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“And your parents are still working?”

“Oh, yes.” She leaned back in the chair, the tightness in her shoulders easing as the warm fire and kind company soothed her soul. “I don’t think they’ll ever retire. My dad loves to work at their firm way too much.”

“He hasn’t changed, then,” Mr. Wintour said with a knowing smile. His eyes took on a nostalgic look as he glanced toward the fire. “But he is happy? With his life, I mean?”

Winnie tipped her head to the side. It was a strange question. Or rather, asked in a strange way. As if her response would somehow tell him more than the simple words she would give.

Her instinct was to deliver a hearty yes. But then, was Dad happy with his life? He had never really expressed much joy in anything other than the Knox Family Law Firm.

Mr. Wintour’s focus intensified.

She blinked, pulling out of her thoughts. “I think he is,” she responded carefully.

That was as truthful as she could be, even if she wasn’t comfortable with the answer.

Before Mr. Wintour could respond, Mr. Fernsby drew their attention to the doorway, entering with a tray of plates, cups, and a few cookies.

“Mr. Fernsby,” Mr. Wintour said, eying the cookies as the butler placed the tray on the coffee table between them, “you do spoil me. Just promise me you’ll not share with Jane that you’ve given me biscuits tonight.”

“Of course, sir,” Mr. Fernsby said with a smile. “Just as I won’t tell you what treats Mrs. Wintour has been given this evening.”

Mr. Wintour laughed, and Mr. Fernsby’s eyes shone.

Winnie watched them curiously, surprised at their friendly relationship. They were still clearly employer and employee, but their comfort with each other merely revealed more of Mr. Wintour’s goodness.

And that led to only more questions for Winnie, most specifically, how on earth had Dad ever made friends with the man? Dad only ever drew closer to people who were of benefit to him, those who could further his career or improve his societal standing—and his friends were all admittedly the same. Mr. Wintour would have certainly boosted Dad’s social life back at Oxford, being the heir to Foxwood, but Mr. Wintour was so nice. And Dad’s friends were never nice.

Had Mr. Wintour once been a shark like Dad and had since changed? Or had Dad found some benefit in befriending someone like Mr. Wintour?

After Mr. Fernsby had left the room, she and Mr. Wintour enjoyed the drinks and cookies as they conversed more about Winnie’s family.

When his drink was finished, Mr. Wintour placed it on the table between them and leaned back with a satisfied sigh, though she didn’t miss another flinch as he did so. “Well, I don’t wish to keep you up much later,” he said. “What do you say to the two of us finally getting on with a little business, eh?”

He ended his words with a harmless wink, just like Grandpa used to. Not Dad, of course. The closest thing to a wink she’d ever seen from him was a wince when she’d done something stupid, like failing out of med school or looking into being an art museum curator during her college exploration days. Neither action was impressive enough for a member of the Knox family.

“I’d love to,” she readily agreed. “You mentioned when we spoke on the phone about a comprehensive list of things you wished for me to see to?”

Mr. Wintour shifted to the side again, this time blinking hard as he clearly struck a nerve of pain. Whatever was ailing him, Winnie’s heart reached out to him. She ought to speed this up, allow him to get to bed sooner.

“Yes, I do have a list.” He opened his mouth, then closed it again as his eyes twinkled, despite the pain he was clearly feeling. “However, I have something else in mind for you now.”

Winnie blinked. “Oh?” This had to be the first time her job description changed after being hired.

Mr. Wintour must have seen her hesitation, as he rushed on. “Only if you are comfortable with the changes, of course. I am still very much looking forward to your help with the estate. But before that, I was hoping you’d help me with a little side project.”

“A side project,” she repeated, trying to keep up with his vague description. “What sort of side project?”

Once again, his eyes shone. “Have you ever been to a medieval festival?”

CHAPTER FIVE

Winnie’s lips parted in surprise. “Well, no, actually. But I have heard of them.”

From your slightly nerdy, obsessed-with-history, insanely loyal employee.

But she’d keep that to herself. No need to mention her little run-in with the knight on the road, nor the fact that she had been driving too fast and far too distractedly to not be blamed for swerving into the mud.

“I can’t say that I know too much about them, either,” she clarified.