Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Debts Reclaimed: A Debt Paid in Marriage / A Too Convenient Marriage - Georgie Lee - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Laura stared at the worn and splintered door, frozen where she stood, her uncle’s dirty tankard in one hand, a cleaning rag in the other.

Someone had knocked. No one ever knocked here. It couldn’t be good.

She jumped again as the wood rattled beneath the fist of whoever was on the other side. She set the tankard down and hurried to the door, eager to silence the person for fear they’d wake her mother.

‘Who is it?’ she hissed through a crack near the centre.

‘Mr Rathbone.’

She jolted away from the wood. It’d been two days since she’d fled from his house and there was nothing he could want from her, unless he’d changed his mind about seeing her gaoled. The constable might be outside with him now. She twisted the rag around one hand, then let go. No, the constable would have announced himself. She’d heard him banging on enough doors in the building to know. Mr Rathbone must want something else, but what? The cotton. Maybe he’d finally seen the sense in her offer, found a way to buy back the bolt and was here to discuss an arrangement.

She pulled open the door to find him standing on the other side. Unlike the few others who came here, he didn’t clutch a scented handkerchief to his face or look around as though expecting a rat to pounce. He stood exactly as he had two nights ago, businesslike, determined, a dark-blue redingote falling straight from his shoulders to cover his lithe but sturdy body. Her eyes trailed the length of him, from the low hat covering his almost black hair to the tips of his polished boots. Taking in this groomed and dressed moneylender, she tried not to imagine him without his clothes. If she hadn’t seen him in such a fashion, she would be more terrified of him now, not mesmerised by the way his high white collar traced the angle of his jaw to where it narrowed to his chin.

‘May I come in?’ His crisp but polite words snapped her out of her musing.

‘Yes, of course.’ She waved him in with the rag, closing the door behind him.

In four steps he reached the centre of the room. The faint, citrus scent of his bergamot cologne struck Laura harder than the stench of the street coming in through the window. The richness of the scent reminded her of the perfume shop situated next to her family’s old shop and for a moment took her away from the filth permeating her life.

Mr Rathbone glanced down at the table where the dirty tankard sat, then turned to face her, his scrutiny pulling her back into the mire. ‘Miss Townsend.’

‘Shh...’ Laura gestured to silence him, then caught sight of her dirty fingernails and lowered her hand as fast as she’d raised it. ‘I must ask you to speak quietly. My mother is resting. She slept poorly last night and every night before.’

He nodded and removed his hat, holding it against his left side. ‘Miss Townsend, I’ve come to speak to you about a business proposal.’

She twisted the rag tight between her hands. ‘You’ve come to accept my offer? You found a way to retrieve the cotton bolt and return it to me?’

‘No. As I told you, it is no longer in my possession.’

‘But—’

He raised a silencing hand. ‘Mr Townsend knew the consequences when he took my money and he will pay them. He is no longer my concern or yours.’

She perched one fist on her hip. ‘Then what is our concern?’

He shifted the hat to his other hand so it rested against his right thigh instead of his left. If she thought the man capable of emotion, she might say he was nervous. ‘You managed your father’s draper business before Mr Townsend assumed control?’

‘Before my uncle stole it from us,’ she corrected, more curious than cautious.

‘You kept accounts, inventory, credit?’

‘I did.’ She didn’t hide her pride. ‘My father thought it better for me to learn the business than attend a lady’s school.’

‘I know by the speed at which you comprehended the agreement that you can read and understand contracts and your business plan indicates you can write.’

‘A fine hand.’ She wondered where this line of questioning was leading. Maybe he’d taken pity on her and come to offer work. She smoothed one hand over her hair, wishing he’d given her some notice and a chance to make herself more presentable.

‘And you are well, your mother’s illness does not extend to you?’

‘I am very hearty, thank you. My mother broke her leg a few years ago and, though it healed, she’s afflicted with rheumatism. It’s nothing food and heat wouldn’t ease, but since we have neither, she suffers.’

His eyes dropped down, covering the length of her in a heartbeat before his head rose a touch as though appraising her collateral. She couldn’t imagine what he saw since she wore no jewellery and her dress was too old to be of much value to even a secondhand-clothes merchant. ‘There is no one, apart from your mother and Mr Townsend, to make a claim on you?’

