Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Debts Reclaimed - Georgie Lee - Страница 13
ОглавлениеThe steady chirping of birds broke through the haze of Laura’s fading dream. First one warbled, then another, until a chorus seemed to sit outside her window. Over the sharp tweets, Laura strained to hear the bell and her father’s voice through the floorboards as he greeted customers in the shop below her room. The only thing she heard was the click of the bedroom-door handle and the soft swish of shoes over the carpet. Laura snuggled deeper into the thick pillow, knowing it was her mother coming to chide her for sleeping late. She clutched the clean sheet up around her chin, trying to snatch a few more precious seconds of rest.
‘Miss Townsend, are you awake?’ Mrs Palmer asked.
Laura sat up, sweet memories of her old room, of her father alive and her mother well vanishing along with the feeling of warmth and love. The loss burned a hole through her chest.
‘Yes, I am.’
A fire crackled in the grate. Laura wondered how she’d managed to sleep through the maid coming in to light it. Perhaps it was the fact she’d slept at all which had allowed her to remain so soundly in her dreams. In Seven Dials, with all the noise from the other tenants and Uncle Robert’s drunken mutterings, it’d always been so difficult to sleep. ‘I’m sorry I’m still in bed. I should be up.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry about.’ Mrs Palmer laid a simple blue-cotton dress across the foot of the bed. ‘Mr Rathbone had Mrs Fairley, Miss Jane’s modiste, send this over. I’m to tell you, you have an appointment with Mrs Fairley at her shop this afternoon. She has a few other dresses from an unpaid order and will alter them to tide you over until a new wardrobe can be made.’
New dresses. Excitement crowded in beneath Laura’s lingering sense of loss. The idea of wearing a dress which wasn’t practically threadbare proved as irresistible as waking in a clean bed with no sign of rats having traipsed across the floor during the night. Laura picked up the sleeve of the dress and examined the fine stitching. ‘I’ve never had a modiste make my dresses. Mother always did it.’
‘You’ll like Mrs Fairley. She does good work and is quite nice, too. Came to Mr Rathbone about two years ago seeking a loan to improve her business and has done quite well for herself since. Mr Rathbone prides himself on patronising those he helps who make a go of things instead of wasting the money.’
Laura didn’t have to ask what happened to those who wasted Philip’s money. She already knew.
She laid the sleeve of the dress down, running her hand over the length of it to press it flat. The dress was sewn from a sturdy but soft cotton, Indian most likely, more utilitarian than silk, but with a few ribbons or the right bonnet it would suit as well for an afternoon at home as it would for attending a small tea. A fond smile tugged at her lips. She could practically hear her father’s words in her own thoughts, see the fabric from the bolt draped over his arm as he explained the weave and quality to a prospective lady buyer. Laura’s hands stilled and the smile faded. That was all gone now. A visit from the modiste would be the closest she’d ever come to experiencing it again.
‘Is something wrong, miss?’ Mrs Palmer pressed.
‘I’m all right, only a little overwhelmed.’ Truth be told, her head was still spinning from everything and it was all she could do to focus. How she would make it through the myriad other, sure to be surprising things which might happen this week, she didn’t know. However, if the most troubling thing facing her today was the shock of a new dress, then she really had no troubles at all. After all, she’d dealt with worse problems during the past year, much worse.
Mrs Palmer slid Laura’s old black dress from the top of the chair where Laura had draped it last night. If Mrs Palmer was concerned about the tatty dress staining the fine silk upholstery, she didn’t reveal it. Her face was all kindness and concern, reminding Laura of the baker’s wife who used to give her leftover biscuits from time to time until her husband had found out and put a stop to it.
‘I know it all must seem so strange, Mr Rathbone making up his mind so quick about you, but I assure you, Miss Townsend, you couldn’t have asked for a better man.’
It seemed Mrs Palmer was as enamoured of Mr Rathbone as Laura’s mother. If only she could be so certain about her decision. However, it was a comfort to see the older woman so eager for Laura to like Mr Rathbone as much as she obviously did. It was better than her trying to secretly warn her off him.
Mrs Palmer’s ruddy smile returned to her full cheeks. ‘Here’s me gabbing with the day getting away from us both. There’s breakfast waiting for you in the dining room when you’re ready. I’ll send Mary up to help you dress.’
‘I can manage.’
‘I don’t doubt you can, but Mr Rathbone wants her to assist you. If you need anything, you be sure to let me know.’
Mrs Palmer dipped a curtsy then left as quietly as she’d entered, the nearly frayed edge of Laura’s old dress fluttering behind her and almost catching in the closing door. The dress would probably be tossed in the kitchen fire the moment she reached it. Laura was glad to see it go. It was an ugly reminder of how much she and her mother had lost during the past year.
What would the next year bring? She still couldn’t say.
Laura flung back the covers and slipped out of bed, determined not to complain or worry, but to face whatever was coming with optimism. At least her uncle had fallen in debt to a young, handsome moneylender and not to one of the many crooked, gap-toothed men she’d seen haunting the rookery in search of payment. It was the only thing of value he’d ever done for her.
A soft knock at the door was followed by the entrance of a young woman with a snub nose and brown hair peeking out from beneath a white cap. ‘I’m Mary. I’m here to dress you.’
The girl said little as she helped Laura dress, lacing Laura’s worn stays over the crisp white chemise. Holding still so the maid could work gave Laura the chance to take her first real look at the room. It was smaller than Mr Rathbone’s, but well appointed with solid, simple pieces of furniture. She wondered if they’d been made by one of the upholsterers who used to frequent the shop. She studied the faint white line running through the flowing silk of the bed curtains, thinking it a familiar pattern, when the image of another room suddenly came to mind.
She wondered how many more mornings she’d wake up here before she found herself in Mr Rathbone’s bed.
She breathed hard against the tightening stays, fear and anticipation pressing against her chest. She should have asked for the banns instead of insisting on the common licence. She wasn’t ready for such intimacy, not yet, not with everything, especially their future together, so unsure.
