Page 34 of Winterset

Oliver

After Miss Lockwood—Kate—retired to her bedchamber, I sat in my study. The only thought on my mind was how I might protect her from this monster Mr. Cavendish. I’d known men like him before. Men who charmed and took and ruined. They were as cunning as they were cruel.

I had once been cruel, courting women only for what they could bring to the marriage.

I’d never ruined reputations, but I’d likely broken hearts.

First, Hannah’s, and then Miss Digby’s, perhaps even Amelia’s.

My past actions filled me with shame. I wished I could go back in time and do things differently.

I wished I would have behaved as a gentleman and been a better man.

While I could do nothing to change my past, I hoped that in helping Kate, I might find a measure of redemption and begin to shape a future filled with purpose and integrity.

When Mrs. Owensby told me that Kate’s life was in danger if she left these walls, I’d believed she thought Kate was in danger, but I saw no real threat.

I saw it now.

While no immediate danger existed, if ever Mr. Cavendish were to discover Kate’s survival, I did not doubt he would make good on his threat.

A man who’d gotten away with murder once would assume he could get away with it again.

And seeing as no one outside this house knew Kate was alive, it would be all too easy.

The longer I sat in my study, the more my thoughts festered.

Was Mr. Cavendish still living close by?

Did he suspect that Kate might have survived?

Her body had never been found, so he might.

All night long, thoughts plagued me. And when morning dawned, I had the beginnings of a plan to protect her: I would go to town today under the guise of borrowing a book for my ghost-story reading, and while there, I would learn everything I could about this Mr. Cavendish.

I would be cautious and keep my questions subtle, so I would not raise suspicions.

I tugged the bellpull to call Charlie. Not long after, he appeared at my study.

“Granger?”

“Good morning, Charlie.” I motioned him inside. “Come in and close the door.”

He entered and sat. “Did you sleep?” he asked.

I rubbed my forehead, heavy with fatigue.

“I couldn’t after my discussion with Miss Lockwood last night.

Which is why I’ve called you here. I need your help.

” I quickly relayed the pertinent facts about the danger Mr. Cavendish posed to Kate and my desire to learn everything I could about him so that I could protect her.

“While I’m out of residence, would you look after her? I’d rather she were not alone today.”

“Certainly,” Charlie said.

After our conversation, Charlie saddled my horse, and I quickly readied myself and hurried out the door.

The sky was gray and ominous as I rode into town.

A premonition? A warning?

The wind was fierce, the weather unforgiving. I tugged up the collar of my greatcoat to guard against the cold, but it did little good.

Outside the lending library, I tied my horse to a post. A bell rang overhead as I entered, and the bookkeeper, a gray-haired gentleman with small, round spectacles looked up from his book.

“Ah, Mr. Jennings.” He stood to greet me. “Welcome.”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” I said.

“No, sir, only your good name. How can I help you?”

“I need a book for a reading I am hosting. A ghost story.”

“We have plenty. They are quite popular these days. Follow me.” He led me to a bookcase and showed me which shelf to search.

As I glanced over the titles, I feigned interest in ghost stories, asking if he knew about any local ones to cover my true intentions. But my inquiries led nowhere, and I left the shop with nothing but a borrowed book.

As I exited, I heard a familiar voice say, “Mr. Jennings.”

I turned and saw Lord Markham. “How do you do, Lord Markham?”

“Very well, thank you. Is that a book for our ghost-story reading?” He indicated the book tucked under my arm.

“It is,” I said, brandishing the book.

“I’m looking forward to the reading. How are preparations coming along?”

“ I am ready, but Winterset is not.”

“Well, ready or not,” Lord Markham chuckled, “this reading will happen. I promised to hold you to it, remember? And even if I did not, Miss Dalton and her mother would.” He lowered his voice. “Word has it they are already assembling Miss Dalton’s wedding trousseau.”

Miss Dalton.

Gads!

I had not thought about the young lady since the day we’d been introduced at church.

Would that I could get out of this whole affair—both the reading and her interest in me—but if I canceled, she and her mother might call on me unannounced, and that would be much worse. Whether I liked it or not, I was stuck.

Bexley met me at the door and took my hat and coat. “Welcome home, sir. How was your visit to town?”

“Unproductive.” I sighed, the weight of the morning’s disappointment still heavy on my shoulders. “Where is she?”

“The drawing room, sir. With Charlie.”

“Thank you.” I walked in that direction.

As I approached, the sound of laughter—Kate’s laughter—floated in the air, slowing my step.

I paused at the threshold, the scene inside the drawing room catching me off guard.

Kate sat comfortably on the settee, her face lit with amusement, and Charlie stood in front of her, reading a poem in an animated voice.

“... And so the moon, with her silver spoon, stirred the stars into a fine, twinkling broth!”

Kate laughed, the sound bright and uninhibited. Her eyes sparkled with genuine delight, and her cheeks were rosy.

How had Charlie managed to make her laugh so freely?

A sharp pang of something unfamiliar twisted in my chest. Irritation, perhaps? But why? It would be irrational. I’d asked Charlie to look after Kate while I was out of residence, after all.

I was probably overtired.

“Ah, but beware the midnight spoon, for it stirs the heart as well as the stars!” Charlie concluded with a bow.