Worry coiled inside her, fuelled by the memory of him parading before her naked without shame. ‘If you’ve come to make an immodest proposal, you can leave.’

‘There’s nothing untoward in what I’m about to suggest, Miss Townsend. After a great deal of thought, I have another venture which might interest you.’

From the next room, her mother coughed and Laura tensed, waiting to see if she settled back to sleep or awoke. Hopefully she’d sleep. She needed the rest as much as she needed a decent meal and a proper pelisse to keep out the cold. Eyeing the moneylender, her dread increased. Even if he made her an indecent offer, she couldn’t afford to refuse it. With the business lost, there were only more horrors waiting for her and her mother out on the street. ‘I’m listening, Mr Rathbone.’

* * *

Philip shifted his hat to his other hand. From somewhere outside he heard the cry of an infant. It sounded too much like the way Thomas had wailed in the nurse’s arms while Philip had held Arabella in his, clutching her to him as her life had slipped away.

He set the hat down on the table. This transaction had nothing to do with the past, but the more pressing needs of the present. ‘A year ago, I lost my wife in childbirth. I’m in need of the services of a woman with your skills.’

Her brow scrunched down over her straight nose. ‘You mean as a nurse?’

‘No, as a wife.’

‘A wife?’ Her jaw dropped open before she pulled it closed, her eyes wider than when he’d snatched the pistol from her.

‘I assume you’re not already married.’

‘No, but—’

‘And you have no suitors?’

‘Unless you consider the drunk who sits in the doorway and pesters me whenever I come and go, no.’

‘Good. At present, I employ a capable nurse for my son, but she is leaving at the end of the month. I think it preferable for family to see to the welfare of a child. My sister is thirteen and too young for such things. She is also in need of a guiding hand. She will soon be faced with suitors and I don’t have aunts or cousins on whom I may call to assist her.’

‘And my mother?’

‘I will see to her welfare and care.’

‘By placing her in a home with some ill-mannered nurse?’

‘She will have a suitable room in my house and a proper maid to attend her. You will learn my business and help me manage it.’

She continued to stare at him as if he’d suggested she be presented to the king. ‘I nearly killed you and you wish to trust me with your son and business?’

Her reservations needled him. He’d reviewed the facts last night and they made sense. There was no room for doubt. He pressed on. ‘You were never a threat to me.’

A tiny curve appeared at the corner of her mouth and he couldn’t tell if she was going to smile or frown. ‘How do you know I won’t steal from you and run off?’

‘Not likely with your mother residing under my roof.’

‘There is truth in that.’ She uncrossed her arms, the crease beside her lips growing deeper as she silently considered the merits of his offer as any wise client might contemplate the terms of a loan. ‘Why me? Why marriage?’

‘In my experience, a wife is a better business partner than any other as her interests are my interests. As to why you, you seem a quick wit, except where firearms are concerned.’ Her crease deepened into a disapproving frown but he didn’t let it deter or distract him. ‘Your brazen act the other night demonstrated a degree of courage and strength.’

‘Some might call it rash and reckless.’

‘It was, but your plans for the fabric demonstrated an innate sensibility and intelligence. Your prior experience in your father’s shop is an asset. Your reason for breaking into my house was to protect your mother. That demonstrates a proper degree of concern for those in your care. I have no doubt you can transfer such regard to my sister and son.’

Her brow rose a touch in surprise. ‘I have never heard my attributes stated in such a plain way. I’m not sure if I should thank you or chide you for insulting me.’

‘I meant it as a compliment.’

She nodded her thanks. ‘You may find me a poor partner. I know nothing of moneylending.’

‘You will learn so that if anything happens to me, you will know how to successfully carry on until our son reaches an age where he is able to assume control of the business.’

‘Our son?’

‘He will soon be as much yours as mine, and others will follow. I assume your courses are as they should be.’

She crossed her arms again. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘We’re making a bargain and, in such deals, we must be frank with one another.’

‘They are as they should be.’ No blush spread over her pale skin as her eyes dipped down the length of him, pausing near his hips before rising again to meet his gaze. ‘Is everything as it should be with you?’

