Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Winnie had thought she’d been busy for the first festival, but that had been absolute circus peanuts compared to this one. Day in and day out, she was solving problems and creating solutions, trying to encourage others while still encouraging herself.
But what was wonderfully different about this one was the enormously altered detail of Matthew and his staff being proactive and genuinely supportive.
With every change made and every request given, each of them continuously jumped in to help. Winnie wondered if it was in part due to her humility or because they’d simply caught the vision of the festival. Whatever the reason, she would take it, as she needed all the positivity she could get.
Especially when Sunday rolled around. During her family chat, Dad had asked again about the estate. Instead of lying, Winnie used up what little courage she had to tell them the truth.
“But Arthur promised you that you wouldn’t have to remain over the festival anymore,” Dad had said.
“I know, but I didn’t?—”
“Did you remind him of that?” he’d interrupted.
“No, because this is what I wanted?—”
“Never mind. I’m sure something else will come up soon.”
His words had held a certain amount of intrigue that unsettled Winnie—Dad’s scheming never turned out to be a good thing—but she’d done her best to push it aside.
She had been done speaking after that, slightly relieved that she didn’t have the chance to tell them that this was the most satisfying job she’d ever had—or that she was head over heels for her coworker.
Ah, Matthew. The two of them had become nearly inseparable. Despite their best intentions, neither of them were true to their word, taking every opportunity they had to steal away on another horse ride, kissing beneath the oak tree that had swiftly become “their spot,” and returning to Foxwood at different times to avoid looking suspicious.
At this point, however, Winnie didn’t care if others found out about their budding romance. She was going to prove her abilities this time if it was the last thing she did—not because she wanted to but because she had to.
As the weeks flew by and her attachment to Matthew and his family grew, she began to feel the weight of what would occur if she didn’t succeed.
She couldn’t face the humiliation of begging for another chance from Mr. Wintour, which meant she’d have to go crawling back to New York, or worse, crawling back to Dad, who would take it upon himself to find her more work. She’d never hear the end of it from him or her family. She’d be the one who failed again. The one who embarrassed them again .
More than that, more than the stress of returning to her time as a New York consultant or facing her family, if Winnie failed, she also had to face her reality with Matthew sooner. What would happen if she was forced to leave early? Would they be able to stay together, her life in New York and his in Yorkshire?
She didn’t know what sort of future she had—if any—at Foxwood or with Matthew. But what she did know was that if she wanted the chance to see what could become of the two of them, she had to succeed this time. She had to prove to everyone that she could make it at Foxwood. She had to prove to Dad that she could make it.
Because as much as she liked to pretend otherwise, as much as she’d grown in her efforts to ride horses, to trust Matthew, and to become humble enough to take advice for the festival, she was still absolutely out-of-her-mind with fear at the thought of embarrassing Dad again.
Every day the festival inched closer, she grew more and more unsettled, despite her desperate need to remain focused. Because she was still a Knox, no matter what she liked to pretend. And as a Knox, she could no longer accept failure.
The first day of the event arrived sooner than anyone was prepared for. And yet, somehow, as Winnie wandered the grounds of the medieval festival, she couldn’t believe her eyes.
They’d done it. They’d actually done it.
Not only were the grounds filled with hundreds of guests, more than twenty booths, and dozens of opportunities for historical engagement, education, and enrichment, but the sun was shining after a week of rain, and smiles stretched across the guests’ faces in countless numbers.
Things weren’t perfect, of course. She still had hiccups to swallow and wrinkles to iron out, but overall, she couldn’t believe how well the festival was turning out.
Taking a minute to herself for the first time in what felt like weeks, Winnie walked around to admire the work alone, greeting guests and workers along the way in her jeans and wellies—that Char had permanently gifted to her.
She loved those horrible little boots, each step making her smile as she passed by the archery and the ax throwing, the maypole and the photo-op stalks.
Next, she observed the armorist, the female farrier, and the blacksmith who had come down from Scotland—thanks to a suggestion from Matthew’s friend, Graham—their tents and beyond filled with guests asking questions about their processes.
Beside them were more booths with wood carvers, professional painters, calligraphy artists, storytellers, puppet shows, glass blowers, and a dozen more tents overflowing with local goods for sale from people who lived in Grassington and other neighboring villages.
Further up were the food tents. The cabbage chowder had been replaced with huge turkey legs and bread bowls, and the smell of roasted meat, warm beef stew, bread, and all manner of sweets—from plum tarts to sugared almonds—tickled her nose and caused her stomach to rumble in protest that it wasn’t already being filled with such delectable foods.
It turned out that hiring a professional historical cook to help Mrs. Porter ended up being one of their saving graces, as the feedback for the food was already coming in as more than favorable.
Winnie paused behind a group gathered in the center of the booths, watching in delight as the juggler launched egg after egg into the air, handling them with ease.
The entertainment they’d found was stellar this time. Along with the juggler to occupy those waiting in lines, they’d also hired a flame breather, a few jesters, acrobatics, and even a fortuneteller, played by their very own Mrs. Birdwhistle—each entertainer and each actor dressed in bright costumes reminiscent of the medieval era.
One of Winnie’s favorite activities was the dragon being fought off by children playing princesses and knights, each dressed in gowns or armor as they fought off the terror—who just so happened to be played by Char’s now-boyfriend. The excitement on the kids’ faces and the joy each parent clearly exuded was enough to make Winnie’s day entirely .
