“But you are a barrister,” his father pointed out.
Winston smiled wryly. “There are ways to prolong a case if one so desires, but for the most part, we proceed in a timely manner.”
“That has not been my experience,” his father grumbled. “I do think the judges like to sit around and try to inconvenience everyone around them.”
“I assure you that does not happen.”
His father grew silent, his gaze thoughtful. “May I ask why you assigned a Bow Street Runner to watch over Lord Wythburn’s household?”
Winston’s smile dimmed. “Why would I not?” he asked. “They are innocent in all of this, and we do not know what Isaac has planned.”
“Yes, but has Isaac implied that he intends to do harm to Lord Wythburn or his daughters?” his father inquired.
“No, but his presence at their cottage was very disconcerting,” Winston argued. “It suggests he has an interest in them, and we cannot take any chances. We must be vigilant.”
His father bobbed his head. “You are right, of course, but I wonder if this has to do with Miss Bawden more than her father.”
Winston frowned. “I do not know what you are inferring…”
Putting his hand up, his father said, “I am not inferring anything. Your mother has mentioned, on multiple occasions, that you and Miss Bawden have grown closer the last few days. Is she mistaken in her assumption?”
Rising abruptly, Winston walked over to the mantel overthe hearth, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions. “Miss Bawden and I have come to an understanding—” he began, choosing his words carefully.
“Oh, is that so?” his father interjected.
“Not that kind of understanding,” Winston declared. “We have decided to call a truce of sorts between us.”
His father’s expression remained skeptical. “Is that all it is, Son?”
“It is,” Winston stated firmly, hoping to end this line of uncomfortable questioning. His father had no right to pry into his personal affairs.
“I will take you at your word, but your mother,” his father hesitated, “she will be a different story. You know how she is.”
“I can handle Mother,” Winston responded.
His father’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I used to think that as well, but I have since learned otherwise,” he said. “But enough of that. How is your sheep farm going?”
Winston winced inwardly, not sure if this topic was any better than the last. “It could be better,” he admitted. “Fortunately, I have a steward that is tending to the sheep farm’s day-to-day activities.”
“That is good. The right employee can make a big difference in any business.”
“I bought the land that the sheep graze on, and there is a small cottage there where I plan to reside when I am overseeing things,” Winston shared. “I have been told the roof leaks, but I can fix that with some work.”
His father lifted his brow. “You do not intend to do the work yourself, do you?”
“Surely it cannot be too hard,” Winston replied.
“You are a barrister. What do you know about fixing roofs?”
Winston shrugged. “I don’t, but the coffers are not exactly full, considering I am living on a barrister’s income,” he responded. “I have discovered being a barrister is not as lucrative as I thought it would be.”
Rising, his father walked over to his desk. “How much do you need to repair the cottage?” he asked, pulling out a drawer.
“Father, I do not need your money,” Winston protested.
“This is not the time to be prideful. I have the funds to help you.”
Winston gave his father a knowing look. “I thought Mr. Stanley embezzled a large sum of your money.”
