Weary of the secrecy and the lies, James pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a curse. Moving on from Mina would not be as simple as he’d have liked. Even though she clearly kept a great many truths about herself stowed away beneath her façade, he could not change how he felt, which meant he could not stop from caring or worrying over all the things she refused to share with him.
She doesn’t love you, he reminded himself for the hundredth time since their conversation.
More importantly, she did not seem to want his help.
Perhaps then, the only thing to do was walk away and leave her be. If she came to him later, he’d be there for her. At least then it would be on her terms and not because he’d pushed her for more than she was ready to give.
The rest of the journey back to Renwick was uneventful and dreary. By the time the carriage pulled to a halt outside Wilhelmina’s cottage, she was more than eager to put as much distance between herself and the last five days’ experience as possible. Without waiting for Mr. Dale or his son to come and offer assistance, she flung the carriage door open, hitched up her skirts, and leapt to the ground unaided.
“Mina,” James said. He’d dismounted and hastened to help her collect her bag from the boot. He arrived just in time to watch her retrieve the item – too late for him to do it for her. A scowl darkened his gaze.
“Thank you for helping me bring my daughter home safely,” she said. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mr. Dale.”
“You owe me nothing,” he told her fiercely. “I was more than happy to assist.”
“Nevertheless, I’m much obliged.” She stepped back while Michael helped Cynthia collect her things. The pair exchanged a few discreet words in parting while Wilhelmina and James stood in awkward silence. Desperate for a reprieve from his glower, she averted her gaze, though this did nothing to ease the awareness of having his eyes fixed upon her with piercing intensity.
Eventually, Cynthia joined her and Michael remounted his horse. Wilhelmina raised her chin and gave her attention back to James. “Good day, Mr. Dale.”
He said nothing as she turned away and started toward the garden gate. Forcing herself to stay strong, to not look back at him with longing, she stayed her course until she reached the front door of her cottage. Only then did she turn, just in time to catch the back of him as he galloped away. Michael, who remained, touched the brim of his hat before chasing after his father. The carriage lurched into motion immediately after and followed the two men to Clarington House.
When Wilhelmina opened the front door she was immediately met by Betsy who rushed toward her, skidded to a halt, and managed an awkward curtsy. “I thought I heard something that sounded like a carriage. Oh, it’s good to have you home again, Mrs. Lawson, and with Mrs. Petersen too, I see.”
“Thank you, Betsy.” Wilhelmina removed her bonnet and handed it to the maid while Cynthia set hers on a narrow entryway table. She began removing her gloves. “I don’t suppose you have a pot of tea ready?”
“No, but I can make one,” Betsy said while tying the bonnet ribbons in a bow so she could hang it from a peg on the wall. “It won’t take long.”
“Did you and the Wilkins get along all right while we were away?” Wilhelmina asked once she and Cynthia were seated at the kitchen table. Betsy filled the kettle with water and hung it over the fire.
“Oh yes,” Betsy said. She picked a tin off a shelf and began scooping tea leaves into a strainer. “They’ve been taking care of the animals, milking the cows, and collecting eggs. Allowed me the time I needed to do some more cleaning. This morning I laundered the parlor curtains. They’re hanging to dry out back.”
“Thank you, Betsy. You’re a gem,” Wilhelmina told her. The maid smiled, glanced at Cynthia inquisitively, but refrained from asking questions, for which Wilhelmina was grateful. She knew the maid would wonder what happened, but it wasn’t something Wilhelmina cared to discuss with a servant. Instead she told her daughter, “I think you ought to prepare your return to London as soon as possible. The Season there is well underway and I have to get to work here so I can secure an income. The funds I have from the sale of the house will not last forever.”
“What are you planning?” Cynthia asked while Betsy offered them each a biscuit.
Wilhelmina took one and bit into its buttery crispness. “We’ve a dozen pigs, so I’m thinking of selling the fattest ones to the Renwick butcher along with some chickens. The milk from the cows might be welcomed by one of the dairy shops.”
“Why not sell to people directly?” Cynthia asked. “In doing so you would avoid giving part of your profit away to a middleman.”
Cynthia had considered this herself, but…
“I was thinking of the convenience for the shopper. I’m not sure the average person would be willing to come all the way out here for their purchase.”
“They might if you make it worth their while,” Betsy chimed in. She frowned when both Wilhelmina and Cynthia looked at her. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s all right,” Wilhelmina said. “Please, elaborate.”
Betsy pressed her lips together for a second before saying, “If your pricing is good, people might be willing to make the trip as long as they know they’re saving some coin. And you should be able to have a competitive price, seeing as you don’t have to pay for a shop in town.”
“I suppose,” Wilhelmina agreed while Betsy set a cup and saucer before her. The maid took the kettle off the fire and filled the teapot. A rich aroma filled the air as the tea leaves soaked. “But if they buy their meat from me they’d have to see to the butchering themselves and I’m not sure they’d be willing or able.”
“Maybe the pigs and the chickens should go to the butcher then,” Cynthia said, “but there are other items you could sell yourself. Like baked goods. You make the best breads and cakes I’ve ever had, Mama. It’s a shame not to share that talent with the world.”
Wilhelmina smiled at the compliment. “I do love to bake, so I suppose there’s some sense in trying to make a living from it.”
“Exactly so,” Cynthia said. “And with the fruit trees and vegetable patches you’ve got, you can make jams and preserves as well. Honestly, the possibilities are endless. Plus, I think the townsfolk will find some charm in buying these items directly from their source.”
Betsy filled the cups and Wilhelmina picked hers up. She blew on the steaming liquid, then took a tentative sip. What Cynthia proposed would not make her rich, but it would probably be enough for her to get by on. Plus, she’d be doing something she liked. Best of all, it would keep her mind off a certain gentleman she preferred not to think of.
Only it seemed the gentleman in question was determined to keep her mind sharply focused on him, she realized a week later when a cart pulled up in front of her cottage. With Cynthia gone to London three days before, she was in the process of making a list of supplies she’d have to purchase for her new business when a series of thuds caught her attention. A knock at the door soon followed and one minute later, Betsy arrived in the parlor.
“There’s a delivery for you, Mrs. Lawson.”