Page 38 of Winterset

Oliver

Standing on the drive, I watched the Daltons’ carriage come toward me. I’d hoped Markham would arrive first so that he could act as a buffer between Miss Dalton and me, but unfortunately for me, he did not.

As soon as the Daltons’ carriage came to a stop, one of the men I’d hired to help as footman tonight stepped forward to let down the step and open the door. I had also hired a few stablehands to assist with the horses and carriages in the stables but no one additional.

When I’d made my invitation, before I’d known about Kate, I’d planned to hire more staff.

But after she’d come out of hiding, I hadn’t felt comfortable bringing additional people inside the manor.

I hated how hard my servants would have to work to put on this dinner and reading tonight, but Kate’s safety came first.

Mr. and Mrs. Dalton alighted first, followed by Miss Dalton’s younger sister, Miss Arabella Dalton.

It had been lucky indeed that Miss Dalton had a younger sister.

Otherwise, our numbers would not have been equal, and I would have had to invite more guests.

Finally, Miss Dalton poked her head out the door.

Knowing the part I must play, I stepped forward and tapped the footman on the shoulder and asked him to move aside so that I might assist the young lady myself. I did not relish having to play the part of a doting suitor tonight, but I was a gentleman.

Miss Dalton gracefully placed her gloved hand in mine and stepped down. I tucked her hand into the crook of my elbow, and we started up the stairs.

“You look lovely tonight, Miss Dalton,” I supplied the expected pleasantry, and while it was true, she was not as lovely as Kate.

“I am glad you think so, Mr. Jennings. I had this dress made especially for this occasion.”

I hoped she hadn’t spent too much, for the effort was wasted on me. Her excitement, however, was a good reminder to tread carefully tonight. I didn’t wish to give the girl false hope, at least no more than I already had.

We’d just reached the portico to wait with the rest of her family when Markham’s carriage entered the gate.

I made idle conversation with the Daltons as the conveyance traveled down the short drive and around the fountain, then finally came to a stop.

The footman opened the door, and Markham stepped down.

His eyes skimmed over the chimneys, the cornice, the canted windows.

My manor likely did not hold a candle to his own—he was a baron and likely lived in a far grander house than Winterset—but I was proud of all the improvements I’d made since my arrival; the drive was freshly graveled, the fountain clean and working, and the ivy neatly trimmed.

When Markham finally dropped his gaze and started up the stairs, I said, “Welcome to Winterset, Lord Markham.”

“I have been waiting a long while to hear those words,” he said.

“Two weeks is not so long.” I gave him a good-natured laugh.

“No, indeed. I’m just impatient for some entertainment.”

“Well then, let us not delay any longer. Mrs. Owensby is preparing us a fine meal, and then we shall have our reading.”

“Capital,” Markham said and offered the younger Miss Arabella his arm.

Bexley stood at the door to take my guests’ coats, but when the moment arrived to do so, he stood stock-still, eyes wide and mouth ajar, gaping at my guests.

Gads! My guests were not even inside yet, and already, my servants were acting strangely.

“Bexley.” I cleared my throat. “The coats, if you please.”

Bexley shook his head as if coming to his senses and took the proffered items before quickly disappearing inside to stow them.

“My staff is a little out of practice,” I jested, trying to lessen the discomfort and earning a few laughs from my guests.

“So it seems,” Mrs. Dalton said. “We should be glad to host you next, Mr. Jennings.”

“You are too kind,” I said, but I would not be accepting any future invitations from them.

I led my guests inside, and their gazes roamed the entrance hall.

Not much had been done to improve this space, save for replacing the carpets and candles, but contrary to my first impression, not much had actually been needed in this hall.

Winterset’s entrance was not as grand as some larger houses, but it was impressive.

Moonlight poured through the centuries-old stained-glass windows, illuminating the images and casting shadows along the arched corridor that ran the length of the landing.

And on the ground floor, candelabras highlighted the hand-carved banister of the double staircase and the gallery of gilded frames.

“You have a fine home, Mr. Jennings,” Mr. Dalton said.

“Very fine, indeed,” Mrs. Dalton said, glancing around. “Lacking a few feminine touches, but I suppose you are wise to let the future Mrs. Jennings”—she glanced meaningfully at her daughter—“see to such things.”

Miss Dalton smiled up at me as though already envisioning herself in the role.

My stomach twisted at the thought. “This way.” I directed my guests to the drawing room to wait for dinner to be announced.

