Page 85 of Winterset
Not knowing what else to do, I took a backward step to allow her space and bumped into my chair. It clattered to the floor. I stooped to pick it up, and when I rose, she was gone.
Kate
Two years.
Twoyearsand one teasing tug had sent me right back into the nightmare.
I pressed my back against my bedchamber door and slid to the floor, the cold seeping through my gown as if trying to anchor me to the present. But the past had its grip on me, tightening with every thought.
I hated Mr. Cavendish. With every breath and bone in my body, I hated him.
If only I had seen who Mr. Cavendish truly was, if only I had bothered to ask more questions and demand answers, Papa might still be alive today.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and seconds later, someone knocked on my door.
“Kate?” Mrs. Owensby’s voice filtered through the door. “May I come in?”
I let her into my bedchamber.
Her eyes roamed over me, checking for injury. “Are you all right, dear? Mr. Jennings said you might need me.”
“I’m fine. It’s only ...” I sat on the edge of my bed and released a long breath. “Mr. Jennings touched my hair.”
“My dear girl.” Mrs. Owensby sat beside me and wrapped me in her arms.
“He probably thinks me mad.” I rested my head on her shoulder. “I probably am. No sane person would fake their death. Nor hide in a house that does not belong to them for two years.”
“Mr. Jennings doesn’t think you are mad, but he is worried about you. Have you told him what happened to you?”
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
“Well, when he first asked me the day I revealed myself to him in his study, I was only concerned about protecting you and Bexley. It seemed irrelevant.”
“And after?”
“I don’t know. I want him to know why I’m hiding here, but I don’t know how to say the words. How am I supposed to slip the most shameful moment of my life into conversation? Things with Mr. Jennings have been going so well. When I am with him, I feel almost happy. I don’t want to lose the ease between us. If I tell him, I worry he’ll look at me differently. That he’ll treat me differently.”
“I cannot tell you how he will react, but you needn’t be afraid. He is a kind man with a good heart and will do all he can to help you and keep you safe.”
I felt the truth of her words. Mr. Jennings had been nothing but kind to me since the day he’d stepped into this house. He’d shown me respect and put my needs and comfort above his own. Over the past few weeks, I’d come to trust him.
It would be difficult to tell him what had happened to me, but I wanted him to know my story. And it could not wait another moment, lest I lost my resolve. I abruptly stood. “Thank you, Mrs. Owensby. I don’t know what I would do without you.” I kissed the top of her head and hurried out the door.
I crept into the corridor to the grand staircase. Candlelight flickered from the study door into the entrance hall.
Mr. Jennings sat at his desk with his head in his hands. His hair was disheveled, an unruly mess of curls poking through his fingers. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and he’d removed his cravat and discarded it on the floor. The sight of him so undone made my heart ache.
I stepped out of the shadows and into his study.
Mr. Jennings’s gaze snapped to me. He stood quickly but didn’t approach, watching me with a mixture of concern and restraint.
“Might I have a word?” I asked.
He nodded, gesturing to the pair of armchairs on either side of the fireplace, and we sat.
I took a deep breath, and without preamble, I said, “I met my former intended, Mr. Cavendish, when I was only seventeen.”
