This thought remained at the front of Wilhelmina’s mind as she watched her daughter speak her vows the following afternoon. While Henry had been good for Cynthia, Michael’s personality seemed to be more in tune with hers. Seeing the love that shone in their eyes as the priest pronounced them husband and wife was far more freeing than Wilhelmina had expected, and when she bid the newly married couple farewell later on and left the house together with James, it felt like a boulder had been removed from her breast.
“Are you absolutely certain you want me to come home with you?” she asked as soon as he’d helped her into a hired hackney and claimed the seat across from her. “If people find out they’ll—”
“What?” James clasped her hand in his larger one. “Cloverfield already has the world thinking you are my mistress. If you ask me, we might as well use that claim to our advantage.”
She felt the tightness of her own frown. “But I’m not your mistress, James, and I have no wish to be.”
“It’s only temporary, Mina.” He angled himself toward her so their knees touched. His expression was suddenly marred by severity. “I have a plan, or at least I am working on one. If all goes well, Cloverfield’s lies will be brought to light and you shall be understood rather than shunned. Now, I cannot promise you that your reputation will be restored to its fullest, but I do believe my efforts will lead to acceptance by many of those who have thought ill of you.”
Panic gripped her. “James, if you tell anyone George’s accusations against me were false then—”
“That’s not my intention at all.”
Her lips parted with surprise. She searched his face. “Then how?”
He placed his arm around her and drew her closer. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” In the time she’d known him, he’d always been frank with her. He’d helped her in spite of their differences, because it had been the correct thing to do. No one was more honorable than he or more deserving of her good faith.
“Then let me do what I can in order to help you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Rest assured, Mina, I’ll marry you regardless, but first I’d like to see if it can be achieved with the approval we both deserve.”
Unable to deny how wonderful it would be if their union were to be celebrated rather than reviled, Mina settled herself against James’s sturdy frame and savored his warmth. She would not argue any further about the indecency of going home with him, or of their living in sin for a while. Instead, she’d enjoy every moment she was allowed with the man she loved.
An unexpected invitation arrived two days later during breakfast. James picked the crisply folded parchment off the silver salver Atkins brought and tore the crimson seal. He glanced at Wilhelmina, who sat adjacent to him, sipping her tea. Their eyes met and a wave of heat crashed through him.
These past two days with her had cemented his certainty. Never in his life had he loved a woman as much as he loved her. She was everything to him, a delightful companion who made him laugh with abandon when she teased and prompted him to reflect on more serious issues when she voiced her opinions on political matters. She was also his greatest supporter. The pump he’d installed in the kitchen and the sketches depicting his plans for the water pipes had impressed her so greatly, he might as well have discovered the fountain of youth.
Pleased to know he would soon be able to offer for her in a grandiose gesture of great affection, he said, “The Penningtons have invited us to their ball next Friday.”
Her eyes widened and her teacup rattled against its saucer as she set it aside. “May I see that, please?”
He handed her the invitation and watched while she read. “This note at the bottom wishes you luck.” She returned her gaze to his with curiosity.
“Indeed.”
A startled half grin, half snort, escaped her, then she slapped him over his hand with the invitation. “You’re still not going to tell me what you’re up to. Are you?”
He smirked and picked up his coffee. “Not a chance.”
“Well, then.”
Much to James’s delight, no more was said on the matter, which allowed him a moment to mentally strategize. The coming week would be ridiculously busy. Flyers would have to be printed, an engagement ring purchased, and…
“You’ll need a gown,” he said. Good God, how long would that take to make?
“I suspect I shall. None of the dresses I brought with me are suited to a Society ball.” She batted her lashes at him. “How do you suppose we handle that problem in only one week at the height of the Season?”
A cool sweat broke out at the nape of his neck. “I’m not sure, but as long as money isn’t an issue, I’m certain we can find a seamstress willing to work overtime.”
As it turned out, doing so was easier said than done. Every modiste’s shop they visited the following afternoon was already overbooked. Apparently, having a ball gown made at short notice was harder than getting the printer James had met with that morning to deliver one hundred flyers within a week.
“This is hopeless,” Wilhelmina said when they left the sixth dress shop. Having other customers turn their backs on them didn’t help. “Perhaps it’s time for us to accept defeat, James.”
“Absolutely not.” No one had been wronged more than Wilhelmina. Society would never know the extent of her plight, but since he did, he’d be damned if he’d let her go down without a fight. Hell, he would give his plan its best shot and if that didn’t work, only then would he retreat from the battle he waged on her behalf. He turned to her with a fresh idea. “You bake and weave, you milk cows and pitch in to help your servants. Any chance you also know how to fashion a ball gown?”
Wilhelmina blinked. “I made a couple of day dresses once, but a ball gown is far more complicated, James. There’s beading, fancy ruffles, tucks, and pleats.”
“The alternative would be to borrow a gown from Cynthia,” he suggested.
“She’s more petite than I am.” A deep shade of pink rose to her cheeks. “I’d need a much larger bodice.”
James grinned. “Nothing wrong with that. I certainly shan’t complain.”
She knit her brow. “I’m honestly not sure I’m up to the challenge.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Says the woman who’s risen to all her previous challenges.”
“But a ball gown, James? If it doesn’t fit right I’ll be humiliated.”
“Oh, it will fit to perfection, Wilhelmina. Even if I have to pin it in place myself.”
A startled laugh left her. “You cannot be serious.”
“Perfectly so, my love.” He turned her about and steered her back to the shop they’d recently left. Fifteen minutes later, they’d purchased muslin for a new petticoat, a four inch wide gold ribbon, and ten yards of scarlet silk. For as James had informed Wilhelmina when she protested the color, he wanted her to stand out like a ruby among all the boring diamonds.
“I have to get started on this right away if I’m to be ready in time,” she informed him when they returned home. “Would it be all right for me to make use of the dining room table?”