Page 13 of Winterset

Oliver

The postmaster was no help at all.

I sighed as I exited his office and stalked to where Charlie stood in the lane with our horses.

“Did you learn anything to help you locate Mr. Moore?” Charlie asked.

“Not a thing.” I swung up into my saddle, and we started for Winterset.

“Apparently, each of my letters was retrieved from the postmaster by a different man, and the postmaster had not recognized any of them.

Whoever this Mr. Moore is—perhaps he is not even one man but many men—is clever and careful.

“As soon as I informed Mr. Moore that I was returning to England to take up residence, he disappeared. My last letter with instructions to ready the manor was not even collected. The postmaster had to have it delivered to Winterset.”

“I’m sorry, Granger.”

“As am I.”

“At least the tenant cottages are in good condition,” Charlie said, attempting to cheer me.

“Truly,” I said. It was a small miracle that the structures were sound, the lanes that led to the cottages were clean, and most importantly, the inhabitants were healthy. “I am more than grateful, but what about the manor? What about Mr. Moore and my money?”

“You must forget Mr. Moore,” Charlie said. “You have followed the only lead, and he is gone. Dwelling on the past will not profit your future.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, you might be right,” I said.

“Of course I am right.”

I gave him a long look. Charlie was not usually so vehement. “For as certain as you are of your own opinions, Charlie, you should have been born a duke.”

“I was. Didn’t I tell you?” Charlie quipped.

“No.” I laughed lightly. “I daresay you did not.”

He shrugged. “My mistake.”

“All right, then, Your Grace . In your lofty opinion, what should I do about Winterset?”

Charlie sobered, his teasing manner falling away. “Like I said, I think you should set aside what has happened in your past and focus on the future.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple. You have enough money to begin repairs, and the income that you will now be collecting from your tenants will carry you from month to month. You will have to economize, to be sure, but if you are prudent, you can do this.”

“Prudence is not a virtue my father instilled in me.” If anything, it was the opposite. As the second son of an earl, I’d lived a life of luxury and opulence.

“You cannot tell me you aren’t excited about renovating Winterset,” Charlie said, the clip-clop of our horses’ hooves punctuating his sentence.

“ Excited is far too optimistic a word.” I stared at the road before us.

“Eager, then?” Charlie pressed on.

“Quite the opposite.”

“Tell me you are, at the very least, curious.”

I couldn’t deny that my mind was muddling through possibilities for the estate. “I suppose.”

“Curiosity.” Charlie grinned. “That will do well enough.”

“Will it?”

He nodded. “Curiosity has inspired many men to accomplish many great things.”

Even if I accomplished the daunting task of bringing Winterset into this century, it would not be considered a great accomplishment but merely fixing my previous mistakes. “I’m still not convinced that it can be done. With the state of my finances, how would I even hire a steward?”

“You could manage things yourself,” Charlie said.

I eyed him skeptically. “You mean, act as my own steward?”

He shrugged as though the idea weren’t completely absurd. “You are better at numbers than three stewards combined.”

“Three stewards combined? That makes no sense.”

“See! You are already catching errors.”

I huffed a laugh. “Shall I act as my own butler as well? I could cook and clean too?”

“Oh, no.” Charlie made a show of shaking his head. “Mrs. Owensby would never allow that.”

“At least we agree on something.” I sighed. “To pull this off, I would have to live like a pauper.”

“You might,” Charlie said. “But I daresay that is more agreeable to you than the alternative.”

I considered the alternative: returning to Summerhaven and begging my brother for assistance, money that, thanks to our father, Damon did not have to spare.

And even if he did, why would he give it to me?

He thought me vain and selfish. I had been when last he’d seen me.

But I’d experienced much over the last two years on my Grand Tour, and I believed myself better for it.

But my current situation would do nothing to improve Damon’s opinion.

My family was better off without me.

I thought about the long list of repairs I’d written in my notebook. “Who will do the work?” I wondered aloud.

“ You will,” Charlie said.

I scoffed. “A gentleman cannot work on his own estate.”

“That is your father speaking, not you. I daresay you prefer a little hard work to dwelling in squalor.”

“Your faith in me is misplaced, Charlie.”

