James disagreed, but refrained from saying so. “You hope to change my mind?”
“Cynthia has endured a great deal of late, so I’d like to try and give her what she wants.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before—” He stopped himself and muttered a curse. It would not do for him to be reduced to the sort of man who insulted women, no matter who they were or what they’d done. He was better than that, damn it. But God help him if Mrs. Lawson did not drive him to the brink of insanity with her mixture of enticing beauty and disgraceful conduct. She was like a poisoned slice of delectable cake he longed to devour, even though he knew a single bite would kill him.
He took a deep breath and tightened the reins on his anger. “Forgive me, Mrs. Lawson, but Michael fancies himself in love and as such, he will be inclined to act rashly. It is my duty as his father to protect him from doing something he’ll later regret.”
“Like marrying the daughter of a woman who openly cuckolded her husband?” Her voice increased in strength with every word she spoke. Eyes blazing, she continued to tear herself down with unforgiving force. “A harlot whose lovers outnumber the stars in the sky? A creature so vile she ought to be spat upon in the street?”
The harsh self-deprecation sliced him to the bone. He did not like the manner in which she described herself. But it was the truth, wasn’t it? Still, that last part burned the tips of his ears. “Surely that has not happened?”
“I am prepared to suffer the repercussions of my actions,” she said, “but my daughter is innocent of any wrongdoing. She does not deserve to be punished for my misdeeds.”
James stared at her. She’d not answered his question directly, but she’d said enough to indicate that she had indeed become the target of disturbing attacks. Disgust aimed at those who would treat a woman – any woman – thus, curdled his stomach. And yet, he was not in any position to aid her. “I’m sorry for your daughter, but her connection to you cannot be dismissed, and I fear my son’s career will be hampered if he’s related to you through marriage.”
She held his gaze for a long drawn out moment before releasing him from the spell those blue eyes placed on him. Pain etched lines upon her brow, revealing her anguish as she spun to face the thick velvet curtains obscuring the windows. “I wonder what it must be like for men like you, so far above reproach they cannot sympathize with those who stumble.”
“You dare to mock me in my own home?”
Her shoulders slumped and her head fell slightly forward, offering him a view of pale skin that stretched between the edge of her spencer and her bonnet. James’s fingertips burned with the yearning to reach out and touch it. His chest ached with the strength it required for him to remain where he was.
“No, I am merely reminding myself of how foolish I was to come here and plead my daughter’s case to a man whose profession demands him to uphold the law with unfailing precision.” She turned toward him once more. Resignation had swept all animation from her face, leaving being a dull facade devoid of life. “Everything is black and white to you – good or bad with no shades of grey in between. You have seen my husband accuse me in public. You watched me be condemned in three consecutive trials. So your opinion of me is now set in stone. You’ve dismissed the personal bias a lesser man might have allowed on the basis of his encounter with me. Or is it that encounter which makes you hate me more?”
“I cannot deny the disappointment I experienced when your true nature came to light.”
A sad smile crept over her lips. “Perhaps I should have begun this meeting by offering my apologies. Please allow me to do so now, Mr. Dale. I ought to have known my husband would jump to conclusions when he saw the two of us having a close tête-à-tête. I’m sorry for the insult you suffered because of it, and while I doubt this will help, I thought you should know that I genuinely enjoyed our conversation that evening.”
“As did I, Mrs. Lawson.”
She stared at him a moment longer and as she did, her eyes filled with a sharp emotion he couldn’t quite place. It was gone again in an instant, secured behind the battlements she’d put in place with strategic efficiency. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Dale. I’m sorry to have ruined your evening.”
He almost laughed. It wasn’t just one evening she’d trampled upon. It was every second of every waking hour since the moment he’d met her. And several nights in between. He clenched his jaw and managed a nod. She curtseyed, and then she was gone, leaving him alone in a room he despised.
5
A rare day of sunshine and warmth allowed Cynthia to take a stroll in the Pennington garden with Michael. Her mother had arranged the meeting and though she could not be present herself, she’d convinced the viscount to invite Michael for a drink and the viscountess to invite Cynthia for tea. The older couple presently sat on a nearby bench, serving as chaperones.
“We could elope to Gretna Greene,” Michael suggested while Cynthia stopped to admire a lovely collection of pink peonies.
Their sweet perfume was among her favorites. “I would prefer to avoid such drastic measures if at all possible.”
“As would I,” Michael agreed, “but Papa is being impossible.”
Cynthia bit her lip. She wanted to tell Michael everything, including the secret she herself harbored, but to do so she’d have to betray her mother and risk Michael’s rejection. The prospect terrified her, but at least Mr. Dale’s lack of support gave her additional time to gather her courage.
She loved Michael to distraction and wished to marry him more than anything in the world, despite the obstacles in their path and the guilt she felt over not being totally honest. “Your father is a barrister and you a solicitor. Perhaps if you try presenting your case with logical arguments for support, he would be more obliging?”
Michael clasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. “As much as I hate confrontation, I do believe you may be correct.”
As they continued their stroll in silence, Cynthia tried to think of a way in which to broach the issue that tugged at her conscience. Her stomach turned itself inside out at the prospect of facing her greatest fear.
She could begin with, “I’ve something important to tell you…”
Or maybe, “Michael, you ought to know…”
But starting was the easy part. It was what came after that seemed so impossible for her to say.
Before she was ready, they’d circled the entire garden, returning to the Penningtons. She’d lost her chance, it seemed, and would have to find another. Hopefully sooner rather than later.
Exhaustion was becoming a state of normalcy for Wilhelmina. Each day she went to the bank, only to receive the same answer. Her account was still inaccessible to her. She’d spent money she could not afford to squander on a solicitor who’d petitioned the court on her behalf. The effort had been in vain and now she was worse off than before with fewer savings at the ready and bills piling up around her ears.
Although it was now mid-May, today had been damp and chilly. She shivered and drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Rolling her neck, she stretched the aching muscles there, then dipped her quill in the ink-well once more and continued to write. Numbness had gradually conquered her heart and soul, which made the task of selling her London home so much simpler. After all, this was where she, George, and Cynthia had lived. Happiness had existed between these walls. She could still see George standing by the sideboard just over there, pouring himself a drink before he came to sit in his chair – the very same one she now filled. A sigh quivered against her breast. Sentimentality was a useless emotion. She’d already sold the pianoforte and the dining room furniture.