Mary tied off the stays then picked up the dress, opening it so Laura could slip inside. She held up her arms and let the blue cotton flow down over her shoulders and body. The soft material made her sigh with delight and eased some of her fears. A man who was so loving and tender with his son wouldn’t be cruel to her.
Mary did up the row of buttons at the back, but the dress was too large in the bust. Even Laura’s well-formed breasts weren’t ample enough to keep the front from billowing and gaping open. While Mary pinned the dress to make it fit better, Laura opened and closed her hand. The shock of Mr Rathbone’s touch had remained with her long after she’d blown out her candle and settled into the clean sheets last night. It wasn’t his hand in hers which had remained with her the longest, but the conflict she’d noticed coursing beneath his calm exterior. More than once he’d begun to withdraw from her before his palm had settled again, surrendering to her hold. It was as if he both wanted and didn’t want to draw close to her. It seemed strange for a man who seemed so determined about everything to be confused about something as simple as touching his intended. Although it wasn’t as simple as she wanted to believe.
At Mary’s urging, Laura seated herself in the chair before the dressing table and let the young maid arrange her hair. She barely noticed the tugging and combing as she remembered Mr Rathbone’s eyes upon hers. There’d been more in the joining of their hands than conveying her desire to wed quickly. There was something she hadn’t allowed herself to consider possible when she’d accepted his proposal yesterday—a deeper concern for her than business.
The faint hint of it made her eager to be done with the dressing table and be in front of him again.
With her hair arranged into a simple jumble of curls at the back of her head, Laura made her way downstairs. She felt guilty leaving Mary behind to see to the room. She’d tried to assist her, perfectly capable of making her own bed, but the maid had insisted it was her duty to straighten it and Laura had reluctantly left her to it.
Laura took in the house as she moved slowly down the hallway. Last night, with the myriad arrangements and settling in, there hadn’t been time to explore. Her first time here, she’d been too occupied trying not to be seen to admire anything more than the direct route from the back door, down the hall, to the stairs.
The upstairs hall was plain, the length of it punctuated by doors to the various bedrooms and landscapes in gilded frames. The staircase at the far end made one turn before opening into the entrance hall below. It wasn’t overly high, but wider than those she’d seen in the few merchants’ houses she’d visited with her father when she was a child. Stone covered the floor, leading to a solid door flanked by two glass windows. Through them she could see people passing by in a steady stream along the pavement lining Bride Lane. Some of them entered the churchyard of St Bride’s across the street, the rest hurried on to nearby Fleet Street.
Making for the dining room at the back of the house, Laura noted the rich panelling lining the downstairs hall seemed less dark and foreboding in the bright morning light, though it still made her a touch uneasy to be striding so boldly through the house. It was nearly incomprehensible to think she would soon be mistress of it.
She passed the study, the masculine mahogany desk, neatly ordered shelves and solid chairs inside indicating this must be where Mr Rathbone managed his affairs. He wasn’t there and she ventured inside. The neatness and fine taste of the appointments matched his attire. Where the back room behind the draper shop had always been cluttered with account books and fabrics, not a speck of dirt or an out-of-place ledger marred the clean lines of this room. Though Laura was by no means slovenly, she wondered how she would be able to keep pace with such a man.
The French doors on the far wall leading to the garden drew her to them. Outside, the sky was clear, with a few wispy clouds floating past the sun. They were only a mile or so from Seven Dials, but it might have been halfway around the world for how different everything appeared here. The air seemed cleaner, the buildings solid stone instead of sagging wood. The whole garden was green, punctuated by the white and red of blooming roses, their brightness a welcome sight after the grime and dirt of Laura’s former lodgings.
The moneylender’s fortune must be larger than she’d thought for him to possess the luxury of such a garden, one surrounded by a tall, fine wall. Just beyond it, through the iron gate, the one she’d crept through the other night, she noticed a horse staring out from the mews.
In the centre of the garden, Jane escorted Laura’s mother around a raised brick bed filled with rosebushes. Excitement lightened each muffled word as Jane pointed out flower after flower, motioning to them with the pride of a silversmith displaying her finest wares.
As they made a turn, her mother caught sight of Laura. She raised a hand in greeting, her simple gesture joined by Jane’s more eager wave. Jane’s enthusiasm eased the stiffness in her posture and made her look more like a young girl rather than a female copy of her brother.
Whatever changes Laura’s mother had wrought in Jane, the young lady’s effect on the older woman was tenfold. Laura’s mother wore a dress of dark-blue muslin. It needed to be altered to fit properly, but the clean lines and fine material lent her a measure of dignity which showed itself in the new straightness in her posture. She didn’t lean as heavily on her walking stick as before and for the first time in over a year, she appeared rested and happy. Whatever Laura’s concerns about herself, they were eased by the smile gracing her mother’s thin face.
Laura’s stomach growled and she left the window and the room to search out the food Mrs Palmer had promised. The dining room sat across the hall from the study, a shining table with ball-and-claw feet dominating the centre. The panelling didn’t extend in here, but gave way to a pale-blue paper on the walls overseen by the portrait of a matronly woman in the dress and cap of a few decades ago.
A footman stood beside a heavy sideboard laden with silver dishes full of eggs, ham and bread. Laura gasped at the plenty of it. During all the weak suppers in Seven Dials, she never thought she’d ever see or enjoy such abundance again.
Taking the plate offered by the footman, she selected a little food from each silver server, then sat down at the table. She savoured every bite, glad to be alone so she could relish the simple food without the humiliation of revealing the depths of her previous deprivation. After using her toast to wipe up the last bits of her second helping, she rose to get another serving when Chesterton, the butler, stepped into the room.
‘Miss Townsend.’ Her name sounded so imperious and important in his deep voice. ‘Mr Rathbone would like you to join him in the sitting room.’
‘Of course.’ Laura slid the plate down on to the buffet, suddenly feeling like a thief for indulging so much. The fork scraped and clanked across the porcelain and she winced, wondering when she’d become such a scared mouse. She straightened the knife and fork on the plate, then stood straight, clasping her hands in a businesslike manner in front of her. ‘Would you please show me the way?’
