Page 42 of Winterset

“Or someone who knew my father,” Kate suggested.

“It’s possible. But I doubt we will ever know.”

“Perhaps I could help identify him,” Kate said. “What did Mr. Moore look like?”

“He was a man of average height and weight. Dressed cleanly. Well enough spoken to be convincing in his playacting.”

“Did he have any distinguishing features?”

“I don’t remember any,” I said. “But to be honest with you, I was deep in my cups at the time. Beyond the barest description—one that could describe almost any man—I don’t remember much.”

“Have you looked for him?” she asked.

I nodded. “Right after arriving at Winterset, I went to the postmaster. Mr. Moore had been retrieving my letters and the money from the postmaster for two years, so I thought the postmaster might be helpful, but I learned nothing useful from him. Apparently, a different man came to pick up each of the letters. And after I wrote to Mr. Moore that I was returning to England, he disappeared completely. He didn’t even pick up my last letter. ”

“I know. A post-boy delivered it to Winterset. We opened it to determine the sender.”

“And you read it, I assume.”

She winced. “Yes.”

“Curious Kate.” I shook my head, tsking.

She gave me a wry smile. “Could you hire a thief-taker?” she asked, changing the subject.

I sighed. “I considered doing so, but without a physical description of him or any leads, chasing Mr. Moore would be a fool’s errand. Mr. Moore and my money are long gone.”

She sighed, then was quiet for a long moment. “I thought you’d left Winterset to rot,” she admitted. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“I can see why you would think that. But I promise you that I only stayed away for so long because I was trying to do right by Winterset.”

“Why did you not say something sooner?” she asked softly.

“Because I was swindled, Kate. In my first hour of ownership, I placed my inheritance in the hands of a thief. And it was—it is —humiliating.” I glanced at her, and her eyes showed a gentleness that made me feel even more unmanned.

“When did you go to Italy?” she asked.

“After a year in France, Charlie suggested we tour Italy. I wanted a change, too, so I agreed. I let a modest home in a small farming village. At first, I thought I might go mad from boredom. Life there was simple and slow, but as the weeks turned to months, I learned to love the solitude.

“I saw how much the people loved their land, and I began to long for my own. I wanted to come to Winterset and make something of it and of myself. But it took me another year to trust myself again. To become a man I believed was worthy of Winterset.

“I was wrong to stay away for so long, Kate. I know that now. I should have come here as soon as I inherited Winterset and cared for my estate. I should have been a better man.”

“Even the best men make mistakes,” she said softly.

Perhaps, but I’d made so many.

“When I first read your letter to Mr. Moore, the one stating that you would soon be arriving, I thought you were proud and conceited.”

“I am proud and conceited.” I grinned at her.

“Perhaps,” she said. “But you are also kind, gallant, and the most generous man I’ve ever known.”

I shook my head. “I am every bit the lout you believed me to be when I first arrived.”

“No, Oliver. You’re not.”

“I am , Kate. You would not even be in a position to have to leave tomorrow if it weren’t for me.” I trained my gaze on the ground, ashamed.

“Look at me, Oliver.” Kate gently touched my cheek, guiding my gaze back to hers. “Since that day you climbed over the fence wearing that ridiculous topper, you have done nothing but care for this house and everyone inside it. You are the best of men, Oliver Jennings.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “My own family does not even think so.”

She looked at me for a long moment, seeming to debate whether or not to say something, and then finally said, “I don’t think that’s true. Have you read their letters?”

“How did you know about their letters?”

“Before we met, when I was trying to ascertain your character, I went into your study, and I saw them in your desk. It was the same day I redacted your notes. I read one of the letters.”

“Ah,” I said.

“Are you very upset?” she asked.

Was I? I took measure of my feelings. I wasn’t mad that she’d read a letter. I was embarrassed that she knew I hadn’t read their correspondence. I wondered what damning information it might contain about me, but I wasn’t upset. “No,” I said. “I’m just surprised.”

“I only read the one, but it was obvious how much your brother loves and misses you.”

My throat tightened. “I’m sure you are wrong.”

“If I am, then why would they continue to write?”

“Duty. Obligation.”

She shook her head. “The words written in his letter said nothing of that.”

“What did it say?” I asked.

“You should read his letters and find out for yourself.” She raised an eyebrow at me in challenge.

“No good can come from digging up the past. It’s better for me to look to the future.”

“Sometimes, it is,” she agreed. “And sometimes, you have to look back to know which way to move forward.”

Kate clutched my lapels, and I looked down at her in my arms. Her eyes were filled with love and longing, a mirror of my own.

My heart felt like it would burst with the feelings it held for her. I wanted to hold her like this forever.

But no matter how much I wanted that, tomorrow morning, our lives would start down different paths, and I did not want to make our parting any harder. I would be the man she believed I was. I would be honorable and bid her good night.

“The storm has stopped,” I said.

She listened for a moment, then nodded. “I didn’t even notice.”

“It’s late,” I said. “You must be tired.”

Another nod.

I shifted her in my arms to help her stand, then stood myself. I walked her up the stairs to her bedchamber, and at the door, I bid her good night.