Wilhelmina stopped herself. She was rambling on and now he’d probably think her batty on top of everything else. Splendid.
“Do you still have your loom?” he suddenly asked.
The note of interest in his voice took her by surprise. She stilled, spoon hovering over her soup, and raised her gaze to his. “I had two. Unfortunately, I was forced to give up the large floor model one because we couldn’t make room for it in London, but I still have my tabletop loom, which is big enough for smaller projects. Hopefully, at some point, I’ll reacquire a full-sized loom again. And some sheep.”
He gave an unexpected laugh. “Sheep?”
“I think it would be wonderful if I could collect the wool myself from sheep I’ve raised, spin it into yarn, dye it, and weave it into practical items.”
A thoughtful look entered his eyes. “Have you ever considered selling your work?”
Wilhelmina grinned. “It wouldn’t be much of a hobby anymore if I started profiting from it. Would it? And besides, I’d have to become a lot more productive in order to make a business of it, which I’m just not sure I can. Selling eggs, milk, and baked goods would probably be simpler.”
“Baked goods?”
Wilhelmina ducked her head to hide her self-awareness. She’d not meant to mention that, but whether because of nerves or some other reason, Mr. Dale had managed to get her to talk. She bit her lip before admitting, “I also enjoy making bread, pastries, and cakes.”
He frowned at his soup as if the dish confounded him in some way, then returned his gaze to hers. Curiosity and something else - a far more subtle emotion she couldn’t define - warmed his eyes. “It looks like there’s more to you than meets the eye, Mrs. Lawson.”
Wilhelmina felt her cheeks heat. She cleared her throat. “I believe the same can be said of most people, Mr. Dale. What about you? What are your hobbies?”
He took a few more bites of stew while she did the same. It was an easily recognizable stalling tactic - one she was guilty of using herself a few moments earlier. He pushed his bowl aside and drank some beer. The tankard thunked against the tabletop when he set it down. Brow knit, he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with a cautious sort of pensiveness. Clearly, he was trying to decide on how open to be.
Eventually he sighed and it seemed his shoulders relaxed. “Aside from enjoying the pleasure of a good book, I suppose I like to work with my hands.”
“As you did yesterday when you assisted your father’s tenant?”
“Not exactly. I’d say that was more of a duty and keenness to help than a hobby. But laying down paving stones at Clarington House in order to create a terrace for my parents, installing new windows at my townhouse in London, or re-plastering the upstairs are projects I have enjoyed.”
“And here I was, imagining all you did all day was pore over legal documents,” Wilhelmina told him with a smirk.
He shrugged. “I’ll admit I’ve not had as much time lately as I’d like for my own interests. Being forced to get out of Town and away from my desk was probably a good thing.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure you don’t really believe that.”
“I’ll admit I’m not fond of my reason for choosing to take a sojourn in the country, but I do think I needed it. Your daughter’s persistent interest in Michael was a welcome kick to the backside.”
She pressed her lips together while smiling back at him. How easy it would have been for him to use her comment against her - to agree and blame her and Cynthia for giving him trouble. Instead he’d admitted to being grateful for the disruption to his work, even though he didn’t approve of the circumstances. Only a man of true integrity would be so honest.
“So the countryside agrees with you then?”
He tilted his head as if in thought. “I’m only in London because the courts are there. If it were up to me though, I’d much rather live far away from the noise and all the busybodies. But I do enjoy arguing complex cases. Challenging my mind keeps it sharp.”
“By contrast, I expect working on a house, whether it be your own or your parents’, relaxes you.”
“It does.” He held her gaze and it was as if a deep sense of shared understanding passed between them. He liked laying paving stones much in the same way she enjoyed weaving or baking. Because it soothed the soul and offered a sense of accomplishment that could only come from creating something with one’s own hands. He leaned forward and set his elbows on the table. “It also tempts me with all sorts of innovative ideas.”
“Such as?”
He shook his head in an almost bashful sort of way before locking eyes with her once again. “You’ll think I’m filling my head with impossible notions.”
“Possibly,” she agreed, “though you’ll never know my true opinion unless you tell me what you have in mind.”
“Hmm…” He paused for a moment before he said, “The Romans had intricate plumbing systems and underground sewage. John Harrington developed a flushing toilet for Queen Elizabeth - an idea Alexander Cummings expanded upon last century. Yet here we remain, without running water or flushing toilets in even the wealthiest homes. Only America is showing progress in this field. Are you aware that Philadelphia - an entire city - had a water delivery system installed more than a decade ago?”
“I did not.” It wasn’t really something Wilhelmina thought about, though she supposed such a system would be immensely practical. “I do believe a contraption capable of spraying water into a tub exists.”
“You refer to the shower, which is of some interest, I suppose, although that just recycles water over and over again and requires the constant management of a pump. Personally, I’d rather avoid the trouble. But to have a steady flow of water brought upstairs to my bath, now that would be something else, Mrs. Lawson.”
