Page 2 of Winterset

Winterset’s rightful owner .

Absent owner. He’d never bothered to show his face here.

I gritted my teeth. Was Mr. Jennings really so arrogant that he could not learn the correct names of his household servants?

I rolled my eyes and continued reading.

As you requested in your last letter, I am sending you notice that my Grand Tour of the Continent is soon ending.

I shall take up residence at Winterset in four weeks’ time.

Staff should ready the manor for my imminent arrival.

I require the following: French-milled lavender soap, Scottish salmon, Portuguese port wine . ..

The list continued, but I scarcely skimmed a few lines before the letter slipped from my fingers and fluttered to the floor.

Bexley and Mrs. Owensby reached the top of the stairs, where I stood.

“Mr. Jennings is coming,” I said, and the reality that my safe situation was coming to an end made me sway. I grabbed the railing to steady myself, but the truth was just too heavy, and I lowered myself to the floor.

Bexley crouched in front of me. “Kate,” he said softly, and the concern in his eyes reminded me of the way Papa used to look at me when I was frightened during lightning storms.

Mrs. Owensby sat beside me and wrapped me in her arms. “It will be all right, child.”

“Will it?” Winterset was the only home I’d ever known, but it did not legally belong to me.

It belonged to Mr. Oliver Jennings, however unworthy I believed him to be.

I’d hidden here these past two years because I’d had no other choice, but now that he was taking up residence, what would become of me?

“Of course, it will. He has never shown up when he’s promised.

He was supposed to come to Winterset after your father”—she paused to clear the emotion from her voice—“after your father’s lease ended, but he did not.

Last year, we expected him to come, and again, he did not. Perhaps we will yet again be lucky.”

“In the past, his mother , Lady Winfield, wrote that he would come,” I said.

“This time, he has written. And not only that, but he has also included a detailed list of instructions. How he has the audacity to demand such luxuries when he has not sent a single cent to care for his estate is beyond my comprehension. We barely have any money to buy the essentials.”

Mrs. Owensby worried her lower lip.

I shook my head. As upset as I was about Mr. Jennings’s failings, his many faults were not my current concern. The only thing that really mattered right now was the fact that he was coming, and I was about to be displaced. “What am I to do?” My voice broke.

“We will find another place for you,” Mrs. Owensby said.

“You know as well as I that there is no other place for me,” I said.

By necessity, everyone who had ever known and loved me believed I was dead.

My life, as I had known it, had ended two years ago when I’d caught my intended, Mr. Cavendish, taking the moonlight with a maid in the garden a few days before our wedding at our engagement ball.

He’d insisted I still marry him, that the banns had been read, and he would not be made a fool.

When I refused and tried to walk away, he retaliated by grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking me back to him.

Then he’d ripped my bodice and kissed me against my will.

When Papa and a small group of other attendees found me, Mr. Cavendish made a convincing display of debauchery, ruining my reputation and trying to trap me into marriage.

I’d been crushed by his callous cruelty and had thought my life could not get any worse.

But my sorrows had been multiplied when Papa had challenged him to a duel to defend my honor and died later that day from his wounds.

The world felt cold and empty without Papa, the weight of my guilt and grief crushing.

On his deathbed, Papa had told me that as long as I stayed within Winterset’s walls, I would be safe from Mr. Cavendish.

I wasn’t sure why he’d believed I would be safe here, perhaps because he knew and believed in Mrs. Owensby’s and Bexley’s care of me, or it could have been because Winterset had been a safe haven for so many people before me.

I didn’t know, but miraculously, I had been kept safe in hiding here.

Mr. Cavendish had come to claim me that very day.

He’d stood at the door, his sinister face a mixture of anger and triumph.

As if in his killing Papa, I’d had no choice but to marry him.

I had again refused. He’d told me he would not allow me to tarnish his family’s good name and threatened that if I didn’t marry him, I would meet the same fate as my father.

Terror had gripped me. I had not known what would become of me, but I would not marry that monster.

So, like Joseph’s brothers of old, I had faked my death by throwing my pelisse, stained with Papa’s blood, over a cliff to the seashore below. When the garment had been found by local townspeople, a brief investigation had been conducted, and I had been presumed dead.

