Page 38 of Winterset
Mrs. Owensby was undoubtedly hiding something in this attic, perhaps protecting something that had belonged to Miss Lockwood. What? I wasn’t sure yet. But now, more than ever, I was determined to find answers.
Kate
When I was finally braveenough to creep out of my attic bedchamber, the faintest hint of Mr. Jennings’s cologne lingered in the air. Lemon, sandalwood, and cedar. A heady combination. Masculine.
He’d gotten too close.Dangerouslyclose.
Had I taken my pranks too far or not far enough?
Nothing I had done to get him to leave had worked. What else could I do to make him uncomfortable here?
I was pondering what I might do to increase his discomfort when I heard voices outside.
I went to the window, and careful to stay in the shadows, I peeked out.
In the courtyard below, Mr. Jennings and Bexley stood on the drive, holding shovels.
He’d written in his notebook that the drive needed to be cleared, and I’d just heard him tell Mrs. Owensby that he planned to clear the drive, but I supposed he would have Bexley clear the drive while he supervised. Did he really mean to do it himself? While wearing his fine coat? He would split the seams! And where were his gardening gloves? His hands would be littered with blisters by the time he was finished.
I shook my head, laughing at his obvious inexperience.
He didn’t know the first thing about gardening. This would be entertaining.
The men moved in opposite directions, Bexley toward the house and Mr. Jennings toward the gate.
Mr. Jennings didn’t hesitate, thrusting his shovel into the ground and removing a clump of weeds. His shoulders strained against the seams of his coat.
I leaned against the wall next to the window and watched.
Mr. Jennings possessed unexpected strength for a man of gentle breeding. He moved confidently, attacking the weeds. He had muscular arms and a straight back, and he did not lack determination. He might not know anything about gardening, but he did not look bad doing it.
But after only a few minutes of laboring, it began to rain. And not a little.
Mr. Jennings looked down at the few feet of ground he’d managed to clear. Even from all the way up here, I could feel his frustration.
Poor man. Even Mother Nature was on my side.
Mr. Jennings looked at the sky and cursed, then called to Bexley. Though I could not make out Mr. Jennings’s words over the sound of the rain, I assumed he was telling Bexley that they’d have to stop working for the day, unfortunately for me. Watching him struggle had been such an enjoyable diversion. But Mr. Jennings did not leave the courtyard. He only removed his coat and cravat and handed them to Bexley. Mr. Jennings’s waistcoat came off next, leaving him in only his shirtsleeves and breeches.
Bexley walked back toward the house, out of my line of sight, and Mr. Jennings returned to his task. Rain soaked his white shirt, and the material clung to his shoulders, arms, and chest.
He stopped shoveling several times to wring water from his shirt, but the effort was futile, and he finally surrendered. Reaching over his shoulders, he removed his shirt over his head in one swift motion and tossed it aside.
I stared, captivated.
Raindrops pelted his broad shoulders and slid down his smooth, sculpted chest and abdomen, each droplet tracing the contours of his powerful physique. His breeches, weighted with water, hung low on his hips, accentuating his trim waist and tapering torso.
Mr. Jennings turned to continue his task, executing each thrust of the shovel with controlled precision. His biceps bulged.
“Kate!”
I jumped at the sound of Mrs. Owensby’s voice directly behind me and turned to face her. How had I not even heard her approach?
“Saints above!” she snapped. “Come away from the window before Mr. Jennings sees you.”
When I took one last glance at Mr. Jennings’s fine form instead, Mrs. Owensby grabbed my elbow andpulledme away.
“What could possibly be so interesting?” Mrs. Owensby peeked over my shoulder out the window and sucked in a scandalized breath. “Katherine Lockwood!”
