Until we meet again, I remain your loving daughter,
Cynthia.
Wilhelmina read the letter three more times in order to fully comprehend what it said. Her daughter had fallen in love and in so doing, she had snuck off like a thief in the night, without a word. Clutching the letter, Wilhelmina tried to breathe, to make some sense out of what she was feeling. Logically, she ought to be angry and disappointed, and yet a peculiar blend of relief and concern were taking hold.
On one hand she wanted her daughter to marry the man she loved, even if Wilhelmina ended up paying the price. On the other, she feared what Mr. Dale would do once he learned of the elopement. She also worried Cynthia and Michael hadn’t thought their plan through. They were young and eager to pursue their own fairytale, but would they be prepared for the ramifications?
Mr. Dale’s blunt opposition to the union Cynthia and Michael wanted might aggravate Wilhelmina. She might even have helped them meet in secret while in London. But that didn’t mean she was delusional. As a fallen woman, her connection to them would make life difficult, and she very much feared they weren’t aware of how much.
One thing was certain, and that was that if Mr. Dale went in pursuit and caught up to them, there would be hell to pay. He’d threatened to ruin Cynthia once before. This time Wilhelmina feared he’d follow through out of spite. Which meant she had to be there in order to offer her daughter protection. Michael might manage to do so to some degree, but she wasn’t confident he could withstand the full extent of his father’s wrath. And Cynthia would be the one to suffer the consequence.
Mind made up, Wilhelmina went to her room and tossed a few items of clothing into her travelling bag. She was tempted to walk into town and catch the next northbound coach without determining whether or not Mr. Dale was aware of what had transpired. But, she reminded herself, if the positions were reversed, she’d be even more furious once she discovered the information had been kept from her. Also, his carriage would probably travel faster.
So as reluctant as she was to visit Clarington House, she returned downstairs and announced her departure to Betsy. She and the Wilkinses would have to manage as best as they could until Wilhelmina returned.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Betsy asked.
“Thank you, Betsy, but knowing you’re keeping an eye on things here will ease my mind.”
Betsy nodded and gave Wilhelmina an impromptu hug. “Bring her home safe.”
Wilhelmina assured her she would, upon which she left the house and walked toward the gate at the end of the garden path. She undid the latch and pulled the gate open, only to stop and stare as a gleaming black carriage drew to a halt before her.
The door swung open and Mr. Dale, dressed in a grey frock coat, brown breeches, and newly buffed boots, leapt onto the road. He straightened and swung his dark gaze toward her, then gave her a full head to toe perusal before asking, “Where the devil do you think you’re going?”
Indignation prompted her hackles to rise. “To find you.”
He glared at her with clear distrust. “Do you know what has happened?” When she nodded, he said, “They took two of my father’s best horses. I thought it my duty to inform you.”
“You’re going after them?”
“Of course. Michael has made a monumental error in judgment – one that could ruin his life.”
Determined not to rile him by getting into an argument, Wilhelmina raised her chin. “I’d like to come with you.”
“Absolutely not.”
She squared her shoulders and took a step forward. “She is my daughter and while you may not believe a woman like me can be capable of love or concern, I can assure you that my daughter’s well-being is my highest priority. So please, take me with you.”
“Do you honestly think our spending time together in a closed carriage for hours on end would be wise?”
Probably not, Wilhelmina thought, but the alternative – walking into Renwick and choosing a slower mode of transportation—was less desirable. “I promise I won’t say a word. If you tire of me, you may toss me out along the way.”
He tilted his head. “You truly do think the worst of me, don’t you?”
“It’s no less than what you think of me,” she countered.
Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, he closed his eyes briefly and finally shook his head. “God help me but I’m bound to regret this.” With apprehension in his eyes, Mr. Dale sighed and gestured toward the carriage. “Get in.”
When Wilhelmina hesitated, he took a deep breath and appeared to reach for a secret supply of good manners and patience. With a grimace, he offered his hand to assist her and said, “Please, Mrs. Lawson. Time is of the essence.”
8
James was fairly certain he must have lost his damn mind somewhere between Clarington House and Mrs. Lawson’s cottage. His intention to chase after Michael had not included bringing the infamous divorcée with him. But when he’d seen her standing by her garden gate holding her oversized travel bag, he’d not had the heart to make her walk into town and wait for the next available coach. Not when they shared the same destination.
So here he was, sitting across from a woman he couldn’t get out of his head no matter how shameful he found her actions. She was like two different people: the beguiling beauty he’d met beneath the glow of the Pennington ballroom’s chandeliers, and the selfish sinner cavorting behind her husband’s back. It was hard for him to consolidate the two people, so vastly different in temperament and moral standing. And yet, he’d seen a third side to her as well in recent weeks. The homemaker ready to push up her sleeves and get to work was so unexpected, he wasn’t sure how to make her fit in with the rest.
While he had been giving his full attention to the view since they’d set off, he now dared a glance in her direction. Thankfully, her gaze was turned toward the opposite window in an obvious attempt to avoid looking his way. Satisfied she would not catch him studying her, James accepted the opportunity he had been given to do precisely that.
He allowed his gaze to assess her profile, to commit the shade of the dark blond curls protruding from beneath her fawn-colored bonnet to memory. Bouncing slightly in response to the carriage’s movement, they seemed to caress her high cheekbones. Long, coal-black eyelashes matched the hue of her neat eyebrows. Her nose was gently curved – a delicate feature that seemed to serve as a contrast to the fullness of her mouth. Tinted a deep rose color, her lips reminded him of the cherry blossoms that bloomed in the London parks each spring. His gut tightened. He’d not been wrong to be dazzled by her when they’d first met, for although she had to be nearing her fortieth year, Mrs. Lawson could easily outshine any young debutante with her appearance, no matter the soft creases marring the corners of her eyes.
His gaze traced the delicate column of her neck, her straight shoulders and rigid back. Then lower toward the soft folds of her skirts. Her hands, clad in black leather gloves, were tightly clasped in her lap. James frowned as his gaze wandered back up, over the fullness of her breasts. His fingers instinctively flexed, alerting him to a primal response he had no business having. With a silent curse, he tore his gaze away from that part of her body, only to find himself pinned by her ocean blue gaze.