Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Winston leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up on his desk, an opened bottle of whiskey cradled in his hand. He was waiting for the dinner bell to ring, signaling everyone to gather on the main level. Until then, he was just going to wallow in his past.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Enter,” he commanded.

The door creaked open, and Melody entered the room. Her eyes dropped to the bottle in his hand, her disapproval evident. “Dare I ask what you are doing?”

Winston straightened in his chair, placing the bottle on the desk. “I am reflecting on a past case.”

“And you need a bottle of whiskey to do so?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed. “What is it that you want, Melody?”

She crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed, pushing aside his discarded jacket. “I thought we could talk.”

Winston looked heavenward. “About what?” he asked dryly.

Melody’s eyes softened with concern. “Why are you so terribly unhappy? ”

“Why would you think I am unhappy?”

A small, knowing smile played on Melody’s lips. “I watch and listen far more than people realize,” she replied. “And I have noticed that you are not the same brother that left for London many years ago to become a barrister.”

Turning to face her, Winston met her gaze. “That is because I am not.” There. Perhaps if he just told her the truth she would leave him be.

But Melody was not deterred. She tilted her head slightly. “Are you unhappy being a barrister?”

“No.”

“But you are unhappy?” she pressed.

Winston forced a smile to his lips. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I do not wish to discuss it. With you, or anyone.”

Melody didn’t seem to take offense at his refusal and continued, “Have you tried speaking to Mattie about this?”

He reared back slightly, feeling that particular question to be utterly ludicrous. “And why would I ever do that? Mattie and I are hardly friends.”

His sister seemed to consider his words before responding, “My apologies. I see that I assumed incorrectly.”

“Yes, you did,” Winston said tersely. “It would be far better to speak to a brick wall than talk to Mattie.”

“I am glad that you have started calling Mattie by her given name once more,” Melody remarked.

“She gave me leave to,” he defended.

Melody gave him an innocent look. “I don’t doubt that, considering you used to call each other by your given names when you were younger.”

“Yes, but that was a different time,” Winston said, his voice heavy with the weight of those memories. And he was a different person.

Before his sister could respond, the dinner bell rang, echoing throughout the manor .

“Well, that is our cue,” Melody remarked, rising from the bed. “Shall we?”

Winston stood up and reached for his jacket on the bed. He was grateful for the interruption since he found that Melody was far too insightful for his tastes. It had always been this way. She had a quiet strength about her that made her formidable.

After he slipped his jacket on, he walked over to the door and held it open for his sister. “As usual, I have enjoyed our chat.”

Melody gave him an amused look. “You are a terrible liar, Brother.”

“I pity the line of men that no doubt will be vying for your attention this Season,” Winston said. “They have no idea of who they are up against.”

“Was that a compliment?” Melody asked.

“It most assuredly was,” Winston said as they started walking down the corridor.

Melody glanced over at him. “Do you believe in love?”

Winston’s steps faltered for a moment, not knowing how to answer such a question. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I do,” she replied. “I want what Mother and Father have. Their love for one another is evident in every smile, every touch and every look.”

“I suppose love is possible for some,” Winston said, choosing his words carefully.

“But not for you?”

Winston felt his back stiffen under his sister’s scrutiny. “I did believe in love once, but my views have become much more jaded since then.”

“Fair enough,” she said, her tone understanding.

He looked at her with curiosity. “That is it? The interrogation is over?”

She laughed. “This was not an interrogation. I was merely making conversation.”

Winston suspected that was not entirely true, especially since Melody was purposeful in what she said and did. But he decided to let it go. After all, he appreciated her concern even if he wasn’t ready to confront it.

As they descended the staircase together, he saw that his family was gathered in the entry hall.

“What is this?” he asked.

Elodie glanced up at him. “White informed us dinner was ready to be served so we were just waiting for you and Melody to arrive.”

His mother clasped her hands together, a gentle smile on her face. “Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”

“Yes, let us,” his father agreed with a nod.

Winston followed his family into the dining room and sat down at the long, rectangular table.

The footmen stepped forward with practiced precision, placing bowls of soup in front of them. Winston reached for his spoon and started eating, hoping to be a silent observer for the time being.

Unfortunately, his mother had other ideas.

She turned her attention towards Winston. “How was your carriage ride with Mattie, my dear?”

“It went well,” he said vaguely, hoping to deflect her interest. With any luck, his mother would end her line of questioning, allowing him to continue eating in peace.

