Increasingly incensed, he started toward his son. Michael hadn’t seen him yet. He was too busy tucking his shirt into his trousers. Another person stood and James nearly fell from his horse. Good God. It couldn’t be. And yet, there was no mistaking the identity of the woman who tried to put herself back in order. Mrs. Petersen, the very woman James had tried to remove his son from by coming all the way here, smoothed her rumpled skirts and pulled her bodice back into a more acceptable position.
Rage, hot and swift, tore up James’s back and heated his neck until it burned. “What the hell is going on?”
Michael turned, eyes wide with surprise, shock, and horror while Mrs. Petersen clutched her discarded spencer against her like a shield. Good. They deserved to be scared.
Jaw clamped so hard his teeth hurt, James dismounted, grabbed the reins, and stalked toward them. He glared at Michael, then at Mrs. Petersen, and back at Michael. “Well?”
“I came upon her by chance when I was returning home from my ride,” Michael said. He was doing his best to keep his chin up and his eyes fixed on James.
A twinge of pride shoved its way past James’s defenses. He steeled himself against it. “And so you chose to ignore my dictate in favor of a good tup, is that it?”
Michael’s cheeks flushed, but he did not avert his gaze even as Mrs. Petersen gasped. Instead he raised his chin higher. “I love her, Papa.”
“Then you’re a damned fool, Michael.” James leaned forward and stared into Michael’s brown eyes with penetrating force. “The fact that she would spread her legs for you in a field for all the world to see makes her no better than her whore of a mother.”
The blow Michael dealt to his cheek caught James off guard. He knew he’d been unacceptably crass, especially with Mrs. Petersen there to overhear, but he’d not expected Michael to punch him. If his stunned expression was any indication, Michael shared James’s surprise. Not that the punch was undeserved. James just hadn’t thought his son capable of resorting to violence. Once again, he’d underestimated him.
“Where are you staying, Mrs. Petersen?” James inquired while rubbing his cheek. He’d address Michael’s rebellious streak later. And then he’d have to teach him how to deliver a proper punch – the sort that would knock a man off his feet.
“A mile from here,” she said, her voice quivering. “With my mother.”
James snorted. Of course Mrs. Lawson had a part in all this. James gave his attention back to Michael. “Take Jupiter back to the house. Wash up and get yourself ready for dinner. I’ll escort Mrs. Petersen home.”
“But—”
“If it’s a fight you want, Michael, I should warn you that my blows are a hell of a lot harder than yours.”
“I don’t trust you to be alone with her,” Michael said, not budging one inch, “so, I shall be escorting her home as well.”
Michael’s point was valid. Considering how Mrs. Petersen clutched Michael’s arm now, the woman was clearly terrified of him. And rightly so, James had to admit, although he would never lay his hands on her. But he supposed words could be hurtful too, and frankly, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not to insult her further. He was simply too livid.
“Fine. We’ll all go. Mrs. Petersen, please lead the way.”
Shame burned Michael to the core as he trudged across the field. Gripping his horse’s reins, he pulled the beast along, thankful for the shield it provided between himself and his father.
Lord, he couldn’t believe he’d actually struck him, but neither could he fathom the vehemence with which his father had spoken. The words had blinded him with rage and in a split second, he’d lost all sense of reason.
Heart pounding, he ground his teeth together while Cynthia gripped his arm, her forceful hold indicative of her need for support and assurance. Well, Michael decided. He’d not deny her. Not after this last altercation.
“When I offered marriage,” he whispered, “you accepted. Do you stand by that decision?”
“Of course, Michael. I love you. But—”
“Then we must find a way through this,” he continued, keeping his voice so low his father would not be able to hear. “We’ve not much time to agree on a plan. Just promise me you will meet me tomorrow at dawn. Exactly where Papa just happened upon us. And bring a travelling bag.”
“Michael…” She spoke his name with distress, which only made him wish he could whisk her away from all of this right now – save her from having to witness the upcoming quarrel between his father and her mother. “There are things you need to know. Additional facts I must share with you before we speak our vows.”
He met her gaze as they approached her cottage. “Besides the details pertaining to the divorce?”
Troubled eyes met his. “Yes.”
It was still hard for him to fathom what she’d revealed to him today, though it certainly helped improve his opinion of Mrs. Lawson by leaps and bounds. And since he did not believe it possible for Cynthia to tell him something more shocking, he chose to reassure her by saying, “As long as you and I love each other, then that’s all that matters. The rest will sort itself out. Just promise me you’ll be there tomorrow.”
“I promise,” she said at the same exact moment as they reached their destination.
7
Wilhelmina wiped her hands on her apron and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle. Milking cows and mucking out stalls was hard, laborious work and although the Wilkinses did their part, they did not move with the sort of speed or efficiency Wilhelmina desired. In fact, it felt like they were prepared to get by with the bare minimum. Not that Wilhelmina blamed them since both were at least twenty years older than she. Still, she was glad the pigs and chickens were able to tend to themselves. All they required was food.
She entered the kitchen on throbbing feet and stretched her back. The clock on the counter made her frown. It was nearing five o’clock. Cynthia should have been back from Renwick by now so Betsy could start on dinner, but there was no sign of any food being prepared. She glanced at a chair and sighed. She dearly wanted to sit and rest, but that would clearly have to wait.
Rubbing the back of her neck to try and undo the tension there, she plodded toward the front of the house and soon located Betsy. The maid was returning a carpet she’d taken outside for a beating. The musty smell that hung in the air yesterday had been replaced by crisp freshness thanks to the thorough cleaning the room had undergone since their arrival. It was two in the morning before the sheets they’d laundered had finished drying so they could make their beds. By six, they’d been up again, so it really wasn’t a wonder if they were exhausted.
“Has Cynthia not returned yet?” Wilhelmina asked the maid.
“I haven’t seen her.” Betsy straightened and rolled her shoulders.
“It’s been three hours since she set out.” Concern began taking root. Wilhelmina had been so busy she’d not noticed the time until she’d returned to the house. “She should have been back by now.”
“Maybe she got distracted by some of the shops?”