Page 27 of Winterset

Oliver

Standing by the hearth in the drawing room before dinner, I tugged my cravat.

I’d told Charlie to tie it tightly, but he’d been overzealous.

I wanted to look my best tonight. Not because I wanted to impress Miss Lockwood but because I thought if I looked the part of a gentleman, she might feel more at ease.

She’d been so nervous earlier in my study. I wanted her to feel comfortable tonight. More than anything, I wanted to help her. But to do that, she needed to trust me enough to tell me about this man, Mr. Cavendish, whom she was hiding from. And more importantly, how I could be of service to her.

I checked the time on the mantelpiece clock and compared it to my pocket watch. Miss Lockwood was late but not excessively so. It felt like it only because I’d arrived thirty minutes early.

Perhaps I was a bit overeager.

Since we’d parted in the study this morning, I’d thought of little else but what would be our first meal together. For the second night in a row, I instructed Mrs. Owensby to prepare Miss Lockwood’s favorite.

I rolled my shoulders, stiff from standing straight for so long.

I probably looked like a statue waiting here, cold and unyielding.

I leaned against the hearth, resting one arm on the mantel to appear more casual, comfortable, approachable.

But now I was too casual. I sat on the settee.

Too relaxed. So I resumed my position at the hearth and squared my shoulders again.

I glanced around the room, reviewing what needed to be done to make this drawing room presentable for the ghost-story reading I would be hosting in less than a fortnight. But I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts were solely on Miss Lockwood tonight. Where could she be?

Ten more minutes passed.

Twenty.

Still, she didn’t show.

Had Miss Lockwood changed her mind about dining with me? I would not be surprised if she had.

Bexley appeared at the drawing room door. “Miss Lockwood sent me to inquire whether you plan to dine with her tonight, sir.”

“Of course. Do you know when she is coming down?”

“She is already seated in the dining hall, sir. Has been for some time.”

“The dining hall? How long has she been waiting?”

“Half an hour, sir.”

I swore under my breath. “Why was I not informed?”

“We assumed you wished for a bit of peace before dinner.”

“Why would I—” I pressed my lips together. “Never mind. I have kept Miss Lockwood waiting long enough as it is.”

I brushed past Bexley for the dining hall.

Miss Lockwood looked up from where she sat at the far end of the table and stood. “I knew it took you a long time to dress for dinner, Mr. Jennings, but I believe this is a new record.”

I did not know what had changed, but she already seemed more comfortable than she had earlier. I was glad. “I am flattered you’ve taken note of my daily routines, Miss Lockwood.”

Her eyes widened. “That is not—I have not—”

“I am teasing you, Miss Lockwood. My apologies, both for that and for keeping you waiting. I assure you, it was unintentional. I was waiting for you in the drawing room.”

“Oh,” she said, laughing lightly. “Papa and I were never so formal. We always met for meals right here in the dining hall. My apologies for making you wait.”

“Not at all.” I took my seat, which was much too far from Miss Lockwood to be conducive to any meaningful conversation. What had Mrs. Owensby been thinking when she’d laid our place settings?

I was about to pick up my place setting and move it closer to Miss Lockwood, but something stopped me. What if the distance was purposeful? What if Miss Lockwood had requested it?

She’d all but run out of the room today when I’d tried to move the chair toward her in my study.

Perhaps she did not want to sit any closer to me.

Now that I thought about it, was it an accident that she’d come to the dining hall instead of the drawing room before dinner? Was she trying to avoid me?

She was clever, that I knew, so I would not put it past her. But ... why? What had I done to make her dislike me?

The kitchen door swung open, and Mrs. Owensby stepped into the dining hall carrying a platter of food. The Duck à l’Orange smelled just as delicious as it had the previous night, but I didn’t have an appetite.

Mrs. Owensby glanced at the wide space between us, trying to figure out where to place the platter. Seeing the predicament, she took it upon herself to solve it by serving us both individually, then setting the platter in the center of the table.

“Do you require anything else?” Mrs. Owensby asked.

“No, thank you,” Miss Lockwood and I said in unison.

“Forgive me,” Miss Lockwood said.

“There’s no need,” I said.

She trained her gaze on her plate and took a bite of food. She closed her eyes and chewed slowly.

“How do you find your food, Miss Lockwood?”

“It is ...” Her sentence trailed off as she looked down at her plate. “It is the finest meal I’ve had in two years. Thank you, Mr. Jennings.”

Had it truly been that long since she’d had a decent meal?

Until this moment, I’d not considered what she’d been eating.

I felt instant remorse once again for having turned the tables on her, on trying to tease her by parading my fine salmon meal in front of her two days ago.

“I’m so glad you like it,” I said. “I requested Mrs. Owensby prepare your favorite foods when I invited you to dine with me.” Should I have said that? Would she think that odd?

Miss Lockwood gave me a weak smile and took another bite, seeming to enjoy this one as much as the first.

I followed suit, and we ate in silence for several minutes.

“Shall we get this over with?” she said, setting down her knife and fork.

“Get what over with?” I asked.

“This dinner. Our conversation.”

“Is your punishment so severe that you want nothing more than to get it over with ?” I gave her a small smile.

“Yes. I mean, no. I just want to know what you plan on doing with me.”

“I was planning on eating with you.”

“Mr. Jennings.” She frowned. “I am speaking of our situation.”

“As am I. We have a fine meal laid before us, Miss Lockwood, and I, for one, should like to enj—”

“Our current living situation,” she clarified.

“Oh, that.” I waved a hand in the air, brushing away the topic of conversation.

“Yes, that.”

“Well, it’s simple really—”

“Our situation is anything but simple, Mr. Jennings,” she said.

“You’re right, but my desire to help you is simple. Miss Lockwood, I won’t pretend to know your reasons for hiding here, but one day soon, I hope you will trust me enough to tell me. Even if you never do, though, I want you to know that I will do whatever I can to help you.”

“But ... why ?”

“Because I am a gentleman. It is my duty to come to your aid.”

This time, she said nothing.

“As to our current living situation,” I continued, “I’m not sure there is anything to alter it right now. Unless you have distant relatives I don’t know about.”

“My parents were both only children, and all my grandparents have long since passed,” she said.

“And I’m guessing you would not be here if you were in possession of a fortune.”

“You are correct.” She laughed, though it held no humor. “My dowry died with me.”

“Well, then. Until such time as we can arrange a satisfactory solution for you, you will live here as my guest.”

“That is incredibly kind of you, but how would we even go about this?” She chewed her lip.

“I should like you to be my guest. I’m sure you will be comfortable here, seeing as this was your home long before it was mine.”

“It has always been your home, Mr. Jennings. My family merely let it for a time.”

While that was strictly true, Winterset did not feel like my home.

I wanted it to, but I wondered if it ever would.

What made a house a home? I didn’t know.

“Well, you are most welcome to borrow shelter here a little longer, Miss Lockwood. I hope you will feel comfortable going anywhere you would like in Winterset. I would prefer, however, that you use the corridors and not the secret passageways.” I gave her a pointed look.

“I will,” she smiled softly. “Thank you, Mr. Jennings.”