8
James was fairly certain he must have lost his damn mind somewhere between Clarington House and Mrs. Lawson’s cottage. His intention to chase after Michael had not included bringing the infamous divorcée with him. But when he’d seen her standing by her garden gate holding her oversized travel bag, he’d not had the heart to make her walk into town and wait for the next available coach. Not when they shared the same destination.
So here he was, sitting across from a woman he couldn’t get out of his head no matter how shameful he found her actions. She was like two different people: the beguiling beauty he’d met beneath the glow of the Pennington ballroom’s chandeliers, and the selfish sinner cavorting behind her husband’s back. It was hard for him to consolidate the two people, so vastly different in temperament and moral standing. And yet, he’d seen a third side to her as well in recent weeks. The homemaker ready to push up her sleeves and get to work was so unexpected, he wasn’t sure how to make her fit in with the rest.
While he had been giving his full attention to the view since they’d set off, he now dared a glance in her direction. Thankfully, her gaze was turned toward the opposite window in an obvious attempt to avoid looking his way. Satisfied she would not catch him studying her, James accepted the opportunity he had been given to do precisely that.
He allowed his gaze to assess her profile, to commit the shade of the dark blond curls protruding from beneath her fawn-colored bonnet to memory. Bouncing slightly in response to the carriage’s movement, they seemed to caress her high cheekbones. Long, coal-black eyelashes matched the hue of her neat eyebrows. Her nose was gently curved – a delicate feature that seemed to serve as a contrast to the fullness of her mouth. Tinted a deep rose color, her lips reminded him of the cherry blossoms that bloomed in the London parks each spring. His gut tightened. He’d not been wrong to be dazzled by her when they’d first met, for although she had to be nearing her fortieth year, Mrs. Lawson could easily outshine any young debutante with her appearance, no matter the soft creases marring the corners of her eyes.
His gaze traced the delicate column of her neck, her straight shoulders and rigid back. Then lower toward the soft folds of her skirts. Her hands, clad in black leather gloves, were tightly clasped in her lap. James frowned as his gaze wandered back up, over the fullness of her breasts. His fingers instinctively flexed, alerting him to a primal response he had no business having. With a silent curse, he tore his gaze away from that part of her body, only to find himself pinned by her ocean blue gaze.
Embarrassed to have been caught, James struggled for something to say. An apology was the least he could offer, but somehow he could not bring himself to say the words. Perhaps because doing so would prove his guilt? So he cleared his throat instead and said, “You look lovely today, Mrs. Lawson. Better than when I last saw you.”
James cringed. If she chose, Mrs. Lawson could easily misconstrue his comment as a veiled insult, which wasn’t at all how he’d intended it.
To his relief, she smiled – not in the wide and joyful way she’d done when they’d first met, but enough to suggest she had no desire to quarrel. One eyebrow rose as if in challenge. “I could say the same of you, Mr. Dale.”
He supposed that was true. “I was returning home from one of my father’s tenants when I happened upon our children in that field.”
Her expression dimmed at the mention. “I’d like to apologize on my daughter’s behalf. When you came to see me in London, you made your disapproval of her relationship with your son quite clear. It’s the reason I brought her with me when I left, because I believed a change of scenery might do her good. It never occurred to me we would happen upon you here in Suffolk of all places.”
James wanted to believe her, he just wasn’t sure he could. Women like her, like Clara, were not to be trusted. Still, it would be hard to travel with her for several days if he questioned everything she said. So he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt while taking her words with a grain of salt.
“I chose to visit my parents for similar reasons,” he said. “Noting Michael’s despondence after I told him I wouldn’t approve of him marrying your daughter, I thought some time away from Town might help.”
“Instead we unwittingly brought them together.”
“And gave them reason to run away.” James shook his head. “I’d like to blame you for that, but I fear doing so would be rather unfair.”
“Oh?”
He’d no intention of making her privy to his recent struggles with Michael, so he simply shrugged one shoulder and said, “Our children fancy themselves in love and as such, they are prepared to disregard the consequences of their actions.”
She frowned. “You refer to the familial connection your son would have to me if he and Cynthia were to marry.”
“Michael is a bright young man with a promising future ahead of him,” James told her plainly. “I’d hate for him to squander it on a momentary bit of passion.”
Mrs. Lawson’s jaw tightened while her breaths grew slightly harder. Obviously, she was fighting to keep her mouth shut and her opinions to herself. For some bizarre reason he could not comprehend, James wanted to hear her thoughts, even if they were contrary to his own and would lead to anger.
Leaning forward, he held her gaze, which had now turned steely grey. “What?”
“Nothing,” she muttered, and promptly turned her attention back to the window.
“Say it.” When she still refused to speak, he decided to add a bit of levity to his voice as he told her, “I promise I’ll not toss you out of the carriage.”
She gave a soft snort and swung her gaze back to his. “Have you tried to consider this situation from your son’s point of view and without your dislike of me clouding your judgment?”
He tilted his head. “How do you mean?”
“If Michael…” She must have noted his disapproval, for she instantly said, “Forgive me, but may I call him Michael?”
James wasn’t too comfortable with it, but he supposed it would make their conversation easier. After a brief moment’s thought, he nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Well, if he truly loves Cynthia, would it not be better for you to try and help him find a way to be with her rather than throwing obstacles in his path?”
Disgruntled by her critical suggestiveness, James crossed his arms and leaned back against the squabs. “Michael may think himself in love but he is still young and his acquaintance with your daughter is too brief for him to be prone to such deep emotion. This is nothing more than a brief infatuation and as such, it would be a travesty if it led to marriage.”
“You’re certain of this?”