“Wonderful,” his mother praised, her smile broadening. “I have no doubt that Mattie will create quite a stir amongst the ton .”

Winston’s gaze dropped to his soup. He didn’t want to have this conversation, especially not now. Why did he care if Mattie had a line of suitors? He didn’t. She was free to do as she pleased, and she could marry whomever she so desired. Yet, despite his attempts to remain indifferent, he felt his jaw clench tightly, a muscle below his ear beginning to pulsate. The reaction was unwanted and confusing .

Fortunately, his mother shifted her focus to Elodie and Melody. “Shall we go around the table and say one thing that we have learned recently?”

As if on cue, Melody groaned. “I do not like this game. I never quite know what to say.”

His father spoke up. “Neither do I, but your mother enjoys this particular game. I will start.” He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It has been said that Napoleon wrote a romance book.”

“That is true,” Melody responded eagerly. “It is called Clisson et Eugénie. It is about a young soldier and his relationship with a woman.”

“You haven’t read it, have you?” his father asked.

Melody shrugged. “I have, in fact. It was poorly written, but it wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be.”

His father did not look pleased. “Where did you find this book?”

“It was in our boarding school’s library,” Melody replied. “I suppose my interesting fact is that despite being a work of fiction, many accepted that Napoleon’s book paralleled his own relationship with Eugénie Désirée Clary.”

Elodie shifted her gaze towards her mother. “Is it my turn?”

“I suppose so,” she replied.

With animated hands, Elodie shared, “I have been reading up on the Royal Menagerie in the Tower of London and I learned the most fascinating thing. A scientist named John Hunter disproved the rumor that ostriches are able to eat and digest iron.”

“Why would someone give ostriches iron?” his father asked, looking puzzled.

“I don’t know, but two birds had already died from being fed iron,” Elodie responded.

As she finished her words, Grady stormed into the dining room, his eyes wide with urgency. He met Winston’s gaze directly. “My lord, I must speak to you.”

White turned towards Grady, and in a stern rebuke, said, “Footmen do not request audiences with anyone.”

“Then I quit,” Grady announced, not bothering to spare the butler a glance. His voice grew even more determined. “My lord, it is most urgent.”

Winston tipped his head. “Very well,” he said, assuming this interruption was about Isaac. “We can speak in the corridor.”

Once they were alone in the corridor, Winston turned to face Grady. “What is it?”

In a low voice, Grady said, “I was following Isaac, per your request, and he is having supper with Lord Wythburn and Miss Bawden as we speak.”

“ What?! ” Winston shouted, his voice echoing down the corridor.

Grady nodded. “Isaac has taken up residency in the Stewarts’ old cottage and took it upon himself to visit Lord Wythburn.”

Winston ran a hand through his hair, feeling panic well up inside of him. What game was Isaac playing? “I need to go to them,” he declared. “They need to know what kind of danger they are in.”

“I assumed as much,” Grady said. “Our horses are saddled and out front.”

His father’s voice came from the doorway. “Is everything all right?”

Winston turned towards his father, his expression grim. “No, this is about Isaac,” he replied. “I will explain everything when I get back.”

Without waiting for his father’s reply, Winston hurried towards the main door and stepped out into the cool night air. The chill sent a shiver down his spine, but he barely noticed. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Isaac and the potential danger he posed to Lord Wythburn and Mattie.

Grady followed closely behind, and together they made their way to the awaiting horses. Winston mounted quickly, feeling a sense of urgency propelling him forward. The night was dark, but the moon provided just enough light to guide their path.

As they rode, Winston’s thoughts raced. He couldn’t fathom what Isaac was planning, but whatever it was, it ended now.

Mattie sat in the drawing room, a cup of tea cradled in her hands, as she listened to Mr. Blythe share stories about his son, Matthew. The way Mr. Blythe spoke about his son, with pride shining in his eyes, was both touching and bittersweet. It reminded Mattie of how rarely her father expressed such pride in her.

Her father would occasionally interject with a story or two about his own parenting experiences, but for the most part, he seemed content to let Mr. Blythe lead the conversation.

As the conversation flowed around her, Mattie turned her attention to the dancing flames in the fireplace, her thoughts drifting. Her father had decided she would remain with the family this Season instead of going to London, a decision she found suffocating. She longed to break free from the endless cycle of familial obligations and live her own life. To step out of the shadows and into the vibrant world she had only dreamed of.

