Winston ran a hand through his hair, feeling panic well up inside of him. What game was Isaac playing? “I need to go to them,” he declared. “They need to know what kind of danger they are in.”
“I assumed as much,” Grady said. “Our horses are saddled and out front.”
His father’s voice came from the doorway. “Is everything all right?”
Winston turned towards his father, his expression grim. “No, this is about Isaac,” he replied. “I will explain everything when I get back.”
Without waiting for his father’s reply, Winston hurried towards the main door and stepped out into the cool night air. The chill sent a shiver down his spine, but he barely noticed. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Isaac andthe potential danger he posed to Lord Wythburn and Mattie.
Grady followed closely behind, and together they made their way to the awaiting horses. Winston mounted quickly, feeling a sense of urgency propelling him forward. The night was dark, but the moon provided just enough light to guide their path.
As they rode, Winston’s thoughts raced. He couldn’t fathom what Isaac was planning, but whatever it was, it ended now.
Mattie sat in the drawing room, a cup of tea cradled in her hands, as she listened to Mr. Blythe share stories about his son, Matthew. The way Mr. Blythe spoke about his son, with pride shining in his eyes, was both touching and bittersweet. It reminded Mattie of how rarely her father expressed such pride in her.
Her father would occasionally interject with a story or two about his own parenting experiences, but for the most part, he seemed content to let Mr. Blythe lead the conversation.
As the conversation flowed around her, Mattie turned her attention to the dancing flames in the fireplace, her thoughts drifting. Her father had decided she would remain with the family this Season instead of going to London, a decision she found suffocating. She longed to break free from the endless cycle of familial obligations and live her own life. To step out of the shadows and into the vibrant world she had only dreamed of.
Since she was young, Mattie had taken care of the household and helped raise her sister, which was a role she had embraced without complaint. But now, as the daughter of a viscount with a substantial dowry, she wantedto go down a different path. She could do more, be more. Yet her father didn’t see that potential in her, and that was a realization that stung deeply.
Her father’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Mattie,” he said gently. “Did you hear what Mr. Blythe just asked you?”
Mattie blinked and brought a smile to her lips. “I apologize. I was woolgathering.”
Mr. Blythe offered her an understanding look. “No, it is I who should apologize. It is late and I have been blathering on and on about my son.” He leaned forward and placed his teacup onto the table. “I should take my leave.”
“I did not mean to imply such, sir,” Mattie said quickly.
“You did no such thing, but it was nice to enjoy such a lovely evening,” Mr. Blythe responded kindly. “I have been rather lonely since my wife has not yet made the trip to join me here.”
Her father spoke up. “That is most unfortunate. It can be lonely when one does not have a companion to keep one company.”
Mattie heard the sadness in her father’s voice and knew that his words reflected more than just a polite sentiment. They spoke of his loneliness, a loneliness she understood all too well.
Mr. Blythe nodded. “I wholeheartedly agree.”
Suddenly, a loud, incessant pounding came at the main door, startling everyone. Mattie jumped slightly, her hand pressing against her chest. “Dear heavens, who could that be, and at this hour?” she asked.
Mrs. Watson hurried past them to answer the door, her expression one of concern.
A moment later, Winston stepped into the room, his face a mask of grim determination. His eyes locked on Mr. Blythe with an intensity that made Mattie’s heart race.
“Lord Winston, what is the meaning of this?” her father demanded, rising from his seat.
Winston’s glare never wavered from Mr. Blythe, who remained seated, a faint, almost mocking smirk on his lips. “Isaac Blythe is not who he claims to be,” he declared, his voice firm. “He is a danger to you and your family.”
Her father frowned. “Pray tell, what are you talking about?”
Mr. Blythe turned to her father, his demeanor calm and unruffled. “Lord Winston has always been quite the dramatist. I mean you no harm.”
“Do not believe him,” Winston insisted, stepping closer. “Isaac is not a man to be trusted, by anyone. And I have reason to believe he means you harm.”
Mattie’s eyes widened in disbelief as she looked between Winston and Mr. Blythe. “Is this true?” she asked.
Mr. Blythe stood slowly, his eyes remaining on her. “Miss Bawden, I assure you, I am here with the best of intentions.”
Winston took a step closer to her. “Do not speak to her!” he shouted. “You have no right to even be here.”
