Page 8 of Winterset
Pacing now, I prayed the inside of the manor did not match the exterior. If it did, I did not know what I would do, or rather, what I could afford to do. So much of my savings had been spent.
Several more minutes passed and, with it, the remainder of my patience.
If I could not passthroughthe gate, I would climboverit.
Kate
Rising to my tiptoes, Ipeered through the dirty diamond-paned window and tried to glimpse Mr. Jennings—a difficult task, considering the overgrowth.
“Careful,” Mrs. Owensby said. “You mustn’t let Mr. Jennings see you.”
“I am well enough concealed.” From the attic window where we stood, he could not see me. I could only just make out Mr. Jennings’s ridiculously tall top hat moving back and forth as he paced in front of the gate. Truly, the crown of the hat must stand more than eight inches from the base.
How foolish he looked.
I hadn’t stepped foot in Society for nearly two years, and evenIknew his expensive-looking topper was more appropriate for promenading around Hyde Park than for cross-country travel. Was he so arrogant that he must always wear such a pompous hat? Who was he trying to impress out here in the country?
Insufferable man!
The sooner he left, the better.
I returned my gaze to the gate and gasped. “What in heaven’s name is he doing?”
The gate pulsed with movement, and a moment later, Mr. Jennings’s hat appeared over the ivy. Then two hands grasped the top of the gate. As he hoisted himself up, broad shoulders came into view. One long legswung over the gate and then the next, and with one swift movement, Mr. Jennings jumped to the ground.
“My, but he is nimble.” Mrs. Owensby sounded far too delighted for someone whose home was being invaded by the enemy.
I wasnotamused.
Yet I could not look away. Mr. Jennings stood on the overgrown carriageway, weeds up to his knees. From this distance, I could not make out the features of his face, only his form, which was, in a word,ideal.
Objectively, one might find him pleasing to look upon. Not me, of course, but someone. The impressive breadth of his shoulders was balanced by his statuesque height, which could not be less than six feet. And while many men who stood so tall tended to look long and lanky, like the cattails that grew near the pond, Mr. Jennings’s limbs appeared perfectly proportioned.
Like Michelangelo’sDavidcome to life, he was a study of masculine form.
Mr. Jennings was probably missing teeth or hair or both. Perhaps he wore such a silly hat to distract from his less desirable features, details that I could not make out from here.
Hands set on hips, he turned in a slow circle, inspecting the courtyard.
“Oh, Kate,” Mrs. Owensby said, pulling me from my thoughts. “He looks displeased, does he not?”
“Indeed, he does.Quitedispleased. How distressing it must be for him to come face-to-face with the consequences of his own neglect.”
“Now, Kate. You must not be unkind.”
Mr. Jennings attempted to press through the weeds with little success. He made it only a few paces before abruptly stopping. At this rate, he might concede the fight before he even entered the house. Had his boot gotten stuck in the mud? His body jerked once, twice, and then he stumbled forward.
A smile tugged at my lips.
Perhaps I should have quelled my amusement, a proper young lady would have, but it had been such a long time since I’d had occasion to smile, and it felt so nice.
“I do hope our plan works,” Mrs. Owensby said, her tone worried.
“Itwillwork.” Once Mr. Jennings stepped inside the house and saw that the manor had not been readied to his specifications, he would leave. Perhaps not tonight but by the end of the week, for certain.
We’d planned nothing malicious, only minor annoyances and discomforts. He would not be permanently affected, only permanently removed. Anywhere but Winterset would be quite acceptable to me.
“You’ve hidden the wax candles?” I asked Mrs. Owensby.
