Winterset, page 21
“I need a book for a reading I am hosting. A ghost story.”
“We have plenty. They are quite popular these days. Follow me.” He led me to a bookcase and showed me which shelf to search.
As I glanced over the titles, I feigned interest in ghost stories, asking if he knew about any local ones to cover my true intentions. But my inquiries led nowhere, and I left the shop with nothing but a borrowed book.
As I exited, I heard a familiar voice say, “Mr. Jennings.”
I turned and saw Lord Markham. “How do you do, Lord Markham?”
“Very well, thank you. Is that a book for our ghost-story reading?” He indicated the book tucked under my arm.
“It is,” I said, brandishing the book.
“I’m looking forward to the reading. How are preparations coming along?”
“I am ready, but Winterset is not.”
“Well, ready or not,” Lord Markham chuckled, “this reading will happen. I promised to hold you to it, remember? And even if I did not, Miss Dalton and her mother would.” He lowered his voice. “Word has it they are already assembling Miss Dalton’s wedding trousseau.”
Miss Dalton.
Gads!
I had not thought about the young lady since the day we’d been introduced at church.
Would that I could get out of this whole affair—both the reading and her interest in me—but if I canceled, she and her mother might call on me unannounced, and that would be much worse. Whether I liked it or not, I was stuck.
Bexley met me at the door and took my hat and coat. “Welcome home, sir. How was your visit to town?”
“Unproductive.” I sighed, the weight of the morning’s disappointment still heavy on my shoulders. “Where is she?”
“The drawing room, sir. With Charlie.”
“Thank you.” I walked in that direction.
As I approached, the sound of laughter—Kate’s laughter—floated in the air, slowing my step. I paused at the threshold, the scene inside the drawing room catching me off guard. Kate sat comfortably on the settee, her face lit with amusement, and Charlie stood in front of her, reading a poem in an animated voice.
“. . . And so the moon, with her silver spoon, stirred the stars into a fine, twinkling broth!”
Kate laughed, the sound bright and uninhibited. Her eyes sparkled with genuine delight, and her cheeks were rosy.
How had Charlie managed to make her laugh so freely?
A sharp pang of something unfamiliar twisted in my chest. Irritation, perhaps? But why? It would be irrational. I’d asked Charlie to look after Kate while I was out of residence, after all.
I was probably overtired.
“Ah, but beware the midnight spoon, for it stirs the heart as well as the stars!” Charlie concluded with a bow.
“Bravo!” Kate leaped to her feet, clapping as if she couldn’t contain her joy. She seemed so much lighter today. It was as though Charlie had unlocked a sense of happiness in her that I had struggled to reach.
I cleared my throat, drawing their attention.
“Mr. Jennings!” Kate gasped softly in surprise and smiled up at me. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Only a moment.” I pushed off from the doorframe and walked fully into the room. “Good poem?”
“It was a terrible poem.” Kate looked at Charlie, and they shared a laugh. “But also amusing. Will you join us?”
“Perhaps a little later,” I said to her, then to Charlie, “I need to speak with you in my study for a moment.”
“Certainly,” he said and closed his notebook. “Don’t let the silver spoon stir up too much trouble while I’m gone,” he said to Kate, then followed me out of the room.
She laughed.
My chest tightened. A casual familiarity had grown between them in my absence. It was as though they shared some private world where I did not belong.
This was more than irritation, I realized. This was something visceral, something that was twisting painfully inside me.
I glanced at Kate before leaving the drawing room.
She watched me, her expression unreadable, and I wondered if she sensed my turmoil.
I gave her a small smile, hoping to reassure her, then led Charlie to my study.
I closed the study door more abruptly than I’d intended.
Charlie raised his eyebrows. “You all right, Granger?”
“What did you mean by your last remark to Miss Lockwood?” I asked. “About the silver spoon?”
“Nothing.” Charlie laughed. “Just a line from one of my ridiculous poems that she found funny.”
“I see.” It would be problematic if they weren’t getting along, so part of me was glad they were, but another part of me disliked how Charlie already seemed to know Kate in a way I didn’t.
“What was it you needed to talk to me about?” Charlie asked.
“I wanted to tell you that I didn’t learn anything more about Mr. Cavendish in town today.”
“That’s all?” Charlie asked.
“I thought you would want to know, seeing as I enlisted your help in protecting Kate.”
He studied me intently but said nothing.
“You may go now, Charlie. I’m sure we both have plenty to do before dinner.”
I lingered in the study after Charlie left, staring at the closed door. Our conversation had done nothing to soothe my agitation; it had only inflamed it.
Hoping to clear my head, I returned to the drawing room, intending to find Kate and suggest a walk. But she wasn’t there. I quickly searched the common areas in the house, but I couldn’t find her.
I returned to my study and forced myself to focus on work, drowning out my unsettled emotions with calculations and correspondence. The hours slipped by, and finally, evening shadows signaled it was time to dress for dinner.
