“I would like that, Winston,” she said.
The way she said his name made his heart pound in his chest. He hoped that she couldn’t hear it. The memory of their kiss lingered between them, an unspoken tension that neither wanted to address directly.
“Well, then, Mattie,” Winston said, trying to keep his voice steady, “we are almost to your cottage.”
“Yes, we are,” she agreed. “Do you remember when we used to play in these woodlands as children?”
“I do, particularly the time when we played in poison oak, not knowing any better,” Winston remarked.
Mattie giggled. “We were both so miserable after that. I had never experienced such a painful rash before.”
“Yes, but we learned our lesson the first time,” Winston said.
As they neared Mattie’s cottage, Winston stole a glance at her. The strands of red hair that framed her face caught the sunlight, giving her an almost ethereal glow. He didn’t dare tell her that red was his favorite color because of her, nor that he had never met a more beautiful girl than her. These were thingshe could never tell Mattie. The barriers he had built around his heart were too strong, too necessary, to let such truths escape.
The coach came to a gentle stop in front of the cottage. Winston jumped down and walked around to Mattie’s side, offering his hand to help her dismount. She took it, his touch sending warmth through her. He steadied her as she stepped down, causing their faces to be close enough that she could see flecks of gold in his blue eyes.
“Thank you for the ride, Winston,” Mattie said, her voice soft but sincere.
He smiled. “You are welcome, Mattie,” he replied. “I am glad that we came to a new agreement.”
“So am I,” she admitted. “It was nice to talk without the usual arguments, even if only for a moment or two.”
Winston nodded. “Perhaps we can do this again when we are in Town for the Season,” he suggested.
“I would like that,” she responded.
As she turned to walk to her cottage, Mattie felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to say something—anything—that might delay his departure. But the words stuck in her throat, held back by the memory of the pain he had caused her.
She reached the door and turned back to give him one last smile before entering the cottage.
As she stepped inside, she saw Mrs. Watson pacing in the drawing room. “Good, you are back,” the housekeeper declared. “I don’t know what to do with your cousin. She has refused to eat all day.”
“Would you like me to speak to her?” Mattie suggested.
Mrs. Watson stopped pacing. “If you don’t mind,” she responded. “She is in her bedchamber.”
Mattie approached the white-haired housekeeper. “We need to give Franny the space to grieve on her own.”
“She is so young to lose her parents, but not as young as you when you lost your mother,” Mrs. Watson said. “You both handled the grief so differently.”
“People do not grieve the same, and that is all right,” Mattie remarked. “Frankly, there is no right way to grieve.”
Mrs. Watson offered her a weak smile. “Go speak to your cousin, and then I want to hear all about your carriage ride with Lord Winston.”
“There is nothing to tell,” Mattie said. “He asked me to go on a carriage ride and I went.”
“But, why now?”
Mattie smiled her understanding. “Lady Dallington asked him to take me on a carriage ride and she can be quite persuasive when she wants to be,” she explained. “We have come to a new understanding.”
Mrs. Watson’s brow shot up. “An understanding?”
She shook her head. “Not that type of understanding,” she insisted. “We are going to attempt to be friends.”
“Attempt?”
“Well, Lord Winston does manage to say the most infuriating things,” Mattie said. “I can only hold my tongue so much.”
