Page 26 of Winterset

Kate

I’d slept two nights in the potting shed and could not do another. I was cold and hungry and defeated. Mr. Jennings had won. I had no choice now but to beg his mercy, not for myself—I was already condemned—but for Mrs. Owensby and Bexley. They were blameless and should not be punished.

I waited for the sun to crest the horizon, then crept out of the cramped shed and started across the courtyard for the manor.

When I slipped inside, the house was quiet and still, so I ran up the grand staircase and to the attic to ready myself.

Mr. Jennings likely would not care what I looked like, but I wished to look presentable and gather my most important belongings: Father’s last letter to me and a miniature of Mama.

I doubted Mr. Jennings would grant me time to do so before either kicking me out or calling the constable.

My hands trembled as I combed the tangles from my hair.

News of my reappearance would undoubtedly circulate quickly. How long would it take before Mr. Cavendish found out about my survival?

I knelt in front of my trunk and opened the lid. Memories from two years ago greeted me. The blue silk gown I’d worn the night of my engagement ball was neatly folded on top. I ran a gentle hand over the delicate lace neckline. It had been mended. I could hardly even see the tear.

I pushed the dress aside and sifted through the trunk. My hunter-green traveling dress was folded at the bottom. It was wrinkled but well-made and warm, ideal for wherever I might find myself tonight.

Father’s letter, the one he’d written me to read the night my engagement was announced, was in the trunk lid pocket. I’d memorized it long ago, but I wished for a physical reminder of him. I held the treasured memento to my heart for a moment.

My throat constricted with grief. I would be leaving so much behind. There was no time to dwell though. Mr. Jennings would rise soon, and I wished to be waiting for him when he came downstairs. I replaced the contents and closed the lid.

I put on my traveling dress and tucked Father’s letter inside it for safekeeping, then wove my curls into a simple plait and went downstairs to wait for Mr. Jennings in the study.

I stood near the back wall by the window, which would be out of his direct line of sight when he entered, but I didn’t hide. There was no reason to anymore.

While I waited, I mentally rehearsed what I would say.

I was duty bound to make sure my servants wouldn’t be blamed for my mischief.

Once I was certain of that, I would leave Winterset for good.

I hoped Mr. Jennings would accept my defense of them.

He did not seem like a cruel man, but I’d been deceived before, which was why I had to choose my words carefully.

At half past nine, Mr. Jennings strode into the study with a ledger tucked under his arm and went directly to his desk.

He did not sit down though; he stood behind it, transfixed by whatever was on the page in front of him.

A curl fell across his forehead, but he did not seem to notice. Neither did he notice me.

He was dressed in his usual restrained color palette of beige and brown and black, save for his shirt and cravat, which were white.

It was like he was trying to tone down the natural beauty with which God had overly blessed him, but his dull wardrobe did nothing to deflect attention.

It made his fine features—blue eyes, gold hair, red lips—more pronounced.

Mr. Jennings was handsome. Aggressively handsome. But a young lady who had stolen shelter and food and tormented him had no right to notice.

Another minute passed, and I grew anxious.

Not wanting to prolong purgatory, I shifted my weight, deliberately causing a floorboard to groan.

Finally, Mr. Jennings looked up, and his gaze met mine. He blinked several times, as if not believing what he was seeing. And then he did not blink, as if doing so would cause me to disappear.

Mr. Jennings straightened and slowly strode toward me, not stopping until he stood very near. My heart pounded as his eyes—so blue—searched my face. “For one who has wreaked so much havoc, you are positively petite, Miss Lockwood,” he said, and then he did something entirely unexpected. He smiled.

I frowned.

“Please, have a seat.” Mr. Jennings indicated the high-backed armchair facing his desk.

I glanced at the chair, which was positioned entirely too close to where he stood. I didn’t want to be so close to him when I didn’t know his intentions.

I took a backward step.

“Or ... you are welcome to stand.” His smile softened into a straight line. “I assume you’ve come out of hiding because you’ve surmised that I knew about you.”

I nodded.

“Out of curiosity, what gave me away? Mrs. Owensby?”

Not trusting my voice, I shook my head and glanced at his watch fob ribbon.

He followed my gaze to his seal and grinned. “Of course. I daresay you are a great deal more observant than I. And better at hiding things too. Though, to be fair, you did have the advantage. You knew Winterset’s layout, the passageways, the priest hides. Not to mention the help you had hiding.”

Worried about my servants’ safety, I stiffened.

He noticed. “Which, I suspect, is why you are standing before me now.”

My hands trembled at my sides, and I clutched my dress to still them.

He noticed that too.

“Please don’t punish them, sir. Everything they did, they did for me.” But no, that wasn’t quite right. That made it sound like they were equal partners in this idea when, in fact, I had been the mastermind. “I made them do.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” He laughed lightly. “I daresay Mrs. Owensby could not be made to do anything she didn’t wish. But I respect you for trying to protect them.” He sat on the edge of the desk, extending his legs and folding his arms. “Please. Go on.”

I searched for the right words, but his casual manner disarmed me.

“Perhaps you can explain why you are hiding in my house,” he supplied when I did not speak.

“This is the only home I’ve ever known,” I said. “After Papa died, I had nowhere else to go. I am sorry for staying—”

“Are you?”

Was I?

Everything I’d told him was true. I had nowhere else to go, but was I sorry I’d stayed? No. I wasn’t. I loved Winterset. It was my home. “I am sorry for the circumstance that demanded I take from you,” I amended.

“And that circumstance is ... ?”

Of course he wanted to know my reason for hiding here.

He deserved to know, considering this was his house.

