“When you get older, we will talk about it,” she said, hoping the idea of future compromise might mollify him.
“That’s what Mrs. Tate said,” he sulked.
“And she has the right of it. For now, letting you work at the mine is out of the question; do you understand? If anyone applies there, it will be me.”
“But if we both—”
Mrs. Tate rushed in, interrupting their argument. With her was the blacksmith’s apprentice. He took off his hat and wrung it in his hands, hovering just outside the door and going beet red when Rachel looked at him.
“Mr. Wilson, I am sorry. I wasn’t expecting you.” Rachel stood and brushed the crumbs from her dress. “Please come in.”
“Mr. Wilson ’as somethin’ ’e’d like to say to ye.” Mrs. Tate held the door and waved the blacksmith’s apprentice on through, then motioned for Geordie to join her on her way back out. “Come, lad. Let’s go see what comfort we can give poor Gilly on this cold day an’ let Mr. Wilson an’ yer sister ’ave some privacy, aye?”
Geordie frowned but Rachel encouraged him with a nod. “We will only be a moment, Geordie. Then I will come find the two of you.”
As they left, Rachel felt her palms grow moist. She had never been alone with James Wilson before and wasn’t sure she wanted to be now. After what had been circulating in the village, he had to be wondering if she was really the whore and traitor the miners made her out to be.
His pained expression told her he was feeling as uncomfortable and embarrassed as she was. Taking courage from that, she broke the awkward silence. “I am afraid Mrs. Tate came to you without my knowledge. I apologize. Her heart is in the right place, but—”
“I’ve heard what they are sayin’ about ye,” he blurted, suddenly tightening his grip on his hat. “I don’t believe it, of course.”
“Thank you.” Rachel’s conscience stirred as, in her mind’s eye, she saw the earl naked above her, limed in firelight. But she shoved the vision away.
“Mrs. Tate was wise to seek me out,” he said. “I’ve ’ad my eye on ye for a long time, ever since ye were just a girl. Ye already know that, I imagine.” He looked down at the tips of his boots, the walls of the cottage, anywhere but at her face. “I still care for ye an’, if ye would accept me, I’d be willin’ to marry ye, even now.”
Rachel had to catch her jaw to keep it from hitting the floor. She had considered petitioning Mr. Wilson to stand by her as a friend, so someone would break ranks with the rest and possibly pave the way for her life to return to normal. But she had never dreamed he would offer to take her on as his wife, not after she rejected him once before.
“I cannot offer ye much, but it’s more than ye got,” he went on, evidently reading her stunned silence as reluctance. “I’ll always take care of ye, and I’ll take care of young Geordie, too, just like ’e was my own son.” He blushed more furiously at the mention of a son, but blundered on, “I’ll treat ye tenderly, Rachel. An’ though I might not be so smart with letters, like ye are, I will do my best to learn. An’ I will work ’ard an’ not spend all my money on drink. Ye got my word on that.”
The refusal that came instantly to Rachel’s lips hovered there without making the leap into words. She couldn’t turn him down again. Mr. Wilson was a humble, generous man, who obviously cared a great deal for her. She believed he would be a kind husband. He said he would take care of her and Geordie. She could certainly do worse.…
“What do ye say, Rachel?” He came close, took her hand, and went down on one knee. “Will ye marry me?”
Love could grow from respect, couldn’t it? She definitely respected James Wilson. She always had. And she would do anything to keep Geordie out of the mine.
Silently vowing to make him a good wife, she gazed into his earnest face. “Yes,” she said, but the creak and groan of iron wheels on pavement sounded outside, drawing their attention to the front window where a wagon, loaded with food, pulled up to the fence. Its driver was one of the earl’s servants.
No! Rachel couldn’t move as she watched the man jump to the ground and approach the house. The power of his knock seemed to rattle the walls around her, yet she stood rooted to the same spot.
It was James who answered the door.
“Lord Druridge sends this with his compliments,” the footman announced and rushed back to unload everything.
James shut the door and together they listened to the thud of the servant’s feet hit the wooden steps of the porch, again and again, followed by the thump and scrape of whatever he carried.
“The earl sent it,” James repeated. He sounded incredulous, as though he couldn’t quite absorb the meaning of it.
Rachel cringed and had to turn away. She’d known the moment she’d seen the wagon who’d sent the food.
Behind her, she heard the blacksmith’s apprentice draw a bolstering breath. “Tell me ’e’s never touched ye,” he said. “I’ll believe ye, if ye just say the words.”
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to tell him what he hoped to hear but couldn’t. The food called her a liar before she even got started. Besides, Druridge had touched her. He’d made her giddy with his hands and his lips and his body. He’d taken her virginity and, heaven help her, she’d enjoyed it. Even now, just the thought of pressing her lips to his mouth left her warm and tingly and slightly breathless.
What kind of woman did that make her? Certainly not one who deserved to marry a decent man like James Wilson. What had she been thinking?
“Rachel,” he pleaded. “Just tell me it’s not what it looks like.”
“I can’t,” she said, choking back a sob. “It wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t know how long she stood there, face averted, tears sliding down her cheeks, but the servant and the earl’s wagon were gone when James spoke again.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said and, with his head down and his hat still off, he left.
Chapter 9
The Fore-Overman’s office was not far from the pithead of the mine. Rachel knew right where to find it. She’d often walked with her father to pick up his pay. When Tommy was alive, he had received his wages there too, at the hand of Mr. Tyndale, who had long handled all the labor issues at the mine. He was the one who’d sacked her father, but she didn’t hold it against him. The order had come from above, from the earl himself. Tyndale had told Jack so at the time.