Miss Bawden looked up from her seat on a large rock, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Lord Winston,” she acknowledged, her tone more civil than he was expecting. “I didn’t expect to see anyone here, at least not at this early morning hour.”
“This is my father’s land,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. He didn’t want Miss Bawden here anymore thanhe wanted to contend with a wild boar. Both were ornery and left a stink in the air.
She stood, brushing off her skirts. “I apologize, but I needed a place to think. Edwina showed me this place once.”
Winston sighed at the mention of his cousin. “Yes, well, Edwina is no longer residing here, and you are trespassing.”
Miss Bawden seemed unconcerned by his remarks nor was she making any attempt to leave. “It is such a peaceful spot. It almost feels… untouched.”
For a moment, they stood in silence, the stream’s gentle babble being the only sound between them. Winston felt a pang of empathy. He had come here to escape his own demons, and it seemed Miss Bawden was running from her own grief as well.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, the question surprising even himself. Why had he asked such a thing? He wanted her to leave, not stay and participate in idle chit-chat.
Miss Bawden hesitated, then shook her head. “No, not really. However, it is not something you need to concern yourself with.”
“Perhaps I can help,” he offered, surprising himself again. “Sometimes talking to someone, especially someone who is not involved, can make things clearer.”
She regarded him cautiously, as if weighing his sincerity. Finally, she revealed, “It is my cousin, Franny. She lost both of her parents, and I don’t know how to help her.”
Winston nodded, understanding more than she knew. “When my uncle died, I took it rather hard. He had been a man that I had always looked up to, and secretly aspired to be like,” he shared. “My only advice is that sometimes just being there is enough. Offering support, even when you feel helpless, can mean the world to someone in pain.”
Miss Bawden’s eyes softened. “Thank you, my lord. I just wish I could do more than be there.”
He cocked his head, considering her words. “When your mother died, what helped you the most to navigate through the grief?”
“Time,” Miss Bawden replied. “I still miss my mother every day, but it gets a little easier with time. Well, time and friends that baked us food. Loads of food. We couldn’t even eat everything that had been provided to us.”
“Then perhaps you should bake your cousin something,” Winston suggested.
Miss Bawden made a face. “I like my cousin. I wouldn’t wish to make her sadder by eating my cooking.”
Winston chuckled. “I take it that Mrs. Watson still doesn’t let you cook.”
“No, she insists I stay far, far away when she prepares our meals,” Miss Bawden said. “However, she has recently let me start boiling the water again.”
“That seems like an easy enough task.”
Miss Bawden grinned. “You would think, but one time I was reading, and the water spilled over, extinguishing the flame.”
“I see how that could be a problem.”
“So now I am not allowed to read while watching the water boil,” Miss Bawden said. “Have you ever watched water boil?”
Winston shook his head. “I have not.”
“It is not the least bit enjoyable,” Miss Bawden said.
Winston found himself smiling. “It seems cooking is not your forte. Perhaps you can find another way to support your cousin.”
Her grin faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “I just want to help her feel less alone.”
Hearing the sadness in Miss Bawden’s voice made him wonder if she was speaking only about her cousin. “Do you feel alone?” he prodded.
Miss Bawden ducked her head. “I do, at times,” sheadmitted. “My father is busy being the vicar, my sister is at boarding school, and I am a spinster.”
“You are hardly a spinster.”
“I am one and twenty years old,” Miss Bawden replied. “And I haven’t even had a Season yet.”
