“I’ve told the missus to offer your wife some tea while I help you and your coachman with the horses.” The old man shoved his arms into his jacket while striding toward the carriage. “Once they’ve been taken care of, we’ll take you up to the Mitchells.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Name’s Walker.”
James glanced at the older man. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Walker. I’m Mr. Dale, and this here is my coachman, Green. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll just have a word with my wife.”
Funny how easily that particular word slipped off his tongue. James strode after Mrs. Lawson, who’d wandered a bit farther up the road.
“It looks like we’re in luck,” he said when he reached her.
She turned toward him, the glow from the late afternoon sun affording her with an ethereal look that nearly took his breath away. Shading her eyes, she glanced toward the carriage where Mr. Walker and Green were presently unfastening the horses. “It’s kind of him to help.”
“There is one catch though,” James confessed. When she directed her gaze to his he said, “Mr. Walker assumed you’re my wife and since I’d rather not complicate matters, I didn’t correct him.”
Mrs. Lawson stared at him for a moment as what this implied sank in. Her eyes widened a fraction. “Why wouldn’t you tell him what we’ve told everyone else thus far?”
“Because I don’t think it would make any difference.”
“Of course it would. One implies a familiar bond that could allow for separate rooms if such a possibility exists, whereas husbands and wives are expected to share the same bed.”
“Given the number of lovers you claim to have had,” James told her in a low voice while stepping so close to her he could see the rapid beat of her pulse at her neck, “I don’t see why spending one night with me should be an issue. I promise to keep my hands to myself if that’s your concern.”
Spinning away, he went to assist the two other men. He knew he was being unreasonable. After her recent altercation with Cloverfield, it made sense she’d want to sleep alone – that she’d not want to risk another man making advances. It made even more sense if she was not as experienced as she claimed. And yet, the panic he’d seen in her eyes when she’d realized they’d have to share a room and possibly even a bed irked him. Maybe because he knew she had nothing to fear from him, and the fact that she might presume she did put him in the same box as Cloverfield.
But there was something besides the anger this possibility stirred in him. There was also the jealously he’d harbored toward every man who’d claimed to have had her in the past. No matter how much James had resented her these last two years for being unfaithful to her husband, he’d secretly wished he’d met her sooner so he could have been among her lovers.
But if she’d not been as wanton as she pretended, maybe there weren’t any lovers at all and she was just nervous. In which case he was a fool for getting wound up over her reluctance to sleep by his side. Even though he would have thought their friendship had advanced to the point where it ought not be a big deal, provided they both kept their clothes on. After all, lovers or not, she had been married, so it wasn’t as if she’d never shared her bed before. Apparently, she just didn’t want to share it with him, which bothered him more than he cared for. Most likely because he’d been certain she shared his attraction.
Muttering a curse, James snatched the healthy horse’s harness from Green and followed Mr. Walker to the back of the house. The coachman soon caught up, leading the lame horse along at a much slower pace.
“I’ve not got too much to offer in terms of a stable,” Mr. Walker said with a hint of apology, “but it’ll have to do.”
Grateful the man had some shelter to offer the horses, even though it was just a fenced-in structure consisting of six wooden posts and a roof, James gave his thanks. At least there was fresh hay and water. He guided the horse he was leading into the spot directly beside Mr. Walker’s cart horse. A donkey standing a little further along brayed.
“Right then,” Green said. “Let’s see about changing this shoe.”
Almost one hour later, with twilight settling in around them, James wiped his brow and patted the horse’s flank. Mr. Walker had not had the strength to hold the horse’s leg steady while Green worked, so James had done so instead.
“Will he be all right by tomorrow?” James asked.
“If we keep a leisurely pace he’ll get us to the next inn,” Green assured him. “We’ll switch him out there.”
“Let’s have a quick bite to eat then,” James suggested. He turned to Mr. Walker. “If it’s not too much imposition?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Walker said. “My wife’s stew is divine and now that she knows you’re here there’ll be more than plenty to go around.”
Thankful for the hospitality, James washed his hands at the pump and dried them off on a linen towel Mr. Walker handed to him. He and Green then followed the man inside where Mrs. Lawson was in the process of setting the table in the Walkers’ small parlor. A stool placed at one corner, most likely brought in from the kitchen, provided additional seating.
“The food’s almost ready,” Mrs. Lawson said as soon as she noted their presence. Her cheeks were flushed and her voice slightly breathless, as if she’d been rushing about for a while. James stepped further into the room and watched while she arranged the napkins and silverware. He noticed that she avoided looking directly at him. Instead, she smiled at Mr. Walker. “Thank you so much for inviting us into your home and for your help with the horses.”
“Ah, think nothing of it,” Mr. Walker said with a grin. “I’ll just see if my wife needs help.”
“Please allow me,” Mrs. Lawson said. “I’ve been sitting all day so I’m happy to move about a bit while you rest.”
Mr. Walker’s eyebrows lifted, but he did not argue. As soon as she was gone from the room though, he turned to James. “Spirited thing, isn’t she? I can see why you married her.”
James glanced at his coachman and, noting the look of surprise on his face, gave him a quelling look while saying, “She certainly keeps me on my toes.”
“The best of them will do that,” Mr. Walker said. He located a bottle of some sort and filled three glasses which he distributed among them. “My Marjorie challenges me every day. Not a boring second to be had with her, I tell you. Not even after fifty years.”
“I’ll drink to that,” James said as he raised his glass. The brandy was stronger than any he’d had before, most likely because it was of the home made variety. He and Green both winced, prompting Mr. Walker to laugh.
“This stuff will put some hair on your chests,” Mr. Walker claimed as the women returned. Each carried a pot. “Isn’t that so, my dear?”
“Yours is certainly full of it,” the older woman who followed Mrs. Lawson announced. She was as wide as her husband was slim with an upward curve of her mouth and a twinkle of merriment in her eyes. “I could sheer him like a sheep and earn a fat penny to boot at the wig makers.”