The girl possessed pluck and for the first time in almost a year, he felt the twitch of a smile tug up the corner of his lips before he squashed it. ‘It is, as you will discover.’

‘I have yet to agree to your romantic proposal.’

‘You will.’

‘You’re so sure?’

‘You have no other options.’

She looked at the dirty cloth in her hands, picking off one loose thread around the frayed edge before she faced him again. ‘You’re right, I have no other options. However, you could present your case in a less businesslike tone, with a little civility and charm.’

‘You don’t strike me as a woman ruled by romantic notions.’

‘No, but I’m still a woman and would like to be wooed just a touch.’

For the second time today he wanted to smile but didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer, admiring her spirit. She didn’t just surrender to him, sign her name on the contract as it were, but demanded his respect, not his money or anything else. Once again, his instinct for business had proven correct. ‘Miss Townsend, will you do me the honour of accepting me as your husband?’

* * *

Laura stared up at the stranger who stood only an arm’s length from her, thankful he hadn’t taken her hand or dropped to one knee. She might have demanded a modicum of romance, but with her head still swimming from this unexpected proposal and a lack of food, she wasn’t sure she could handle the shock of his touch. Her parents had raised her to be sensible and she was, but it didn’t mean she didn’t have dreams. All her life she’d wanted the same happiness she’d seen between her parents, to have a shop and a family with a man she loved and respected. Uncle Robert had destroyed such dreams when he’d ground the shop and their reputations into the dirt. Whatever hope she possessed of reviving them now lay with this gentleman.

Mr Rathbone watched her and she studied him, trying to gauge something of the real person beneath the stiff businessman, but she could see very little. He’d not offered one ounce of warmth since he’d opened his distracting blue eyes in the tub, nor even a brief flicker of sympathy for her plight, yet now he wished to make her his wife and take care of both her and her mother. It defied all reason, except his argument made perfect, rational sense to the practical side of her.

It was the physical realities of marriage which nearly made her sensible side flee. He expected children and there was only one way to get them. The image of him naked in front of her seared her mind and she swallowed hard. After leaving his home, she’d hurried back here and slipped into bed beside her mother, trying and failing to sleep. Mr Rathbone’s was the first male body she’d ever seen undressed and the memory of it had insisted on teasing her.

She touched the loose bun at the nape of her neck, the skin beneath suddenly damp with perspiration. Seeing him naked hadn’t been an unpleasant experience. If she accepted him, she would see him again in such a state and he would see her, but what would their more intimate moments be like? Her fingers fumbled with the loose strands of hair she gathered up to tuck back in with the others. She’d heard the fallen women cackling together in the hallways. They clearly enjoyed congress with the men they ran after. However, late at night, through the cracked and thin walls of their tumbledown rooms, she often heard the couple next door and the indignities a cruel husband could inflict on his wife. She wasn’t sure whether it would be pain or pleasure she’d face with Mr Rathbone, if he would be tender or approach the matter with stiff efficiency. Whatever might pass between them, if she refused his offer, a hundred more degrading things from many strange men most likely awaited her. Their situation was already growing desperate and she knew what happened to desperate women in Seven Dials. There was as much uncertainty with Mr Rathbone as there was without him. At least with him, Laura knew they would be warm and well fed. ‘Yes, Mr Rathbone, I accept your proposal.’

‘Good. My men are waiting with a cart in the street.’ He strode to the window and waved to someone below. ‘Ready your things, we leave at once.’

‘You were so sure I’d accept.’ The man was unbelievable.

He faced her as he had in his room, his confidence as mesmerising as it was irksome. ‘I’m always sure when it comes to matters of business.’

Not a second later, the door opened and another young man in a tan coat entered. ‘Philip, you kept us waiting so long, you had me worried.’

‘Mr Connor, allow me to introduce Miss Townsend, my intended. Miss Townsend, this is my friend and associate, Mr Justin Connor.’

Mr Connor swept off his hat and made a low bow. He was shorter than Mr Rathbone and broader through the hips and chest. His hair was light brown like his eyes, which revealed his amusement as much as his smile. ‘A pleasure, Miss Townsend. It seems you’ve made quite an impression on my friend.’