I knew I could not remain at Winterset forever, but neither could I have left. I’d had no money and no one to turn to, so I’d stayed under Mrs. Owensby’s and Bexley’s care.

For weeks, I worried that Mr. Cavendish would figure out the truth and come for me. I stayed strictly in the attic, watching from a small window. But ... he never did. And neither did Mr. Jennings.

Weeks passed, then months. Ivy grew over the gate, creating something of a sanctuary, and I began to trust Papa’s promise and to feel safe.

Safe , so long as I stayed within Winterset’s walls.

For nearly two years, I had lived one day at time, praying Mr. Jennings would stay away and that he would not claim his inheritance, but now that he was indeed returning to Winterset, I did not know what to do. I should not stay, but nor could I go.

“I promised Papa I would stay within these walls,” I said, my voice a weak whisper.

Mrs. Owensby’s gaze softened. “This is not the life your father wanted for you, Kate. He wished for your safety, yes, but not your seclusion. You cannot become who you are meant to be living in the shadows.”

“Papa is dead, Mrs. Owensby, and that is entirely my fault. The least I can do to honor his sacrifice is to remain here alive. It might not be the life he wished for me, but at least I am alive.”

A sorrowful look passed between my guardians.

I hated to put them in this position. They’d already given up so much these past two years to hide me away and ensure my safety. But what choice did I have?

Bexley cleared his throat. “If Mr. Jennings does indeed take up residence, then you will indubitably be discovered.”

“Not necessarily,” I said, a plan forming in my mind. “What if we make Mr. Jennings not want to stay?”

“What do you mean?” Bexley asked warily.

I needed to tread carefully. What I had in mind was unconventional, at best, and criminal, at worst. “Well, a man like Mr. Jennings, who has made the world his home these past years, could not be content to live so far from London Society and, thanks to his neglect, in an estate in such disrepair.”

Mrs. Owensby gave me a disapproving look at my lack of respect for the supposed gentleman.

“It is true, is it not?” I said.

She said nothing in reply. She couldn’t because Mr. Jennings had let the estate fall into disrepair. When he’d inherited Winterset, he’d not come to care for the estate, nor had he hired a steward to care for it in his absence. He’d not sent one penny to pay for the upkeep of Winterset.

All the maids and footmen had long since left, the grounds keeper too. Had it not been for me, even Mrs. Owensby and Bexley would have sought employment elsewhere.

To pay for the necessities of life these past two years, I’d had them quietly sell Mother’s jewelry several towns south of Winterset. Bexley had farmed much of our food in the kitchen garden, and Mrs. Owensby had sold the surplus at market. It was not a bounteous life, but we’d managed to survive.

Our funds were growing scarce though. Mother’s jewelry was gone, but I still had a few family possessions left to sell that would fetch a price.

I could always sell the other items I’d found in the attic. They did not belong to me—they belonged to him , even if he did not know of their existence—but they would sell for a significant sum and could sustain us for a very long time. Perhaps the rest of our lives if we were frugal.

I did not like the idea of taking more from Mr. Jennings than was owed to the servants for their work these past two years, but if worse came to worst, I would have no other choice.

What type of man could allow his estate to go to rot and to slight his servants? I didn’t know, nor did I wish to. In truth, I’d forgotten Mr. Jennings as readily as he’d forgotten Winterset. And now he wanted his servants to shine his home, order him special soap, and prepare his favorite meals?

Over my missing body.

I would not let the irresponsible Mr. Jennings displace me from my beloved Winterset.

“The estate is in disrepair,” Bexley hedged. “It is possible, I suppose, that he might take one look at Winterset and decide to leave.”

“He might,” I agreed, “but we cannot leave it up to chance. We must do all we can to make Winterset inhospitable. We must drive Mr. Jennings away.”

Mrs. Owensby sucked in a breath. “Kate, we cannot—”

“We can. We must . Did you not read his list of demands: French-milled soap? Portuguese port wine? A man of his breeding could never be happy here. We will help him realize it sooner. And until we can drive him away, I will stay out of sight. I will hide.”

