Page 47 of Winterset

Oliver

Four days after Kate left, I sat in my study, staring at a stack of paperwork. I’d hired a new solicitor to see to my estate, Mr. Wheldon, and he was insistent that I read and sign the papers.

Page after page, I fought for focus, but there was nothing for it. My thoughts constantly turned to Kate.

She should have arrived at Summerhaven by now. I wondered what she thought of it. It was so different from Winterset. Would she be overwhelmed by its opulence? What would she think of my family? I knew they would be kind to her, but what would they tell her about me?

There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Owensby peeked inside. “I’m going to town now, sir. Do you want me to purchase anything specific for your meals this week? Perhaps some salmon?”

I hated the thought of sitting down to another meal alone. “Whatever you prefer, Mrs. Owensby.” I did not care. I had no appetite.

With a nod, she closed the study door, leaving me alone again.

There had been many times in my life when I’d felt alone—growing up at Summerhaven, within my own family, studying at Eton, traveling on my Grand Tour—but I’d never been this lonely .

Sighing, I pushed aside the paperwork and tried to outpace my problems. Back and forth, I walked the length of the room, but it was a fool’s errand; my problems were too big, and my study was too small.

I walked to the entry hall, but the change of space did nothing to lift my mood. Without Kate, the manor felt more like a mausoleum, the halls hollow, the house lifeless.

Perhaps I needed some fresh air. Outside, though, the day was dark and dreary, so I returned to my study.

I’d failed to keep Kate safe here, but at least I could care for her home. That was how I thought of Winterset: her home. So long as I lived here, her ghost would haunt me, reminding me of how I was the reason she’d had to leave.

Mrs. Owensby had said to give it time and I would feel better, but no amount of time could fill Kate’s void.

I slumped back into my seat. If only Markham had not seen the letter I’d written to Kate, then ... What? She would still be hiding here?

As much as I missed her, I would sacrifice my desire to be with her a thousand times over if it meant she would be free to live a more fulfilled life.

Missing her, I went to the library, retrieved one of my books that she’d used as a sketchbook, and brought it back to my study. Sitting at my desk again, I opened the first page. The book was filled with sketches of flowers—every one lovely.

As I flipped through the pages, a flattened daisy fell out.

Picking it up, I rolled the stem between my fingers, twirling the flower. There was a bend in the stem. Why had she saved it? Perhaps she’d drawn the daisy.

She had.

It was a simple sketch but beautiful.

Kate was so talented. When she was safely settled in her new life, wherever that might be, I hoped she would continue to create.

I lowered the daisy to the page, then stopped. It was too lovely to be locked between the pages of a book, so I placed it in the empty inkwell. Every time I looked at it, I would think of her.

I glanced at the timepiece on the mantel.

Only a few minutes had passed since the last time I’d looked. Time passed so slowly without her, every second excruciating. How had Kate passed the time here alone for two years? It had been only four days since she’d left, and I was already mad for missing her.

I thought back to our last conversation.

She’d said so many wonderful things about me. I hoped she would remember me that way, but I worried Damon might say something to shadow her feelings for me.

Kate had said that based on what she’d read in Damon’s letter, she thought he loved and missed me. What had given her that impression? I could not think of a single reason he might write something remotely positive about me.

Our relationship had not been good since he’d gone away to Eton, and I’d been but a boy then. As we’d grown, his derision had been so painful. He’d not even sat at the pianoforte with me anymore. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve his hatred, but he had hated me.

And then after university, he’d become so much like Father. So superior. He’d looked down his nose at everything and everyone, including me.

There was a short time, the summer he’d courted Hannah, that he’d tried to mend our relationship. But even then, it had been obvious he had not liked me.

What had he written?

I opened my top desk drawer and stared down at the stack of unopened letters. I didn’t know why I’d kept them all this time, carrying them from France to Italy and then all the way back here.

I ran my hands over the papers. Which one had Kate read?

I pulled out the one nearest the front of the desk. The seal had been broken. This one, then. Before I could think better of it, I unfolded the missive, smoothed it on my desk, and skimmed the message.

