Page 40 of Winterset

Kate

Light crept under the priest-hide door, signaling morning.

At last!

I’d been awake for hours, eager to hear every detail of Oliver’s ghost-story reading, but I’d forced myself to lay in bed until the sun had risen to allow Oliver to rest after his late night spent entertaining. I also did not want to appear over eager.

What I would have given to attend last night—to have heard him read the passage we’d selected, to have been seated beside him as we’d eaten the delicious meal we’d planned, and to kiss his sweet lips after all our guests had left.

I would have worked for a month, a year !

I would have even allowed Mrs. Owensby to style my hair.

But Oliver’s recounting of the night would have to suffice.

I pushed back the covers, shivering against the cold, and quickly donned my slippers and dressing gown.

I felt along the wall until I found the handle and pushed open, or rather, tried to push open the door.

But it didn’t budge. I tried again, this time pressing my shoulder into the door.

It opened only an inch, then snapped shut with the heaviness of something blocking it.

My heart picked up its pace, panicked at being trapped in such a small, dark place.

I took a steadying breath and made myself think logically. Could something have fallen in front of the door? Maybe I needed to use some force to move it out of the way.

I planted my feet on the floor, and using all my strength, I gave the door a hefty push. This time, it easily swung open, and I fell through the threshold into Oliver.

His arms came around me as I fell forward, and we ended up in something of a dipped embrace.

I blinked up at him. Sun streamed through the window behind him, highlighting his golden curls. His messy golden curls.

As he set me back on my feet, I took his measure: mussed hair, puffy eyes, rumpled clothes.

The same clothes he’d worn last night, minus his coat and cravat, which had been removed and discarded in a pile by the door.

He was usually so composed, so perfectly styled and put together; this morning, though, he was anything but.

I liked seeing him undone.

“Did you sleep here last night?” I asked.

“Against the door,” he confirmed. “I would not suggest it. Very uncomfortable, and I had quite a rude awakening.”

“You can hardly blame me for that. I did not know you were there, and a door’s main purpose is to be opened, is it not?”

“Indeed, you are right. I only have myself to blame for this stiff shoulder.” He rolled his shoulders as if trying to drive away the pain.

I tried not to notice how the muscles in his arms bunched and flexed, but it could not be helped.

I knew I should look away, but his arms were just .

.. so ... admirable in those thin shirt sleeves.

I made myself meet his knowing gaze and forced the focus of our conversation back on him.

“So ... why were you sleeping outside my door?”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

I smiled, pleased that he’d thought of me last night. “I am safe,” I assured him.

Oliver nodded, glancing over his shoulder. What was he looking for?

“Are you all right?” I asked. “You seem out of countenance this morning.”

“Yes, well ... It’s just ...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You should sit.” He led me to the main part of the attic and gestured to the lid of my trunk. He remained standing.

“You are worrying me.” And when he did not immediately start to assuage my fears, I knew something was wrong. Did something happen last night to make him regret our kiss?

“I have made a grave mistake, Kate. I invited Mr. Cavendish to the ghost-story reading.”

“You what ?”

“I didn’t know his true identity,” Oliver hastily explained. “You’d only ever called him Mr. Cavendish, and I knew him only as Lord Markham.”

I tried to make sense of Oliver’s confession. “You are saying my former intended Mr. Cavendish is your new friend?”

“I am.”

“You must be mistaken. Mr. Cavendish was not in line to inherit his father’s title. Could you have hosted his father or elder brother?”

Oliver shook his head. “Both his father and brother have passed away. Mr. Cavendish, Lord Markham, inherited the title sometime in the last two years.”

“How is this plausible? How, within the space of two short years, have three men—my father, his father, and his elder brother—close to Mr. Cavendish died?”

“I have my suspicions,” Oliver said.

So did I, and it did not bode well for my own survival. “All right.” I took several deep breaths to stave off my mounting panic. “Everything is going to be all right. Mr. Cavendish was here, but he doesn’t know I’m alive. Nothing needs to change.”

Oliver looked like he might be sick. “He does know.”

“He couldn’t possibly.”

“The night I went to the tavern, the night I saw you in the library, I told Markham that I believed Winterset was haunted. That I’d seen a ghost.”

“That does not necessarily signify anything. I saw you that night, Oliver. You said so many things in your drunken state that did not make sense.”

“It doesn’t matter. What I said made him suspicious. And last night, he sneaked away from the party, into my study, and found a discarded draft of the letter I wrote to you. He knows you are alive, Kate. And he wants you back.”

Dread washed over me in waves. I clutched the edge of the trunk to steady myself.

Oliver crouched in front of me and spoke softly. “I am so sorry. I promised to protect you and then led him directly to you.”

“It is not your fault.”

“It is my fault,” he said.

I shook my head. “If I hadn’t been in the library that night, you would not have had anything to tell. It was my fault more than yours.”

“No. I was so eager to be befriended by Lord Markham that I was blinded to his true identity. But I should have opened my eyes. I should have seen who he truly was. I am such a fool.”

“Don’t punish yourself too severely. I fell for his act too. Mr. Cavendish, or I suppose it is Lord Markham now, is clever and cunning.”

Oliver stood and began pacing the floor in front of me. “We must do something to ensure your safety,” he said. “We must lock the gates and cover the windows and—”

“That might have worked well to protect me before he knew,” I interrupted, “but not now. If he wants me back, closing the gate won’t stop him from coming to claim me.”

“You are right, of course.” Oliver rubbed the scar on his forehead.

“So we must ... we must ...” He let out a frustrated breath when an immediate plan did not reveal itself.

He then raked his hands through his hair.

And when that didn’t prove successful in coming up with a strategy, he started pacing again.

He began suggesting ideas that ranged from the impossible—bringing the law to bear against Markham—to the absurd—changing my name and appearance and returning as a woman from foreign lands.

I simply listened, knowing what Oliver did not: there was no solution that would allow us to be together safely. No matter what we did, Markham would not give up.

“Oliver,” I finally said, trying to stop him.

“I’ll find a way to fix this.”

“Oliver,” I said again.

“I only need a little time to think of some way to keep you safe here.”

I stood in front of him, stopping him. “You can’t keep me safe here anymore,” I said. “And if I stayed, you would not be safe. Three men have already died. I will not endanger another.”

“Then ... I will come with you,” he said, his voice desperate.

“I wish you could come with me, but you cannot. Winterset is your home, Oliver. It is your livelihood and your future. No matter how much we might wish otherwise, I have to go, and you have to stay.”

Oliver opened his mouth to protest, but I held up my hand, silencing him. I cared for him too much to allow him to sacrifice his well-being for me. “You said if I ever changed my mind about wanting to stay with you here at Winterset, I need only tell you.”

He stilled, comprehension filling his eyes.

“I want to leave, Oliver. Please, help me.”