‘It would be my pleasure.’ He almost smiled and Laura caught something of Mrs Palmer’s tenderness around his eyes. With everyone silently encouraging her rather than sneering, laughing or pitying her behind her back, it made the idea of easing into her new place as their mistress a great deal easier.
As she followed Chesterton out of the dining room and across the hall, she thought it strange to have so many people thinking well of her presence here and her the only one in doubt.
Jane came bounding down the stairs, carrying a book and Laura’s mother’s dark shawl, looking more like a thirteen-year-old than she had last night. Spying Laura, she halted and took the last few stairs with the elegance of a woman far beyond her years. ‘Good morning, Miss Townsend.’
‘Please, call me Laura.’ She smiled warmly, trying to put the girl at ease, disliking such seriousness in one so young.
The stiff set of Jane’s body eased with Laura’s invitation. ‘And you may call me Jane.’
‘I see you and my mother are getting along well.’
‘Very well.’ A proud smile spread over her stern lips, bringing back the youthful light which had illuminated her face as she’d come down the stairs. ‘We are to visit Mrs Fairley together tomorrow. She was too tired to go today, but you mustn’t worry about her. I’ll see she gets enough rest.’
‘Thank you. It means a great deal to me to have someone keeping her company while I’m occupied.’
‘It’s my pleasure. I’m going to read to her now. Where are you going?’
‘The sitting room.’
‘Philip summoned you?’
Laura choked back a laugh. ‘In a manner of speaking.’
The girl moved closer as if she possessed something urgent to impart. ‘Touch his hand again like you did last night. Miss Lavinia does it in The Wanderer and it drives Mr Welton absolutely mad.’
Laura crossed her arms, mimicking the way her mother used to stare at her whenever she’d offered unasked-for advice or stuck her nose in where it was unwanted. ‘Jane, were you spying on us?’
‘No, not at all.’ Jane possessed too much of her brother’s confidence to be cowed by Laura’s stern look. ‘I peeked out my door and saw you. You two looked just how I imagined Viscount Rapine and Miss Anne must look in The Lothario.’
‘You’re reading The Lothario?’ Her brother couldn’t possibly approve of such a choice.
Apparently he didn’t, for Jane clapped her hand over her mouth as if she’d mistakenly revealed a great secret. Her eyes darted to the butler standing a polite distance away, then back to Laura. ‘You won’t tell Philip, will you? If he finds out I’m reading romantic novels, he might end my subscription to the lending library.’
Laura dropped her stern look and all pretence at reprimanding. ‘As long as you reserve your employment of their knowledge to dispensing advice and nothing else, I won’t tell your brother and I won’t object.’
Jane sighed with relief. ‘Good, because Mrs Townsend would be very disappointed. We’re going to start reading Glenarvon this afternoon and I can’t wait.’
‘You and my mother are going to read Glenarvon?’ She never would have been allowed to read such a salacious book. With the exception of the few novels Laura had managed to borrow from friends and sneak into her room, her reading had been comprised of business tracts and the stock pages. While she was grateful for the education, especially now, she wondered when her mother had grown so soft.
‘Yes.’ Jane moved a touch closer, whispering with Laura in collusion. ‘I hear it’s quite scandalous.’
‘I’ve heard so, too.’ Laura dropped her voice, encouraging the youthful confidence between them. It was a treat to see Jane acting more like a young lady than a stiff governess. ‘When you’re done with it, I’d like to read it. I might learn a trick or two.’
Jane gaped at Laura. Then a smile broke the line of her lips and she laughed, a good genuine girlish one which brightened the hall. ‘I shall be happy to pass it on to you. Now, I must return to Mrs Townsend. I’ve kept her waiting long enough and she needs her shawl.’
‘And I must answer your brother’s summons.’
Jane sobered, laying a hand on Laura’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, Philip isn’t as stern as he likes everyone to think.’
‘I’ll keep it in mind.’ And she would, for if his sister believed it, it was most likely true.
With a squeeze of her hand, Jane let go and hurried off down the hall, allowing the door at the back of the house leading to the garden to bang shut behind her.
Laura wished she could follow. After a year of looking after her mother, it felt odd to relinquish her duties to someone else, but at least Jane’s attention meant her mother wasn’t left alone in a strange place while Laura attended to business.
‘Here you are, Miss Townsend.’ Chesterton stopped at the sitting-room door at the front of the house.
Laura gave him a smile of gratitude and stepped inside.
Mr Rathbone stood near the fireplace, reviewing papers. Through the sheer curtains behind him passed the shadows of people moving on the pavement outside. Laura barely noticed them. The only thing she could concentrate on was the soft light coming through the delicate fabric and spreading over Mr Rathbone’s profile. It lightened his dark hair and caressed the strong line of his nose. A fine, camel-coloured jacket draped his shoulders, emphasising the solidness of the long arms arched gracefully in front of him as he reviewed papers. He appeared to her like one of the Greek statues she’d seen in the British Museum. She’d gone there before she’d sold her last decent dress to view the Elgin Marbles and distract herself from her troubles. Like the statues, Mr Rathbone was elegant and refined, yet the memory of his sudden, lethal movements facing her uncle made her shiver. There was an edge of danger beneath his calm facade, one she hoped he reserved only for the worst clients.
‘Good morning, Mr Rathbone.’ She tugged down the overlarge bodice, which kept rising up as she moved deeper into the room. She wished she looked as fine and well put together as him, instead of unkempt and thin in her second-hand clothes. ‘You summoned me?’
He didn’t look up from his papers. ‘My sister’s choice of words, I assume.’
‘She has a very interesting sense of humour.’
‘She’s a hoyden.’ He reached up and removed the dagger mounted on two brass hooks to a wood plaque hanging over the mantel. Behind it lay a small safe set into the wall. ‘However, Jane is smart and minds herself well enough for someone her age. She shouldn’t give you trouble. If she does, speak to me about it at once.’
She wouldn’t speak to him. No, she would handle it in her own way and see to it there was more of the spirited young lady on the stairs and less of the dour miss. ‘Yes, Mr Rathbone.’
