Lord Winston reluctantly stepped into the entry hall, stopping just in front of her. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone laced with exasperation.
Her smile widened. “Very much, my lord.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained quiet.
As she moved towards the drawing room, Lord Winston followed closely behind. “What are all these dresses doing in here?” he asked, gesturing to the array of gowns.
“They were my mother’s,” she explained, turning to face him. “I had been half-hoping to create a new gown with the fabric for this Season.”
Lord Winston’s eyes roamed over the gowns, a look of incredulity on his face. “Surely, you jest. A woman of your station does not make her own clothes.”
“You seem to forget that my father only just inherited his title,” Mattie said. “I have been making my own clothes for years as the daughter of a vicar.”
“But the life that you once knew is over,” Lord Winston remarked, meeting her gaze. “Have you even spoken to a dressmaker?”
Mattie nodded. “Yes, she is making us mourning gowns, but it will be months before I can commission new gowns.”
“Well, you can’t wear these,” he declared with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Placing a hand on her hip, she asked, “And why not… Lord Whineston?”
Lord Winston visibly tensed. “You have not called me that since we were children,” he said, his voice strained. “I do not miss it.”
“Well, you walked into my home and started dictating what I should be doing,” Mattie said, her tone sharp.
“I am trying to help you,” he insisted.
Mattie dropped her arm to her side. “I never asked for your help.”
Lord Winston took a deep breath. “You are impossible to get along with.”
“I could say the same about you, my lord,” Mattie countered.
After she retrieved a blue bonnet from thecorridor, she returned to the drawing room and saw Lord Winston standing by the window, his hands clasped behind him.
For a moment, she allowed herself to admire him. It didn’t help that he was handsome, with his broad shoulders, dark hair and strong jawline. And when he smiled—truly smiled—it had the power to make her heart race. But he must never know that.
“I have my hat,” she announced, breaking the silence.
Turning to face her, his eyes studied her. “Good, I was worried,” he said in a mocking tone.
Mattie pressed her lips together, debating if this carriage ride was a good idea. No doubt they would spend the entire time arguing. However, the thought of his discomfort brought a wicked sense of satisfaction.
She placed the bonnet on her head and tied the strings with precise movements. “Shall we?” she asked.
Lord Winston put his hand out, gesturing that she should go first.
As they approached the door, Mattie turned abruptly, almost colliding with his chest. His hands came up to steady her, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. “Careful, Miss Bawden,” he murmured, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
Being this close to him reminded her of the night that they had kissed. The way he had looked at her had caused her heart to beat only for him. It was the most magical of nights, one that she would remember forever.
“Miss Bawden?” Lord Winston’s gruff voice snapped her out of her reverie.
She blinked and took a step back out of his arms. “My apologies,” she said, flustered. “I was woolgathering.”
Lord Winston gave her a look of disapproval. “Well, I do not have all afternoon to wait on you.”
“Out of curiosity, how much time have you allocated for this carriage ride?” she asked. “I wouldn’t wish to deprive you out of a moment to spend time alone in your bedchamber.”
