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She probably should have felt more guilty for omitting the truth of what she was now doing at Foxwood, but she didn’t have the mental fortitude to hear everything Dad would have to say about her being demoted to watching over a renaissance faire instead of a stately home.

“Are you really having to prove yourself?” he’d say. “A Knox shouldn’t have to stoop so low.”

Winnie rolled her eyes. Dad had convinced himself that the Knoxes were all some special breed, set apart from the rest of the world.

If that were true, Winnie was an adopted mutt.

Dad

Sounds great. Keep me posted!

Winnie

Will do!

And she would, just like she’d be honest with him…Just as soon as she figured out a way to make the faire sound cooler than it was.

Lowering her wrist, she shook the exchange from her mind. It was time to remove her “Win-Win-Winnie” badge and put on her “Winnie Knox, Consultant” badge—a badge that she’d actually earned by herself.

Except, of course, when Dad had connected her with Mr. Wintour as soon he discovered that her latest consultant job had fallen through. And then there were the other two jobs he’d helped her find last year.

Then there was the other time before that—but all of that was neither here nor there. The point of the matter was that she had done the work for each of those jobs, and her success was proof enough of her abilities.

Footsteps approached, drawing her attention to the present, but to Winnie’s surprise, Mr. Fernsby appeared instead of Mr. Wintour.

“Miss Knox,” the butler greeted. “Mr. Wintour wished for me to tell you that he will be unable to join you this morning. I’m afraid he’s feeling unwell.”

Winnie took the news in measure. Honestly, it wasn’t much of a surprise. He’d looked so uncomfortable the night before, on the chair and afterward. She only hoped she hadn’t contributed to it as his son obviously had with all the complaining he’d done.

“I hope he’s all right,” she said.

“Thank you,” Mr. Fernsby said in his smooth accent. “He is tired but in good spirits. Instead, Mrs. Wintour has agreed to join you for the festival. However, she will be some time yet, so she is more than happy for you to go on ahead. The festival takes place on the grounds just east of the house, within walking distance. Follow the dirt pathway, and you won’t miss it. Mrs. Wintour will meet you there as soon as she is able to.”

Winnie instantly agreed, and the butler returned to his duties at once.

While she would have appreciated a tour with her questions being answered straightaway, nothing helped her get a true read on a business—or in this case, an event—as walking around by herself and simply observing.

With more motivation in her step than before, Winnie left the house through the double doors, a blast of cold air welcoming her into the gray, dreary world. Although, strangely enough, it didn’t feel dreary. She’d always enjoyed rainstorms in New York—lights reflected in the puddles on the streets, the sidewalks a monochrome sea of black umbrellas.

But here in England, the rain made everything more ethereal. More magical. The overgrown trees and the lush, green grass shone like sparkling emeralds adorning a noblewoman’s neck, while the misty clouds that cloaked Foxwood in a comforting embrace softened the imagery around them, as if a mystic haze had been cast across the grounds.

Winnie threw up her hood, stepping out onto the porch with a deep breath of cool air that filled her lungs with a pleasant lightness.

First, Mr. Wintour’s study had lured her into a sense of security, and now, Winnie was breathing in the cold? There was definitely some type of magic going on here at Foxwood. She was even looking forward to the faire now, for crying out loud, and that was something she didn’t think was possible.

Walking across the pea gravel drive to the east of the estate, she wondered what a renaissance faire at Foxwood would look like. Before, she had visualized a pitiful recreation of a barbaric, historical pastime. After her research that morning, however, seeing videos of actual jousting that knights participated in around the world, she was brought back to the first time she’d watched A Knight’s Tale—the splintering wood of the lance, the pounding of the horse’s hooves on the grounds, the attractive men.

Jousting might not be her “thing,” but at least she could appreciate what she’d seen in the videos—an immersion into the past with a healthy mixture of fun and fantastical. She just couldn’t wait to see it now in person.

She continued on her way, reaching the dirt path that led toward the faire grounds. She tried to peer beyond the thick woods for any sign of the event, but nothing appeared until she rounded a bend, and the colorful flags from that morning caught her eye.

Excitement flapped in her chest, her footsteps picking up pace. Jousting, knights walking around, horses decked out in fun colors. Booths selling knick-knacks and delicious food, fire-breathers and other entertainment. She couldn’t wait to see all that they had to offer.

But as she drew closer and closer to the grounds, that excitement swiftly turned to confusion—then confusion shifted immediately to disappointment.

Was this it?

After waiting in line behind a total of two people, Winnie—wanting to remain fully incognito—paid an extortionate fifteen pounds to a woman seated on a lawn chair. Not a single greeting or, “Welcome to the faire” was said by the woman as Winnie passed her by. And yet, Winnie hardly noticed, too taken with the underwhelming view before her as she finally set foot on the grounds.