Resting the mounted dagger on the floor, he finally met her eyes. ‘Please, call me Philip.’
His gaze was intense, but not stern, inviting her to explore more deeply the slight bond weaving them together like embroidery over fine netting.
‘Yes, of course, Philip.’ The name was as awkward on her tongue as a button held with her teeth while she was sewing. It would take practice getting used to such intimacy with this stranger. Except he wasn’t a stranger, but her husband-to-be.
‘And you may call me Laura.’ She adjusted the dress again, then dropped her hands, determined to face him with dignity. Her attire was only temporary and, with the modiste’s help, she’d soon appear respectable again.
Her confidence wavered. Whatever respectability she regained today, it would be thanks to his coin and effort, not hers. Something in her rankled. She’d struggled so hard to save the business, herself and her mother and in the end she could only do it by falling under this man’s protection. She tried to recall her mother’s encouraging words, or even Mrs Palmer’s simple observation about Philip, but none of them came back to her with enough force to push away the strange regret of not having achieved her own salvation, or the nasty idea she was selling herself.
Philip broke from her gaze to open the safe and slide the papers inside.
‘Are you sure you can trust your sister’s behaviour to a woman who sneaks into men’s houses and threatens them in the night?’ It was a flippant question with an edge of seriousness. He was certainly trusting her now by revealing the safe and the key on the small ring in his pocket which opened it. There was nothing to stop her from stealing the key, emptying the safe and sneaking away with her mother while he slept. She would never do such a deceitful thing, but he couldn’t know this.
‘You aren’t a thief.’ He swung the safe door closed and locked it.
Apparently, he did know she wasn’t capable of robbing him.
She tugged at the dress, wishing she possessed the same unshakeable confidence in herself and her decision to marry as he did in her and his own decisions.
He returned the mounted dagger to the hooks. The silver cufflinks holding the crisp ends of his sleeves together over his strong wrists flashed with the morning sunlight. Only the yellowing bruises along his knuckles kept his appearance from being perfect.
He’d received those bruises for defending her. It was ungrateful of her to stand here lamenting his help because it hadn’t come from her own effort, yet she still hated the idea of needing his charity.
His papers secure, this pleasant morning repartee came to an end. ‘I asked you to join me because a gentleman is here in need of a loan. It’s the perfect opportunity to begin your training.’
‘So soon?’ The eggs threatened to revolt in her stomach. Perhaps she shouldn’t have enjoyed a second serving.
‘The prospective client is a cloth importer and your expertise might be beneficial to the transaction. Before I decide whether or not to invest in his business, I need to know if his proposal has merit.’
‘My uncle’s plan had merit,’ she challenged.
‘Because it was yours,’ he answered flatly.
‘But you didn’t know that then.’
‘I do now.’
‘Yet you still lent to my uncle. Why?’ she persisted, her unease making her quarrelsome.
‘As I said before, he possessed the collateral to secure the loan. If he’d rebuilt the business, he wouldn’t have been the first unlikely client to exceed my expectations.’
She had the distinct impression the remark was directed at her, but it didn’t ease the way his past dealing with her uncle Robert continued to chafe. ‘Did you know about me and my mother?’
‘He failed to reveal your presence when he initially approached me, but in my research—’
‘Your research?’ Curse it, he was so methodical.
‘I research all my clients before extending a loan. I discovered your and Mrs Townsend’s presence.’
‘And you were still willing to let him ruin us?’
‘No.’ His expression remained impassive, but the force and sincerity behind the single word was strong enough to wilt her anger.
It didn’t stop her from gaping at him in disbelief, not knowing what to think. ‘But—’
‘I’ll explain all to you in good time. Now, we must see to Mr Williams.’ He motioned to the door instead of offering her his arm. ‘Shall we?’
‘Of course.’ It was better to face whatever waited for her in his study than to linger here and pick a fight. Being irritable would get her nowhere and it was a poor way to thank him for all he was doing for her and her mother.
She moved past Philip and he stepped back, as if deliberately maintaining his distance. She was tempted to grasp his hand to see if she could reclaim a little of the connection they’d experienced last night. Instead she strode past him and out of the sitting room, afraid of rattling him with her boldness. With her first taste of this business looming at the other end of the hall, she didn’t want him out of sorts. She was anxious enough about facing a man in need of money without disturbing Philip’s calm.
Outside the room, he fell in step beside her.
‘What should I do?’ she asked.
‘Listen. If you hear something alarming, speak up at once.’
How strange this all seemed when all her life she’d imagined herself behind a shop counter. It was another item to add to the growing list of things to which she must become accustomed, or perhaps resign herself. ‘Do you think him a good candidate for a loan?’
‘I don’t want to prejudice you.’
His answer was strangely flattering, suggesting he valued her opinion. Hopefully, she wouldn’t disappoint him.
Laura followed him into the study. Inside, Mr Connor straightened from where he’d been slouching against the wall next to the French doors. She eyed Mr Connor’s dark coat, trying to catch the outline of the pistol she suspected was hidden beneath. How often did he need a weapon here in Philip’s home?
The importer who occupied one of the two chairs in front of the desk rose to greet Laura and Philip. He studied her from under bushy black-and-grey brows, his scrutiny unsettling as she took the chair beside Philip’s. Something about the rotund man seemed familiar, but Laura couldn’t place his face. He appeared to regard her with the same dilemma before giving up and focusing on Philip.
Outside, her mother’s muffled voice carried in from where she sat with Jane while the girl read aloud. For the second time that morning, Laura envied Jane, wishing she could pass a leisurely hour engrossed in a story, rather than learning how to lend money.
‘Mr Williams, this is Miss Townsend, she will be assisting us today,’ Philip announced to the importer as he settled himself behind the desk.
‘Don’t see why we need a woman here,’ Mr Williams said huffily.
‘I find her opinions necessary.’ Philip rested his hands coolly on the arms of the chair.
‘Have it your way.’ Mr Williams shrugged and stretched his legs out in front of him as though settling in for an evening beside the fire.