Finally, someone with some sense of humour. ‘Yes, he was just telling me how much my beauty and charm have enthralled him.’

‘Spirited, too. I think it’ll be a successful match.’ He directed the comment as much to Mr Rathbone as to her.

If Mr Rathbone was needled by his associate’s wit, he gave no indication, his countenance the same as when she’d surprised him in his bath. She wondered if he possessed any other expression.

Behind Mr Connor, four burly men in coarse but clean jackets filed into the room. Laura shifted on her feet at the notable tension coursing between them as they took up positions along the wall and near the door. From their thick belts hung clubs like the ones the night watchmen used to carry in Cheapside, where the draper shop was situated. The old watchmen didn’t dare wander through these parts after dark. It was a wonder Laura had made it home unmolested after leaving Mr Rathbone’s. It seemed whatever luck had led her into his house and out again without landing her in the Old Bailey had followed her home. Hopefully, it would continue to walk with her down the aisle.

‘Mr Rathbone, is there some reason for the weapons?’ If he was to be her husband, there was no point being shy with him. ‘Are my mother and I to be made prisoners?’

Mr Rathbone moved closer, his eyes stern and serious. ‘Mr Townsend has proven himself selfish and uncaring. I assume he has held on to you and your mother for this long because he thinks there’s still something to gain from you. He won’t take kindly to my removing you from his control.’

Laura sank a little, sickened by how accurate a sketch Mr Rathbone drew of her uncle. ‘I don’t know what he could hope to gain from us. Everything we had, he took.’

‘Not everything.’ The words were softer than before, just like his eyes. Concern lingered behind his stiff countenance, faint like the subtle weave in a silk pattern, something one could only see if it were held the correct way in the right light. It dissolved some of her fear and made her wonder what other hidden depths existed beneath his stoic exterior.

Mr Connor’s watch case clicked closed. ‘Philip, we should hurry, he could return.’

The prodding snipped the faint connection between them like scissors against a fine silk thread.

Mr Rathbone’s eyes swept the room and, it seemed, deliberately avoided hers. ‘Now, Miss Townsend, what should we remove?’

Laura looked over the sad furniture, happy to break his gaze and the odd line of reasoning it created. The setting sun cut through the room and she wished there were curtains to close, anything to hide the mouldering walls announcing the extent of her poverty. Despite how far they’d fallen since her father’s death, the indignity of it all still burned. Most of the furniture was her uncle’s, from his time with the army in India, where he’d made even less of a success of himself than he had in London. It was all in a sorry state, chipped and scratched. A couple of pieces belonged to her and her mother, the remnants of happier days in the rooms above the draper shop.

‘We’ll take the portrait of Father.’ She motioned to the painting hanging over the sagging mantel. The varnish had turned dark around the edges, but those hazel eyes, so similar to Laura’s, still watched over them with the same clarity as they had in life. It was the one aspect of her father the artist had rendered perfectly.

One of Mr Rathbone’s men reached up and removed it from its nail, exposing the stained and faded wallpaper beneath it.

‘And this?’ Mr Rathbone tapped the tip of his walking stick against a locked trunk beside the bedroom door.

‘It belongs to my uncle.’ She rolled her wrist—the memory of the bruises she’d received when her uncle had caught her trying to pick the lock one night still stung. Whatever was in there, be it valuables or the body of a wife from India, he hadn’t wanted her to see it. At this moment, she didn’t care. He could have the trunk and whatever comfort he drew from the contents. ‘The desk was my grandmother’s. My mother will want it.’

Two men took up positions on either side of the desk, heaving it up and shuffling past the door to her mother’s room just as she tugged it open.

‘What’s going on here?’ she demanded, her thin frame barely filling the tilted and sagging jamb. She snapped up her walking stick, laying it across the chest of the closest burly man and stopping both cold. ‘Are we being evicted?’

Laura rushed to her mother, gently lowered the walking stick and took her by the arm to steady her. ‘No, we’re moving. Now, this moment.’

‘Moving? Where?’ She looked past Laura to the men behind her.

‘Mother, allow me to introduce Mr Rathbone.’

Mr Rathbone bowed with respect, not mockery, but it failed to ease the suspicion hardening her mother’s pale-brown eyes.

