As of right now, Wilhelmina still struggled with figuring out how many items to make and when to start making them. She’d quickly discovered that there was a difference between baking one or two loaves of bread and baking twenty. Each dough had to rise but she could only fit four in the oven at the same time. Scheduling became imperative, especially since she was starting to feel like she worked every minute of every day without pause. Plus, she had to teach Betsy how to make everything exactly the same way she did, which meant she had to allow for time to let the maid practice.
The process demanded dedication, and Wilhelmina still didn’t feel she was ready to hand over all responsibility for her new business to Betsy and the Wilkinses by the time the next letter arrived two weeks later. But when she opened it and learned what had happened, she knew she’d have no choice.
She sucked in a breath. It felt like a prickly rash was spreading across her skin as she read Cynthia’s words. Her heart tumbled over as sickening disquiet swirled in her stomach.
Cloverfield was back in London, and he was not only telling the world that Wilhelmina was Mr. Dale’s whore, but that Mr. Dale was the man behind Wilhelmina’s divorce and that all her other lovers had simply been used to conceal his involvement.
It was beyond the pale. Lies perpetuated by a high ranking peer – a man who deserved to be scorned for his lack of honor. Wilhelmina knew she ought not be surprised for his father had been no better, but she had hoped it would not come to this and that James would not be made to suffer on her account.
Wilhelmina swallowed and set the letter aside with trembling hands. There wasn’t a choice any longer. She absolutely could not allow James to face this alone. All she could do was hope her going to London would not have an adverse effect on Cynthia, and that Betsy would somehow manage to keep things afloat in Renwick during her absence.
19
James knocked back the last of his brandy and set the empty glass on top of the newspaper that had been lying on his desk for the past week. The headline still mocked him – Another one of Mrs. Lawson’s lovers revealed – but he got some satisfaction from all the ring stains he’d left on the paper since he’d started using it as a coaster.
Damn Cloverfield.
When James first learned of the lies the bastard had spewed to The Mayfair Chronicle, he’d been ready to march on over to Cloverfield House and knock the sod’s block off. Thank God Michael had managed to talk him out of it, though the quarrel that ensued had not been helpful. Now Michael was gone – off to spend some time away from his grouchy father. James knew it was probably for the best. Michael had a new job he needed to concentrate on, but James still missed him. He missed her.
Huffing a breath, he scrubbed his palm across his jaw and felt the bristles. It was past time for a shave and a bath, not to mention a change of clothes. He could probably do with a haircut too, but he just couldn’t seem to make the effort.
Wearily, he glanced at the papers and files comprising the brief he’d accepted after returning to Town. It pertained to the theft of some silverware from Sir Walter Bannon’s household, for which the housekeeper had been arrested. A solicitor friend of James’s had brought the case to him after James had mentioned a keen desire to bury himself in work.
Since Cloverfield’s statement however, Sir Bannon had requested a new barrister. James was supposed to return the files he’d been given no later than this afternoon. Which was just as well really. Reading statements and compiling evidence against a woman whose guilt would be hard to prove held little appeal. He’d much rather spend his energy on an entirely different project.
A knock at the front door caught his attention. He muttered a curse and thought of telling Atkins not to answer. But it was too late. Voices already sounded and then Atkins entered his study. “Mr. Grier and Mr. West are here to see you, sir. Should I show them in?”
James gave his butler a weary nod. Not because he felt like the company but because he knew his friends would not let up until they’d seen him. Best get it over with then. “Please do.”
“Are you aware you’ve got pipes strewn about your hallway?” Grayson asked once he and Colin had finished greeting James.
“They’re not strewn about,” James said. “They’re neatly stacked.”
Colin frowned while giving James an uncomfortable head to toe perusal. “You look like a heathen.”
“I’ve not been out in a while,” James said. He’d not really thought much of his rolled up shirt sleeves, the lack of cravat, or the fact that he wore no shoes, until this very moment. “Thought I might as well be comfortable.”
Colin snorted and went to pour himself a brandy. He offered one to Grayson as well, who refused. “The scandal surrounding you and Mrs. Lawson will pass, old chap. These things always do.”
“What prompted Cloverfield to make such an outrageous statement anyway?” Colin asked. “I mean, we both know how much you loathe the woman, so the duke must truly have it in for you if he’s prepared to make such incredulous claims.”
James snatched up his glass and went to refill it. He took a fortifying sip and savored the burn as the spicy liquid slid down his throat. “I do not loathe her. In fact, it will likely shock you to know that I’ve…”
“What?” Grayson asked when James hesitated.
How to answer without implying more than what was proper? James shifted his gaze from one friend to the other. “Mrs. Lawson’s daughter eloped with Michael while I was off visiting Clarington House. We tracked them down together, during which she and I became…friends.”
Silence. Thick and suffocating. And then, “You tupped her, didn’t you?”
“Damnit, Grayson,” James growled.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” Colin said. He held up his hands and backed up a step. “She’s definitely the tupping sort, but—”
“Say one more thing against her and I’ll strike that grin off your face,” James growled.
“Oh God,” Grayson groaned. He added a dramatic sigh and eye-roll. “He’s in love.”
“Huh.” Colin tilted his head and studied James as if he were some rare artifact that defied the laws of nature. “Well, I suppose that explains all those pipes in the hallway. From what I hear, people do the strangest things when they fancy themselves in love.”
“I don’t fancy myself being anything,” James said. He took a deep breath and expelled it. “Truth is, I completely misjudged her and now…” He shook his head.
“Now what?” Colin pressed.
“Shush. Let him speak,” Grayson said.
James sank into a nearby chair and considered his friends – men he’d known most of his life. He’d fought by their side, shared the death of a brother-in-arms with them, bared his soul to them during his troubles with Clara. No one knew or understood him better than they did, not even Michael. “I’m smitten with her. Completely enamored. Ironically, she’s still emotionally attached to Mr. Hewitt.”
“You’re certain of this?” Grayson asked with clear disbelief.
“She told me she loves him,” James said and promptly took another sip of his brandy to wash down the bitter taste those words left in his mouth. He knew there was a distinction between loving someone and being in love with them, as Michael had put it, though it hardly mattered which sentiment she harbored for Mr. Hewitt when she’d not shown James either emotion.