“Oh my!” Miss Dalton gasped. “Mr. Jennings, this room is ...” Her sentence stalled as she eyed the threadbare carpets, moth-eaten tapestries, and gruesome paintings. We’d hung the most graphic ones on either side of the stage.

“Terrifying?” I supplied.

“Well, yes .”

“I’m glad you think so.”

She stared at me like I’d gone mad.

“Is it not the perfect setting for our reading?” I asked.

Mr. Dalton laughed. “You mean to say you did all this”—he swept his hand over the room—“on purpose?”

“What is a ghost story without a haunted room to read it in? Please, have a look around.”

The Daltons readily took my invitation, walking to where the historical relics were displayed on the pianoforte.

Only Markham remained at my side. He lowered his voice. “Hope you are ready for a quick courtship, old boy.”

My gaze cut to him.

“Don’t look so alarmed.” He chuckled. “I did tell you not to pay too much attention to any one young lady.”

“Yes, but this is only our second meeting,” I said only loud enough for him to hear.

“Mothers have seen their daughters married with less. Don’t you like her, Jennings?”

“I hardly know her.”

“She has a pleasing face and a decent dowry. What more do you need to know?”

My conscience condemned me for having once believed something similar. How shortsighted and selfish I had been.

Markham clapped me on the back, and we joined the Daltons at the pianoforte to view Kate’s relics.

“This is quite a collection you’ve got,” Mr. Dalton said.

“It is,” Markham agreed. “A small fortune.”

“Yes, well, the monetary value of these items is nothing compared to their historical significance,” I said and began reciting what history I could recall from Mrs. Owensby’s tour during my first week at Winterset.

To my surprise, I remembered quite a lot: I told them of King HenryVIII and the Roundheads, of the Elizabethan priest hunters, and of my ancestors who came to own the home.

I told them of the many improvements they’d made and how I hoped to be part of this incredible history.

The Daltons seemed impressed, but I hadn’t said it to impress them. I honestly felt what I said. My maternal ancestors had an honorable history, and day by day, as I’d worked to improve the house and protect Kate, I was proud to become a part of that legacy.

Not long later, Bexley appeared at the door.

I all but held my breath, waiting for him to speak, hoping he would not make another blunder. He was a bit stiff and did not linger, but to my relief, he seamlessly announced dinner and quit the room.

My guests and I filed out of the drawing room in pairs: Miss Dalton and I, Lord Markham and Miss Arabella, and Mr. and Mrs. Dalton.

I didn’t like how strongly Miss Dalton smelled of bergamot or the way her fingers dug into my arm. Or perhaps I just didn’t like having anyone other than Kate on my arm.

In the dining hall, I pulled out Miss Dalton’s chair— Kate’s chair—and Miss Dalton sat.

I’d made sure Mrs. Owensby had prepared Kate a tray before the guests arrived, but I hated that she had to eat it in hiding.

As soon as we were all seated, the dinner service began.

It had been a long while since I’d attended a dinner party, and I’d never hosted one, but I found it rather enjoyable. Conversation flowed as freely as the wine, and dinner was delicious.

Only one thing was missing.

Kate.

She should be seated beside me tonight. She’d planned nearly everything about this night: the decorations, the dinner menu, even the passage we would later read.

This was her night, and it was not fair that she did not get to enjoy it.

Would we ever find a way to make it safe for her to come out of hiding? I hoped so. She deserved so much more.

“What do you think, Mr. Jennings?” Mr. Dalton looked at me expectantly.

“Forgive me, my mind wandered. What was it you asked?”

“Your thoughts on keeping hedgehogs as pets,” he repeated, his tone serious.

I glanced at Markham, who was fighting a grin, and cleared my throat. “I ... suppose if one is fond of prickly companions, it might be worth the effort.”

Mr. Dalton nodded, and the rest of the company continued the conversation.

To my relief, the hired footmen did their job admirably, and before I knew it, dinner had progressed to dessert. When we’d had our fill, we retired back to the drawing room for the reading.

Mrs. Owensby had positioned the settee and armchairs in an arc, facing the wall that would serve as the back to our “stage,” as Kate had planned. The stage was nothing more than a threadbare carpet and the backdrop only a tattered tapestry, but it worked well enough.

The Misses Dalton and their mother whispered as they sat on the settee in the center, and Markham and Mr. Dalton made themselves comfortable in the armchairs.