Oliver,

It has been three weeks since I stood on the steps of Summerhaven and watched you leave on your Grand Tour. How I longed to run after you that day, to convince you to stay.

I skipped down.

Father died a few days after your departure.... You missed his funeral.... We wanted you there. We needed you....

Come home, Ollie. We miss you terribly.

Your brother, first and forever.

xDamon

A lump formed in my throat, and I set the letter aside.

Father was dead. I had assumed he was. Even before I’d left I’d known he didn’t have much time remaining.

But reading confirmation brought fresh pain.

My whole life, he’d been callous to me. But he was still my father, and I had always wished that one day we’d be reconciled, that he would finally see and love me. Now it was too late.

Honestly, though, what did it matter?

I glanced at Damon’s salutation again and wondered whether his emotions were born more from my leaving or from Father’s funeral. I couldn’t tell.

Curious, I plucked the next letter out of the drawer.

Ollie,

Charlie wrote that you have arrived in Paris. He says you are safe but doing no better than you were during your lowest days in London.... Come home.

Charlie. The traitor. I scowled at the letter and set it aside.

Ollie,

Did you leave because you are upset that I married Hannah?

After reading my letter to her, I thought you understood.

You seemed so supportive of our union. But I can’t help but wonder if that is why you have been away so long.

I beg you not to be angry. Hannah is my whole heart.

I am sorry for hurting you, for forgetting you.

I swear I will never let it happen again. Come home.

Ollie,

It has been two months. I know you do not like me, and I understand why. I designed it that way, after all. But I have to believe that if you understood why I distanced myself from you, you would have more compassion and desire to make amends. Come home.

Ollie,

Hannah is with child. She would be mortified that I wrote that in a missive, but you are my brother, and I want you to know. It is my greatest fear that I will become like Father. I need you here to tell me when I am being wool-headed. No one else will set me straight like you would. Come home.

Ollie,

If he were alive, Father would whip my back until it bled for saying this, but I enjoy working in the stables.

The stablehands don’t know what to make of me.

An earl who mucks stalls? Unspeakable! I told them if King George could farm, I could clean a stable.

You would likely side with the stablehands.

But I love it, Ollie. I love working with my hands.

I wish you could see what I’ve done to our family seat. Come home.

I had the sudden desire to tell him all about working on Winterset with Kate. About the papers we’d hung and the drive I’d cleared. I was so proud of what we’d accomplished. I wished he could see it.

Ollie,

It has been six months. Charlie wrote to tell me that you don’t read my letters. I don’t care. I will keep writing to you until the day I die. I will not forget you again, brother. Come home.

Ollie,

Hannah is due any day. I’m so scared, Ollie. I don’t think I could survive if something were to happen to her. Soon, I’ll have a son or a daughter—perhaps both. And you won’t even know. The thought breaks my heart. Come home.

Ollie,

Summerhaven Stables is a success. A slow success but a success nonetheless. I wish you were here to share it with me. Be done with this self-imposed exile, brother. Come home.

Ollie,

I’m a father. And you are an uncle. I wanted you to know. I won’t write anything more than that, though, because I want you to come home and see for yourself. Come home.

Ollie,

It’s been one year since you left. I convinced myself that you would return to Summerhaven today.

I don’t know why. I sat up all night in my study, waiting for you to walk in the door.

Obviously, you didn’t. I tried to hide my disappointment from Hannah, but she knew.

She always knows. I cannot hide anything from my wife.

It is a wonderful feeling to be known so well by someone.

But it made me realize that one day, you will marry, and I won’t even know.

Perhaps you already have. The thought guts me. Come home.

Ollie,

Charlie writes that you’ve moved to Italy.

That you are doing better there. I’m glad.

But, Ollie, you should be here. If you were here, we could ride the hills together every day, just as we did when we were boys.

I miss those times, Ollie. I miss sitting with you at the pianoforte.

I miss skipping stones across the river. Do you? Come home.

Ollie,

I want to tell you why I distanced myself from you when we were boys.

