“Mama, even if you were guilty of adultery, your actions should not deny Michael and me our happiness.”
“Perhaps not, but they do, and I am sorry for that, Cynthia. However, I will always be viewed as the scandalous divorcée, and if Michael marries you, I will become his mother-in-law. The connection will invariably influence his position within Society. Believing otherwise would be naïve.”
Cynthia returned her attention to the potatoes, and for a moment Wilhelmina just watched her peel them in silence. She could sense her daughter’s thoughts bursting to break free, until she finally asked, “Is it not possible for you to confide the truth in his father?”
Wilhelmina dropped onto a vacant stool and heaved a deep breath. “He is a barrister, Cynthia. A man of the law. If he learned the truth it might make everything worse. Especially given his clear dislike of me. I’d not put it past him to have me arrested if he found reason to do so.”
“Then there is no hope.”
“None that I can see.”
Cynthia brushed aside the tears that suddenly started to fall and pressed her lips together. Unhappy with the pain she’d caused her, Wilhelmina wished she could hug her, but the fact was she desperately needed a bath. Grime from a full day of working outdoors with animals caked her gown. She’d not even had a chance to wash her hands yet.
So rather than wrap her arms around her daughter in a tight embrace, Wilhelmina crossed to where she sat and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “You’ve loved and lost once before, my dearest. You will survive this.”
A choked sob rose from Cynthia’s throat. She did not argue, but the anguish she put on display cut Wilhelmina’s heart in two. Giving up Michael would in some ways be harder than having to go on after Henry’s death. While Cynthia hadn’t confided too much about her new romance, Wilhelmina believed Michael had helped her overcome heartache. Knowing he lived but that she would not have a life by his side had to be the cruelest blow imaginable to Cynthia.
Deciding to give her some space, Wilhelmina called Betsy back to the kitchen, then climbed the stairs. She had no energy left to ready the bath she so dearly wanted and would therefore have to settle for using the washbasin in her bedchamber. A change of clothes was also in order.
Wilhelmina entered her room and shut the door. Leaning against it, she glanced at the cheval glass in the opposite corner and gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth and then, whether because of fatigue or the torment stretching her nerves to the limit, she laughed.
Brown dirt was smeared across her right cheek. Tangled strands of hair, having escaped their pins, stuck out from her head at odd angles. The apron she wore, which had been white that morning, was now a deep shade of grey. Mud clung to the hem of her gown while other brown splotches stained the front of her skirt.
She’d never looked more frightful in her life and since she was having the worst luck ever in recent weeks, it made perfect sense that this was how Mr. Dale had seen her.
How utterly fitting.
“I am not going back to London tomorrow,” Michael informed James as they returned to Clarington House together. “And I don’t regret what happened between Mrs. Petersen and me. We love each other, Papa.”
“First, you will go back to London, even if I have to pack you into the carriage myself,” James said, gripping the reins so hard his hands hurt.
Tension pulled at every muscle, not least on account of Mrs. Lawson’s most recent appearance. He did not want to view her as a hardworking individual or the sort of woman who didn’t think herself above common chores. Because that was the sort of person he could respect, like, and possibly even admire. To even suppose Mrs. Lawson shared the same values as he with regard to making oneself useful was dangerous indeed. But the state she’d been in had clearly suggested she herself had engaged in hard labor. She’d not just sat about sipping her tea while others did the chores for her. And damn him if her wholesome appearance had not made him want her with every fiber of his being. Which had only increased his anger.
“Second,” James said while doing his best to rid his mind of Mrs. Lawson’s appeal, “we’ve discussed your so-called love for Mrs. Petersen before. And if what happened today tells me anything, it’s that your heart is the last thing you’re using to make decisions.”
“Your implication insults what she and I share,” Michael growled.
“Believe me,” James said. “I know what I speak of.”
They continued in silence for a short while before Michael quietly told him, “I’m sorry you were unhappily married. That can’t have been easy.”
It hadn’t been. He and Clara were so very young. She’d thought she could change him though – convince him to give up his plan to work for a living in favor of claiming a yearly allowance. He’d believed she would gradually develop an appreciation for his way of life once she tried it. Neither had been willing to compromise anything for the other, and eventually she had found comfort in other men’s beds while he gave himself to his work. Still, discovering her betrayal had been a blow. One he never wished to endure again.
“It blessed my life with you,” James said. “What I feel for you, this constant terror whenever you’re out of my sight, the concern for your wellbeing, the knowledge that I would give my life for yours in a heartbeat, that’s deep and unwavering love.”
“What you’ve just described is exactly how I feel about Cynthia. She is my world, Papa.”
James sighed. His son was clearly infatuated with the woman and would not change his mind except through experience. Hopefully, by sending Michael back to London and making sure he acquired a job, his feelings would change. Eventually, other women would come along and he would forget the lovely young widow.
So after returning to Clarington House and taking a much needed bath, James penned a letter of recommendation for Michael. He handed it to him after supper along with ten pounds intended to keep him properly clothed and fed until James was able to join him.
“I’ll head back to Town as soon as I’ve finished helping the Hendersons,” James told Michael when he handed him the letter after dinner. “Shouldn’t be more than a week. Two at most.”
“What if other tenants require help later?” Michael asked. “I saw Grandfather wince a few times while we sat at the table. His back is clearly paining him.”
“My intention is to hire a capable man before I leave – someone who can ride out in his stead.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Michael tucked the letter of recommendation inside his jacket pocket. He forced a smile. “It’s been quite a day and tomorrow does not promise any improvement, so if you don’t mind, I’ll retire.”
James glanced at the clock. “It’s not even nine yet. I thought we might join my parents for tea in the parlor.”
“You go ahead. I still need to pack.”
Dissatisfied with the recent turn of events which seemed to have deepened the rift between them rather than mend it, James asked, “Do you hate me?”
“Absolutely.”
The grim response hung in the air long after Michael was gone. Heavy-hearted, James went to find his parents. Hopefully they’d have some words of wisdom to make him feel better.