Page 68 of Winterset
Of him.
He had not reacted at all how I’d expected. Instead of kicking me out or calling the constable, he’d shown me kindness. Though I’d done nothing to deserve it, he’d invited me to dine with him tonight and talk to him. I did not know what could possibly come from such a conversation, our circumstance being what it was, but I was curious. And whether I wanted to talk or not, Ididneed to eat. “That is generous of you, Mr. Jennings. Thank you. I will join you.”
Oliver
Standing by the hearth inthe drawing room before dinner, I tugged my cravat. I’d told Charlie to tie it tightly, but he’d been overzealous. I wanted to look my best tonight. Not because I wanted to impress Miss Lockwood but because I thought if I looked the part of a gentleman, she might feel more at ease.
She’d been so nervous earlier in my study. I wanted her to feel comfortable tonight. More than anything, I wanted to help her. But to do that, she needed to trust me enough to tell me about this man, Mr. Cavendish, whom she was hiding from. And more importantly, how I could be of service to her.
I checked the time on the mantelpiece clock and compared it to my pocket watch. Miss Lockwood was late but not excessively so. It felt like it only because I’d arrived thirty minutes early.
Perhaps I was a bit overeager.
Since we’d parted in the study this morning, I’d thought of little else but what would be our first meal together. For the second night in a row, I instructed Mrs. Owensby to prepare Miss Lockwood’s favorite.
I rolled my shoulders, stiff from standing straight for so long. I probably looked like a statue waiting here, cold and unyielding. I leaned against the hearth, resting one arm on the mantel to appear more casual, comfortable, approachable. But now I was too casual. I sat on the settee. Too relaxed. So I resumed my position at the hearth and squared my shoulders again.
I glanced around the room, reviewing what needed to be done to make this drawing room presentable for the ghost-story reading I would be hosting in less than a fortnight. But I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts were solely on Miss Lockwood tonight. Where could she be?
Ten more minutes passed.
Twenty.
Still, she didn’t show.
Had Miss Lockwood changed her mind about dining with me? I would not be surprised if she had.
Bexley appeared at the drawing room door. “Miss Lockwood sent me to inquire whether you plan to dine with her tonight, sir.”
“Of course. Do you know when she is coming down?”
“She is already seated in the dining hall, sir. Has been for some time.”
“The dining hall? How long has she been waiting?”
“Half an hour, sir.”
I swore under my breath. “Why was I not informed?”
“We assumed you wished for a bit of peace before dinner.”
“Why would I—” I pressed my lips together. “Never mind. I have kept Miss Lockwood waiting long enough as it is.”
I brushed past Bexley for the dining hall.
Miss Lockwood looked up from where she sat at the far end of the table and stood. “I knew it took you a long time to dress for dinner, Mr. Jennings, but I believe this is a new record.”
I did not know what had changed, but she already seemed more comfortable than she had earlier. I was glad. “I am flattered you’ve taken note of my daily routines, Miss Lockwood.”
Her eyes widened. “That is not—I have not—”
“I am teasing you, Miss Lockwood. My apologies, both for that and for keeping you waiting. I assure you, it was unintentional. I was waiting for you in the drawing room.”
“Oh,” she said, laughing lightly. “Papa and I were never so formal. We always met for meals right here in the dining hall. My apologies for making you wait.”
“Not at all.” I took my seat, which was much too far from Miss Lockwood to be conducive to any meaningful conversation. What had Mrs. Owensby been thinking when she’d laid our place settings?
I was about to pick up my place setting and move it closer to Miss Lockwood, but something stopped me. What if the distance was purposeful? What if Miss Lockwood had requested it?
