Page 90 of Winterset
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Whatareyou saying?” Charlie asked.
I couldn’t answer that. Not because I didn’t want to but because I had no idea what I was saying. My mind was a mess.
“Do you want to know what I think?” he asked.
“Not particularly.”
“I think youarejealous,” Charlie said anyway. “You like Miss Lockwood more than you’re willing to admit; you enjoy feeling needed by her, and I think you like how it feels to belong here with her. And that scares you because you know this situation can’t last.That’swhat I think.”
“Well, you’re wrong,Your Grace,” I ground out.
“Am I?”
“Yes. No.” Deuces! I didn’t know anymore. “I’m not going to throw her out, Charlie. She doesn’t want to leave.”
“Shedoesn’t want to leave, oryoudon’t want her to leave?”
I said nothing.
“Have you asked Miss Lockwood what she wants?” he pressed.
“I don’t need to. I know how she feels about Winterset. It’s her home. She has no one she can turn to for help.”
He gave me a disapproving look. “This isyourhome.Youcan help her.”
I held his stare as his words sank in. Blast! He was right. About all of it. Ididn’twant Kate to leave. I’d told myself I was helping her hide here because that was what she wanted. But was it? She could likely livea safer and more fulfilled life elsewhere. And I could have—no, Ishouldhave—offered to help her leave.
But I hadn’t.
Because the thought of Kate leaving bothered me more than her staying.
Charlie was right, Ididlike Kate. More than I should, probably. She was living under my protection, for heaven’s sake.
I clawed at my cravat, which was suddenly too constricting, and ripped it from my neck.
Charlie scowled at the crumpled cloth. “Do you know how long it took me to starch and iron that?”
I slumped onto the edge of my bed, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.
When had this happened? And more importantly, what was I to do about it?
Kate
My pulse pounded.
I’d overheard every word of Oliver and Charlie’s conversation. I hadn’t meant to, but I was drawing in the antechamber that connected the master’s and mistress’s bedchambers when they had entered to dress for dinner.
Earlier, when I’d seen Oliver leaning against the drawing room doorframe, I’d had a sudden desire to draw his portrait. He’d looked so handsome with his hair all windswept and cheeks ruddy from his ride. So when he and Charlie had gone to the study to talk, I had sneaked upstairs to the antechamber, where no one would see me draw Oliver’s likeness. When I’d heard their voices, I’d stood to leave, but then they’d said my name, and I’d stayed.
Oliver cared for me, that much was clear, but he was also conflicted, torn between what he wanted and what he thought was right. I’d known since the day I’d found out he was coming to Winterset that I could not continue living here with him forever in his company and care, but more and more every day, I wanted to.
A knock came at my bedchamber door, cutting off my thoughts, and my heart leaped.
I hurried to my feet, quietly closing the antechamber door behind me, and then hid my notebook under the edge of my mattress.
“Kate?” Mrs. Owensby said, knocking again.
