Page 48 of Winterset
Winterset was many things, but it was notwretched. It was my home. My haven. How dare he speak of it so disdainfully.
I’d thought he was beginning to see Winterset for how wonderful it was. He’d made an exhaustive list of repairs and had even worked the land with his own two hands. But no. Mr. Jennings was just as selfish as the day he’d walked into Winterset, and it was past time he left. If he wasn’t happy here, then he shouldn’t be here.
Any kindness I’d felt toward him instantly evaporated, and my resolve to drive him from thiswretched manorstrengthened.
I would make him rue the day he stepped foot in this house.
And I knew exactly how to do it.
Oliver
“What did youdo?” Charliesaid the next morning.
“I don’t remember.” Other than a few foggy facts, such as going to the tavern and meeting Lord Markham, I remembered very little of what had happened last night. I felt awful, though, like I’d been dragged behind a carriage.
I scowled at my reflection in the mirror, staring at the stitches on my forehead. For the most part, they were straight and smooth, but near the knot, my skin was slightly puckered.
“You might want to delay attending church services a week ... or two?” Charlie suggested.
“Lord Markham made it quite clear that my reputation depends upon my attendance.”ThatI remembered clearly.
“Right, then,” Charlie said. “Perhaps I can style your hair across your forehead so that your curls will conceal the cut.”
“It is worth a try,” I said. “Would you also pick up some salve from the apothecary? I’d like to try to minimize the appearance of the scar.”
“You sure, Granger? I’ve heard women find scars attractive.”
I laughed out loud. “I sincerely doubt that,Your Grace.”
“It’s true,” Charlie said.
“Just fetch the salve.”
Charlie held up his hands in surrender, then got to work taming my curls. He combed several locks forward and pomaded them in place. It was not my favorite hairstyle. I preferred a more submissive style and, well,lesscurly, but at least it concealed my blemish.
“I should like to wear my new topper today.” It was my most fashionable hat; perfect for meeting new people.
“I’ll fetch it for you right now,” Charlie said, already moving toward the white room, where my hats were now stored.
Fatigued, I sat on the end of my bed and tried to remember what had happened after I left the tavern last night. Who had tended to my wound? I remembered hearing Mrs. Owensby’s voice, but when I closed my eyes, it was Miss Lockwood’s face that I saw.
Nothing made sense.
My memories were muddled.
Several minutes passed, and Charlie still hadn’t returned with my hat. What was keeping him? I did not wish to be late to the service.
“Charlie?” I called.
A moment later, he walked back into my bedchamber with my favorite topper in his hands. “I don’t know what to make of it,” he said.
“Make ofwhat?” I asked, standing.
He tipped the hat so I could see inside. Was that ...dirt?
“What the devil!” I strode across the room and took the hat. I attempted to brush away the dirt, but the motion only ground the soil further into the fibers.
“I have no explanation,” Charlie said. “But I did not do this.”
