Page 78 of Winterset
“If you have the funds, hire men from town. They could cut back the overgrown plants in the courtyard, regravel the drive, and fix the fountain.”
“Do you think they can do that in less than two weeks?”
“If you pay them, they’ll find a way.”
I did not have much money to spare, but there should be enough to cover the cost.
As our walk came to an end and we made our way toward the garden gate, I felt a growing sense of anticipation. I had been overwhelmed by the work that Winterset required, but now, with Miss Lockwood’s help, I had something to look forward to.
Kate
Sitting in front of mymirror the next morning, I pinned up my hair, or attempted to anyway. I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Mary had always made it look easy. It took me much longer than it should have, but finally, it was up. I didn’t think it looked half bad, although I wasn’t sure it looked half good either. It was the best I could manage on my own though.
I glanced at my timepiece.
Drat!It was already quite late.
I hoped I had not missed breakfast with Mr. Jennings again this morning. He would likely think I was still avoiding him if I did. After our walk in the garden and candid conversation yesterday, I was sure he would be waiting. But when I went downstairs, he wasn’t there.
I suddenly felt silly for spending so much time dressing and styling my hair. Not that I had taken care of my appearance for him, per se, but, well, yes, I had.
Mr. Jennings was always fashionably dressed and had perfectly styled hair. I wanted to look less like I had been living inside a wall for the past two years.
A lone place setting sat on the dining table, but I did not wish to eat alone. So I scooped up the plate and silverware and went to the kitchen.
Mrs. Owensby looked up from kneading dough. She eyed my hair and dress with a knowing smile. “You look nice this morning.”
My face warmed, and I wished I would have left my hair alone and worn my drabbest dress.
“How did you sleep last night?” she asked.
“Better than I have in two years,” I admitted. Not only was my bed even more comfortable than I remembered from a mere week before, but knowing Mr. Jennings slept down the hall in the other wing and that he’d pledged to protect me made me feel safe.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Mrs. Owensby said and served me a pastry and a steaming cup of chocolate.
A sound caught my attention, and I looked up from my meal.
Mr. Jennings’s valet stood in the kitchen, looking slightly startled at the sight of me. AlthoughI’dseen Mr. Hanover before,he’dnot seen me. We’d never met face-to-face.
He stepped toward the table. “Miss Lockwood, I presume?”
I nodded. “And you are Mr. Jennings’s valet.”
“Charles Hanover,” he supplied.
“How do you do, Mr. Hanover?”
“Call me Charlie,” he said. “Please.”
“All right. Would you care to join me, Charlie?” I gestured to the table.
“I should be glad to.” He took the seat across from me.
Mrs. Owensby set a plate of food in front of him, and he thanked her.
I wasn’t sure what I expected from Charlie ... casual conversation, perhaps, but he only pulled out a small notebook and pencil and began writing. As he worked, I noticed a reddish-pink stain on the side of his right hand, like he’d smeared his hand through paint. Was he an artist like me? I glanced at his notebook. No, he was writing, not drawing. And when he set down his pencil and picked up his fork, I realized it was not a stain but a port-wine birthmark.
Charlie alternated between writing and eating for several minutes but said nothing.