“No,” he said simply, and there was something about his belief in me that made me wish to live up to it, however impossible.

When Charlie and I left earlier that afternoon, I’d instructed Bexley to remove the ivy from the gate and clear a small path.

As we entered through Winterset’s front gate, I was pleased to find he had done as I’d requested.

Walking my horse through the gate unimpeded felt like a small victory.

One that brought me a surprising amount of pleasure and pride.

The gravel drive and surrounding grounds were still a disaster though. I’d not yet had time to explore past the courtyard, but I assumed the walled garden and grounds behind the manor were in just as poor condition.

When we reached the putrid fountain, we climbed down from our horses, and Charlie took our mounts to the stables.

We had no stablehands to tend to the horses, but thankfully, the stables were in decent condition.

Nothing compared to the fancy one Damon had begun building—had undoubtedly finished building by now—at Summerhaven but serviceable.

As I walked to the front door, I let my gaze roam over the house and surveyed the facade.

First, the base, which blessedly appeared level, then the ground and first floor, and finally, the attic.

The stone structure appeared sound. Luckily, it was made of sturdy stone, not wattle and daub, but whoever had designed this house seemed to care more for function than form.

The wings were not symmetrical, and the mismatched windows were unevenly placed.

I counted at least three separate styles.

Had the architect not considered the outside design when deciding where to put the windows?

There was no rhyme or reason to their placement.

I shook my head and continued up the front steps.

At the door, Bexley greeted me with a bow and collected my things. Another improvement from our first encounter yesterday. “Mrs. Owensby is nearly finished with your dinner, sir. When would you like it served?”

“As soon as possible, please. I will take a tray in my study tonight.” Normally, I would dress for dinner and eat in the dining hall, but with Charlie preoccupied in the stables, I had no one to assist me in dressing.

And I hated to admit it, but I was anxious to open my ledgers and begin calculating the cost of repairs.

“Of course, sir,” Bexley said and moved toward the kitchen.

I crossed the entrance hall to the study and stepped inside. It was a fine room with a nice view of the grounds. Or rather, it would have a nice view once the grounds were cleared, the windows were washed, and the season spring.

Standing behind my desk, I looked down at my notebook and froze.

What the devil?

Several of my notes had been crossed off. I could still read the words, but that was not the point. Someone had entered this room without my permission, read my notes, and defaced my notebook.

I reached for my top desk drawer and pulled it open. Relief flooded me when I saw that my letters were still neatly stored in the drawer.

I quickly closed it and began pacing behind the desk. I scanned the room. Nothing else appeared out of order, but I felt ill-at-ease, like someone was watching me. I looked at the open door, half expecting to see Mrs. Owensby or Bexley standing at the threshold, but they weren’t there.

I rubbed my forehead, then reached for my notebook to study which items had been crossed off.

Vanquish ghost

Replace carpets

Repair uneven floorboards

Return Lockwood portraits

Repair water damage on western wall

Remove wall papers in the drawing room

Repair window casement

Replace mattresses

Repair curtain rods

Remove wall papers in eastern wing bedchambers

Repurpose the gallery into a billiard hall

Turn the white room into a hat room

There didn’t seem to be a commonality between all the items redacted. I looked over the list again. A few were directly related to the Lockwoods, such as removing their portraits, but not all. Vanquish ghost , yes; remove wall papers , no.

Had I made these redactions? I’d been overwhelmed by all the needed repairs, but no, I would remember doing something like this. Someone had been in this room, someone who had a preference for how things should be run at Winterset. And I had a good idea who it was.

Not two minutes later, Mrs. Owensby appeared at the study door with my dinner tray. She placed it on my desk in front of me, then stepped back, looking up to meet my gaze.

“Mrs. Owensby. Has anyone been in this room?” I asked, my voice stern.

Her brow furrowed. “No, sir.”

“You are sure?” I held her gaze and pointed at my notebook. “My notes have been defaced.”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t think I did that, do you?”

“Bexley was working to clear the gate of ivy all afternoon. Charlie was with me. And you were—”

“At the market.”

My confidence wavered.

“I needed to purchase provisions,” she continued, “f-for your meals. Meat, vegetables. Everything is in the kitchen. I can show you, if you desire.”

Lud , I’d scared her again.