“I do hope your father will come around,” Mrs. Watson said. “You deserve to have a Season, especially after all the sacrifices that you have made for this family.”
Mattie shrugged one shoulder, dismissing her praise. “I have done only what is expected of me.”
“More, if you ask me,” Mrs. Watson declared, giving her a pointed look. “Aside from your terrible cooking abilities, you have kept this house running.”
“I daresay you are giving me far too much credit since you do all the work,” Mattie said. “Besides, I am not sure if the dressmaker will have time to create elaborate gowns for the Season, much less all the other accessories I will require. Perhaps it is just a wishful fantasy on my part.”
Mrs. Watson grew thoughtful. “What of your mother’s gowns?” she asked. “You have yet to look through them in all these years.”
“I am sure that they are terribly outdated.”
“No doubt, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use the fabric to create a reticule or use them to line a bonnet,” the housekeeper suggested.
Mattie smiled at that thought. “I shall look at the gowns later and see if any of the fabric is salvageable.”
Mrs. Watson’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “You should do more than just look. Imagine what you can create with those fabrics.” She rose. “Come, let us fetch that trunk from the attic.”
Mattie’s excitement grew as she followed Mrs. Watson up the narrow stairs to the attic. It had been far too long since she had gone through her mother’s things.
As they reached the attic, Mattie looked around the dust-covered treasures from the past. Mrs. Watson pointed to a large trunk in the corner, and together they lifted the lid. Inside were her mother’s gowns, each one a piece of history and a connection to the woman she dearly missed.
Carefully, Mattie unfolded the first gown, its fabric delicate yet vibrant despite the years. “These are beautiful,” she murmured, running her fingers over the intricate embroidery. “I had forgotten how lovely they were.”
Determined, Mattie began sorting through the gowns, envisioning what she could create with these fabrics. But the first step, and the most important, was convincing her father to allow her to have a Season.
This was her chance to step out of the shadows of duty and into the light of possibility. And she would not let it slip away.
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.