Since she was young, Mattie had taken care of the household and helped raise her sister, which was a role she had embraced without complaint. But now, as the daughter of a viscount with a substantial dowry, she wanted to go down a different path. She could do more, be more. Yet her father didn’t see that potential in her, and that was a realization that stung deeply.

Her father’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Mattie,” he said gently. “Did you hear what Mr. Blythe just asked you?”

Mattie blinked and brought a smile to her lips. “I apologize. I was woolgathering.”

Mr. Blythe offered her an understanding look. “No, it is I who should apologize. It is late and I have been blathering on and on about my son.” He leaned forward and placed his teacup onto the table. “I should take my leave.”

“I did not mean to imply such, sir,” Mattie said quickly.

“You did no such thing, but it was nice to enjoy such a lovely evening,” Mr. Blythe responded kindly. “I have been rather lonely since my wife has not yet made the trip to join me here.”

Her father spoke up. “That is most unfortunate. It can be lonely when one does not have a companion to keep one company.”

Mattie heard the sadness in her father’s voice and knew that his words reflected more than just a polite sentiment. They spoke of his loneliness, a loneliness she understood all too well.

Mr. Blythe nodded. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

Suddenly, a loud, incessant pounding came at the main door, startling everyone. Mattie jumped slightly, her hand pressing against her chest. “Dear heavens, who could that be, and at this hour?” she asked.

Mrs. Watson hurried past them to answer the door, her expression one of concern.

A moment later, Winston stepped into the room, his face a mask of grim determination. His eyes locked on Mr. Blythe with an intensity that made Mattie’s heart race.

“Lord Winston, what is the meaning of this?” her father demanded, rising from his seat .

Winston’s glare never wavered from Mr. Blythe, who remained seated, a faint, almost mocking smirk on his lips. “Isaac Blythe is not who he claims to be,” he declared, his voice firm. “He is a danger to you and your family.”

Her father frowned. “Pray tell, what are you talking about?”

Mr. Blythe turned to her father, his demeanor calm and unruffled. “Lord Winston has always been quite the dramatist. I mean you no harm.”

“Do not believe him,” Winston insisted, stepping closer. “Isaac is not a man to be trusted, by anyone. And I have reason to believe he means you harm.”

Mattie’s eyes widened in disbelief as she looked between Winston and Mr. Blythe. “Is this true?” she asked.

Mr. Blythe stood slowly, his eyes remaining on her. “Miss Bawden, I assure you, I am here with the best of intentions.”

Winston took a step closer to her. “Do not speak to her!” he shouted. “You have no right to even be here.”

“No right?” Mr. Blythe scoffed. “You stand here, speaking of what is right? You have stolen my family from me.”

Mattie shifted her gaze towards Winston, her confusion growing. “What is he talking about?” she asked.

“I will explain later,” Winston replied tersely. “For now, Isaac needs to leave this place at once, or I will have him forcibly removed.”

After a long, tense moment, Mr. Blythe said, “Very well, Lord Winston. I will take my leave.” He turned towards Mattie, his expression softening. “I apologize for any distress I may have caused. Good evening.”

As Mr. Blythe walked past Winston, their eyes locked, and an unspoken challenge passed between them. Mattie watched them, feeling as though she were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, a piece that could change everything.

A moment later, the main door slammed shut, and Mattie turned her questioning gaze towards Winston. He remained tense as he ran a hand through his hair, looking visibly upset.

“I believe I owe you an explanation,” Winston began, his voice strained.

“I think that is only fair, considering you barged into our home and made some rather distasteful accusations against Mr. Blythe,” her father stated.

Rather than respond to her father, Winston turned to Mattie, his eyes searching hers. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern evident in his expression. “Did Mr. Blythe say anything or do anything that upset you?”

Mattie shook her head. “No, he did not.”

Relief washed over Winston’s face. “I am glad that I came in time, then.”

Her father cleared his throat. “Lord Winston,” he said, his words firm. “Explain yourself.”

Winston held her gaze for a moment before taking a step back. “What I am about to share with you must remain between us,” he remarked, his voice low and solemn.

“As a vicar, I am familiar with the need for discretion,” her father replied.

Shifting in his stance, Winston revealed, “Mr. Blythe is my uncle. He eloped with my father’s younger sister, Sarah, many years ago and was cut off from my family. Recently, my aunt escaped my uncle’s abusive clutches with her son and came to my father for help.” He paused. “We hired a Bow Street Runner to protect my Aunt Sarah and we do not know their location. For their safety, and our own.”