His attitude struck Laura as false. He wanted to look at ease, but the way his foot kept moving back and forth betrayed his nervousness. The small but constant fidgeting reminded her of how Uncle Robert used to face her whenever she’d cornered him about missing inventory.
‘Mr Rathbone, I’ll come to the point,’ Mr Williams began. ‘There’s a new cotton out of Georgia with a strand so strong it can be woven in half the time and at greater speed than even the cotton coming from Hispaniola. I don’t have the money to import it, which is why I’ve come to you.’
Laura shifted in her chair. She’d heard about men trying to develop such a strand, but she’d never heard of them succeeding. The weak strands of such cotton seemed better suited to making paper than weaving cloth. She looked to Mr William’s foot. It moved faster back and forth on the heel. He’d need a cobbler soon if he kept up such fidgeting.
‘And your collateral?’ Philip asked.
‘My shares in a shipping business.’ He withdrew a paper from his coat and laid it on the desk.
Philip picked up the certificate, briefly flashing the yellowing bruises on his hand before he settled the document low in front of him to review. Laura studied him as he read, trying to gauge if he saw what she did. Was it only her lack of knowledge about this business and her own discomfort at sitting in a hodgepodge dress in the middle of such an orderly office that was making her uneasy?
At last, Philip folded the paper and laid it in the centre of the clean blotter. She couldn’t tell if he approved or disapproved of it. Neither could Mr Williams, judging by the increased pace of his rocking foot.
‘And your personal situation? Do you have a wife and children?’ Philip asked.
‘Haven’t much seen the need of tying myself to an interfering woman.’ He slid Laura a hard look which she matched with a steady one of her own. ‘Though I don’t see what difference it makes to a sound investment like this one.’
Laura glanced back and forth between Philip and Mr Williams, wondering if she should say something about the cotton before Philip agreed to the loan. There was nothing sound about his proposal. Philip had asked her to speak out if she had reservations, but what he’d said in the quiet of the hallway and what he wanted from her now with the client staring him down like an overeager bulldog might be a very different thing.
‘It makes a great deal of difference to me since it’s my money you’re seeking to fund your endeavour,’ Philip countered. ‘If you fail, I’ll be the one bearing the brunt of the loss.’
‘I won’t fail and you’ll get back three times the amount I’m asking for.’
Philip paused and Laura shifted in her chair, unsure whether he was preparing to let the man down or accept his offer. ‘When would I see the dividends?’
‘There’s a ship out of Portsmouth ready to sail within the week if I can raise the money. In six months’ time it could be back here, the cotton sold and a tidy sum in your pocket.’
Philip paused again and Laura couldn’t stay silent any longer.
‘You won’t see a farthing of what he’s promising.’
‘This doesn’t concern you, woman,’ Mr Williams snapped, struggling to twist his large self around in the chair and glare her into silence.
‘Miss Townsend, you have reservations about Mr Williams’s proposal?’ Philip coaxed, unruffled by the importer’s outburst.
‘Don’t matter what she thinks of it,’ Mr Williams scoffed. ‘You’re the man. It’s up to you.’
‘As the man, I’m eager to hear the lady’s opinion.’
Laura swallowed hard, wishing she possessed Philip’s composure, but now was no time to lose her wits. ‘What he’s suggesting won’t work. The new cotton from Georgia isn’t strong enough to take the pressure of the new water-powered looms. Mr Williams may import the cotton, but he won’t be able to weave it as he’s indicated and it won’t be worth even half of what he’s going to pay to buy and ship it.’
‘You don’t know anything, girlie, except what your dressmaker tells you. Judging by your frock, even she don’t know two whiskers about cloth.’ The man snorted.
‘My father was John Townsend, a draper in Wood Street, Cheapside. I worked with him in his shop my whole life. I know more about cloth, cotton, silk and muslin than you can imagine.’
Philip exchanged a quick look with Mr Connor. Laura wasn’t sure if it was admiration or worry.
Mr Williams wasn’t as enamoured of her pluck; recognition spread across his face. ‘I knew you was familiar. I remember your father. He was a good man, God rest him. What would he think to see you here, meddling with the likes of ’im?’
He jerked his thick thumb at Philip.
‘Our business is concluded, Mr Williams,’ Philip announced in a low voice as he rose slowly from the chair to stare down at the man. ‘I can be of no help to you in this matter. Mr Connor will see you out.’
‘You’re damned right our business is concluded.’ Mr Williams struggled with his large stomach to stand. ‘I wouldn’t take your money if you offered it to me on a velvet pillow.’
He snatched the shipping share from the desk and shoved it in his pocket before turning a squinted eye to Laura. ‘Your father would turn in his grave if he knew his only daughter was now some moneylender’s wh—’
‘Out, now.’ Philip’s voice cracked over Mr Williams, stunning the importer silent.
‘Come on then.’ Mr Connor took Mr Williams by the arm and tugged him towards the door.
Mr Williams jerked free and left of his own accord, a trail of mumbled curses following him.
Philip rounded the desk and closed the door. ‘I apologise for what just happened.’
‘One would think I’d be used to bullying men after enduring my uncle.’ Laura opened her hand, her fingers tight from where she’d gripped the arm of the chair. ‘He used to fly into a rage whenever I questioned him about missing money or unpaid bills.’
She studied a deep scratch in the wood floor, following it from where it met the leg of Mr Williams’s chair to where it snaked under Philip’s desk. The pride she’d experienced when she’d spoken about her father’s shop faded like the scratch thinned beneath the desk.
She’d been a fool to think it would be so easy accepting a stranger as her husband. It had been even more simple-minded to imagine they’d touch a few times and it would be as if they were in love and well known to one another. That wasn’t how it would be at all. She was going to marry a stranger, live in a strange house and learn a business she wanted nothing to do with. Why? Because she was so desperate, she was willing to sell herself for safety, just as Mr Williams had been about to accuse her of doing before Philip had cut him off.
I’m not selling myself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, repeating the truth over and over. It still didn’t shift the weight sitting hard on her chest. I’m trying to make a secure life for me and my mother.
