Page 22 of Winterset

Oliver

“Lord Markham,” a lady greeted as we passed, her lovely daughter at her side. “How do you do?”

He gave the lady a polite nod in passing but did not stop to make my introduction, as I would have liked.

Once we were out of earshot, he leaned close and said, “Mrs. Parker and her daughter are amiable enough, but you have no interest in tying yourself to Mr. Parker. He lost everything at sea six months ago and would love to saddle his daughter’s future husband with his debt. ”

“How unfortunate,” I said.

“Indeed.”

We passed another pretty pair, and again, Lord Markham did not slow, only tipped his head in a hasty salutation. “The chit is lovely, but her family is unsuitable. You undoubtedly heard all eight of her unruly younger brothers and sisters during the service.”

I had not heard them, actually, but even if I had, I would not have minded. Having grown up in a small family and often feeling alone, I was a bit enamored by the thought of one day having a larger family. I hoped to make the family’s acquaintance in the near future.

Finally, about halfway down the gravel walk to the gate, we stopped near a fashionably dressed family.

“Good day, Lord Markham,” the gentleman greeted Markham.

“And to you, sir,” he said, then turned to me. “Mr. Jennings, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Dalton, Mrs. Dalton, and their lovely daughter, Miss Dalton.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Jennings,” Mr. Dalton said, doffing his hat in greeting.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I said to him.

“How long are you in town?” Mrs. Dalton asked, taking my measure. I hoped the expensive cut of my coat and the intricate knot of my cravat would impress her. My hat certainly would not.

“Indefinitely, madam,” I said.

“I should have said sooner,” Lord Markham cut in. “Mr. Jennings is the son of the late Earl of Winfield. He is the Winterset heir. Our new neighbor.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Dalton’s demeanor brightened. “We heard you had arrived. It’s nice to meet you.”

Mr. Dalton chuckled. “I daresay this news will make many mothers here quite happy.”

“I believe what my husband meant to say”—Mrs. Dalton eyed her husband with censure before turning back to me with a smile—“is that everyone will be glad for the opportunity to make the acquaintance of such a fine gentleman.” She looked at her daughter. “Don’t you agree, Hyacinth?”

“I do, Mother.” She smiled up at me through her lashes. “ Quite glad.”

“Had I known how lovely it is here, I might have been persuaded to come sooner,” I said, still looking at Hyacinth.

Miss Dalton’s cheeks pinked prettily.

“And did you enjoy the service today, Mr. Jennings?” Mrs. Dalton asked, reclaiming my attention.

I chose my next words carefully, wanting to be honest but not unkind. “The vicar’s sermon was ... thorough.”

“Indeed.” She grinned, and I felt like I’d passed a test.

A sudden autumn gust caught Miss Dalton’s bonnet and blew it across the courtyard.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, watching it tumble away.

“Allow me.” I went after it, but the hat kept tumbling.

A gravestone finally stopped it, and I braced one hand on the lichen-covered stone to steady myself before I bent to retrieve the bonnet.

As I did, I glanced at the epitaph, half expecting to read Katherine Lockwood’s name.

It seemed plausible she would haunt me even here.

But it wasn’t hers, so I grabbed the bonnet and stood.

“That was quite a chase,” Miss Dalton called, catching up to me. “Thank you.”

“Happy to be of service.” I gave her the bonnet.

She placed it back upon her head and, feigning innocence, looked up at me. “Would you mind?” She held out the ribbons.

“You wish for me to tie the bow?” I blinked. She must know how improper it would be for me to help her in such a way.

“I would do it myself, but it is so difficult without a looking glass. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I ... haven’t much practice in bow tying,” I excused.

“It is quite simple, I assure you.” Miss Dalton stepped closer and extended the ribbons toward me. “Please?”

Saints, she was persistent. What should I do?

Damon had more practice with eager women such as she.

Until this moment, I’d envied the attention he’d always garnered.

Wherever we went, women all but threw themselves at him.

But now, being wanted simply for what I was, not who I was, felt rather reductive—like I was nothing more than a hat to be plucked off a shelf and worn about town.

Seeing no polite way to refuse her, I hastily took the ribbons, tied a bow, and then put a proper distance between us again. “It is a little lop-sided, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure it is perfect. Thank you, Mr. Jennings. You are too kind.”

I forced a smile and surveyed the churchyard. “Do you know if the Lockwood family is buried in this cemetery?” I asked Miss Dalton.

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised.

My change of subject might have been a bit abrupt. “I only ask because they were my tenants, and I have not had a chance to pay them my respects,” I explained.

“How gracious of you. I believe their plots are over there. I will show you, if you’d like.”

“I would. Thank you.”

I stepped forward, but she stood still. “Would you be so kind as to lend me your arm? The walking path is uneven, and I don’t want to take a tumble.”

I begrudgingly offered her my arm, and she sidled up to me.

Their plots were not far from where we stood, only a few paces away. “Here they are.” She gestured to two gravestones.

Eustace Lockwood

Beloved Father and Husband

My throat tightened. “How did he die?” I looked up at Miss Dalton.

“According to the church’s record, Mr. Lockwood died in a ‘misadventure.’”

“And the truth?” I raised my eyebrow in question at her.

“A duel,” she said somberly.

“A duel ?” I couldn’t contain my shock. Having died in the same year as his daughter, I had assumed they’d perished in a carriage accident or succumbed to the same sickness.

A duel had not once crossed my mind. “Do you know the reason for the challenge or who issued it?” I asked, anxious for answers.

She shook her head. “I do not.”

I nodded and moved to the next gravestone, expecting to read Miss Lockwood’s name on it, but it wasn’t hers.

Eleanor Lockwood

Beloved Wife and Mother

“I believe she died in childbirth,” Miss Dalton said, her voice quiet.