Mattie stared at Winston, stunned by the revelation. What a terrible burden he was facing, and she had been completely unaware.

Her father sank into his seat, shaking his head. “Mr. Blythe seemed like a decent bloke. I had no idea he was hiding such a devious past.”

“I do not know Mr. Blythe well, mind you, but we spoke briefly this afternoon, and I have no doubt that his intentions are far from innocent in meeting with you,” Winston said. “It would be in your best interests to stay far away from that man.”

Mattie clasped her hands in front of her, her mind racing. “How long does he intend to stay?”

“I do not know, but we have no intention of turning over my aunt to him,” Winston replied. “My father feels that he would continue to abuse her, and could kill her, given the right circumstances.”

“How awful. Your poor aunt,” Mattie murmured, her heart aching for the woman she had never met.

Winston sighed deeply. “I did not wish to burden you with my troubles, but Mr. Blythe forced my hand on this. I don’t know why he approached your family, but I will find out why.”

Mattie met his gaze. “Mr. Blythe was the man that was watching me from the woodlands on our carriage ride.”

“He was?” Winston’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I think it is safe to say now that I know the difference between a tree and a man,” Mattie said with a small smile.

Winston’s expression softened slightly, but he did not return her smile. “I am sorry for doubting you. I promise that it won’t happen again.”

“Thank you,” she said, holding his gaze. The concern in his eyes was palpable. She didn’t quite think he was capable of such an emotion—at least not for her. Winston had a good heart, but he kept it well-guarded.

Her father’s next question reminded her that they were not alone. “Do you think we are in danger?”

Winston’s eyes shifted to her father. “I cannot say, but I would be wary of Mr. Blythe. I do believe he is a dangerous man, and he won’t give up easily. For now, it would be best if you took precautions to ensure your family’s safety.”

Her father bobbed his head, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “I will do whatever is necessary to protect my family,” he declared.

“I know you will, my lord, but I have also assigned a man to watch over your family, just as an extra precaution,” Winston said. “I will not let any harm come to you. You have my word.”

Mattie felt a surge of gratitude towards Winston, mingled with a growing sense of unease. As much as she appreciated his protection, she could not help but shake the feeling that their troubles were far from over.

“May I speak to you for a moment, Miss Bawden?” Winston asked.

Mattie glanced at her father for permission, but he seemed lost in his own world. “Very well,” she replied. “We can speak on the porch.”

Winston gestured towards the doorway, indicating that she should go first. Mattie moved towards the porch, her footsteps echoing in the quiet cottage. Once outside, she paused, the cool night air wrapping around her. She turned to face Winston, her expression expectant.

“Are you well?” Winston asked.

Mattie turned her gaze towards the darkened fields. “I do not know what to feel,” she admitted. “I had thought Mr. Blythe was an honorable man until you told me otherwise.”

“But you believe me?” he pressed, his voice holding a hint of urgency.

There were a few things that Mattie knew for certain. One of them was that she trusted Winston, wholeheartedly. Never once had he lied to her, despite their many disagreements.

“I do,” she replied, meeting his gaze.

A look of incredulity crossed Winston’s expression, as if he had expected a different response to his question. “I will keep you safe, Mattie.”

Mattie reached out and placed a hand on Winston’s sleeve. “I know you will,” she responded .

Winston glanced down at her hand on his sleeve with an indiscernible look, and she quickly withdrew it, embarrassed by her brazen actions. What must he think of her? They were hardly friends, and she had no right to touch him in such a familiar fashion.

Instead of the rebuke that she was expecting, she was surprised when he said, “I am touched by your faith in me.”

“Why wouldn’t I have faith in you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He took a step closer to her, his eyes burning with an intensity she had never seen before. “Because of that kiss?—”

Winston’s words came to an abrupt halt when the door opened. Her father stepped onto the porch, his expression unreadable. “It is time for you to go, Lord Winston,” he ordered.

Taking a step back, Winston bowed. “Goodnight, my lord. Miss Bawden,” he said before approaching his horse.

As Lord Winston rode off into the night, her father asked, “Is something going on between you and Lord Winston?”

She shook her head. “No, we are just friends.”

“Interesting,” her father said, opening the door wide. “Shall we retire for bed?”

Mattie followed her father into their quiet cottage, but her mind was racing. Winston had brought up their kiss. She wondered if he ever thought about it. Not that she did. But even she knew she couldn’t fathom that lie. It was always there, dwelling in her thoughts, a constant reminder of the connection they shared, however fleeting it might have been.