When I entered my bedchamber, Charlie looked up from brushing my dinner coat.
I shrugged off the coat I had on, but it stuck on my arm. I struggled for a moment, but my shoulders were too tense to make much progress.
Charlie moved to help me, but I held up a hand, stopping him. I finally slipped my arms from the sleeves, then balled up the blasted garment and threw it on the bed.
Charlie glanced at the coat and then at me.
“You look like you want to say something,” I said.
“You would not like what I have to say.”
Because he had feelings for Kate?
“Do you want to say something?” he asked.
To him? “No.” I moved to the mirror.
Charlie sighed. “We were reading poetry to pass the time, Granger. And only because you asked me to watch after her while you were gone.”
“If you’re insinuating that I’m jealous, I’m not.”
“Aren’t you?” Charlie challenged.
“No,” I said with all the energy of a sulking schoolboy. “But you’re right. I don’t want you to court her.”
“That much is obvious. Your reasoning, however, is not.”
“She’s been through a lot,” I explained. “If you pursue her and it ends badly, she has nowhere else to go.”
“That isn’t why,” Charlie said. “And just so we are clear, I would never do that to you.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“What are you saying?” Charlie asked.
I couldn’t answer that. Not because I didn’t want to but because I had no idea what I was saying. My mind was a mess.
“Do you want to know what I think?” he asked.
“Not particularly.”
“I think you are jealous,” Charlie said anyway. “You like Miss Lockwood more than you’re willing to admit; you enjoy feeling needed by her, and I think you like how it feels to belong here with her. And that scares you because you know this situation can’t last. That’s what I think.”
“Well, you’re wrong, Your Grace,” I ground out.
“Am I?”
“Yes. No.” Deuces! I didn’t know anymore. “I’m not going to throw her out, Charlie. She doesn’t want to leave.”
“She doesn’t want to leave, or you don’t want her to leave?”
I said nothing.
“Have you asked Miss Lockwood what she wants?” he pressed.
“I don’t need to. I know how she feels about Winterset. It’s her home. She has no one she can turn to for help.”
He gave me a disapproving look. “This is your home. You can help her.”
I held his stare as his words sank in. Blast! He was right. About all of it. I didn’t want Kate to leave. I’d told myself I was helping her hide here because that was what she wanted. But was it? She could likely live a safer and more fulfilled life elsewhere. And I could have—no, I should have—offered to help her leave.
But I hadn’t.
Because the thought of Kate leaving bothered me more than her staying.
Charlie was right, I did like Kate. More than I should, probably. She was living under my protection, for heaven’s sake.
I clawed at my cravat, which was suddenly too constricting, and ripped it from my neck.
Charlie scowled at the crumpled cloth. “Do you know how long it took me to starch and iron that?”
I slumped onto the edge of my bed, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.
When had this happened? And more importantly, what was I to do about it?
Kate
My pulse pounded.
I’d overheard every word of Oliver and Charlie’s conversation. I hadn’t meant to, but I was drawing in the antechamber that connected the master’s and mistress’s bedchambers when they had entered to dress for dinner.
Earlier, when I’d seen Oliver leaning against the drawing room doorframe, I’d had a sudden desire to draw his portrait. He’d looked so handsome with his hair all windswept and cheeks ruddy from his ride. So when he and Charlie had gone to the study to talk, I had sneaked upstairs to the antechamber, where no one would see me draw Oliver’s likeness. When I’d heard their voices, I’d stood to leave, but then they’d said my name, and I’d stayed.
Oliver cared for me, that much was clear, but he was also conflicted, torn between what he wanted and what he thought was right. I’d known since the day I’d found out he was coming to Winterset that I could not continue living here with him forever in his company and care, but more and more every day, I wanted to.
A knock came at my bedchamber door, cutting off my thoughts, and my heart leaped.
I hurried to my feet, quietly closing the antechamber door behind me, and then hid my notebook under the edge of my mattress.
“Kate?” Mrs. Owensby said, knocking again.
I opened the door.
“You’re not ready for dinner.” She eyed me, her gaze sharpening when she saw my hands.
My charcoal-covered hands, I realized too late. “I may have gotten distracted drawing and lost track of time,” I confessed.
She shook her head in disapproval. “Now, Kate—”
“I didn’t mean to,” I said, and it was true. We’d been apart all day, and I’d looked forward to dining with Oliver tonight. But I was also relieved that I would not have to face him. How could I sit so near him knowing what I did and not turn a deep shade of vermilion?
“What shall I tell Mr. Jennings?” Mrs. Owensby asked.
“Tell him . . . that I . . .” I bit my lip and shrugged.
She sighed. “I’ll tell him you are tired tonight and are taking a tray in your room. But he will expect you to come down for breakfast tomorrow, so don’t stay up too late drawing.”
