Page 8 of Winning Winnie’s Hand

He held up a finger. “Ah, excellent question. I do not. That is because the amount of history and research laced throughout each story in the Harry Potter series is comparable to a simplified history book. So while it may be set in a fantastical world, it should still be known to a degree for its historical accuracy.”

Winnie couldn’t hide her smile. Honestly, he was adorable—and his passion for history and apparently Harry Potter were admirable. She’d had a passion for things once, too. Horses. Riding. Jumping.

But that was a long time ago.

“So,” she continued, if only to distract herself from the miserable thoughts of her past, “I assume your festival takes the cake from Harry Potter and A Knight’s Tale when it comes to historical accuracy?”

Matthew shifted back to his horse and continued. “Absolutely. We all pride ourselves on the quality of the entertainment we provide. Our festival is far more historically accurate than any movie you’ll ever see—or any event you’ll ever attend.”

“That’s quite the statement,” she said.

“Such is the level of my confidence, my lady,” he said with another wink.

He certainly was a flirtatious knight.

“I assure you,” he continued in his normal accent, “if you wish to know about the medieval era, come to the festival we’re holding tomorrow. You’ll be an expert in no time.”

Was he really inviting her to join him? Or was this more of a generic comment? Either way, Winnie was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that someone jousted for an actual living.

She didn’t know much about renaissance faires or medieval festivals, and she’d only ever watched fake jousting done by Heath Ledger. Although, in high school, she’d seen people gathering in groups, dressing up, and playing make-believe together with swords and armor.

To be honest, it wasn’t really her thing. Armor, and history, and damsels in distress. But to each their own, she supposed.

“You said you’re expected here, then?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah.” She was more at ease, knowing the man worked there. She could be deliberate in what she shared or didn’t share more easily now. “Mr. Wintour has asked me to do some work for him.”

She omitted her actual job title. She didn’t know of very many people who actually liked consultants. Okay, she didn’t know of anyone who did. Honestly, she didn’t even like herself sometimes in this line of work. But Dad was proud of her for once in her life, so what was a girl to do?

Although, now that she thought about it, maybe “proud” was too strong a word. “Tolerated” fit better.

“Some work,” Matthew said, repeating her words. He lowered the stirrup and unbuckled his knight’s helmet from the side of the saddle, his features still hidden from her. “So you’ve been hired as a consultant.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “I, well, I…” she stammered.

Finally, he faced her with a knowing look. “Thy hesitation revealeth much, my lady.”

She fought off a smile. Fine. She would relent. “How did you know?” she asked.

“The Wintours have hired many consultants over the years. I merely put two-and-two together.”

She looked away. Had they really hired that many consultants? Neither her dad nor Mr. Wintour had mentioned that. Well, it didn’t matter. She was good at her job—the only one she’d ever been good at—so she knew she would succeed where every other consultant hadn’t. Such was the luxury of attempting to start up one’s own business a number of times and failing a number of times. With all that experience, how could she not know exactly how to help businesses thrive?

“Well, I wish you luck,” Matthew continued. “The Wintours can be a crotchety bunch at times.”

She hesitated. He was either complaining about his employers to be truthful or to try to get her to be more truthful. Better to be safe than sorry, though.

“Well, thank you for the luck,” she returned. “But I won’t need it.”

He looked at her with one eyebrow raised in a challenge. “Really?”

She nodded. “I’ve heard of nothing but good things about Mr. Wintour, so I’m not worried.”

“And who have you heard these words from?”

The light outside was growing dimmer, the rain still tapping against the top of her umbrella. Matthew—had he given her his last name? She was too tired to recall—still stood in the midst of it all, droplets dripping from the ends of his dark blond curls, though he’d pushed most of his hair away from his brow.

He looked…Well, he looked good, dang it. Moisture glinting across his features, enhancing the lines of his cheekbones and edges of his lips. Small drops of rain clung to his scruff and accentuated all the right angles of his jaw.