Miss Bawden’s eyes remained fixed on the woodlands as she spoke, her voice tense. “I just saw a man in the woodlands, watching us.”
Winston glanced at her skeptically. “I doubt that,” he responded. “Perhaps you saw a tree and mistook it for a person.”
She rolled her eyes. “I think I can tell the difference between a man and a tree.”
“Can you?” he retorted, a hint of mockery in his voice.
“Why do I even bother trying to speak to you?” she asked.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I agree that it is a pointless endeavor.”
Miss Bawden shifted in her seat, turning to look back at the passing woodlands, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
“What are you doing?” he asked, curious despite himself.
“I told you, I saw a man watching us from the woodlands, but he is gone now,” she informed him.
Winston knew he was going to regret asking this, but he asked it, nevertheless. “What did this ‘man’ look like?”
“He appeared tall, with a stout build, and had dark hair,” she replied with certainty. “What if he was a poacher?”
“I doubt it, since our gamekeeper keeps a close eye on these woodlands. We would know if a poacher was on our lands,” Winston saiddismissively.
Miss Bawden turned her gaze forward again, her chin tilted defiantly. “I know what I saw,” she stated firmly.
Winston felt the urge to get another jab in, even though he knew he should keep his mouth shut. “It wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “After all, when we were younger, you and Elodie insisted that unicorns were real.”
“That was when I was ten,” she shot back.
“Yes, but you claimed you saw a unicorn running through the woodlands,” Winston pointed out.
“True, but you had to go back eleven years to prove a point,” she said. “Whereas you have been proven wrong on a daily basis.”
Winston lifted his brow. “When, pray tell, have I been wrong?”
“Just moments ago, you claimed I couldn’t tell the difference between a tree and a man,” Miss Bawden said. “And I know what I saw.”
“Yes, but I did not see a man,” Winston argued, his tone clipped. “I only saw trees.”
“Why can’t you just take my word for it?” Miss Bawden asked.
Winston gave her a pointed look. “I deal in facts, and I rarely take someone’s word for anything. That is how you lose cases.”
Miss Bawden fingered the strings of her bonnet. “But I am not one of your cases or clients, for that matter.”
“No, you are not,” he agreed. But what she was, he couldn’t quite define. They had known each other most of their lives, and at times, albeit briefly, they had been friends. Yet now, they seemed perpetually at odds.
In a curious voice, Miss Bawden asked, “How is it that even with a truce in place we still find things to argue about?”
Winston’s expression softened slightly. “It is far more familiar to me.”
Miss Bawden lowered her hands to her lap. “I suppose you are right,” she said.
The carriage jolted slightly as it rolled over a bump in the path, causing them both to sway. Winston took a moment to steady the reins, his mind racing. He glanced at Miss Bawden and sighed.
“There was a time,” Winston began, surprising himself with his candor, “when we weren’t always at each other’s throats.”
A small smile played on Miss Bawden’s lips. “I remember,” she said. “Whenever you would visit Brockhall Manor, we used to play together in the gardens, before…”
