Almost one hour later, with twilight settling in around them, James wiped his brow and patted the horse’s flank. Mr. Walker had not had the strength to hold the horse’s leg steady while Green worked, so James had done so instead.
“Will he be all right by tomorrow?” James asked.
“If we keep a leisurely pace he’ll get us to the next inn,” Green assured him. “We’ll switch him out there.”
“Let’s have a quick bite to eat then,” James suggested. He turned to Mr. Walker. “If it’s not too much imposition?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Walker said. “My wife’s stew is divine and now that she knows you’re here there’ll be more than plenty to go around.”
Thankful for the hospitality, James washed his hands at the pump and dried them off on a linen towel Mr. Walker handed to him. He and Green then followed the man inside where Mrs. Lawson was in the process of setting the table in the Walkers’ small parlor. A stool placed at one corner, most likely brought in from the kitchen, provided additional seating.
“The food’s almost ready,” Mrs. Lawson said as soon as she noted their presence. Her cheeks were flushed and her voice slightly breathless, as if she’d been rushing about for a while. James stepped further into the room and watched while she arranged the napkins and silverware. He noticed that she avoided looking directly at him. Instead, she smiled at Mr. Walker. “Thank you so much for inviting us into your home and for your help with the horses.”
“Ah, think nothing of it,” Mr. Walker said with a grin. “I’ll just see if my wife needs help.”
“Please allow me,” Mrs. Lawson said. “I’ve been sitting all day so I’m happy to move about a bit while you rest.”
Mr. Walker’s eyebrows lifted, but he did not argue. As soon as she was gone from the room though, he turned to James. “Spirited thing, isn’t she? I can see why you married her.”
James glanced at his coachman and, noting the look of surprise on his face, gave him a quelling look while saying, “She certainly keeps me on my toes.”
“The best of them will do that,” Mr. Walker said. He located a bottle of some sort and filled three glasses which he distributed among them. “My Marjorie challenges me every day. Not a boring second to be had with her, I tell you. Not even after fifty years.”
“I’ll drink to that,” James said as he raised his glass. The brandy was stronger than any he’d had before, most likely because it was of the home made variety. He and Green both winced, prompting Mr. Walker to laugh.
“This stuff will put some hair on your chests,” Mr. Walker claimed as the women returned. Each carried a pot. “Isn’t that so, my dear?”
“Yours is certainly full of it,” the older woman who followed Mrs. Lawson announced. She was as wide as her husband was slim with an upward curve of her mouth and a twinkle of merriment in her eyes. “I could sheer him like a sheep and earn a fat penny to boot at the wig makers.”
Mr. Walker hooted in response. “What did I tell you, lads? Allow me to introduce you to the sharpest tongue north of London. Mr. Dale and Mr. Green, behold the love of my life, Mrs. Walker.”
The lady in question blushed in response to her husband’s affectionate words and even managed a bashful giggle. James grinned and instinctively glanced at Mrs. Lawson who swiftly averted her gaze from his the moment their eyes met. So she’d been watching him had she? Perhaps she wasn’t as opposed to spending the night with him as she’d suggested. Maybe she was just worried that doing so might lead them both down a dangerous path.
Regrettably, he had no intention of letting that happen. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he feared a dalliance with her would no longer be as meaningless as it once would have. Because when it came to lovemaking, there was a world of difference between a quick tup with a woman who spread her legs with careless abandon and one who only pretended to do so. If he was right about Mrs. Lawson, walking away from her afterward would not be an easy matter. As such, he had to be certain that he was prepared to pay the price and face the ramifications. And since he wasn’t, he knew he’d do well to keep his hands to himself.
“I mentioned your arrival to the Mitchells while you worked on the horse,” Mrs. Walker said while they ate. “Thought they might appreciate a bit of fair warning. They’ll be ready to receive you as soon as we’re done with our meal.”
“Thank you.” James took another bite of his food. “It’s a wonderful stew.”
Mrs. Walker beamed with pleasure. “My mother, bless her soul, taught me how to cook. She insisted it was a skill that would always pay off.”
“I’m certainly grateful for it,” Mr. Walker said.
“My wife is quite a keen baker,” James said while letting his gaze rest on Mrs. Lawson. An unexpected sense of pride filled him as he spoke, which was curious since he’d never even tasted anything she had made. Perhaps he just liked that she found joy in such a domestic skill. It warmed his heart to think of her in a kitchen, pouring her love into a cake or a loaf of bread, the aroma filling the air and the flour staining her cheeks while she worked.
“My daughter is especially fond of my scones,” she said.
“Oh?” Mrs. Walker straightened. “You have a daughter?”
“And a son,” James said without thinking.
Mrs. Lawson’s spoon struck the side of her dish with a clang.
Green coughed and reached for his wine. “Sorry. Went down the wrong way.”
“Then you are truly blessed,” Mr. Walker said, seemingly unaware of the effect James’s comment had wrought on Mrs. Lawson and his coachman. “We’ve only one child but he has given us three lovely grandchildren to dote on, though we don’t see them nearly as often as we’d like. They live a half day’s ride from here near Hawick.”
“The mills there provide more profitable work than what can be found in these parts,” Mrs. Walker explained.
