that we simply had to attend her box this evening—she had to be the first person to host the Winnifred Crane.”
As Winnifred went white and George practically purple, Totty could only purr, “Like I said, dare I assume your excursion went well?”
“It . . . might not have gone exactly as planned,” Winn began cautiously.
“You knew about this the whole time, didn’t you?” George accused Totty. “You knew she was going to march into the Historical Society and destroy her good name with this joke . . .”
“Now, now, George,” Totty soothed, patting his hand in the politest, yet most dismissive manner possible. “I knew only that Winn had an appointment this afternoon, one you were not meant to tag along to—yet somehow you managed to lose me just as we were sitting down to the luncheon Leighton took whole minutes to prepare, and followed her. But I am very curious to find out what did happen.”
And so, Winn laid the story out for her. From the authorship of the papers by C. W. Marks to having her father’s letter of introduction drown in the fountain, to a Duke, of all people, playing her quiet yet effective champion, to seeing the Adam and Eve on the wall and her utter boldness to offer Lord Forrester a . . . wager of sorts.
“But it really isn’t a wager, as he loses nothing if I win and I lose nothing but face if I do not, but it seems I must plan a trip to the Continent posthaste,” she concluded. And then, the weight of the story hitting her, “Totty . . . do you think I might have a glass of sherry as well?”
“I’ll be damned if you are,” George growled like a wounded bear from his corner.
“Now, now,” Totty chided. “The girl is thirty years of age. I’m sure she can handle one small glass of sherry,” she said, pouring a rather liberally sized small glass for Winn.
“Not that!” George barked. “I’ll be damned if you think to travel all over the Continent.”
“You cannot stop me, George. As Totty said, I’m well past age. I have no need of guardianship.”
“I’ve never met anyone more in need of it!” he cried, practically laughing. “Before last week, you’d never been outside of Oxford—and barely outside of the libraries. It was ridiculously easy to follow you to Somerset House, simply because you had no idea how to get there. You think you can travel on your own to Basel, Switzerland?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” She narrowed her eyes. “But I have to try.”
“And how do you expect to fund this trip, Winnifred?” George countered. “Totty shouldn’t pay for it.”
“Can’t in any case—I’m a woman on a budget.” Totty lifted her glass of sherry to George.
“And you have no funds of your own,” he continued, coming to stand over her, looming—and due to his great advantage in height, and Winn’s seated position, George was a world-class loomer.
But Winn simply looked up and met his eye in a cold, hard stare. “And whose fault is that?” she accused.
George sucked in his breath and let it out in a great sigh. All the while holding Winn’s constant gaze.
“Heavens, if you two are going to talk about money again, I’m going to go scold Leighton for watering down this sherry,” Totty supplied, rising and drifting out of the room. Leaving Winn and George to stare daggers at each other.
“The only reason—” Winn began, breaking the silence.
“If your father—”
“The only reason I do not have my inheritance in place right now is you,” she finished.
“No, it’s not. If your father wanted you to have the paintings,” George argued, practically by rote, “he would have specified it in his will. He would have sourced the monies used to buy them.”
They had had this fight so often by now, Winnifred could almost predict what would be said next. She would argue that her father’s private collection of paintings was the result of lifelong dedication and the vast majority of his salary and earned funds. He specified in his
As Winnifred went white and George practically purple, Totty could only purr, “Like I said, dare I assume your excursion went well?”
“It . . . might not have gone exactly as planned,” Winn began cautiously.
“You knew about this the whole time, didn’t you?” George accused Totty. “You knew she was going to march into the Historical Society and destroy her good name with this joke . . .”
“Now, now, George,” Totty soothed, patting his hand in the politest, yet most dismissive manner possible. “I knew only that Winn had an appointment this afternoon, one you were not meant to tag along to—yet somehow you managed to lose me just as we were sitting down to the luncheon Leighton took whole minutes to prepare, and followed her. But I am very curious to find out what did happen.”
And so, Winn laid the story out for her. From the authorship of the papers by C. W. Marks to having her father’s letter of introduction drown in the fountain, to a Duke, of all people, playing her quiet yet effective champion, to seeing the Adam and Eve on the wall and her utter boldness to offer Lord Forrester a . . . wager of sorts.
“But it really isn’t a wager, as he loses nothing if I win and I lose nothing but face if I do not, but it seems I must plan a trip to the Continent posthaste,” she concluded. And then, the weight of the story hitting her, “Totty . . . do you think I might have a glass of sherry as well?”
“I’ll be damned if you are,” George growled like a wounded bear from his corner.
“Now, now,” Totty chided. “The girl is thirty years of age. I’m sure she can handle one small glass of sherry,” she said, pouring a rather liberally sized small glass for Winn.
“Not that!” George barked. “I’ll be damned if you think to travel all over the Continent.”
“You cannot stop me, George. As Totty said, I’m well past age. I have no need of guardianship.”
“I’ve never met anyone more in need of it!” he cried, practically laughing. “Before last week, you’d never been outside of Oxford—and barely outside of the libraries. It was ridiculously easy to follow you to Somerset House, simply because you had no idea how to get there. You think you can travel on your own to Basel, Switzerland?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” She narrowed her eyes. “But I have to try.”
“And how do you expect to fund this trip, Winnifred?” George countered. “Totty shouldn’t pay for it.”
“Can’t in any case—I’m a woman on a budget.” Totty lifted her glass of sherry to George.
“And you have no funds of your own,” he continued, coming to stand over her, looming—and due to his great advantage in height, and Winn’s seated position, George was a world-class loomer.
But Winn simply looked up and met his eye in a cold, hard stare. “And whose fault is that?” she accused.
George sucked in his breath and let it out in a great sigh. All the while holding Winn’s constant gaze.
“Heavens, if you two are going to talk about money again, I’m going to go scold Leighton for watering down this sherry,” Totty supplied, rising and drifting out of the room. Leaving Winn and George to stare daggers at each other.
“The only reason—” Winn began, breaking the silence.
“If your father—”
“The only reason I do not have my inheritance in place right now is you,” she finished.
“No, it’s not. If your father wanted you to have the paintings,” George argued, practically by rote, “he would have specified it in his will. He would have sourced the monies used to buy them.”
They had had this fight so often by now, Winnifred could almost predict what would be said next. She would argue that her father’s private collection of paintings was the result of lifelong dedication and the vast majority of his salary and earned funds. He specified in his
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