Page 37 of Winterset

Kate

Sitting on the window seat in my bedchamber, I glanced out the window.

The sun had set, and soon Oliver’s guests would arrive.

I’d avoided Oliver for several days. It wasn’t hard to do, seeing as how busy he was working on Winterset, and tonight, I would be hiding in the attic, so I would not see him.

I didn’t regret admitting that I’d overheard his conversation, but I did feel foolish for leaning in to kiss him. For wanting the very same thing he’d warned Charlie not to want with me: a relationship.

How could I not? He was kind and charming and handsome. He was honorable and hardworking. He was everything a man should be. Everything I wanted.

When we had sat in the attic together, I’d thought he wanted me too.

He’d knelt so near me that our arms had been touching.

He’d gazed so deeply into my eyes and at my lips.

Perhaps he did want me but had more sense to stop himself than I.

How could we be together when I could not even show my face in Society?

I had not been thinking about that when I’d leaned in to kiss him.

Logically, I knew nothing could happen between us. Oliver was my host and my protector. And I was what? His guest? His ghost? How had I forgotten our situation so completely? How humiliating! How could I ever hope to look at his handsome face again?

I didn’t know then, and two days of rumination had only made my mind more tangled.

With a sigh, I stood and started gathering the things I needed for the attic: my warmest shawl, my candlestick, and a book. I was halfway to the door when I heard footfalls coming down the corridor. Strong, sturdy footfalls that stopped right in front of my door.

Oliver?

I waited a moment for someone to knock, but nothing came. Another moment passed and then a soft swish as paper slipped beneath my bedchamber door.

A note.

I rushed to retrieve it, and when I saw my name written in Oliver’s handwriting, I could not open it fast enough.

Dearest Kate,

I write you this letter with trepidation.

For I know once these words are said, they cannot be unsaid.

But I fear you believe something that is untrue, and I cannot bear it.

You asked why I told Charlie not to pursue you.

The answer is quite simple: I could not endure watching another man court you.

I care for you, Kate, more than I should as your protector.

There it is. The truth.

Since the first day I stepped foot in Winterset, you have haunted me. Day and night, my thoughts turn to you unceasingly—your strength of character, your courage, your ability to see beauty in a world that has shown you so much ugliness—and I am utterly enamored.

And it is because I care for you that I could not kiss you. I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to. But when you looked up at me, so trusting, and leaned toward me, so willing, Charlie’s words rang in my ears: that you might only be here because I want you here. And I could not be so selfish.

When we finally met face-to-face in my study, I should have offered to help you find a safer situation.

At the time, I thought I was helping you by allowing you to stay at Winterset.

I told myself that you wanted to stay here, but I didn’t know—I don’t know—because I did not ask you. I should have. I am sorry.

So I will ask you now: What do you want, Kate?

Whatever you wish—to stay, to go, to stay and have me go—I will give it to you, asking nothing in return.

I have attempted to write this letter no less than a dozen times, and still, I am unsatisfied. I do not know your reasons for what almost took place in the attic, but I do hope. Forgive me for being so bold.

Yours, however unworthy,

xOliver Jennings

As soon as I finished reading his beautiful letter, I started reading it again, from the beginning to take it all in. Then I pressed the letter to my chest. He cared for me. He hoped for me. My heart felt like it might burst with joy.

I all but ran down the stairs, wanting to talk to him before his guests arrived, and I found him in the library.

When I entered, he looked up, and realizing it was me, he stood swiftly, clearly surprised to see me so soon.

Dressed in his finery and hair perfectly styled, he was dashing. No, that was doing it too lightly. He was devastating.

“I read your letter,” I said, pulling the door almost closed behind me.

He nodded slowly, looking more nervous than I had ever seen him.

“Did you mean what you said?” I asked.

“Every word,” he said in a low voice. “If you want to leave Winterset, I will help you.”

How could he still not understand my meaning? Nevertheless, I needed to hear him say the words. “Do you want me to go?”

He looked surprised by my question. “No. I only want you to know that you have options, Kate. Whatever you want, you need only ask me.”

My heart raced so swiftly that it felt like it might beat right out of my chest. “Did you mean what you said about your feelings for me?” I asked.

“I did,” he said, swallowing hard. “I do .”

“I care for you too.”

He searched my eyes for meaning. “Tell me what you want, Kate.”

“I want to stay here, Oliver. With you .”

Oliver’s eyes flickered with emotion. A mixture of hope and hesitation. “Are you certain?” he asked.

“I am.”

He took a slow step forward. “Under normal circumstances, I would court you. But given our situation, I don’t know how to go about this.”

