Page 86 of Winterset
Mr. Jennings’s eyes widened in surprise. Whatever he’d thought I was about to say, I was sure it wasn’t this.
“We were introduced at a dinner party. I thought him dashing in his formal attire. He liked my eyes.” I laughed bitterly. “Probably because I was blind to his true nature.”
Mr. Jennings remained silent, his attention fully on me.
“Over the next few weeks, he courted me, and we fell in love, or so I thought.
“Papa had reservations about our relationship: Mr. Cavendish was several years my senior and had acted inappropriately by dancing three sets with me at a ball. But Papa saw how besotted I was with the man, and after much discussion, he accepted our courtship.”
Mr. Jennings’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
“We became engaged and set our wedding date. It felt like a dream. But then, at our engagement ball, I found him kissing a maid in the garden. His betrayal devastated me, and I refused to marry him. I turned to walk away, but he—” I hesitated, the memory of that night hitting me with such force that I had to pause to steady my breath. “He dragged me back by my hair.”
Mr. Jennings’s eyes darkened, understanding dawning in them as he glanced at my hair.
“He was furious that I dared deny him and demanded that I marry him,” I continued. “He said that I belonged to him, that I must marry him whether I wanted to or not, and that I would not play him for a fool. Looking back, I see now that he did not love me but rather my dowry.
“I screamed for help, and Papa came, along with others who had already been looking for me. But before they reached us, Mr. Cavendish tore my dress, disheveled my hair, and kissed me forcefully to make everything appear as thoughwehad been taking the moonlight together. He even loosened his cravat to make it look more convincing.”
Mr. Jennings pressed his eyes shut. He worked his jaw but said nothing. He seemed to know that if he interrupted me, I might not have the courage to finish my story.
“When Papa and the others finally reached us, Mr. Cavendish told everyonewehad succumbed to our passion. I tried to tell the truth, but he silenced me with whispered threats and stepped in front of me as though he were protecting my virtue. I felt utterly powerless in that moment, but Papa believed me and challenged Mr. Cavendish to a duel to defend my honor.” My voice trembled when I added, “Papa died defending me.”
A tear slipped down my cheeks, and Mr. Jennings silently handed me his handkerchief.
“Papa’s last words to me were a promise: that if I stayed within these walls, I would be safe. But not an hour after he passed, Mr. Cavendish came to Winterset and demanded that I fulfill our marriage contract. He told me he would not allow me to tarnish his family’s name and threatened that if I refused him, I would meet the same fate as my father.”
Mr. Jennings’s hands tightened into fists in his lap.
“I don’t know how Mr. Cavendish deluded himself into believing I could marry him after all he had done. Perhaps he thought that in ruining my reputation and killing my father, I would have no choicebutto marry him. I don’t know. But I could not marry that man, so I staged my death and disappeared. The villagers found my pelisse—stained with Papa’s blood—at the bottom of the cliffs on the seashore and assumed I was dead.
“I’m told that Mr. Cavendish played the part of distraught bridegroom, spinning a spectacular story to make it sound like it was my father who had become unhinged after finding me kissing Mr. Cavendish in the garden. He made everyone believe my father was mad, not himself. He convinced people that he was passionately in love with me and had been trying tosaveme from my father. Like he was some sort of knight come to rescue me from a monster. But nothing could have been further from the truth;heis the monster. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I still see Mr. Cavendish’s cold eyes and the malicious curl of his lips.”
Mr. Jennings swore beneath his breath, his expression pained. “Miss Lockwood—”
“Kate,” I said.
“Kate,” he repeated, his voice soft and sincere. “I am so sorry for what you’ve endured. But I swear to you, you have nothing to fear from me. I will never let any harm come to you. No one should bear such a burden alone.”
He stood and moved closer, pausing a step away from me. The hesitation in his eyes spoke volumes. He was giving me the space to trust him. When I didn’t recoil, he slowly knelt before me. “I cannot imagine the strength it took for you to survive this, to carry on when your world was crumbling. But you are not alone anymore. I will protect you.”
His words washed over me, a balm to the wounds I’d kept hidden for so long. There was no pity in his eyes, only compassion and kindness.
Tears welled in my eyes again, but this time, they weren’t born of pain or fear; they were the tears of a woman who had finally found a safe harbor after years adrift.
“Thank you,” I whispered and reached for his hands, needing the reassurance of human touch.
Oliver’s hands were warm, his grip secure. “We’ll face this together,” he promised. “You have my word.”
“Why are you being so kind to me?” I asked. We’d only known one another a short time, and for half of it, I had made his life miserable.
“Because I know what it is to feel alone. To feel unseen,” Oliver said quietly.
And for the first time since Papa died, I felt something other than guilt or fear.
A fragile hope.
Oliver knew everything now, and yet he didn’t turn away. Instead, he drew closer, offering protection, understanding, and empathy. As he held my hands, I allowed myself to believe that a future beyond the nightmare I had been living might be possible.