‘Laura?’ The sound of her name was soothing, like the sound of Thomas’s name on Philip’s lips last night. She opened her eyes, expecting to revel in the same softness, but Philip’s eyes were firm as he studied her.
‘In time, you’ll learn to disregard such people.’ He took up the stack of papers resting on the corner of the desk and shook them into a neat pile. ‘Men like Mr Williams often resort to personal attacks when questioned about their business or finances.’
‘I know. People who owed my father and couldn’t pay often reacted the same way when pressed.’ It wasn’t so very different and yet it was. They hadn’t looked down on her the way Mr Williams had just done. If they had done, her father would send them off and then remind her afterwards of her worth. What was her worth now? Certainly not what she’d once imagined, back when she’d dreamed of a loving husband standing with her behind the counter of their own shop, greeting clients together the way her parents had used to.
‘Many people come here when they’re desperate.’ Philip laid the papers back on the corner of the desk. ‘It affects their better sense.’
Laura wondered if she’d lost hers. Whatever comfort she’d taken in the clean clothes, comfortable bed and good food vanished. She eyed the neat stack of papers, wanting to knock it to the floor, scatter the sheets across the wood and cover the scratch. She’d been desperate enough to come here and turn over the only asset she still possessed to Philip, just as her uncle had been willing to relinquish the business, and Mr Williams the shipping shares. Unlike those men, Laura had been forced by others to part with what little she had left, just as she’d been forced to teach Uncle Robert the business when her father had brought him in, despite her and her mother’s protests. Then she’d been forced to watch while he’d taken everything away piece by awful piece. ‘I wish you hadn’t asked me to join you.’
‘I needed your assistance and experience. I knew the shipping shares were worthless. The company refuses to invest in steam engines which I and many others believe are the future, and their fleet is outdated. It was your expertise in cloth I needed.’
She sucked in a deep breath at the blunt statement, struggling to push back the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She straightened her spine and looked at him. If he could stand so impassively in front of her, she would do so, too, and not dissolve into some blubbering girl. ‘Surely there are other people you could have called on.’
‘There are, but I need to know if you can see through what a man says to find the truth of his situation, to gauge his suitability in case there comes a time when you must act alone.’ He pressed his fingers into the stack of papers, making them dip in the middle, something of unease in the simple motion. So he wasn’t infallible after all and he knew it. It was encouraging to know. It made him at last seem mortal, though no less irritating. ‘Your instincts proved correct, as I suspected they would.’
‘And what of my feelings?’ She swept the stack of papers off the desk, sending them fluttering to the floor, her anger fuelled as much by Mr Williams as all the frustrations and humiliations of the past year. ‘Did you ever take those into consideration, or how being bullied and brought low by a man like Mr Williams might hurt me?’
The papers settled over the floor like snow. Philip watched, emotionless, as a contract balanced on the edge of the seat cushion before sliding off to cover the scratch on the wood.
Outside, her mother and Jane passed by the window as they made their way inside.
Horror rushed in to blot out her anger. What had she done? This was Philip’s house, his business and she was here at his whim. His generosity could be withdrawn at any moment and she and her mother would be back in Seven Dials shivering and starving.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to act so childishly.’ She dropped to her knees and snatched up the papers. The edges flapped with her trembling hands as she tried to force them into a neat pile, but they wouldn’t cooperate. The more her hands shook, the more the helplessness widened to consume her. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise. I don’t know what came over me.’
He came around the desk and lowered himself on to one knee across from her. Taking the uneven stack out of her hands, he laid it on the floor beside him. Then he gently caught her chin with his fingers and tilted her face up to his. ‘Forgive me. I should have waited to introduce you to the business.’
Concern softened his blue eyes. He was sorry, genuinely so, with no trace of the false, self-serving contrition her uncle used to offer her father. The same faint bond which had slipped between them last night encircled them again. Philip cared for her and wanted her to be happy. The realisation drained the anger from her, but it couldn’t erase the hurt, worries, helplessness and humiliations she’d suffered so many times. They pressed down on her and not even Philip’s reassuring touch could drive them away.
‘I invited you here because you’re too strong to be bullied by such a man,’ Philip explained.
‘I wish I was.’ She rocked back on her heels and away from his fingers, then fled the room.
The hall and stairway blurred as her eyes filled with tears. They streaked steadily down her cheeks as she made for her mother’s room and pushed open the door without knocking. Thankfully, Jane wasn’t with her. Her mother looked up from the chair by the window, her smile vanishing at the sight of Laura’s expression. Without a word, she held out her arms and Laura flung herself into them, burying her face in her chest to cry.
* * *
Philip lowered his hand, the warmth of Laura’s skin still lingering on his fingertips. It didn’t dispel the cold sitting hard in his chest. None of the insults hurled at him by any defaulting client had pierced him as hard as the realisation he’d allowed a client to hurt someone in his care.
He dragged the last few contracts out from under the desk and shoved them down on top of the pile on the floor. He should have followed his instincts and waited to introduce her to someone like Mr Williams. Instead, he’d dismissed his doubts and convinced himself she was fit to face the ugly man. He should have known better. She was strong, but she’d suffered a great deal and, like him, needed time. It was a mistake, one he should have known better than to make.
‘I said you didn’t understand the terms of the contract and I was right.’ Justin slid into the room and settled into his favourite chair by the cold fireplace. ‘You can’t treat her like a client.’
Philip hauled himself and the contracts off the floor. ‘It was never my intention to.’
‘Yes, it was.’ He reached over to the side table next to him and plucked a crystal glass and decanter of Scotch from it. ‘Thankfully, she’s no shrinking violet which is good if she’s going to marry you.’
‘Perhaps I was short-sighted in my assumptions about our arrangement.’ And its simplicity. Justin was right, it wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d first believed. ‘Assuming, after this morning, our agreement still stands.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, she’ll marry you.’ Justin poured out a measure of Scotch, then returned the decanter to the table. ‘Now you must ask yourself, why do you really want to marry her? And I want the real reason, not your drivel about needing a housekeeper.’