“Nor I. But together we will figure it out.”

“Perhaps we can meet in the dining hall for breakfast,” he suggested.

“And in the drawing room before dinner,” I said.

He nodded. “We can walk in the garden every afternoon.”

“And play cards by candlelight every evening.”

He smiled. “I would like that very much.”

“Me too.”

“And if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

He stepped even closer to me. Close enough that I could feel the heat of his body and see the desire in his eyes. I had not imagined it. He wanted me too.

Oliver ducked his head slightly toward me. To say something more? To kiss me? I would never know because we were interrupted by a knock at the library door. Jarred back to reality, Oliver cleared his throat and put proper distance between us. “Come in,” he called.

Bexley peeked inside the library, his gaze moving between us. “Your guests should be arriving soon, sir.”

“Thank you, Bexley,” Oliver said, and then he turned to me. “May I walk you upstairs?”

I took his offered arm.

We silently ascended the stairs, and when we reached the top, he led me down the corridor to the attic door. The space was not wide, nor was it well lit.

When we reached the door, he touched my elbow, gently turning me to face him. “I dislike that you must hide in the attic,” he said.

I did, too, but saying so would not change the fact that it was necessary. “I’ve hidden in the attic for two years. What is one more night?”

He looked pained. “Promise me you’ll stay hidden. If anyone sees you—”

“I promise,” I said. “You’ve worked hard to make this night a success. Don’t waste it worrying about me.”

“I will always worry about you,” he whispered.

“You needn’t. I will be fine. Your guests will arrive soon. You should go,” I said, though I did not want him to.

“I should,” he agreed, though he did not move.

“Oliver.” I forced a smile I didn’t feel. “Go.”

He took a slow backward step.

“Wait,” I said, stopping him. “Your ... cravat is crooked.” It was a pathetic excuse to prolong his parting—Oliver was nothing if not precise with his appearance—but he immediately came closer and lifted his chin.

My hands rose to his cravat. The fabric was stiffly starched and free of wrinkles. If I touched it, it would crease. I couldn’t do that to him tonight.

Candlelight flickered in his eyes. “Forgive me, I was mistaken. Your cravat is perf—”

Oliver tugged his cravat.

“Oliver!” I gaped at his crooked cravat. “Your guests.”

“Help me retie it?” he murmured.

I lifted my hands to his cravat again, but they were trembling too much to do any good.

I could feel the heat of his body through his shirt.

We were standing so close. So close that if I were to look up, our mouths would meet in a kiss.

I wanted to kiss him, and the rapid way his chest rose and fell with each of his breaths hinted that he wanted the same.

But I had misjudged one moment between us, and I did not want to make the same mistake again.

I glanced away, giving Oliver the opportunity to retreat, but he cupped my chin and gently drew my gaze back to his. He brushed his thumb across my cheek, and the sensation made me shiver with pleasure.

I leaned into his touch, inhaling the spicy, sweet scent of the cologne on his wrist. He smelled so good. He always smelled good, but tonight, he was intoxicating.

He looked at me like I was something precious, something he treasured.

But he didn’t kiss me. He seemed afraid that one wrong move would send me fleeing into the shadows.

After the trauma I’d experienced with Mr. Cavendish, I had not thought I would ever feel so safe with a man again.

But the time I’d spent with Oliver had changed me.

I wasn’t frightened anymore. I wouldn’t run. Not from him.

I lifted my still trembling hands to his shoulders.

The simple contact seemed to reassure him. He lightly rested his hand on my waist, pulling me closer with a careful restraint that only made me want him to kiss me more. He dipped his head but hovered a breath away, giving me a final opportunity to retreat.

I tilted my chin just enough to show him that I welcomed his kiss, that I wanted it.

Finally, he lowered his mouth to mine.

Oliver’s kiss was soft and sweet and achingly slow, and I savored every second, the tenderness of his touch, the warmth of his lips, the gentle pressure of his fingertips on my face and waist. It was a kiss that asked for nothing but offered everything.

When Oliver finally drew back, he rested his forehead against mine. We lingered like that as long as we could. Until we heard a carriage coming down the lane outside.

Oliver reluctantly stepped back, trailing his hand down my arm before finally letting go.

He smoothed his crumpled cravat and tied a quick knot.

He then turned and retreated down the corridor.

At the end, he looked over his shoulder at me and smiled.

It was small but more certain than before our kiss.

My heart swelled with happiness.

Everything felt foreign and fragile, like we were walking a path we didn’t quite know how to navigate, but we were both eager to see where it would lead.