“How very tragic,” I said, feeling a pang of sadness that Kate had never known her mother.

Miss Dalton nodded.

“And what about Miss Lockwood? Where is she buried? Her grave must be nearby.” I glanced at the inscriptions on the neighboring gravestones but did not see Miss Lockwood’s name.

“Miss Lockwood is not buried here,” Miss Dalton said.

“Oh? May I ask why not?”

“That is a rather delicate subject, one surrounded by much speculation.”

I furrowed my brow. “Will you tell me?”

She was more than happy to oblige. “Well, Mama said that upon her father’s death, Miss Lockwood was overcome with grief and cast herself off a cliff into the sea and drowned.”

I sucked in a shocked breath.

“Her body was never recovered. Although even if it had been, she would not have been buried in the churchyard, considering the circumstance of her death.”

I gripped the top of Mr. Lockwood’s gravestone to steady myself.

I’d known Miss Lockwood was deceased from nearly the first moment I’d stepped foot into Winterset, but hearing proof of her death, when only hours earlier I’d seen symbols of her life in my books, hit me harder than I thought possible.

“If her body was not recovered, how did anyone know what became of her?”

“Her pelisse was found on the seashore. It was bloody.”

“But her body was not found,” I said. “You’re sure?”

“I am certain, sir.”

“Miss Dalton,” Lord Markham said, approaching with Mr. and Mrs. Dalton in tow.

“You weren’t telling Mr. Jennings ghost stories, were you?

” He glanced down at Mrs. Lockwood’s gravestone.

“You must be very careful, Miss Dalton. Mr. Jennings already believes Winterset is haunted. You don’t want to scare him away, do you? ”

My gaze flashed up to meet his. Saints above, what had I said to him the other night in the tavern? “I don’t actually believe Winterset is haunted ,” I assured the Daltons.

“You seemed quite insistent.”

“Yes, well, I’ve developed a bit of an overactive imagination from reading so many ghost stories.” Or, rather, living in one.

“I love ghost stories,” Miss Dalton said.

“As do I,” Lord Markham said. “I say, Jennings, Winterset would be the perfect location for a ghost-story reading.”

“A reading?” I said. “At Winterset?”

Lord Markham nodded, his eyes moving meaningfully to Miss Dalton, then back to me.

I remembered part of our early conversation from the tavern, about my wanting to marry.

He was giving me an opportunity to make her an invitation.

“With all those secret passageways and priest hides in the walls,” Markham continued, “your manor is a uniquely qualified setting for a ghost-story reading, don’t you think? ”

Priest hides? Secret passageways? At Winterset? Not wanting to repeat the humiliation of not knowing the history of my own house, I tried not to let my confusion show and gave a slow nod.

And then I remembered something Mrs. Owensby had said when showing me the manor about priests having perished while in hiding at Winterset, and I felt like a fool.

A priest could not hide if he had no place to hide.

She’d gone on and on about the house’s history, showing me room after room, but she’d left out arguably the most important parts: the priest hides and passageways.

Every curiosity that had occurred since I’d arrived flooded my mind: the scratching sounds in the walls, the pianoforte playing in the dead of night, the redacted notes, the books filled with sketches, the ghost I’d seen in the library.

Heavens.

What if my ghost was not a ghost but a living, breathing lady hiding within Winterset’s walls? And what if that lady were Kate?

Her body had never been found. It was possible.

The longer I thought about it, the more sense it made; Kate had grown up at Winterset, so she would know about the priest hides and passageways. And after her father died, with no family or friends, she would not have had anywhere else to go.

It seemed so obvious now.

It hadn’t occurred to me before because until this morning, I’d believed her dead.

I’d had no reason to question her survival.

But now that I knew her body had not been recovered and about Winterset’s priest hides and passageways, it made sense that she was alive and hiding at Winterset.

I’d seen her with my own eyes, “floating” in the library, for pity’s sake.

I could not be sure. Perhaps I only wanted it to be true. I had to talk to Charlie.

“Jennings?” Lord Markham said, pulling me from my thoughts and making me realize Mr. and Mrs. Dalton were eyeing me strangely. “What do you say? Will you host a reading for us?”

“I’m ... afraid Winterset isn’t ready for visitors yet.” I glanced around the churchyard for Charlie, eager to return to Winterset and search out all the priest hides. “Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, Miss Dalton, I apologize, but I must go.”

“I’m not suggesting you host it tonight,” Lord Markham said, holding out a hand to stop me. “We all know you need time to get your estate in order.” He laughed lightly.

The Daltons also laughed.

I pretended to laugh.

I was sure Markham hadn’t meant to, but I felt instantly humiliated.

Gads. Winterset was a laughingstock.

Perhaps I should host this reading to prove my worth. “On second thought, I would be delighted to host a reading ... in one month. Now, if you will excuse—”

“A month?” Lord Markham interrupted. “Wars are fought and won in less time.”

It was true, but a month was already a stretch.

I felt my frustration rising. And even if I were able to make Winterset hospitable for guests, I did not have a proper staff to host such a party.

I had only two servants—well, three if I counted Charlie—but that was not enough.

It would be impossible to repair my house, hire staff, and plan an event.

But how could I not? “I am making many renovations,” I said.

“And Mrs. Owensby will need time to prepare a menu.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Dalton said. “Your Mrs. Owensby could plan and prepare a feast fit for a king in less than an hour.”

Were we speaking of the same Mrs. Owensby? Mine was barely proficient in plating a sandwich. Finally, I spotted Charlie across the courtyard and stepped away. “Fine,” I acquiesced, if only to break away from the group. “A fortnight.”

“A fortnight.” Markham grinned. “I am holding you to it, Jennings.”

I was sure he would.