Philip traced the scratch in the floor with his boot. The memory of Laura scrambling about for the papers, as lost and frightened as he’d been the morning Arabella had died, tore at him. That cold morning, he’d come to this room and nearly ripped it all to pieces, gouging the floorboards in a fruitless effort to overturn the desk. If Justin hadn’t found him, he might have destroyed the room and himself.
‘I lost something when Arabella died; it was as if I buried my humanity with her.’ Every day he felt the hardness creeping in where warmth and happiness used to be. It hurt to admit it, even to his closest friend. ‘My father always said it was the one thing we must hold on to in this business because it’s too easy to lose, as evidenced by so many others in our profession.’
‘You’ve hardly become like them. You never will.’
‘I’m not so sure.’ After Arabella’s death, Philip had shut himself off from his emotions just to move through the day without crumbling. As time passed it was growing more difficult to draw them out again.
‘You think Miss Townsend can help you reclaim your humanity?’
Philip didn’t respond, but studied the snaking scratch marking the wood. When the workmen had repaired the room, he’d refused to let them sand it away. It was a reminder of his loss of control. Something he’d never let happen again. ‘Miss Townsend and Mrs Townsend’s influence will do Jane good. I heard her laugh with Miss Townsend earlier.’
‘It’s about time.’ Justin swirled the last sip of his Scotch before downing it. ‘She’s too serious for a girl her age.’
Philip strode to the table and plucked up a glass. ‘I’m to blame.’
‘Hardly. Seriousness is a family trait. Your mother was the only one who could enjoy a good joke.’
‘She tempered my father.’ He removed the crystal stopper from the decanter and rolled it in his palm. ‘I worry how my nature might affect Thomas.’
Thomas’s happy squeal carried in from outside. Philip set the glass and stopper down and went to the French doors leading to the garden. He opened them and inhaled the pungent scent of roses and earth fighting with the thicker stench of horses and smoke from the streets beyond. ‘Arabella should have had time with Thomas. She should have seen him grow.’
‘But that’s not the way it happened,’ Justin gently reminded him.
No, it wasn’t. The finality of it was too much like standing at Arabella’s grave again, the sun too bright off the green grass surrounding the dim hole in the earth.
Thomas toddled around a square half-pillar supporting an urn. He peeked out from one side of it, and then the other, squealing with laughter as Mrs Marston met him with a playful boo. The sun caught his light hair, making the subtle orange strands shine the way Arabella’s used to whenever she’d strolled here.
Philip had used to look up from his accounts to watch her, wanting to join her, but he’d dismissed the urge in favour of the many other things commanding his attention. If he’d known their days together were limited, he would have tossed aside his work and rushed to be with her. If he’d known their love would kill her, he never would have opened his heart to her in Dr Hale’s sitting room.
A dull ache settled in behind his eyes, heightened by the bright day. There’d never been a choice between loving or not loving Arabella. He’d loved her from the first moment she’d entered his office looking as unsure as Laura had today. During the first days of their courtship there’d been an unspoken accord between them, as if they understood one another without ever having to speak.
When Laura had reached out to him last night, and when he’d touched her today, something of the understanding and comfort that had so long been missing had passed between them and shaken him to the core.
‘Miss Townsend’s presence will benefit Thomas,’ Philip observed, pulling himself off the unsettling road his thoughts were travelling. His relationship with Laura was nothing like his relationship with Arabella.
‘Her presence will benefit you, too.’ Justin came to his side and cocked a knowing eyebrow at him. ‘Often and quite pleasurably.’
If he wasn’t Philip’s greatest friend, he would have dismissed him. ‘Your experience with women has muddled your impression of relationships.’
‘Actually, it’s heightened them, which is why I can see matters with Miss Townsend so clearly and you cannot.’ He dropped a comforting hand on Philip’s shoulder. ‘If you let her, Miss Townsend will temper you and more. Just don’t resist her when she tries.’
With a hard squeeze, he left.
Philip stepped outside into the shadows of the eaves, watching Thomas without the boy noticing. Thomas hurried around the fountain on unsteady legs, clapping and laughing whenever Mrs Marston surprised him. It touched him to see his son so happy. Philip had forgotten what joy was like.
He looked in the direction of Laura’s room, but the portico roof obscured the view. Justin was right, Philip needed Laura to temper him and she possessed the will to do it. He might have misjudged her strength today, but he didn’t doubt its existence. When she felt safe, when her life settled into a steady rhythm, she’d find her feet again and he was sure to witness more moments of strength. He looked forward to them.
What he didn’t look forward to were the deeper implications of her presence.
In the past year, he’d closed his heart to almost everyone except Thomas and Jane. He wasn’t about to open it again and allow anyone to see the hardness which had grown there, or to leave himself vulnerable to having it crushed again. It would be a difficult thing to manage, but he had no choice. There could be no relationship between them without friendship or the most basic of understandings, but he couldn’t allow Laura’s sweetness to lull him into forgetting the wrenching torment that caring too much for someone could cause. Laura demanded his respect and affection and he would give it, but he would not surrender his heart. He couldn’t.
* * *
Mother handed Laura her old threadbare handkerchief.
‘I’m surprised you still have this old thing, what with Mr Rathbone providing us with all our needs.’ Laura rubbed her wet cheeks, widening the hole in the centre of the ragged linen.
‘My dear, Mr Rathbone is an excellent organiser, but even he is not capable of remembering everything, much less such a small detail like a new handkerchief.’ She smoothed Laura’s hair off her face, then caressed her damp cheek.
‘At least this isn’t his like everything else, like I will be.’ Laura leaned back against the wall, worn out from crying. ‘It’s like being with Uncle Robert again and us helpless to do anything.’
‘Mr Rathbone is nothing like Robert,’ Mother gently corrected. ‘He’s willing to share what he has with us and to make you a partner in his life. It speaks to his generosity. And you aren’t helpless.’