After defeating the dragon, each of the children were rewarded with a complimentary plastic scepter, sword, or crown, making the day of both child and parent alike.
Fortunately, Winnie also had the foresight to hire a photographer—a freelancer from London, Liam Everhart—to capture those moments.
Winnie found him taking photos of the kids attacking the dragon, and she wandered up to him to see how things were going.
“Excellent,” he said, his voice was buttery smooth. He flipped through some of the photos to show her. “My wife said the knights had come out now, so I’ll be headed up that way shortly to capture them next.”
“Perfect,” Winnie said. “I’ll go up there now myself.”
She left the photographer to his business, then made her way to the booth where his wife, Claire, had set up flower crowns and small bouquets for sale—all items from a flower shop she ran down in London.
The husband and wife had come as a package deal, and Winnie was glad of it, as the line trailing out from the woman’s booth was twice as long as anyone else’s.
“Everything all right, Claire?” Winnie asked as she walked past.
Claire beamed. “More than all right,” she said, her American accent standing out to Winnie after so long being surrounded by so many British ones.
The two had a great deal to chat about over the last couple of days, once they’d discovered they were both from the States, and Winnie had been glad to have found a new friend in someone.
“Liam said you spotted the knights?” Winnie asked next.
“Yes, up by the armory tent,” Claire said.
Winnie nodded her thanks, then made her way toward the historical section of the festival, where exhibits of armor, shields, horse-wear, and other artifacts were put up on display.
Sure enough, as her eyes scanned the area, she found two of the knights chatting with a group gathered around them, one of them posing for a picture with a gaggle of teenage girls, and the other, Matthew, speaking with a family with young children.
Winnie had been relieved when they’d all agreed to walk around the crowds before the tournament, hoping to ramp up the guests’ interest in watching the joust.
By the looks of it, it seemed to be working.
She watched Matthew for a minute, admiring the armor covering every inch of his body, though he held his helmet in his hand.
As he moved from the family, the teenagers, who had been speaking to the other knight, came up to speak with him, saying he looked just like Sir Ulrick from Gelderland, and Winnie couldn’t help but smile. That had been her first impression of Matthew, too.
She admired him for a minute, his shoulders in the armor, his curly hair styled to perfection, the smile on his lips as he posed for photo after photo. How had she, Winnie Knox, been so lucky to have won his favor?
She didn’t know how long she’d been staring until Matthew turned his gaze on her, and her heart leapt.
His eyes remained on her, that same old sultry smirk that had filled her dreams for weeks now filling her mind awake.
The girls asked for another picture, but Matthew rested his gauntleted hand on his heart and spoke with them. “Alas,” he began, “I must bid you all adieu, as I speak with my fair lady boss yonder.”
Winnie grinned. The idea for the knights to speak in such a way had been his, much to everyone’s surprise. Well, everyone’s surprise but Winnie’s, of course.
To her delight, he strode directly toward her, his armor clanking as he passed by others, nodding his head to them before reaching her.
“Greetings, my lady,” he said with as much of a bow as he could manage in his armor.
“Good morning, Sir Matthew,” she said with as much of a restrained smile as she could manage. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“Ah how could a humble knight not, being treated with such love and wonder by everyone around him?”
“Particularly by the ladies?” she asked, raising a teasing brow.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. I do apologize. I fear flattery sneaketh into my brain and muddleth my senses.”
She almost laughed at his words.
“But allow me to make it up to you, my fair Lady Winifred.” Without warning, he knelt down in front of her, taking her hand in both of his and peering up at her. “My mind of late hath been occupied solely by you, my lady.”
“Oh?” she asked, glancing around as people stopped to watch them, thinking it was all part of the act.
Winnie couldn’t even tell if he was in earnest or if he was still in character. Either way, this would hardly help the gossip that was no doubt already abounding between them.
Oh, well. If the staff hadn’t figured out they were together by now, they wouldn’t care anyway.
“Indeed,” he continued, “so much so that I can hardly sleep due to images of thy matchless face. But I shan’t gild the lily further. Sparest thou a moment of thy time to speak with I, a humble knight? Not this moment, of course. But later, perhaps? If thou wouldst be so willing.”
She hesitated, leaning forward as the crowd continued to gather. “Are you being serious or is this part of the whole knight thing?” she asked in a whisper.
He stared, eyes mooning up at her. “Oh, I am in earnest, my lady, with all of my heart.”
She couldn’t help but smile at his dedication to his role, even if she was still slightly unsure if he was serious. “All right, sure. We can chat.”
“Oh!” He delivered a deep sigh, closing his eyes. “How happy thou hast made me, my Lady Winifred. Words cannot express the joy thou has bestowed upon me with your mere smile. Now, I shall surely win this tournament for you.”
“All right, great. Now get back to work.” She tossed her head toward the tournament grounds with a look of amusement.
“Oh, yes, yes, of course, my lady.” He rose, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. Her flesh tingled as he lingered a moment longer than necessary—though far, far less than what she would have preferred.
Finally, he straightened, winked in her direction, and sauntered away.
The crowd around her dispersed, as did her blush, and Winnie blew out a slow breath. What did he want to speak with her about? Something festival and work related? Or, dare she hope, did he wish to speak of their future?
How she wished for the latter.