Page 13 of Winning Winnie’s Hand

Drawing the most attention in the room, however, was the grand fireplace, white and crafted in the highest of qualities. A warm fire crackled inside the hearth, and dark leather chairs curved round the heat.

Most rooms of such opulence, holding so many colors and frames and trimmings, would have caused Winnie to feel claustrophobic. But this space made her feel as if she were receiving a warm embrace from an old, friendly grandfather.

As she turned around, such a feeling wasn’t hard to understand as she faced the curve-legged desk with Mr. Wintour sitting behind it, a cheerful and welcoming smile on his lips.

He hadn’t even said a word to her yet, and she already knew, this man was warmth in a box.

“Miss Knox, welcome,” he said, standing from his desk and motioning for her to come farther into the room. “Come in.”

“Winnie, please,” she corrected, reaching forward with an outstretched hand. “You have an absolutely gorgeous home.”

“Oh, thank you,” Mr. Wintour said, taking her hand in turn. His handshake was warm and firm. “And it’s Arthur.”

Winnie nodded, though she had no intention of using his first name. She never did when it came to people who hired her, as per Dad’s advice.

“Well, Winnie,” Mr. Wintour continued, “you must be absolutely exhausted. What do you say to having a hot drink by the fire?”

Winnie’s nerves had been just what they always were when starting a job—uncertain. But with the man’s unassuming smile and kind gestures, it was the strangest thing. She was instantly put at ease.

She knew next to nothing about him, other than the fact that he and Dad had met at Oxford and had remained friends ever since. So how could Winnie feel as if she’d just stepped into an old friend’s home?

“I would love that,” she returned.

Mr. Wintour looked to the door where Mr. Fernsby had remained since Winnie had been invited in. The butler nodded at once, then left the room in silence as the master of the estate faced Winnie again.

“Please,” he said, his bright blue eyes crinkling at the sides, “take a seat.”

He moved around his desk, and Winnie was distracted for a brief moment by the cane he leaned heavily upon. The man couldn’t be over fifty-five. Did he suffer some injury to require the use of the walking stick?

She didn’t allow her eyes or her curiosity to linger for long, crossing the room to the hearth before taking a seat directly in front of the fire.

Mr. Wintour took a seat kitty corner to her own, wincing slightly as he sat down, though the pained look was swiftly replaced with a smile as he lay the cane to the side of him. Salt-and-pepper colored his hair at the sides in a dignified manner, matching well with the comfortable-looking blue sweater and black slacks he wore.

“So,” he began, the smile still on his lips, “you’re here.”

He had to be one of the happiest men she’d ever laid eyes on. Dad had said he was very respectable, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about Mr. Wintour being so smiley.

“I can’t believe I finally made it,” she said. “I’m so sorry for the delay. I usually pride myself on my punctuality, but this trip has humbled me.”

He brushed it aside with a flippant hand in the air. “Ah, it’s no trouble at all. Though I was afraid I’d have to send out a search party had you taken much longer.”

They shared a small laugh, and she was caught by how handsome he was. She supposed that was the British in him.

He paused for a minute, his eyes taking in the sight of her. She didn’t feel scrutinized. Only…studied. “You look more like your mother than your father, you’ll be glad to hear,” he finally said.

She smiled. “I am glad to hear that. But I didn’t know you’d met her.”

“Only briefly. I made the trip to your father’s wedding celebrations.”

Her brow rose. Dad hadn’t mentioned that either. “Really?”

“Yes, it was the last time we saw each other, I’m afraid,” Mr. Wintour said, his smile slightly fading. “Time gets away from us, doesn’t it? But I suppose with friends, it usually feels as if no time has passed at all.”

Winnie could only pretend to agree. She had never been one to have many friends. The ones she had were typically work-based and disappeared whenever she moved.

“So how are your family?” Mr. Wintour asked next, his accent smooth and timeless. “Your parents and siblings?”

“They’re all doing really great,” she said with a nod. “We’re scattered around the States and Europe, so we don’t see each other in person very often, but we try to make time to get together online and in chats.”