Page 35 of Winterset

Kate

My pulse pounded.

I’d overheard every word of Oliver and Charlie’s conversation. I hadn’t meant to, but I was drawing in the antechamber that connected the master’s and mistress’s bedchambers when they had entered to dress for dinner.

Earlier, when I’d seen Oliver leaning against the drawing room doorframe, I’d had a sudden desire to draw his portrait.

He’d looked so handsome with his hair all windswept and cheeks ruddy from his ride.

So when he and Charlie had gone to the study to talk, I had sneaked upstairs to the antechamber, where no one would see me draw Oliver’s likeness.

When I’d heard their voices, I’d stood to leave, but then they’d said my name, and I’d stayed.

Oliver cared for me, that much was clear, but he was also conflicted, torn between what he wanted and what he thought was right.

I’d known since the day I’d found out he was coming to Winterset that I could not continue living here with him forever in his company and care, but more and more every day, I wanted to.

A knock came at my bedchamber door, cutting off my thoughts, and my heart leaped.

I hurried to my feet, quietly closing the antechamber door behind me, and then hid my notebook under the edge of my mattress.

“Kate?” Mrs. Owensby said, knocking again.

I opened the door.

“You’re not ready for dinner.” She eyed me, her gaze sharpening when she saw my hands.

My charcoal -covered hands, I realized too late. “I may have gotten distracted drawing and lost track of time,” I confessed.

She shook her head in disapproval. “Now, Kate—”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said, and it was true. We’d been apart all day, and I’d looked forward to dining with Oliver tonight. But I was also relieved that I would not have to face him. How could I sit so near him knowing what I did and not turn a deep shade of vermilion?

“What shall I tell Mr. Jennings?” Mrs. Owensby asked.

“Tell him ... that I ...” I bit my lip and shrugged.

She sighed. “I’ll tell him you are tired tonight and are taking a tray in your room. But he will expect you to come down for breakfast tomorrow, so don’t stay up too late drawing.”

Unfortunately, I did stay up too late drawing, but I wanted to see Oliver badly enough that I had no trouble getting out of bed and being on time for breakfast. Still, he was already waiting for me in the dining hall.

We said good morning, and he helped me with my chair and served me food. Then he sat and opened his newspaper. There was a tightness in him that hadn’t been there before yesterday. His shoulders were stiff and his jaw set, and he was concentrating far harder than normal on his newspaper.

What was he thinking about? What Charlie had said, no doubt.

Should I tell him I’d overheard their conversation so that we could discuss our options?

It was obvious my presence was making him uncomfortable, but I worried that he was strategizing how to change our situation.

I also worried that he wasn’t. I didn’t know what I wanted: to stay or to go, and that worried me too.

“What are you reading?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

“Forgive me for being rude.” He lowered the paper and moved to set it aside.

“Don’t stop reading on my account. I know you enjoy reading the newspaper over breakfast.”

“I must confess, it is a little disconcerting that you know that fact about me. I wonder ...” Oliver glanced at me sideways, as if looking at me fully would be too difficult. “What else do you know about me?”

My face warmed. There was no way he could know I’d overheard his conversation, could he?

He raised a brow at me. “I can see from your reaction that I have much to be embarrassed of.”

“No,” I said too quickly. “You have always behaved like a perfect gentleman.”

“Now I know you are lying.” He chuckled.

“Well, save the time you were clearing the drive and you cursed heaven for the rain.”

“You were watching me work that day?” he said, looking at his plate.

“There was little else to do in the attic.” I shrugged.

“Interesting.” He finally met my gaze fully. “I worked shirtless that day.”

“I looked away before you took it off,” I lied, and I was sure he knew it because my face felt like it was on fire.

“I’m sure you did.” He gave me a wicked grin, then picked up his newspaper again. “What section would you prefer to read?” He thumbed through the pages. “The political column? Current events?”

Was he teasing me?

When I didn’t answer, he looked at me in question, and I was surprised to see that he seemed in earnest, if not nervous. Maybe he didn’t know what columns interested young ladies. “The fashion or Society column would be preferable.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I’m afraid you can’t have either of those columns. Clearly, they are my favorites.” He made a show of straightening his already straight cravat.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Ah, yes. Perhaps you could pick out a few new toppers. I’m sure you don’t have enough already.”

