Cynthia gave her hands a squeeze before removing her own. She straightened her spine and angled her head. “No. It’s not.”
“So.” Wilhelmina squared her shoulders and picked up her teacup. Cynthia needed her, and this gave her something concrete to focus her energy on besides her own problems and frayed emotions. She sipped her tea and regarded her daughter. “I shall call on Mr. Dale and see if I can change his mind.”
Exhausted after a difficult trial in which his client’s claim to the land he’d recently purchased was being contested, James plodded up the steps to his front door and entered his home. God, it would be good to relax in the quiet of his study while savoring the silence he was allowed to enjoy within these walls. All the shouting and protesting he’d encountered in court had brought on a headache, so he looked forward to reclining in his favorite chair while a cool compress soothed the pain.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Atkins said. The butler held out his hand and took James’s hat and gloves.
“Good afternoon,” James replied. “Is my son at home?”
“Indeed he is not.”
James’s heart sank. He’d hoped to speak with Michael, to try and repair the rift between them. Ever since James had denied him his blessing to wed Mrs. Petersen, however, Michael had avoided him. He sighed as he pulled off his greatcoat.
“However,” Atkins said, “there is a lady waiting to see you in the parlor.”
James frowned. This was most unusual and irregular, not to mention highly unwelcome news. “You know my office hours, Atkins. Why didn’t you ask her to come back tomorrow morning between eight and ten?”
“I did, but she insisted. When she mentioned the need to discuss a personal matter with you and said it pertained to your son, I thought it might be best for you to decide whether or not to turn her away.” Atkins met James’s regard with a stiff mien. “Her name is Mrs. Lawson.”
Tension gripped every sinew in James’s body. A shiver of anticipation clutched at his nerves. “Christ.”
“My sentiment exactly.”
James raised an eyebrow at his butler who didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “Admitting her was a mistake, Atkins, though I daresay I can appreciate your reasoning. Please tell her to leave now. I want that woman out of my house right away.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Once she’s gone,” James added, “please have a cool compress delivered to my study, would you?”
The butler inclined his head and James strolled off. He sought out the sanctuary he had been craving for most of the day and dropped into the deep leather armchair behind his desk. Leaning back into a slouch, he stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Heaven have mercy. The woman who’d reignited desire for him with little more than her presence was currently in his parlor being dismissed by his butler. He could hear Atkins’s voice through the wall, followed by a softer, more muted tone.
He clenched his jaw as anger started to brew at the base of his skull. How dare she come and disturb his peace? How dare she risk his and Michael’s reputations with her presence? It was bad enough that the parlor was filled with the memory of Clara. Now it would also be stained byher.
“Damn you.”
He thrust his hand over his eyes and watched the colorful sparks that danced behind his lids. The parlor door opened and closed. Footsteps sounded. James went utterly still in the ensuing silence. He held his breath and waited. Was she gone?
A knock on the study door ricocheted through James’s brain. “Enter!”
“I’ve brought the compress, sir.” Atkins’s dry voice scraped the air.
James parted his fingers and peered at his butler. “And Mrs. Lawson?”
Atkins paused for a second before he confessed, “Refuses to budge.”
“Refuses to budge?”
“Indeed.” Stepping forward, Atkins handed the compress to James on a silver salver. James took it and laid it across his brow. Ah. Much better. “I fear the only way to make her leave is to carry her from the house. If you agree, I’ll call a few Runners to help.”
“No.” James straightened with a jolt and immediately winced in response to the knives being thrust through his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then took a deep breath and told his butler, “We don’t want anyone else to know she is here. So just let her be. I’ll have supper in a couple of hours. If we’re lucky, Mrs. Lawson will let herself out at some point once she tires of waiting.”
Much to James’s irritation, she did not. He sat at his dining room table alone, gnashing his teeth. With Michael’s noticeable absence and Mrs. Lawson still in the parlor, he could not even be allowed to enjoy his meal. And it was allherfault. If she’d upheld her marriage vows to her husband, James could have given Michael his blessing. His son would be overjoyed at present and there would have been no disharmony between them. Instead, Michael now suffered and James had become the villain. It wasn’t to be borne!
He regarded Atkins who’d come to inform him of his visitor’s continued presence in the parlor. Tossing his napkin aside, he made his decision. “I’ll see her.”
The slightest shift in the aging butler’s eyebrows conveyed his relief. Atkins apparently was glad his master had chosen to get involved. His authority would be harder for Mrs. Lawson to argue.
James stood. He was beyond ready to get the persistent woman out of his home. It was damned rude and inconsiderate of her to dig in her heels and refuse to leave. Didn’t she realize she put poor Atkins in an awkward position?