“Bravo!” Kate leaped to her feet, clapping as if she couldn’t contain her joy. She seemed so much lighter today. It was as though Charlie had unlocked a sense of happiness in her that I had struggled to reach.

I cleared my throat, drawing their attention.

“Mr. Jennings!” Kate gasped softly in surprise and smiled up at me. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a moment.” I pushed off from the doorframe and walked fully into the room. “Good poem?”

“It was a terrible poem.” Kate looked at Charlie, and they shared a laugh. “But also amusing. Will you join us?”

“Perhaps a little later,” I said to her, then to Charlie, “I need to speak with you in my study for a moment.”

“Certainly,” he said and closed his notebook. “Don’t let the silver spoon stir up too much trouble while I’m gone,” he said to Kate, then followed me out of the room.

She laughed.

My chest tightened. A casual familiarity had grown between them in my absence. It was as though they shared some private world where I did not belong.

This was more than irritation, I realized. This was something visceral, something that was twisting painfully inside me.

I glanced at Kate before leaving the drawing room.

She watched me, her expression unreadable, and I wondered if she sensed my turmoil.

I gave her a small smile, hoping to reassure her, then led Charlie to my study.

I closed the study door more abruptly than I’d intended.

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “You all right, Granger?”

“What did you mean by your last remark to Miss Lockwood?” I asked. “About the silver spoon?”

“Nothing.” Charlie laughed. “Just a line from one of my ridiculous poems that she found funny.”

“I see.” It would be problematic if they weren’t getting along, so part of me was glad they were, but another part of me disliked how Charlie already seemed to know Kate in a way I didn’t.

“What was it you needed to talk to me about?” Charlie asked.

“I wanted to tell you that I didn’t learn anything more about Mr. Cavendish in town today.”

“That’s all?” Charlie asked.

“I thought you would want to know, seeing as I enlisted your help in protecting Kate.”

He studied me intently but said nothing.

“You may go now, Charlie. I’m sure we both have plenty to do before dinner.”

I lingered in the study after Charlie left, staring at the closed door. Our conversation had done nothing to soothe my agitation; it had only inflamed it.

Hoping to clear my head, I returned to the drawing room, intending to find Kate and suggest a walk. But she wasn’t there. I quickly searched the common areas in the house, but I couldn’t find her.

I returned to my study and forced myself to focus on work, drowning out my unsettled emotions with calculations and correspondence. The hours slipped by, and finally, evening shadows signaled it was time to dress for dinner.

When I entered my bedchamber, Charlie looked up from brushing my dinner coat.

I shrugged off the coat I had on, but it stuck on my arm. I struggled for a moment, but my shoulders were too tense to make much progress.

Charlie moved to help me, but I held up a hand, stopping him. I finally slipped my arms from the sleeves, then balled up the blasted garment and threw it on the bed.

Charlie glanced at the coat and then at me.

“You look like you want to say something,” I said.

“You would not like what I have to say.”

Because he had feelings for Kate?

“Do you want to say something?” he asked.

To him? “No.” I moved to the mirror.

Charlie sighed. “We were reading poetry to pass the time, Granger. And only because you asked me to watch after her while you were gone.”

“If you’re insinuating that I’m jealous, I’m not.”

“Aren’t you?” Charlie challenged.

“No,” I said with all the energy of a sulking schoolboy. “But you’re right. I don’t want you to court her.”

“That much is obvious. Your reasoning, however, is not.”

“She’s been through a lot,” I explained. “If you pursue her and it ends badly, she has nowhere else to go.”

“That isn’t why,” Charlie said. “And just so we are clear, I would never do that to you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“What are you saying?” Charlie asked.

I couldn’t answer that. Not because I didn’t want to but because I had no idea what I was saying. My mind was a mess.

“Do you want to know what I think?” he asked.

“Not particularly.”

“I think you are jealous,” Charlie said anyway. “You like Miss Lockwood more than you’re willing to admit; you enjoy feeling needed by her, and I think you like how it feels to belong here with her. And that scares you because you know this situation can’t last. That’s what I think.”

“Well, you’re wrong, Your Grace ,” I ground out.

“Am I?”

“Yes. No.” Deuces! I didn’t know anymore. “I’m not going to throw her out, Charlie. She doesn’t want to leave.”

“ She doesn’t want to leave, or you don’t want her to leave?”

I said nothing.

“Have you asked Miss Lockwood what she wants?” he pressed.

“I don’t need to. I know how she feels about Winterset. It’s her home. She has no one she can turn to for help.”

He gave me a disapproving look. “This is your home. You can help her.”

I held his stare as his words sank in. Blast!

He was right. About all of it. I didn’t want Kate to leave.

I’d told myself I was helping her hide here because that was what she wanted.

But was it? She could likely live a safer and more fulfilled life elsewhere.

And I could have—no, I should have—offered to help her leave.

But I hadn’t.

Because the thought of Kate leaving bothered me more than her staying.

Charlie was right, I did like Kate. More than I should, probably. She was living under my protection, for heaven’s sake.

I clawed at my cravat, which was suddenly too constricting, and ripped it from my neck.

Charlie scowled at the crumpled cloth. “Do you know how long it took me to starch and iron that?”

I slumped onto the edge of my bed, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

When had this happened? And more importantly, what was I to do about it?