But where to start? What to say? Even thinking about that night, about Papa, made me feel unsteady, and I began to sway, or perhaps that was only because I hadn’t eaten anything besides a few apples and some water in three days.

“I fear you are about to fall over, Miss Lockwood. Won’t you please sit down?” He stepped toward me, hand outstretched.

I shrank away.

Mr. Jennings dropped his hand and swiftly stepped back, bumping into the desk. He navigated behind it, keeping his eyes on me as he did so, and tugged the bellpull.

No. Not yet. He couldn’t have the constable called. I hadn’t had time to convince him to punish me and not my servants .

I opened my mouth to plead my case.

“Wait a moment, please,” he said.

How could I beg his mercy if he would not allow me to speak? Perhaps that was his purpose. He was done hearing from me. How could I blame him? I’d stolen so much from him. And worse, I’d essentially just told him I wasn’t even sorry for it. “Please, sir—”

“Not yet,” Mr. Jennings said, not unkindly but sternly enough to stop me from speaking.

A moment later, Mrs. Owensby entered the study. “You rang, sir?”

“Yes. Good morning, Mrs. Owensby. As you can see, I require an introduction.” Mr. Jennings gestured to me.

Mrs. Owensby looked at me, and I expected her expression to be scathing because I’d disappeared for two days, but she did not look upset. She looked relieved.

“I would be happy to, sir,” she said. “Mr. Jennings, allow me to introduce Miss Katherine Lockwood, daughter of your late tenants, Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood. Miss Lockwood, this is Mr. Jennings, second son of the late Earl of Winfield and—”

“That will do, Mrs. Owensby,” he interrupted her. “Thank you.”

My brow furrowed. That was it? Why didn’t he ask her to fetch the constable?

“You may go now,” he said. “But please leave the study door open and remain close by in the entrance hall.”

With a nod, Mrs. Owensby did what he said.

“Now,” he said, turning to me. “Mrs. Owensby assures me you have a good reason for hiding here. I would very much like to know what it is.”

“ Mrs. Owensby told you I was hiding here?” I glanced over to where Mrs. Owensby was pacing the length of the hall, wringing her apron in her hands.

“Not exactly,” Mr. Jennings said. “I discovered your hiding spot. She merely confirmed your existence. But that is beside the point. You were about to tell me why you were hiding in my house,” he prompted.

“I was not, actually.”

“You weren’t?” he said, sounding surprised.

“No, sir. I am only here to ask you to spare the servants,” I said. “To beg your mercy. They don’t deserve punishment.”

“You’ve already spoken on their behalf,” he said. “Won’t you say anything for yourself?”

“No, sir.” I had no right to ask anything more of him. No matter my reasons, I was guilty.

His head tilted to one side.

What did he see? I wondered. An intruder? A thief?

“You are wearing a traveling dress,” he finally said. “Why?”

“It seemed most appropriate, considering you must send me away.”

“Must I? You and Mrs. Owensby said you have nowhere else to go. Where is it I am meant to be sending you?”

“I assumed you would either toss me out into the streets or to wherever it is that the constable takes thieves.” Not that I planned to allow either of those things to happen. Once I ensured my servants’ safety, I would depart. I could make my way to London and become a governess or a lady’s maid.

Mr. Jennings’s eyes widened. “You think I want you thrown into prison?”

I had no idea what Mr. Jennings wanted. I lifted my chin, trying to be brave.

“Miss Lockwood,” Mr. Jennings said in a low tone that sounded almost disappointed. “I have no desire to toss you out on the streets or have you thrown into prison.”

“How could you not? I trespassed your home. I stole from you.”

“You also ruined all my hats,” he grumbled.

“That, too, which is why you must fetch the constable. I understand. I only ask that you punish me and not my servants.”

He appraised me. “You are adamant that I mete out a punishment?”

“Yes, sir. But only me.”

He considered this for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Very well, if that is your wish.”

Relief rushed through me like a raging river. I hung my head and blew out a breath. Whatever happened to me now, at least my servants would be safe.

“For your punishment,” Mr. Jennings said slowly, as if still trying to decide how he should punish me even as he spoke. “I ... should like you to join me for dinner.”

“Dinner?” I glanced up at him.

“Seeing as you so obviously loathe me, I should think my company will be quite a punishment.” His mouth twitched.

Was that ... ? Did Mr. Jennings have a sense of humor?

“We will have a proper conversation about ... everything,” he said.

Everything.

What I’d done to him.

What he planned to do with me.

A conversation was more than I could hope for, yet the thought of sitting across the table from the man who held my fate in his hands frightened me.

What was his motive? He’d said he didn’t want to see me tossed out on the streets or thrown into prison, but he couldn’t want me living in his home either.

Was he toying with me? He did not seem sinister, but I knew better than to let down my guard.

Mr. Jennings dipped his chin to catch my gaze.

“That was my poor attempt to invite you to dine with me. But I can see by your reaction that I severely butchered it, so please allow me to try again.” He lightly cleared his throat.

“Miss Lockwood, I would be honored if you would join me for dinner tonight. Will you?”

My stomach pleaded with me to accept, even as my head begged me to decline.

I didn’t know what to make of his invitation.

Of him.

He had not reacted at all how I’d expected.

Instead of kicking me out or calling the constable, he’d shown me kindness.

Though I’d done nothing to deserve it, he’d invited me to dine with him tonight and talk to him.

I did not know what could possibly come from such a conversation, our circumstance being what it was, but I was curious.

And whether I wanted to talk or not, I did need to eat.

“That is generous of you, Mr. Jennings. Thank you. I will join you.”