“I did not.” It wasn’t really something Wilhelmina thought about, though she supposed such a system would be immensely practical. “I do believe a contraption capable of spraying water into a tub exists.”
“You refer to the shower, which is of some interest, I suppose, although that just recycles water over and over again and requires the constant management of a pump. Personally, I’d rather avoid the trouble. But to have a steady flow of water brought upstairs to my bath, now that would be something else, Mrs. Lawson.”
The twinkle in his eyes conveyed his passion for the subject. It was so infectious Wilhelmina felt herself caught up in the energy of it. Mesmerized, she could not look away from the man who sat across from her. He was her unexpected travel companion, the most unlikely partner in her quest to find her daughter. A foe turned temporary friend.
That would not go away. Once they caught up with their children, when her need for him and his obligation toward her ended, their truce would cease. She was certain of it, because of the righteous man he was.
But until then, she would allow herself to enjoy a brief reprieve from the solitary existence she could look forward to as a fallen woman.
“I suspect you already have an idea of how to make that happen,” she mused, hoping he might elaborate on his plans.
A smile pulled at his lips, affording him with a youthful roguishness. The expression swept all remaining traces of seriousness from his face. “Of course, but maybe it would be best to wait with that until tomorrow’s ride? Considering the hour and our early departure, I would suggest we retire for the evening.”
“You’re right.” Wilhelmina withdrew the cost of her meal from her skirt pocket and placed it on the table. While Mr. Dale did raise an eyebrow, he didn’t comment this time.
Instead he stood, added his own payment to hers, then offered his arm and escorted her upstairs to her bedchamber.
Releasing her when they reached her door, he took a step back. “Shout if you need anything, Mrs. Lawson.”
His dark piercing gaze sent a curious thrill down her spine. She shivered slightly and hugged herself. “Thank you, Mr. Dale. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”
She entered her room and gently closed the door, leaving him there in the dimly lit hallway. Only when she’d turned the key did she hear him move away. A smile pulled at her lips as she leaned against the wall. He might not like what he thought she’d done, but he cared enough to protect her from the likes of Mr. Oaks. And that in itself made her heart swell with appreciation and fondness.
James wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he was beginning to think he might be a terrible judge of character. Either that, or very confused. Hell, Mrs. Lawson was a baffling woman - a conundrum he couldn’t quite seem to figure out. He watched her now as they continued their northbound journey. The food the inn had prepared for them was wrapped and stowed on the seat next to James. Much to his relief, Mr. Oaks had not caused any trouble, allowing James to avoid an unpleasant altercation.
The last thing he needed right now was having to defend a woman about whom he wasn’t sure how he felt. Everything was hot and cold with her. Initially, at the Pennington ball he’d been drawn to her beauty and the joy she emanated. That same evening, he’d felt as though the princess he’d admired had turned into some hideous slug. Then came the hearings, next the difficult situation involving her daughter and Michael, and now…
If he were being totally honest, he’d really enjoyed her company yesterday. Especially their conversation during dinner. She’d shown a keen interest in his pursuits, which was rather nice for a change since neither his friends nor Michael enjoyed discussing plumbing at great length. But could he allow himself to view her as anything other than a villainous harridan - as the weaver and baker she had described? Would it not be unwise to do so?
He wasn’t sure. Then again, when it came to Mrs. Lawson, James was starting to think there might be a lot of things he was no longer sure of. Like the villainous harridan part. Which posed a problem since this was the keystone to his opinion of her. Without it, everything he believed to be true about her fell apart.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, deciding to pack away these complicated musings for now.
“Yes. And you?”
“Well enough.”
A soft smile deepened the blue in her eyes. “I forgot to ask about your friends yesterday. Mr. Grey and Mr. West, I believe? How are they doing?”
“They were both in good spirits when last I saw them.” James hesitated briefly, unsure of how much to share about the personal details of his life. Deciding to welcome her thoughtfulness, he puffed out a breath and added, “We meet on the twenty-first of March every year to honor our friend, Mr. Richard Hughes, who died during the Battle of Aboukir.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“As am I. Hughes left this world long before his time.”
“Too many people do. Like my father and his friend. Or my son-in-law.” A pained look overcame her. “Cynthia was made a widow a year and a half after her marriage.”
James sympathized. “That must have been terribly hard on her.”
“It was.” She seemed to consider him for a moment before she said, “It must have been hard on you too when your wife passed away. Raising a child on your own cannot have been easy.”
James held her gaze while the usual displeasure he experienced whenever he thought of Clara chilled his blood. It also served as a swift reminder of who Mrs. Lawson was and what she was capable of. As much as he liked her company and sought to see the best in her, she’d broken her vows and made a mockery of her marriage.
With this in mind, he told her evenly, “I managed.”
She gave him a quizzical look, but refrained from prying further. Clearly she’d hoped he’d expand, but speaking of Clara was out of the question. It was time for them to move on.
“Last night I promised I’d tell you more of my indoor plumbing ideas. I’m happy to do so now if you are still interested.”
Relief swept her features. “Absolutely.”
Relaxing as much as he could in the wake of the tension she’d foisted upon him, he cleared his throat and began. “The Romans relied on gravity to move water through pipes. Archimedes, however, invented an ingenious method by which to push water upward using a screw - driven technique. However, I am more interested in the Savery pump which runs on steam. According to my research, mines have used such a device, though not too effectively since their depth makes it hard to maintain decent pressure. But for a house, I’d imagine it ought to be most effective.”
“It would be useful if water no longer had to be hauled upstairs in jugs or buckets.” Mrs. Lawson tapped her chin. “Would it be possible to heat it prior to delivery?”
“I wondered the same thing, so I’m actually working on trying to solve that problem. Some upper-class homes already have a copper connected to a hot water heating system. But these depend on thermo syphoning to circulate heat and won’t deliver water as fast as I want.”
“But if you combine this idea with the copper and add the pump you mentioned—”
“Then one should be able to bring hot water to an upstairs bedroom or, if space allows, to a separate bathing room. Of course, one would still need to find a way in which to adjust the temperature so the water isn’t too hot, but I do believe that’s a minor detail.”