Page 101 of Winterset
“Don’t look so alarmed.” He chuckled. “Ididtell you not to pay too much attention to any one young lady.”
“Yes, but this is only oursecondmeeting,” I said only loud enough for him to hear.
“Mothers have seen their daughters married with less. Don’t you like her, Jennings?”
“I hardly know her.”
“She has a pleasing face and a decent dowry. What more do you need to know?”
My conscience condemned me for having once believed something similar. How shortsighted and selfish I had been.
Markham clapped me on the back, and we joined the Daltons at the pianoforte to view Kate’s relics.
“This is quite a collection you’ve got,” Mr. Dalton said.
“It is,” Markham agreed. “A small fortune.”
“Yes, well, the monetary value of these items is nothing compared to their historical significance,” I said and began reciting what history I could recall from Mrs. Owensby’s tour during my first week at Winterset. To my surprise, I remembered quite a lot: I told them of King HenryVIII and the Roundheads, of the Elizabethan priest hunters, and of my ancestors who came to own the home. I told them of the many improvements they’d made and how I hoped to be part of this incredible history.
The Daltons seemed impressed, but I hadn’t said it to impress them. I honestly felt what I said. My maternal ancestors had an honorable history, and day by day, as I’d worked to improve the house and protect Kate, I was proud to become a part of that legacy.
Not long later, Bexley appeared at the door.
I all but held my breath, waiting for him to speak, hoping he would not make another blunder. He was a bit stiff and did not linger, but to my relief, he seamlessly announced dinner and quit the room.
My guests and I filed out of the drawing room in pairs: Miss Dalton and I, Lord Markham and Miss Arabella, and Mr. and Mrs. Dalton.
I didn’t like how strongly Miss Dalton smelled of bergamot or the way her fingers dug into my arm. Or perhaps I just didn’t like having anyone other than Kate on my arm.
In the dining hall, I pulled out Miss Dalton’s chair—Kate’schair—and Miss Dalton sat.
I’d made sure Mrs. Owensby had prepared Kate a tray before the guests arrived, but I hated that she had to eat it in hiding.
As soon as we were all seated, the dinner service began.
It had been a long while since I’d attended a dinner party, and I’d never hosted one, but I found it rather enjoyable. Conversation flowed as freely as the wine, and dinner was delicious.
Only one thing was missing.
Kate.
She should be seated beside me tonight. She’d planned nearly everything about this night: the decorations, the dinner menu, even the passage we would later read. This was her night, and it was not fair that she did not get to enjoy it. Would we ever find a way to make it safe for her to come out of hiding? I hoped so. She deserved so much more.
“What do you think, Mr. Jennings?” Mr. Dalton looked at me expectantly.
“Forgive me, my mind wandered. What was it you asked?”
“Your thoughts on keeping hedgehogs as pets,” he repeated, his tone serious.
I glanced at Markham, who was fighting a grin, and cleared my throat. “I ... suppose if one is fond of prickly companions, it might be worth the effort.”
Mr. Dalton nodded, and the rest of the company continued the conversation.
To my relief, the hired footmen did their job admirably, and before I knew it, dinner had progressed to dessert. When we’d had our fill, we retired back to the drawing room for the reading.
Mrs. Owensby had positioned the settee and armchairs in an arc, facing the wall that would serve as the back to our “stage,” as Kate had planned. The stage was nothing more than a threadbare carpet and the backdrop only a tattered tapestry, but it worked well enough.
The Misses Dalton and their mother whispered as they sat on the settee in the center, and Markham and Mr. Dalton made themselves comfortable in the armchairs.
