The conversation lingered on production for a while before moving on to what life in London was like. The Walkers were enthusiastic listeners with a genuine interest in learning more about what the wider world had to offer.
“The air’s not as fresh there as it is here though,” James said when the Walkers marveled at his description of Vauxhall Garden and gas lighting.
“It’s also very crowded,” Mrs. Lawson added while looking directly at James. “I personally prefer the simplicity of country living.”
What was she saying? That they belonged in two separate worlds? Or was she simply reminding him that he would eventually return to the City while she would remain in Renwick? He’d no idea, but he realized in that moment that he longed to find a middle ground – a way in which to avoid the rift destined to come between them as soon as their journey ended.
It was madness for him to think that way, but these last few days together had forged a bond he did not want to give up on. Rather, he wanted more. But how?
“There are a couple of extra blankets in the bottom drawer over there in case it gets too cold for you,” Mrs. Mitchell told Wilhelmina later after showing her up to the room she’d made available. “There’s not enough space for a proper wash stand, but the bowl on top of the dresser is filled with water. You’ll find some soap in the tin right next to it. The wash cloths and towels beside it are all clean.”
Standing immediately inside the tiny room where she and Mr. Dale would be staying, Wilhelmina did her best to hide her panic. The bed, which she’d learned belonged to the Mitchells’ eldest daughter, Amanda, had been pushed up against the wall to allow enough space to open the door and pass to the dresser. Intended for two very slim people at best, it wasn’t nearly as wide as Wilhelmina had hoped. For a married couple, however, it should not pose a problem.
She smiled tightly. “Thank you. My husband and I are tremendously grateful to you for your hospitality and to your daughters for agreeing to share a room for the night.”
“We’re happy to have you,” Mrs. Mitchell said. “Our lives here can get pretty monotonous, so it’s nice with a bit of change. Do you get thirsty at night? I can prepare a jug of water and a couple of glasses for you if you like.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Oh, and there’s a clean chamber pot under the bed, should you need it.”
Mrs. Mitchell left Wilhelmina with those words hanging heavily in the air. Heaven above, she’d not even started to consider what she would do if she needed to empty her bladder during the night.
Swallowing, Wilhelmina moved to the bed and sat. Mr. Dale’s bag stood next to hers at the foot end. He’d brought them up when Mrs. Mitchell offered to show the room, but had since gone to find Mr. Mitchell in the hope the man had a shaving blade he could borrow.
Stiffly seated, Wilhelmina clasped her hands and bit her lip. She’d never shared a bed with anyone in her life. During their unconventional marriage, she and George had always slept apart. Although they had made one attempt to be intimate on their wedding night, they’d had to call it quits because of how wrong and awkward it felt. Neither had made an effort afterward and he’d eventually sated his needs with other women.
Unsure of what to do, Wilhelmina’s mind was still in turmoil when Mr. Dale stepped through the door. He brought the jug and glasses Mrs. Mitchell had promised with him, along with a small wooden box. “Help me, will you?”
Wilhelmina stood and relieved him of the jug and glasses, which she placed on top of the only bedside table the room had to offer. She glanced at the box he was now in the process of opening. “I gather you found what you needed?”
“Yes. I always travel with my own set but in my haste to depart Clarington House, I forgot to pack it.” He grinned as he stroked one hand over his jaw. “I’m not used to having a beard.”
“It doesn’t look bad,” Wilhelmina told him, although she had preferred it yesterday when it was shorter.
He angled his head while studying her. “Would you rather I leave it?”
The fact he was asking her made her already jittery stomach turn over. She held herself as rigidly upright as she was able. “Honestly, Mr. Dale. I’m not sure why my opinion should matter.”
“Hmm…”
There it was again, that sound he made when he seemed to have a lot to say yet chose to keep all thoughts to himself. She huffed a breath in frustration and went to busy herself with her bag. Perhaps then she’d forget how small the room was or that she would soon be lying down beside him on the narrow bed.
An unbidden thrill of excitement swept through her on that notion, even as she did her best to ignore it. If the kiss had taught her anything, it was that she was out of her depth where Mr. Dale was concerned. Considering what he’d told her last night before Cloverfield’s arrival, she feared she’d not been as skilled in the art of kissing as she should have been if she’d had as many lovers as she claimed.
For now, she believed her proposition had made him unsure of his suspicions about her, but if things progressed between them, there’d be no doubt in his mind at all. He’d call her on her deception and while she didn’t know how he’d react to the truth, she could not take any chances.
The sound of something landing upon the bed made her turn. Apparently Mr. Dale had shucked his jacket. She stared at the garment and blinked when his waistcoat landed on top of it. Her gaze darted toward him, and then to the door behind him. When had he closed it? She’d not heard the click.
Mouth dry, she watched from her crouched position by her bag as he stood, slightly turned away from her, fiddling with his cravat. Was he truly getting undressed with her right there?
Of course he was, she chastised herself. How else was he meant to shave or get ready for bed? She shook her head and gave him her back lest he see the hot flush she could feel in her cheeks. Her fingers curled ’round her nightgown. It wasn’t the most scandalous garment in the world. The linen was densely woven and would protect her modesty while she slept. But how on earth was she meant to put it on without him seeing her in a state of undress? She almost laughed. If anything would convince him of her lacking experience it would be prudish and shy behavior.
Biting her lip, she considered her options. Perhaps she could make an excuse, tell him her nightgown had gotten torn during the incident with Cloverfield, and sleep fully clothed? It wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least it would save her from having to strip in front of a man whose hands she longed to feel on her skin.
“I can’t get this bloody knot undone.” Mr. Dale muttered another curse followed by an apology and an irritated sigh. “Can you please lend a hand?”
Jolted out of her contemplations, Wilhelmina flinched. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What?”