‘Yes, I know who he is.’ Her mother eyed the moneylender down the length of her straight nose like she used to do with ragamuffins intent on swiping a ribbon from the shop. The fierce look would send them scurrying off in search of easier pickings. Mr Rathbone wasn’t so easily cowed. He met her stern glare as he had met almost everything else which had transpired between them, with no emotion.

‘He and I are to be married and we are to live with him,’ Laura announced. There was no other way to break the startling news.

‘Was this the price of Robert’s loan?’ Her mother banged her walking stick against the floor. ‘If so, I won’t let you do it. I won’t let you sell yourself to pay off one of Robert’s debts. Your uncle isn’t worth it. I deny my permission for this marriage.’

Laura stiffened. At three and twenty, she was two years past the age when such consent was necessary. However, she could feel her mother’s strong will rising, a will which illness, misfortune and widowhood had sapped from her this past year. It gave Laura hope for her future.

‘You have every right to object,’ Mr Rathbone agreed, his features taking on a more civil countenance. ‘As Miss Townsend’s mother, I should have consulted you on the matter before making the proposal. I apologise for my breach of manners, but the circumstances of our betrothal are most unusual and allowed no time for a more formal courtship. May we discuss the matter now, in private?’

He moved forward and held out his arm. Beneath the stern set of her mother’s expression, Laura caught the subtle arch of a raised eyebrow. He’d won her with his manners, hopefully whatever he intended to say to her would win her favour for the match.

‘Yes, for I wish to know how my daughter has so suddenly transfixed you.’ Mrs Townsend laid her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her back into the cramped bedroom and help her to sit on the edge of the broken-down bed.

Laura pulled the door closed on them, not envying Mr Rathbone. It’d been a long time since she’d experienced her mother’s chastising scrutiny. It was formidable, but she felt the moneylender equal to the challenge.

In the tiny sitting room, she tossed a weak smile to the two remaining men flanking the door. They nodded in return before Mr Connor came to stand beside her.

‘You’re a very fortunate lady, Miss Townsend.’ There was a hint of teasing in the compliment.

‘Am I?’

‘Yes, the widowed Mrs Templeton has been trying to capture Philip’s attention for many months now. If I’d known aiming a pistol at him would do the trick, I’d have advised her to try it.’ He threw back his head and laughed, filling the room with the merriest sound that had been heard there for ages.

Laura let out a long breath, his humour allowing her to smile. ‘You are Mr Rathbone’s business partner then?’

‘We’re friends. Grew up together. My father worked for his father, seeing to the more practical aspects of the business.’ He nodded at the men by the door. ‘Just as I do. Though not for much longer. I intend to establish myself in a business, once I decide which is the best to pursue.’

‘Then I wish you the greatest success.’

‘As I do you.’ He threw her a wide sideways smile she couldn’t fail to meet with one of her own.

‘Tell me, is Mr Rathbone always so businesslike?’

‘Oh, he’s almost jovial today. You should see how stern he is with clients.’

‘Apparently, I will.’

The door to her mother’s room opened and she and Mr Rathbone stepped through it. His face revealed nothing of their conversation. Her mother, however, beamed, striding in on his arm as though a duchess in Hyde Park. Laura gaped at them, wondering if there would be any end to the surprises in store for her today. She wasn’t sure she could handle too many more.

‘You have nothing to worry about, my dear.’ Her mother patted her shoulder. ‘Now, let’s be off. I see they’ve taken the painting and the desk.’ She looked up at Mr Rathbone. ‘Would you please ask your men to fetch our trunk from the bedroom? Everything else Robert can have.’

‘It would be my pleasure.’ Mr Rathbone motioned to the two remaining men. They hurried past Laura into the bedroom, emerging a moment later with the sad trunk holding what remained of Laura’s and her mother’s possessions.

They were not a foot into the room when another figure staggered into the doorway, the stench of pipe smoke and cheap ale swirling around him.

Uncle Robert.

