Page 117 of Winterset
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 thislonely.
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:herhome. 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 hehadhated 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,
