Page 107 of Winterset
“May I sit with you?” I asked.
“I would be grateful,” she said, scooting to one side of the sofa to make room for me. “I find storms so frightening,” she said even as another bolt of lightning flashed.
I crossed the room to the window and closed the curtains, then walked back and sat beside her.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “During storms like this, Papa used to sit with me here in the library. The books dampen the sound, and the storm feels less fierce. I know it’s silly to be scared of a little weather, but—”
“Not silly,” I said. “Weather like this is frightening. Any sailor would agree.”
She gave me a small smile, but she still seemed so scared.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Papa used to read to me to distract me.”
“I should be glad to read to you. I’m sure you’ve read every book in this library, but what about the ghost story I borrowed from the lending library? Would you like me to read that to you?”
“A ghost story would only frighten me more. Would you tell me about your Grand Tour?”
My chest stiffened. I had no desire to relive that part of my life, for many reasons, but for her, I would. “What would you like to know?”
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“France. Italy. A year in each.”
“You were gone a long time. Why?”
Thunder rumbled outside, and she stiffened. I instinctively put my arm around her shoulders, and she relaxed into my side. “Because I needed to get away. From home. From the man I was becoming,” I answered honestly.
“What sort of man were you becoming?” she asked.
“The type of man who traveled with twenty-seven hats,” I said, and she smiled. But her smile wouldn’t last long, not once she realized her original perception of me was more accurate than her present one. “I was the type of man who cared more for himself than for others,” I admitted. “The type of man who valued leisure and luxury more than love.”
Kate stared up at me, listening.
“Every day, I awoke only to amuse myself: Hyde Park, Tattersalls, Vauxhall Gardens ... All of it was mine for the taking. My plan for the future was to marry a woman with a large enough dowry to support my lifestyle.” I admitted my greatest shame, and she sucked in a breath.
“Then,” I pressed on, “at the invitation of my mother, Hannah came to visit. And over the course of that summer, she helped me see who I’d become. I didn’t like what I saw, but neither did I know how to change. I thought I might be able to with her help, but it was too late. She’d fallen in love with my brother.
“Damon married Hannah, my father’s health was failing, and then I was notified that Winterset had become vacant—or so we were told—ahouse that I wasn’t sure I even wanted, much less was worthy of. It was a dark and depressing time in my life. I felt lost and alone, and instead of staying and facing my problems, I fled to France.”
Another bolt of lightning flashed. Kate flinched and turned toward me. I wrapped my other arm protectively around her. When the initial fright had worn away, I thought she would sit back in her seat again, but she didn’t. She rested her head on my shoulder and looked up at me, her eyes silently asking for me to continue.
Although I disliked sharing this part of my life, I sensed that the sound of my voice was soothing her, so I resumed my story.
“Paris and its many pleasures offered me a momentary escape from pain, but my days had no meaning, my life no purpose. Paris was a beautiful city, but besides Charlie, I was alone. I missed my family and my home, but I felt unwanted and unneeded by both. I wasn’t ready to return to England and take up my responsibilities. I believed Winterset was better off in Mr. Moore’s hands, so I stayed away.”
“Who is Mr. Moore?” Kate said.
I didn’t want to tell her. It was deeply humiliating. But she hadn’t pulled away from me when I’d told her about the other things. Perhaps it would be all right. Longing for her understanding and absolution, I took a deep breath and hesitantly said, “When Winterset became vacant, I knew it was my duty to come and care for it, but I wasn’t ready to take up the responsibility; I wanted to be, but I wasn’t. And then Mr. Moore appeared in London, claiming to be Winterset’s butler, and proposed that I hire him to act as my steward. His knowledge and love for the estate impressed me, and so I did.”
“That is why your letter was addressed to Mr. Moore?” she said.
I nodded. “I paid Mr. Moore handsomely every month for two years to see to Winterset’s upkeep, so you can imagine my surprise when I arrived here and saw the condition of the manor and grounds. I thought Mr. Moore was ... Well, it does not matter what I thought because I was wrong.”
“I do not know of any Mr. Moore.”
“I don’t think he actually exists. Someone saw an opportunity and took advantage. Perhaps it was someone who knew me in London.”