I want to explain why I maintained that distance for so long.

I want you to understand why I gave you the cut direct when we were at Eton and why I stopped sitting with you at the pianoforte.

But I don’t want to write it in a letter.

I want to talk to you face-to-face. I want to look you in the eye.

I want to beg for your forgiveness. And I want to wrap my arms around you and tell you how much I love you.

How much you are needed and wanted in this family.

I want you to know more than anything that you belong. Please, I am begging you. Come home.

Ollie,

It’s been two years. I still have not formally accepted my title. I don’t know that I ever will. How could I accept a title that has caused us both so much pain? Come home.

In every letter, he’d written Come home .

Did he mean it? He’d told me he hadn’t forgotten me, and after reading all his letters, I wondered if it could be true.

I wanted it to be. There were so many things I wanted to speak with him about.

I wanted to hear more about the stables and Father’s funeral and my niece or nephew.

I wanted to tell him things too. About my Grand Tour and Winterset and especially Kate.

I’d see him soon, I hoped. And maybe we could talk. I wondered if time and distance had caused too much of a rift for us to overcome. There was no way of knowing, not until I returned to Summerhaven. And I couldn’t go yet, for Kate’s sake. I wouldn’t risk leading Markham to her.

There was one more thing I realized, though, reading Damon’s letters. Although he’d repeatedly beseeched me to come home , Summerhaven was not my home.

It had felt like home when I was a boy: sitting at the pianoforte with Damon, running through the garden hedgerows with Hannah, and learning how to read with Mother. Even though Summerhaven might be my family seat, it had not felt like home for a long time.

I’d lived in many places, but none of them had been home to me. Even Winterset, which was the closest to it, hadn’t felt the same since Kate had left.

What was home anyway?

I’d always known that one day I would live at Winterset.

As I’d worked with Kate to repair it, it had begun to feel like a home.

I’d mistakenly thought the repairs and improvements were what had made my feelings change.

Then Kate had left, and now it felt like nothing more than a foundation and empty walls.

The place where I’d had a purpose, a place where I’d felt needed, loved, and like I belonged, had reverted back to being a building void of sentiment.

My whole life, I had been looking for home, not realizing it wasn’t merely the place one lived. As I sat in my study, I realized ... Winterset wasn’t my home. Without Kate, it would never be more than an empty house.

I suddenly understood. I finally knew what Damon had known all along: home was not a place but the people you loved.

Kate was my home.

That was why it hurt so much being separated from her.

But what if we didn’t have to live at Winterset?

My heart raced with the realization.

When my brother had been willing to give up Summerhaven for Hannah, I’d thought him mad. I’d thought he’d been bartering our family’s future for a feeling.

I understood now why he’d been willing to risk Summerhaven. It was because it was just a house.

I didn’t need a house or wealth or a title to be happy. In fact, it was my lack of a title and entailment on my estate that was my greatest asset. Unlike Damon, who was legally bound to keep Summerhaven, as second son, I wasn’t limited by such strict rules.

Winterset was not entailed. I could sell the estate, and then Kate and I could start a new life wherever we wanted. We could move to the other side of the world if we desired, and Markham would never find us.

It seemed so obvious now.

I stood, eager to begin preparations to sell this house and begin my new life. My new solicitor would think me mad. I’d just hired him to help me get my estate in order, and now I wanted to sell it. But I didn’t care what he thought of me.

I stepped into the entrance hall, and the front door swung open.

It was Mrs. Owensby.

A glance at her face told me something was terribly wrong.

“Mr. Jennings.” She gasped for breath. She must have run all the way from the village. “It’s Lord Markham,” she began. “He’s gone.”

My pulse picked up. “Gone where?”

“His servant said he had business that he needed to put an end to in the south country.”

Kate.

“When did he leave?” I demanded.

“Four days ago.”

The day Kate had left for Summerhaven. He knew.

Our plan to protect her, the guise with which we’d whisked her away to safety, had not fooled him.

I had to get to Summerhaven.

I had to get to Kate.