“What if Mr. Jennings discovers you before we can drive him away?” she asked.

The truth hung above our heads like a noose. “I won’t let him find me.”

“How could you help it?” Bexley asked. “Mr. Jennings will walk these halls every day.”

“ I have walked them my whole life. I know every secret passageway and priest hide.”

“You cannot hide forever,” Mrs. Owensby said.

“I don’t intend to, just until Mr. Jennings leaves.”

“And then what?” Mrs. Owensby asked, her voice gentle. “Even if we are successful in making Mr. Jennings leave, he would likely let the house or try to sell it.”

“If that happens, we will scare-off potential renters or buyers just as we did him.” It was not a perfect plan, it was not even a good plan, but I was desperate to hold on to my home and safety.

To hold on to the promise I’d made Papa.

I gathered Mrs. Owensby’s work-worn hands into mine.

“I know I have asked for so much these past two years, but I cannot stay here at Winterset without your help. I promise I will not let harm come to you or Bexley. I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

“It is not us I am worried about.” She looked down at our clasped hands, and her thumb traced over my charcoal-smudged knuckles. “ I would protect you with my life, Kate.”

“As would I,” Bexley said, placing his hands around mine and Mrs. Owensby’s.

Tears filled my eyes. “It won’t come to that,” I assured them, blinking away my emotion and standing to pace. “Not if we make his life miserable here.”

Mrs. Owensby nodded. “His letter said he would arrive in four weeks. That should be enough time for a sufficient layer of dust and cobwebs to form.”

“And I could track mud throughout the manor and ruin the carpets,” Bexley suggested.

“No. Don’t do anything Mr. Jennings might blame you for.” My conscience could not bear it if anything happened to them because of me. “Besides, a dirty house is easily set to right. We must make him feel every discomfort the country has to offer.”

“Such as ... ?” Mrs. Owensby asked.

“Well, for starters, you should not do a thing to ready the house, seeing as neither you nor Bexley received a letter from Mr. Jennings informing you of his arrival, nor any money to pay for such provisions.”

Mrs. Owensby’s brow furrowed. “But we did receive word. And should he ask, the post-boy could confirm it.”

“Actually, the letter was addressed to Mr. Moore ,” I said. “A pity he wasn’t here to read it.”

“That is true,” Mrs. Owensby said. “But we opened the letter to discover the sender’s identity, and when we saw Mr. Jennings had sent it, we did read it.”

“ I know that, but Mr. Jennings does not. Therefore, you must do nothing on his ridiculous list to prepare. Don’t remove the Holland covers from the furniture or make up his bedchamber.

Don’t buy his precious soap or his delicious port wine.

And once he is here, with all the work you will have to do with his unexpected arrival, Bexley will probably have to take on the duty of preparing Mr. Jennings’s meals. ”

“I don’t know how to cook.” Bexley frowned.

“That is precisely the point.” I smiled.

“But what if his discomfort makes him dissatisfied with us?” Mrs. Owensby said. “He could release us from his service.”

“You need not worry about that,” I said.

“Even if Mr. Jennings wishes to let you go, there is not much skilled help nearby to hire a replacement, none who know and care for this manor as you do. And if by chance he did manage to find someone, you need only tell them of his treatment of you these past two years, and they would seek other employment.”

She nodded, appearing mildly reassured.

“At every turn,” I continued, “we will only help him see his own poor decisions and neglect.”

“Except for all the dismal meals,” Mrs. Owensby said.

“Yes, well, you are his housekeeper, not his cook, so even that will highlight his mismanagement,” I said. “If we work together, we will be rid of him quickly, and things can return to normal.”

My guardians nodded in understanding and agreement, silently vowing their support to do whatever was necessary to get Mr. Jennings to leave. Together we would make his life miserable, and he would return to his sophisticated life in the city.

And despite everything I had lost these past two years—my dear papa, my future, life as I’d known it—as we made a plan for my protection, I felt gratitude.

Gratitude for the servants who had loved me my whole life and were now, in all respects, my family.

Gratitude for Winterset. Gratitude that I was alive.

I would not give up these blessings so easily. I would not be turned out without a fight.