Winston led his horse to the stream to drink. “I thought my mother was hosting you for the upcoming Season.”
Miss Bawden winced. “I haven’t yet found the courage to ask my father about that,” she admitted. “I do not think he will be pleased.”
“Whyever not?”
“My father needs me at home,” Miss Bawden said.
Winston lifted his brow. “I daresay that was before he became a viscount and heir to an earldom. He will now have a team of people around him, ensuring the estate is thriving, as well as a household staff.”
Miss Bawden lowered her gaze. “I suppose you are right, but I still feel responsible. I have always managed the house on my own. It is hard to let go of that.”
“Change is never easy, but your father will understand,” Winston said. “Do you not think he would want you to find your own path and happiness?”
She brought her gaze up. “You are right. He would,” she replied. “Thank you. Your words mean more than you know.”
Winston nodded. “Be careful, Miss Bawden,” he urged. “If we continue on as we have been, we might even become friends one day.”
“That would take a miracle,” Miss Bawden responded, softening her words with a smile. “Besides, it will just take one game of pall-mall before we are at odds once more.”
Reaching up, Winston rubbed the shoulder which had been hit by a mallet Miss Bawden had once thrown at him during an intense game of pall-mall. “You make a validpoint,” he said.
They fell into another comfortable silence, the shared moment of vulnerability bridging the gap between them.
Botheration.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. There would be no good that came out of them becoming friends since they had been at odds with one another for so long. It was familiar. Comfortable. And he didn’t want to let Miss Bawden in, knowing she had a propensity for making his life miserable.
Yet, the unexpected connection they had just shared gnawed at him. He had always found solace in their bickering, a predictable routine that required no emotional investment. But now, seeing her vulnerable, struggling with her own burdens, complicated things. He didn’t need this kind of complexity in his life.
“Miss Bawden,” he began, his voice harsher than he intended, “I think it is best if we?—”
“Yes, my lord?” she interrupted, looking at him with a curious, almost hopeful expression.
Winston’s resolve wavered. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the fragility she rarely let show. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to continue. “It is best if we maintain our… usual distance. We each have our roles to play, and it is much simpler that way.”
She blinked, the hope in her eyes dimming. “Of course,” she replied. “I do think that would be easier… for both of us.”
He nodded curtly, feeling a twinge of guilt. It was better this way, he told himself. Better to stick to what they knew, to avoid entanglements that could lead to further complications, such as another kiss.
His back grew rigid at that thought. No, he wouldn’t kiss Miss Bawden ever again. It had just been a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment. He had always wondered what it would be like to kiss Miss Bawden, imagining it as a way to dispel the strange tension between them.
He had half-hoped that it would be dull, but instead, it had sparked a desire for more. He would not—could not—give in to that temptation once more.
“Take care, Miss Bawden,” he said, turning to leave.
“And you, my lord,” she replied.
He stopped himself and turned back around. “You are welcome to stay here as long as you would like,” he said. “It is a place for peace, after all.”
Miss Bawden smiled faintly. “Thank you. That is very kind of you.”
As he mounted his horse and rode away, Winston couldn’t help but feel that he had just made a mistake. But why would he want to be friends with Miss Bawden? No good would come from that. Of that, he was sure. Yet, a nagging doubt gnawed at him as he rode through the misty woodlands. Perhaps he had been too hasty.
Mattie took a shortcut through the woodlands. As she approached her family’s cottage, the faint smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, a comforting scent of home. This was her sanctuary, the place she had always known, and soon she would be leaving it so her father could assume his new title.
She understood the reasoning behind the move—duty, family legacy, the responsibilities that came with their newfound status. But understanding didn’t equate to liking it. She would be leaving behind her friends, including the Lockwood family, who had always shown her genuine kindness. Well, except for Lord Winston. He had always managed to aggravate her to no end with his insufferable arrogance.
Yet, despite his cocky exterior, Mattie had caught glimpses of the man behind the mask he wore. Therewere moments when his guard slipped, revealing a depth and vulnerability that intrigued her. She often wondered what drove him to maintain such a façade. What was he hiding from? What burdens did he carry that necessitated such a mask?
