Wesley didn't want to hide his affections any longer. He wanted her to see that he loved everything that made her an outcast, a wallflower, difficult. What was the word they chose for her? Contrary. As if her brilliant mind had somehow hindered them. But it was everything that was different about Willa that ensnared him.
Soon she would know his heart. He would show her everything that she meant to him.
Chapter 4
Under the heavy veil, Willa held a scented handkerchief to her nose. She was a country girl, but the smell inside this carriage was far from the natural musk of nature. Malodorous. Unwashed human bodies. She'd rather smell a muddy pig any day. She just hoped the scent wouldn't seep into her clothes. Beside her, a buxom woman with a Bible clutched to her chest reviewed the other occupants of the coach with a narrowed gaze. She nodded succinctly to Willa, assuming a grieving widow would be just as pious, but did not make conversation.
Why weren't these people talking? Willa cleared her throat. The time would pass gruelingly slow if they did not talk, and she didn't think to bring a book or her knitting. She wiggled her toes, enjoying the slick softness of her silk stockings. She gently bent her head toward the woman beside her.
“Good day to you, ma'am,” Willa said, adjusting her voice to that of an older woman.
The woman relented her narrow-eyed glare toward the other occupants and turned to Willa with a gentle smile.
“Good day to you. My condolences. Is it a recent loss?”
Oh good, Willa thought, she’d concocted a story just for this occasion, and she was glad to use it.
“My beloved Wesley.” Willa bit her lip. Wesley? She'd meant to say Henry. But Wesley had popped out of her mouth quite by accident. Though he had been in her thoughts. Yesterday he’d ardently disapproved of her plan, and she still felt a pang of guilt for lying to him. What was he doing now? Probably sitting in a carriage with his parents and sisters, riding in comfort while she bounced with every pebble and groove in the road. By the end of the day, she knew her bottom would be sore, but at least she would have a bed to lie down on.
She must finish her story. She'd been quiet too long. The lady studied her with a sympathetic frown.
“It's been almost two years, but I still mourn him dearly. I can't bring myself to remove my blacks.”
“Children?” the lady asked.
“I'm afraid we were not blessed.”
The lady patted her knee. “Devotion to one's husband even after death is to be commended. My name is Mrs. Gobstone.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Gobstone. I am Mrs.…” Drat, she'd never thought of a name. Willa cleared her throat. “Excuse me, I am Mrs. Parker.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. What the devil was she doing? Last night, she thought up the whole story, and now she couldn't remember the facts except for Henry. She remembered she named her husband, Henry, but now he was Wesley and her surname was Parker. She repeated that back to herself. Now that she said them out loud to someone, she couldn't change her story.
“Where are you headed, Mrs. Parker?” Mrs. Gobstone asked.
“To my sister’s residence in London. And you?”
“Returning from a visit with my eldest son. He is a blacksmith in Sheffield.
Willa bit her cheek. The blacksmith in Sheffield? She'd met him when he'd come to shoe Luckfeld’s horses two days ago. She panicked, reminding herself that there was no way this woman should recognize her. She folded her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting.
Mrs. Gobstone leaned a little closer. “I know it is not de rigueur for us women to be traveling alone, but at our age, there’s no one to bother us women of God. We are under his Lordship's protection, devoted only to him in our remaining years.”
Willa nodded. “Yes, that is quite true.” Her disguise must really be working, if Mrs. Gobstone thought they were of similar age.
“Would you like to read my Bible?” Mrs. Gobstone offered.
“No, thank you. Reading in the carriage turns my stomach,” Willa said. “It is best I look out the window and keep sight of the road ahead or I get quite woozy.”
Mrs. Gobstone nodded. “My youngest child Sarah is much the same way.”
Willa turned her gaze to the window, exhaling with relief. That was enough talking for now. She was still shaken by her blurting out Wesley's name instead of her fake husband's name.
When they met up in four days, would he be angry with her? She intended to tell him what she’d done, along with her sisters. He and Ned were her truest friends, but Willa didn't feel the same connection to Ned as she did with Wesley. Wesley seemed to just…understand her. He could drive away her solemn thoughts with playful a glance or the tilt of his head, sometimes with a wink. She felt as if he could read her thoughts or, at the very least, guess them. If not for him, she might consider her first season a true failure and never try again, but she knew there was a reason she needed to be here. For her sisters, at least. They all wanted her to marry well, as they had done. To fall in love, as they had done, but love wasn't something Willa was certain she believed in. She knew it was real for others. She'd seen it firsthand, but she didn't know what it felt like for her.
Willa wasn't like other women. She wasn't prone to romanticize. She liked it when the world made sense. She liked orderly emotions, logic, reason. Love wasn't any of those things. It drove people crazy.
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