just revealed. She felt a pang of sadness and loss. Mrs. Watson had been more than a housekeeper. She was a friend. A confidante. The thought of leaving her behind was unbearable.

Her father must have sensed her concern because he gave her a discerning look. “This is Mrs. Watson’s decision, and we must respect it.”

Mrs. Watson came to stand by Mattie and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know this may come as a bit of a shock for you, but you will have a whole household staff at Darlington Abbey to tend to your every whim.”

Franny bobbed her head. “It is true,” she replied. “You will love Mrs. Devan, our housekeeper. She has always been so nice to me.”

Mattie lowered her gaze to the table. It didn’t matter that there was a whole household staff at Darlington Abbey. She just wanted Mrs. Watson to remain with them. She hated change, especially this kind.

“Mattie…” Mrs. Watson started, “I will come to visit you and I will be able to see your new home.”

Mattie looked up as she fought back the tears. “But it won’t be the same. You have always been there for me.”

“And I will always be here for you, even if we are apart,” Mrs. Watson said, her eyes softening. “You will forever hold a special place in my heart.”

Reaching up, Mattie placed her hand over Mrs. Watson’s and gave her a grateful smile. She could never fully repay the housekeeper’s kindness, but knew she was better because of her.

Her father pushed his plate away from him. “I am meeting with Lord Dallington soon, and I was wondering if you would like to come with me to Brockhall Manor.” He glanced between Mattie and Franny. “Both of you.”

Franny shook her head. “I do not think that is wise. I do not know them, and I am in mourning.”

“I think it might be good for you,” Mattie encouraged gently.

“What if I say or do the wrong thing?” Franny asked. “My mother hadn’t started taking me to call upon her friends yet.”

Mattie gave her an understanding look. “It will be all right. I promise. The Lockwood family has always shown me kindness, and I am sure they will do the same for you.”

Franny paused, uncertainty in her eyes. She then lowered her gaze and took a deep breath. “I think it will be best if I remain here. I wouldn’t want to burden anyone with my problems.”

“Are you sure?” Mattie pressed.

“I am,” Franny replied. This time, she sounded much more confident. “I need more time to myself. ”

Her father met Mattie’s gaze. “Shall we depart?” he asked, rising from his seat.

Mattie nodded. “We won’t be long,” she assured her cousin.

As they prepared to leave, Mattie felt a tinge of sadness for her cousin. She understood Franny’s need to be alone, but she also wished her cousin could find some comfort in their company.