Mr. Walker hooted in response. “What did I tell you, lads? Allow me to introduce you to the sharpest tongue north of London. Mr. Dale and Mr. Green, behold the love of my life, Mrs. Walker.”
The lady in question blushed in response to her husband’s affectionate words and even managed a bashful giggle. James grinned and instinctively glanced at Mrs. Lawson who swiftly averted her gaze from his the moment their eyes met. So she’d been watching him had she? Perhaps she wasn’t as opposed to spending the night with him as she’d suggested. Maybe she was just worried that doing so might lead them both down a dangerous path.
Regrettably, he had no intention of letting that happen. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he feared a dalliance with her would no longer be as meaningless as it once would have. Because when it came to lovemaking, there was a world of difference between a quick tup with a woman who spread her legs with careless abandon and one who only pretended to do so. If he was right about Mrs. Lawson, walking away from her afterward would not be an easy matter. As such, he had to be certain that he was prepared to pay the price and face the ramifications. And since he wasn’t, he knew he’d do well to keep his hands to himself.
“I mentioned your arrival to the Mitchells while you worked on the horse,” Mrs. Walker said while they ate. “Thought they might appreciate a bit of fair warning. They’ll be ready to receive you as soon as we’re done with our meal.”
“Thank you.” James took another bite of his food. “It’s a wonderful stew.”
Mrs. Walker beamed with pleasure. “My mother, bless her soul, taught me how to cook. She insisted it was a skill that would always pay off.”
“I’m certainly grateful for it,” Mr. Walker said.
“My wife is quite a keen baker,” James said while letting his gaze rest on Mrs. Lawson. An unexpected sense of pride filled him as he spoke, which was curious since he’d never even tasted anything she had made. Perhaps he just liked that she found joy in such a domestic skill. It warmed his heart to think of her in a kitchen, pouring her love into a cake or a loaf of bread, the aroma filling the air and the flour staining her cheeks while she worked.
“My daughter is especially fond of my scones,” she said.
“Oh?” Mrs. Walker straightened. “You have a daughter?”
“And a son,” James said without thinking.
Mrs. Lawson’s spoon struck the side of her dish with a clang.
Green coughed and reached for his wine. “Sorry. Went down the wrong way.”
“Then you are truly blessed,” Mr. Walker said, seemingly unaware of the effect James’s comment had wrought on Mrs. Lawson and his coachman. “We’ve only one child but he has given us three lovely grandchildren to dote on, though we don’t see them nearly as often as we’d like. They live a half day’s ride from here near Hawick.”
“The mills there provide more profitable work than what can be found in these parts,” Mrs. Walker explained.
The conversation lingered on production for a while before moving on to what life in London was like. The Walkers were enthusiastic listeners with a genuine interest in learning more about what the wider world had to offer.
“The air’s not as fresh there as it is here though,” James said when the Walkers marveled at his description of Vauxhall Garden and gas lighting.
“It’s also very crowded,” Mrs. Lawson added while looking directly at James. “I personally prefer the simplicity of country living.”
What was she saying? That they belonged in two separate worlds? Or was she simply reminding him that he would eventually return to the City while she would remain in Renwick? He’d no idea, but he realized in that moment that he longed to find a middle ground – a way in which to avoid the rift destined to come between them as soon as their journey ended.
It was madness for him to think that way, but these last few days together had forged a bond he did not want to give up on. Rather, he wanted more. But how?
“There are a couple of extra blankets in the bottom drawer over there in case it gets too cold for you,” Mrs. Mitchell told Wilhelmina later after showing her up to the room she’d made available. “There’s not enough space for a proper wash stand, but the bowl on top of the dresser is filled with water. You’ll find some soap in the tin right next to it. The wash cloths and towels beside it are all clean.”
Standing immediately inside the tiny room where she and Mr. Dale would be staying, Wilhelmina did her best to hide her panic. The bed, which she’d learned belonged to the Mitchells’ eldest daughter, Amanda, had been pushed up against the wall to allow enough space to open the door and pass to the dresser. Intended for two very slim people at best, it wasn’t nearly as wide as Wilhelmina had hoped. For a married couple, however, it should not pose a problem.
She smiled tightly. “Thank you. My husband and I are tremendously grateful to you for your hospitality and to your daughters for agreeing to share a room for the night.”
“We’re happy to have you,” Mrs. Mitchell said. “Our lives here can get pretty monotonous, so it’s nice with a bit of change. Do you get thirsty at night? I can prepare a jug of water and a couple of glasses for you if you like.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Oh, and there’s a clean chamber pot under the bed, should you need it.”
Mrs. Mitchell left Wilhelmina with those words hanging heavily in the air. Heaven above, she’d not even started to consider what she would do if she needed to empty her bladder during the night.
Swallowing, Wilhelmina moved to the bed and sat. Mr. Dale’s bag stood next to hers at the foot end. He’d brought them up when Mrs. Mitchell offered to show the room, but had since gone to find Mr. Mitchell in the hope the man had a shaving blade he could borrow.
Stiffly seated, Wilhelmina clasped her hands and bit her lip. She’d never shared a bed with anyone in her life. During their unconventional marriage, she and George had always slept apart. Although they had made one attempt to be intimate on their wedding night, they’d had to call it quits because of how wrong and awkward it felt. Neither had made an effort afterward and he’d eventually sated his needs with other women.
Unsure of what to do, Wilhelmina’s mind was still in turmoil when Mr. Dale stepped through the door. He brought the jug and glasses Mrs. Mitchell had promised with him, along with a small wooden box. “Help me, will you?”
Wilhelmina stood and relieved him of the jug and glasses, which she placed on top of the only bedside table the room had to offer. She glanced at the box he was now in the process of opening. “I gather you found what you needed?”
“Yes. I always travel with my own set but in my haste to depart Clarington House, I forgot to pack it.” He grinned as he stroked one hand over his jaw. “I’m not used to having a beard.”
“It doesn’t look bad,” Wilhelmina told him, although she had preferred it yesterday when it was shorter.
He angled his head while studying her. “Would you rather I leave it?”
The fact he was asking her made her already jittery stomach turn over. She held herself as rigidly upright as she was able. “Honestly, Mr. Dale. I’m not sure why my opinion should matter.”