The air thickened with tension as Mr Rathbone’s men slowly set down the trunk and straightened, dropping their hands to the clubs hanging from their belts. Mr Connor stood behind her uncle, his laughter gone as he shifted back his redingote to reveal the smooth handle of the pistol fastened at his waist. Laura’s hand tightened on her mother’s arm, Mr Rathbone’s warning rushing back to her along with a cutting fear.

‘What’s all this then?’ Robert Townsend demanded, struggling through his stupor to pronounce each word. His eyes fixed on the two men carrying the trunk and his sallow face scrunched with confusion before his bleary look fell on Mr Rathbone. At once, his red-rimmed eyes ignited with anger and he advanced on the moneylender. ‘What’s the meaning of this? I paid my debt to you. I owe you nothing.’

‘My business here today doesn’t concern you, Mr Townsend.’ Philip crossed the room to the older man, preventing him from advancing any further. They were matched in height, but Robert Townsend was wider in the shoulders with a barrel chest made thicker by his large coat. ‘Your niece has agreed to marry me. She and Mrs Townsend are removing to my house.’

‘My business wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to have everything, you greedy pig.’ Her uncle swayed forward on his feet. ‘Do you know what Moll Topp pays for a virgin like her? It would have cleared all my debts.’

Her mother’s hand tightened in Laura’s the way it used to do when she was small and they would cross a busy street. Laura knew her uncle held no love for them, but she hadn’t thought he’d sink to such sickening depths to save himself. She trembled as the shadow of another possible fate passed over her.

Only the stretching of Philip’s leather glove as his hand tightened at his side revealed his disgust. ‘I ask you to remember we are in the presence of ladies.’

‘Don’t pretend you’re my better.’ Robert stuck one thick and dirty finger in Mr Rathbone’s face. ‘I know your kind, feeding off the backs of men like me until you’ve gained every last shilling from us, then crushing us under your boot heels. Well, I won’t be crushed, not by a coward like you.’

Robert pulled back his arm and rammed it forward. Mr Rathbone dipped, dodging the blow, then he came up fast, his fist catching Robert under the chin. The larger man stumbled back across the room, slamming into a small chair, his weight crushing it beneath him. He sat for a moment, stunned sober, and Laura wanted to rush over and add a few kicks of her own in retribution for all he’d done to her parents. There was no time, as Robert hauled himself to his feet, ready to rush at Mr Rathbone.

Mr Rathbone’s men stepped up behind him, sticks clasped in their hands. Mr Connor pulled out his pistol and levelled it at the drunk man.

‘I wouldn’t do that, sir,’ he warned.

Laura drew her mother back, ready to flee into the bedroom and bar the door, but no one moved. She barely dared to breathe.

Through the thin walls came the muffled voice of the man next door cursing at his wife.

Robert met Laura’s eyes over Mr Rathbone’s shoulder, hate twisting his lips into a sneer and drawing tight the red bruise forming beneath the grey stubble on his chin. ‘You think you’ve got the better of me, ya little wench, but ya haven’t. Neither have you, Mr Rathbone. Your men won’t always be around to protect you. Some day you’ll be alone and I’ll be there.’

He spat at Mr Rathbone’s feet.

Mr Rathbone plucked the hat from the table and settled it over his hair. ‘Good day, Mr Townsend.’

He took Mrs Townsend by the arm and escorted both her and Laura around Robert. Laura eyed the old man acidly. Behind them, Mr Rathbone’s men filed out, two carrying the trunk while the other two stood guard. Mr Connor was the last to leave, still brandishing the pistol.

Her mother leaned heavily on Mr Rathbone as they picked their way slowly down the stairs. It took all Laura’s energy not to sag against the railings as fear pressed down hard on her. As she reached the bottom and stepped out into the chill evening air, she willed herself not to think of her uncle or how horribly true Mr Rathbone’s assessment of him had proven. It no longer mattered.

Mr Rathbone settled her mother in the landau and Laura joined her. The hood was open and with the sun dipping, the air had taken on a chill. She drew the blanket over their knees as Mr Rathbone climbed in across from them.

Laura took one last look at the rickety building as the vehicle started to roll away. Robert stood at the filthy window, his obvious hate as searing as if the spring sun were reflecting off the panes. Laura swallowed hard. She might never see this rotting pile of beams again, but she felt certain this wasn’t the last she’d see of her uncle.