“It’s true,” he agreed. “Someone confused them with flowerpots, if you can believe it.” He grinned and handed me my preferred columns.

We passed the rest of breakfast reading in companionable silence. I’d grown fond of Oliver’s teasing manner and the relaxed banter we shared, but I liked the easy silence we shared just as much.

When he decided it was time for me to leave, I would miss mornings like this. I would miss him .

After we finished our food, I hoped he would ask me to walk in the garden again, but he excused himself and went upstairs to work on the repairs in one of the eastern bedchambers. I would have asked if he wanted my help, but I got the impression that he was avoiding me.

So I passed the morning hours by myself in the drawing room, sketching with the supplies and paper Oliver had gifted me.

As much as I loved creating, I would have rather worked with Oliver on the repairs.

It had been so enjoyable to work with him on the drawing room.

Which made me wonder, Were the wall papers dry enough to paint?

To my delight, they were!

Eager, I spread out all the supplies Oliver had purchased for the project and covered the floor with a Holland cover. It had taken me months to paint this room the last time, but I did not have months, so I had to be smart about where I started in case I could not finish in time for his party.

I decided to start with the swath of wall right under the newly repaired window.

It felt heavenly to hold a paintbrush in my hand.

I dabbed some paint onto a tray and mixed the colors to create the correct shade, then started painting the pattern.

Later that afternoon, when Oliver finally came downstairs, I was still sitting on the floor. I pretended not to hear him. It was childish, but I felt confused by both my feelings and his, and I disliked how he’d avoided me all day.

“You’ve made good progress,” he said.

I took a moment to finish the pattern I was working on, then turned to look at him.

He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame again. He wasn’t wearing his greatcoat today, but he looked just as handsome in his waistcoat and rolled shirt sleeves. And the book tucked under his arm only added to my attraction.

He grinned.

Oh dear, I was staring at him.

I turned back to my task. What had he said? “Not as much progress as I’d like. But I’m working on the parts your guests will see first, so you don’t need to worry.”

He walked closer and crouched next to me, observing the pattern. “It looks wonderful, Kate. I am impressed.”

“Thank you.”

Oliver stood and held out his hands to help me stand too.

“How are the repairs on the bedchambers coming along?” I asked as we walked to the settee.

“Good. It took all morning, but I rehung the peeling wall papers and fixed the curtain rods. I still need to level the uneven floorboards, but it’s looking better.”

“I’m glad.”

We sat, and Oliver balanced the book on his knees.

“New book?” I asked.

“Oh, no. I borrowed it for the ghost-story reading. I was hoping you might help me select a passage.”

Of course I knew about the reading; it was the reason I was painting the walls, but seeing the book that would be used that night somehow made it feel realer.

He sensed my unease and said, “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” I said.

“But ... ?”

“But nothing. It’s just been a long time since Winterset has had any visitors.”

He nodded, sobering. “I made the invitation before I knew about you. I would cancel it if I could, but—”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I’ve only invited a few people. And I promise I won’t let anyone come near wherever you will be hiding.”

“I’m not worried,” I said, although I was, but it was more than that. I wanted to attend his reading, not hide in the attic while he hosted it.

“This dinner party ...” I began.

“Ghost-story reading,” he corrected with a wink, and then he winced like he wished he could take back the gesture. I didn’t know why. I loved it when he winked at me. It made my stomach flutter.

“Did I inspire the event?” I batted my lashes.

“You know you did.”

I tried not to notice the sober way he said it or the tender look in his eyes.

But I did.

The flutter in my stomach became a flurry.

Whatever this was that we were teetering on was getting harder to balance.

“Well then, I suppose I must help you select a passage.”

Oliver opened the book, his fingers brushing gently over the pages as he thumbed through them.

We took turns selecting and reading aloud passages ranging from eerie to absurd. Laughter came easily between us, and for a while, I forgot about our complicated emotions.

And then we came upon one particular passage, and my laughter faded. The description of a hidden treasure, lost for centuries and guarded by the spirits of those who had sought to protect it, reminded me of something—something I hadn’t seen or thought about in many years.

“This one,” I said excitedly. “You have to use this one. It’s perfect! I know how you should decorate the drawing room to set the right atmosphere.”

“Tell me how, and I will,” Oliver said, his playful expression softening.

“I’ll show you,” I said, pulling him up to stand. “Follow me to the attic.”