‘Aren’t I?’ She was a woman with no money, no prospects and almost no family. A proposal from a moneylender was the best she could hope for, even if it made her feel like a purchased bolt of silk. Laura crumpled the damp handkerchief, then threw it to the floor, ashamed again of her foolishness. Better to be a man’s wife than to sink to becoming a whore. ‘I’m sorry I lost my head.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t done it sooner.’ She slid her arm around Laura’s waist and drew her up from the bed. ‘No one can keep their chin up all the time, not even you.’
Her mother guided her to one of the two stuffed chairs in front of the window, Laura leaning as much for support on her mother as her mother leaned on her. Outside, Thomas’s happy laughter carried up from the garden. Through the window, Laura caught sight of his cranberry-coloured skeleton suit darting back and forth between the boxwoods as Mrs Marston chased him.
‘Now rest.’ Mother pressed her down into the chair. ‘I think you need it more than me.’
Laura gladly sank against the well-padded back with a sigh, so weary from everything. ‘I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can go through with the wedding.’
Yesterday, when standing in the middle of the mouldering room in her worn-out gown, it’d been too easy to accept Philip and the life he offered. Today, it seemed too hard. She wasn’t certain she could spend her life without love. It seemed a silly, girlish thing to hold on to when everything else was being laid at her feet, but she couldn’t let it go. However, if she rejected Philip, she’d be giving up the comfort and safety of his home, along with her mother’s health. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so selfish. Only, I never thought it would all turn out like this. I thought we could save the shop, I believed it until the end. I was wrong.’
‘You’re not selfish, Laura. You’ve taken on so much over the past year, things you never should have had to deal with. Now you’ve taken on this. It’s unfair and I wish I could have done more to help you realise some of the dreams you believe are ending with this betrothal. But, Laura, I never would have allowed you to accept Mr Rathbone’s proposal if I didn’t believe he was a good man.’
‘Why? What did he tell you yesterday?’ Everyone seemed to believe in him. Why couldn’t she?
‘He was very honest with me and told me of losing his wife and his hopes for Jane and Thomas. It was like hearing myself speak of you and how it felt to lose your father. Look at him,’ she entreated, gently turning Laura’s face to the window. From the shadows of the house, Philip emerged into the sun. Light shone in the streaks of red in his dark hair and seemed to widen over the light-coloured coat. He approached Thomas, not with the purpose he’d shown last night, but more slowly, as though weighed down by grief. He knelt and threw open his arms to embrace his giggling son, burying his face in the boy’s neck as if he were afraid of losing him. ‘He’s hurting, Laura, but he isn’t without love.’
Jane came out from the house, snapped a rose off one slender branch and tapped her brother on the shoulder. He stood and steadied Thomas on his slender hip as Jane held up the flower to the boy’s button nose.
‘You can see it in how much he loves his child and Jane. For all the girl’s peculiarities, when I speak with her, it’s obvious she knows he cares for her.’
Laura remembered the juvenile kiss Philip had received from Jane last night.
‘Yes, he loves her, but what am I to him? A contract? A convenient solution to myriad problems?’
‘If he truly wanted an easy solution, he would have hired another nurse and expanded Mrs Palmer’s responsibilities. He asked you to marry him because he saw something in you, something he isn’t completely aware of himself. It’s as if, deep down, he feels you can help him.’
‘He doesn’t want help. He wants someone to run his house and warm his bed.’
Her mother’s shoulders rose with a sigh as they watched Philip set Thomas on the ground. He took one of the boy’s hands and Jane took the other and together they led the child to the far wall where a lion-headed fountain spat water into an urn.
‘When I lost your older brother, I was heartbroken. I threw myself into the shop, working to near exhaustion to try to dull my grief. No matter how much I tried to bury myself, your father never gave up on me.’ She gazed serenely down on the garden, but sorrow laced her words, as palpable as Philip’s grief had been when he’d first mentioned his late wife. ‘Then one day, the darkness lifted and your father was still there, as loving as ever. Soon you were there, too, and I was happy again.’
Mother slid her hand beneath Laura’s and gave it a squeeze. ‘Mr Rathbone needs you. I know it’s difficult to see right now, but if you’re stubborn and refuse to give up on him, you’ll capture as deep an affection as he shows to all he loves. I know it.’
Laura studied her mother’s long fingers, thinking of Philip’s hand in hers last night and the faint connection it’d created between them. She’d experienced it again when he’d apologised this morning, only that time it was him, not her, asking for something deeper. Both moments had been as fragile as fine silk thread. How could she possibly grab hold of something so delicate and make it strong enough to hold them both together?
‘I don’t even know where to begin.’ She waved her hands over her dress, herself. ‘I’m hardly going to arouse a grand passion in him.’
‘I don’t think Mr Rathbone is the sort of man easily ensnared by superficial things like dresses.’ Mother’s lips drew up in one corner with a mischievous smile. ‘Though a finely turned-out figure doesn’t hurt where men are concerned.’
‘It will be easier to dress myself than it will be to figure out how to catch his fancy.’ She knew almost nothing about gaining a gentleman’s attention, especially such a stern gentleman.
‘Follow your instincts, Laura. They’ll guide you well.’
Philip looked up at the window, suddenly meeting Laura’s eyes. He didn’t turn away or nod, or do anything except study her as he had from the copper tub. She stroked her chin with her thumb and forefinger, almost able to feel Philip’s hand on it. If there was one thing she knew to be true of Philip, it was his adherence to the contracts he made. When they stood before the vicar and uttered the vows, he’d be bound by what he said to her, what he stated before all his friends. It would be up to her to see he did more than simply uphold his promise.
‘It won’t be easy.’ He’d fight like a dog to guard the wounded part of himself, but Laura had faced worse battles over the past year and in her own way won them, keeping a roof over her and her mother’s heads, even staring down her uncle Robert on more than one occasion.
‘Nothing worth having is ever easy.’
Laura nodded in silent agreement. No matter what she might wish for or think she wanted, the truth was, her future lay with Philip. If she hoped to have even a small portion of the life she’d once imagined for herself, a life of love with a true partner in the business and her bed, then she must find a way into Philip’s heart.
