Page 11

And the jousting—how he loved the jousting. Dressing in the ancient, powerful armor, feeling the strength of Nightshade beneath him as they charged down the list along the tilt, using every ounce of might to grip the lance in his hands and striking the opposing knight. There was no greater feeling on this earth, no greater force Matthew had ever experienced than when he dressed as a knight and jousted.

Having that presumptuous Winnie Knox in the audience would certainly dampen that enthusiasm, though.

His stomach hardened at the thought, and Nightshade tossed his head in protest, having felt his owner’s change in demeanor.

To alleviate his horse’s distress, Matthew drew a calming breath, then pointed the lance straight out in front of him, cradling the handle between his arm and side for a few paces until his muscles burned. Only then did he raise the lance to stand straight up in the air once again, giving his arm the chance to rest from the strenuous position.

He always performed the exercise before a match or during a particularly stressful practice session, finding that it helped to channel his anxious energy. Fortunately, it did the same thing now with thoughts of the narrow-minded consultant.

Matthew needed all the focus he could get because he had a job to see to now, and that was alerting the household to just exactly what type of consultant had been hired to help at Foxwood—a consultant who criticized the estate and who didn’t know her eighth century from her eighteenth.

There was definitely no place for her here. No place at all. And he’d be the first person to let everyone else know it.

CHAPTER FOUR

Fortunately, with Winnie silently and begrudgingly chanting her family’s mantra, she made it to the house without any further incidents.

Just as Matthew had promised, the estate appeared around the final bend at the end of a long, straight drive.

There it was. Foxwood Hall—a magnificent, grand house glowing warmly in the darkness. Windows illuminated the inside, while the turrets on the outside created depth and magnificence to the grand structure.

Rounded and separate hedges lined the drive leading up to the house in perfect precision, lit by uniformly staggered lights. The hedges stood straight and tall, as if they were green foot soldiers greeting guests—all the while putting off the air of, “don’t mess with this fortress or else…”

Winnie got the picture. She’d gotten it when she’d Googled the place a few weeks before. This was a grand estate, and there was no mistaking the history that was involved in the making of it.

In the truest sense of the word, Foxwood Hall was spectacular. And she was going to be the one to help it stay afloat.

Excitement stirred within her chest, growing brighter as she drew closer to the house. She hardly ever enjoyed her job, but there were certain aspects that made it tolerable, specifically when she had the opportunity to use her creativity and intellect to help a business—or in this case, an estate—to shine brightly once again.

Of course, not everyone saw her as a helper. Still, she liked to think of herself as a rescuer from laziness instead of a dictator.

Finally reaching the house, she pulled her eyes away from the looming hall and focused her attention on where to park. A few cars were situated to the west of the house in undesignated spots. Perhaps that was just for family members, though.

However, after looking over her shoulder and finding nowhere else to go, she headed for the vehicles anyway.

This would be another thing she’d suggest to Mr. Wintour. Maybe she’d bring it up to Matthew when she saw him next. Did he not think this was a problem with the estate—guests not knowing where to go? Of course he didn’t. He was obviously only thinking of his own well-being. Typical employee.

Focus, Winnie.

She shook the knight from her mind. She had a job to see to, and dwelling on the last few minutes of their encounter would do nothing but distract her.

Just like his curled hair and angled jaw had done.

She blinked away his image from her mind and pulled up to the other cars, taking a quick gander at the four of them. Range Rover. Rolls Royce. Audi.

The Wintour family obviously liked their cars.

Winnie wasn’t super “in” to vehicles, but her dad was. Growing up, he always made it a game to find the fanciest cars on the road whenever they drove anywhere together as a family. The kid who found the most expensive car—correctly naming the make, model, and color—would win.

She never did. She had always been too focused on the horses they drove past in the fields or the sketches she drew of them on her notebook in the back seat.

“You have to put in more effort if you want to win, Winnie,” Dad would always say.

She hadn’t cared about winning, though. She’d cared about horses.

But that had only caused her grief.

Slowly pulling forward, Winnie focused her eyes on the final car in the row, the lights of her Aston Martin shining across the faded red paint of…What was that, a knockoff Mini Cooper?