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“Would’ve liked to see them making contact more.”
“Wish the jousting scores had been real.”
“The whole thing was just too much.”
“The small knight wasn’t believable enough.”
On and on and on the list went until Winnie finally stopped, her cheeks burning with humiliation.
Had Mr. Wintour read these comments already? She’d given him the link to the feedback that morning, having full confidence that he’d be reading over her praises. What about now? How would he feel, knowing his faith in her had been entirely wasted—that she couldn’t even revive a measly, dinky little faire? There was no way he would entrust her with Foxwood. Not when she didn’t even trust herself.
All of her ideas, all of the changes she’d made, all of the things she’d sworn would succeed had failed. The staff had tried to warn her—Matthew, even—but had she listened? No. She’d bulldozed her way forward in true Knox fashion and willfully ignored every word of concern, all the while naively believing that she knew what she was doing.
How could she not know? She was supposed to be good at consulting, good at figuring out problems and solving them. She’d helped every other business until now. How had she failed at this?
She squeezed her eyes closed, pressing a hand to her brow that pulsed with a fresh headache.
Matthew had been right all along, and it killed her to admit it. Just as it killed her to imagine his all-knowing eyes silently, accurately judging her. He would have his way now. She would be headed back to the States soon enough, just as he’d predicted, just like he’d always wanted.
Back to the States. Back to Dad.
Her stomach churned as she groaned audibly. He’d vouched for her to Mr. Wintour. What would Dad say when he found out she’d embarrassed him again?
“When are you going to change, Winnie? When are you ever going to learn?”
Her shoulders sunk low, her soul even lower. She didn’t have what it took to be a part of the Knox family—and she’d just proven it again.
At the end of the day, when the festival had been cleaned up and everyone had gone home, Winnie quietly slipped into the house.
After her moment of panic behind the tents, she’d pulled on her big girl pants and faced the rest of the event with quiet dignity, just as she faced her future now.
What that future held, she didn’t know. What she did know was that she was finished at Foxwood.
She opened the door to the estate—up, then down—and stepped foot in the entryway, not surprised to see Mr. Wintour standing at the top of the stairs, cane in hand.
Her heart thudded hollowly in her ears. “Mr. Wintour,” she greeted, closing the door behind her.
He gave her a warm smile. “Do you have a minute? Just a quick chat in my study.”
A quick chat. Firings never took long. “Of course.”
He nodded, leading the way as Winnie joined him, feeling as if she were being led to the gallows. It wasn’t too far from the truth. Her life at Foxwood was ending. If that wasn’t enough of a punishment, Dad would be sure to add more.
Maybe she just wouldn’t return to the States. Maybe she’d change her phone number, her name, her identity. She’d become Winnie…Winnie Smith. That had a nice ring to it. Perfectly normal, perfectly average, Winnie Smith.
But of course, Dad had his fingers gripped too tightly around her to ever run away from the Knox name.
They reached Mr. Wintour’s study in a matter of minutes, that same warm room she’d been in over and over again for the last three weeks now holding a different feel to it—one of sorrow and of goodbyes.
They moved to their usual seats by the fire, and she sat before him, blinking repeatedly as she averted her gaze.
“So…” Mr. Wintour began.
Winnie tried to keep her mouth closed, tried to listen to his words, but she couldn’t handle it.
“I know,” she said, beating him to the punch. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll pack my bags and be out of here before the end of the night.”
Mr. Wintour didn’t respond for a moment, a soft expression touching his features. He was probably grateful that she’d fired herself so he could avoid getting his fingers dirty.
