Page 108 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—itis—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.”
“Iamproud 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.”
“Iam, 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.