Unfortunately, I did stay up too late drawing, but I wanted to see Oliver badly enough that I had no trouble getting out of bed and being on time for breakfast. Still, he was already waiting for me in the dining hall.
We said good morning, and he helped me with my chair and served me food. Then he sat and opened his newspaper. There was a tightness in him that hadn’t been there before yesterday. His shoulders were stiff and his jaw set, and he was concentrating far harder than normal on his newspaper.
What was he thinking about? What Charlie had said, no doubt.
Should I tell him I’d overheard their conversation so that we could discuss our options? It was obvious my presence was making him uncomfortable, but I worried that he was strategizing how to change our situation. I also worried that he wasn’t. I didn’t know what I wanted: to stay or to go, and that worried me too.
“What are you reading?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
“Forgive me for being rude.” He lowered the paper and moved to set it aside.
“Don’t stop reading on my account. I know you enjoy reading the newspaper over breakfast.”
“I must confess, it is a little disconcerting that you know that fact about me. I wonder . . .” Oliver glanced at me sideways, as if looking at me fully would be too difficult. “What else do you know about me?”
My face warmed. There was no way he could know I’d overheard his conversation, could he?
He raised a brow at me. “I can see from your reaction that I have much to be embarrassed of.”
“No,” I said too quickly. “You have always behaved like a perfect gentleman.”
“Now I know you are lying.” He chuckled.
“Well, save the time you were clearing the drive and you cursed heaven for the rain.”
“You were watching me work that day?” he said, looking at his plate.
“There was little else to do in the attic.” I shrugged.
“Interesting.” He finally met my gaze fully. “I worked shirtless that day.”
“I looked away before you took it off,” I lied, and I was sure he knew it because my face felt like it was on fire.
“I’m sure you did.” He gave me a wicked grin, then picked up his newspaper again. “What section would you prefer to read?” He thumbed through the pages. “The political column? Current events?”
Was he teasing me?
When I didn’t answer, he looked at me in question, and I was surprised to see that he seemed in earnest, if not nervous. Maybe he didn’t know what columns interested young ladies. “The fashion or Society column would be preferable.”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I’m afraid you can’t have either of those columns. Clearly, they are my favorites.” He made a show of straightening his already straight cravat.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Ah, yes. Perhaps you could pick out a few new toppers. I’m sure you don’t have enough already.”
“It’s true,” he agreed. “Someone confused them with flowerpots, if you can believe it.” He grinned and handed me my preferred columns.
We passed the rest of breakfast reading in companionable silence. I’d grown fond of Oliver’s teasing manner and the relaxed banter we shared, but I liked the easy silence we shared just as much.
When he decided it was time for me to leave, I would miss mornings like this. I would miss him.
After we finished our food, I hoped he would ask me to walk in the garden again, but he excused himself and went upstairs to work on the repairs in one of the eastern bedchambers. I would have asked if he wanted my help, but I got the impression that he was avoiding me.
So I passed the morning hours by myself in the drawing room, sketching with the supplies and paper Oliver had gifted me. As much as I loved creating, I would have rather worked with Oliver on the repairs. It had been so enjoyable to work with him on the drawing room. Which made me wonder, Were the wall papers dry enough to paint?
To my delight, they were!
Eager, I spread out all the supplies Oliver had purchased for the project and covered the floor with a Holland cover. It had taken me months to paint this room the last time, but I did not have months, so I had to be smart about where I started in case I could not finish in time for his party.
I decided to start with the swath of wall right under the newly repaired window.
It felt heavenly to hold a paintbrush in my hand.
I dabbed some paint onto a tray and mixed the colors to create the correct shade, then started painting the pattern.
Later that afternoon, when Oliver finally came downstairs, I was still sitting on the floor. I pretended not to hear him. It was childish, but I felt confused by both my feelings and his, and I disliked how he’d avoided me all day.
“You’ve made good progress,” he said.
I took a moment to finish the pattern I was working on, then turned to look at him.
He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame again. He wasn’t wearing his greatcoat today, but he looked just as handsome in his waistcoat and rolled shirt sleeves. And the book tucked under his arm only added to my attraction.
He grinned.
Oh dear, I was staring at him.
I turned back to my task. What had he said? “Not as much progress as I’d like. But I’m working on the parts your guests will see first, so you don’t need to worry.”
He walked closer and crouched next to me, observing the pattern. “It looks wonderful, Kate. I am impressed.”
“Thank you.”
Oliver stood and held out his hands to help me stand too.
“How are the repairs on the bedchambers coming along?” I asked as we walked to the settee.
“Good. It took all morning, but I rehung the peeling wall papers and fixed the curtain rods. I still need to level the uneven floorboards, but it’s looking better.”
“I’m glad.”
We sat, and Oliver balanced the book on his knees.
“New book?” I asked.
“Oh, no. I borrowed it for the ghost-story reading. I was hoping you might help me select a passage.”
