The nib of her quill scratched the paper on which she wrote. A sizeable house on a quiet street offers a rural feel with all the amenities of the City. She bit her lip and considered the phrasing. A knock on the door offered a welcome distraction.
Betsy entered. “I beg your pardon for the disturbance, but there’s a gentleman here to see you. Says his name is Mr. Dale.”
Wilhelmina stared at Betsy while her comment sank in. It had been two months since she’d quit his house, intent on helping Cynthia and Michael one way or another. Accordingly, she had defied his wishes and he was most likely here to pummel her for it with verbal abuse. Still, she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction without some recompense. Not after he’d kept her waiting for him for three hours.
“Tell him I’m busy. If he desires to wait, he is welcome to do so.”
“Very good.” Betsy paused on her way out the door. “Should I offer him refreshment?”
Wilhelmina had never been the vindictive sort, but the ease with which Mr. Dale had judged her and the fact that he was prepared to punish Cynthia for simply being her daughter did not make her charitable. “No.”
The door closed and Wilhelmina returned to her work. She finished writing her advertisement, then checked her ledgers. The money she’d made on the furniture she’d been able to sell would soon be gone. London was not a cheap place to live, but at least she had the farm. She’d go there as soon as she’d settled the last of her business here – the moment the house had been sold and the last of her bills paid off.
She glanced at the clock. It was almost exactly three hours since Mr. Dale had arrived. Time to go and see if he was still here. Pushing back her chair, she stood and stretched her back, then blew hot air into the palms of her hands in a futile attempt to chase off the chill in her bones. Hugging herself, she exited the study and approached the parlor. She paused for a moment to gather her wits, took a deep breath, and entered.
A critical gaze met hers. “Mrs. Lawson. I trust this is how you enact your revenge?”
“If you refer to making you wait for as long as you made me do, then I will admit I may have chosen to give you a taste of your own medicine. That being said, I was not enjoying a pleasant read or having a feast while you sat here. In truth, I was extremely busy.”
“So I gather,” he clipped, those dark eyes of his piercing every layer of fabric and skin. “In fact, it has come to my attention that you have been setting up clandestine meetings between my son and your daughter – aiding them in their continued romance even though you know I’m against it.”
“You are correct.” She would not deny her interference or insult him by lying. As much as his condemnation irked, he had good reason to feel as he did. After all, he did not know the truth, and while she had considered confiding it in him for Cynthia’s sake, she’d swiftly abandoned such a course.
Mr. Dale was a barrister. He fought to uphold the law with integrity. Revealing she and George had not only perjured themselves but paid other people to do so as well would not improve Mr. Dale’s opinion of her. In fact, she feared it might land her in prison while undoing everything she and George had worked so hard to accomplish. And then where would they be if the courts decided to render the divorce invalid on the basis of fraud? Would George be found guilty of bigamy? He might have gone to America, but that didn’t make him immune from criminal charges.
So rather than say anything more, she waited for Mr. Dale to respond.
He glanced at the fireplace. “Do you not care for warmth, Mrs. Lawson?”
The change in conversation made her brain trip. She swiftly recovered and shrugged. “It will be summer soon enough, Mr. Dale. I see no reason to light a fire until we are well into October.”
“Hmm…” He shoved his hands in his pockets and swung his gaze back to hers.
She took a sharp breath. The intensity of his regard weakened her knees. He truly was a handsome man, even when he looked like he might like to strangle her. A pity they’d lost the chance to be more to each other. Her heart fluttered on that lamentable notion. Even now as he stood there looking at her as though she were a perpetual thorn in his side – an unpleasant problem he could not escape – she felt a magnetic pull.
Pointless, to be sure, since no one had ever loathed her more than he did.
As if to prove this, he told her in a crisp tone, “Stop meddling, Mrs. Lawson. Keep your daughter away from my son or so help me God, I’ll destroy her reputation quicker than you can hop into another man’s bed.”
Wilhelmina gasped. The threat was a blow she had not been expecting, the insult a smarting reminder of what he believed her capable. She gritted her teeth and glared at him, hating him even though he had every right to speak as he did. He was a father and he was doing what he believed was in his son’s best interest, but did he really have to resort to such brutal cruelty?
“Fine.” She had worse problems to deal with right now, like how to put food in her belly and pay Betsy’s salary until she managed to sell off more things. Sadly, Cynthia would have to accept the consequences of the divorce and sever ties with Michael. “I’ll speak with my daughter. You may rest assured she will be apprised of the risk she’d be taking if she were to thwart you.”
“Thank you.”
She scoffed. “It’s not as though I have any choice.”
“Nevertheless.”
When he did not move to leave, she raised her chin and set her hands to her waist. “If that is all, I would like for you to depart so I can return to my work.”
She bit off a, “Sir,” for good measure.
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. He hardened his features and stiffened his posture while she fought the urge to admire the chiseled edge of his jaw, the perfect line of his aquiline nose, his firm lower lip, and those deep, dark, coffee-colored eyes that threatened to be her undoing. He might be well over forty, but he was still a striking man. There was power in the breadth of those shoulders and strength in his overall stance. Unwittingly, she wondered what it might be like to be held in Mr. Dale’s arms. Not that she’d ever know.
Removing his hands from his pockets, he bowed. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Good day, Mrs. Lawson.”
He strode past her without further comment and left the house and her heart as dismal as they’d been before his arrival.
Damn that woman.
Nearly three weeks had passed since he’d last seen her, and yet she remained at the front of his mind.
With yet another curse, James forced his attention to the legal brief he was meant to deliver the following day – something to do with a widower who sought legal guardianship over his new wife’s children. Apparently the father of said children protested, even though he’d sired them out of wedlock. It was the sort of messy case that ought to hold his interest, and yet his thoughts kept drifting back to Mrs. Lawson and her dreary home.
He was fairly certain she skirted the truth regarding her reason for not lighting a fire. Out of pride perhaps? Certainly, having the purse stretched too thin was not the sort of thing one wished to confide in a stranger. Not that they were strangers, per se, but they definitely weren’t friends.
The sound of the front door opening and closing caught his attention. Michael was home. James glanced at the clock. It was nearly five in the afternoon. In another hour or two his son would depart for the evening, avoiding his company as had become his habit. For the most part, James had allowed him the space he required to work through his feelings. He’d kept his distance. But perhaps it was time to try and mend the breach. They’d always been close, after all.