Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Debts Reclaimed - Georgie Lee - Страница 14
ОглавлениеMrs Fairley fastened the last button and Laura turned to face the full-length mirror in the modiste’s fitting room, moving slowly so as not to tumble off the small fitting stool. She sucked in a surprised breath at the reflection which greeted her. After a year in tatty black, the light-green muslin dress Mrs Fairley had chosen to alter first was a stunning change. Laura pulled out the skirt, then shifted from side to side to watch the material move. With the swish of the fabric, she caught a little of the excitement of that Christmas morning when her parents had given her a yellow silk dress, her first adult one. For a week afterwards, she’d crept down to the shop mirror at night to admire it.
The excitement of the memory faded and she let the skirt go. The silk dress had been one of the first things she’d sold to pay for the meagre rooms in Seven Dials. More than once while walking through Petticoat Lane with the rest of her dwindling wardrobe, she’d wondered which lady’s maid or shop girl wore it now.
‘It suits you as if it were made for you.’ Mrs Fairley came to stand beside her, a box of pins in one hand. She nodded with approval at Laura’s reflection. ‘Brings out the green in your eyes.’
Her eyes weren’t the only part of her the dress emphasised. The bodice was cut deeper than any she’d ever worn before, exposing the tops of her breasts which rested higher on her chest thanks to the temporary new stays Mrs Fairley had secured for her. It was by no means immodest, but Laura wasn’t accustomed to it.
On the chaise next to the mirror lay the other dresses Mrs Fairley was to alter. They would keep Laura respectably clothed while Mrs Fairley prepared the rest of the new wardrobe in accordance with Philip’s list. The sheer number of garments he’d requested was staggering. It didn’t even include the gloves, fans, stockings and various other small items he’d sent instructions to other merchants to secure.
‘Do I really need so many dresses?’ Laura questioned as Mrs Fairley leaned down to begin pinning the hem.
‘If Mr Rathbone says you need them, then I suppose you must.’
Laura tugged up the low bodice again. Even when the draper shop had been a success, her father hadn’t spent like this on clothing, not even for his wife. Her father had insisted his family dress well, but simply, and with as few items as they could make do with. He’d believed in selling material, not spending their profits on it. ‘I’m not usually so extravagant with my wardrobe.’
‘Neither is Mr Rathbone. He never lets Miss Jane indulge in this manner, though she tries.’ She slid a sly look up at Laura. ‘He must have quite a fancy for you to be so generous.’
‘I suppose he must.’ Laura fingered the side of the gown, wishing she were a better liar.
‘You don’t sound so sure.’
‘I am, I mean he does. I’m sorry, there’s a great deal on my mind right now.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Mrs Fairley agreed as she slid a pin in the hem. ‘What happened to your things for you to need so many new ones?’
It was an innocent enough question, but Laura’s embarrassment flared at the need to answer it. She’d kept her dignity in Seven Dials. Out of it, she didn’t want anyone to know the degradations she and her mother had suffered. She was terrified they would judge her, just as Mr Williams had. ‘They were lost in an accident.’
‘You mean to debt.’ Mrs Fairley rose to face her. She was young, maybe only a year or two older than Laura, but with an amiable nature, making her a good friend to anyone in an instant. ‘You needn’t be embarrassed with me, Miss Townsend. I came close to losing everything once, too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’ She didn’t want her shame to reflect on Philip.
‘Miss Townsend, a modiste’s first task is to help her clients choose flattering dresses to best emphasise their assets.’ She tugged Laura’s bodice back down into place, revealing more of the tops of Laura’s breasts. ‘A modiste’s second task is to listen to her client’s problems and offer advice. I assure you, I’m very skilled in both.’
Laura examined Mrs Fairley, sure that Philip wouldn’t hire any woman to dress his sister or his future wife who wasn’t both an excellent seamstress and discreet. Given the things Jane had already told Laura and her mother in the short time they’d been here, she could only imagine what the girl must reveal during her private fittings with Mrs Fairley.
What was Laura prepared to reveal? She fingered the small ribbon pinned beneath her bust line while Mrs Fairley waited, as patient as she was buxom. She wore a demure light-blue cotton gown of superior weave with a high chemisette rimmed with delicate French lace. Beneath her generous breasts she’d wrapped a yellow cord, tying the knot just under the small separation almost visible through the sheer netting covering them. It was tasteful yet alluring, the pale blue of the dress matching her soft blue eyes, the yellow of the cord mimicking the rich gold tones of her hair. If there was anyone who might know how to turn a man’s head with subtlety, it was this woman.
‘What do you know of Mr Rathbone?’ Laura began cautiously, still unsure how much she should reveal, if anything. Surely Mrs Fairley would think it odd for Laura to seek advice on capturing the attention of a man she was already betrothed to.
‘He’s a very fine gentleman.’ Mrs Fairly selected a piece of wide netting from a nearby table. It was embroidered with the same flowers as Laura’s dress and she draped it over Laura’s shoulders to make a fichu. ‘A little stiff in the breeches, but his heart is in the right place.’
‘How do you know he has a good heart?’ She hoped it wasn’t for the reason flitting through her mind, but with the slender gold band encircling Mrs Fairley’s finger, she suspected the attractive modiste had discovered Philip’s better qualities in a less sensual way.
Mrs Fairley stepped back and the glowing smile which had graced her face since she’d first greeted Laura faltered around the corners. ‘My husband, John, was a soldier. He was injured at the Battle of Waterloo. He recovered, but it took a great deal of time and I was forced to put aside my business to nurse him. Once he was well, the war with France was over and, with all the soldiers coming home, he couldn’t find work. We fell into debt and were on the verge of losing everything. Mr Rathbone loaned me the money I needed to rebuild my business, sent me new clients and, as you can see, has been most generous with his patronage.’
All Laura’s objections to the number of items on Philip’s list vanished. Mrs Fairley needed the money as much as Laura once had.
Mrs Fairley chose a ribbon from the selection laid out next to the completed gowns and held it up to Laura’s face, judging the colour against her skin. ‘My husband has found a new life helping me manage my business, keeping accounts and dealing with inventory while I continue to see to clients. Without Mr Rathbone’s help, I don’t know what would have happened to us.’
Mrs Fairley’s voice wavered and Laura recognised her fear of what might have happened whispering through the soft-spoken words. Laura had felt it, too, many times herself in Seven Dials, when each passing day had made their situation worse and lessened Laura’s options for changing it.
Mrs Fairley wiped away the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes and fixed a bright smile back on her face. ‘What of you? Are you excited for your wedding?’
Now it was Laura’s turn to be honest. ‘I’m unsure.’
‘Unsure?’
Laura was unable to believe what she was about to reveal, but speaking to a married woman closer to her age proved too tempting to resist. ‘What do you know of my betrothal to Mr Rathbone?’
Mrs Fairley flipped out the skirt to make it lie better, then examined the line of the hem. ‘I know it was sudden and unexpected.’
‘It was far more than that.’
While Mrs Fairley knelt down to adjust the pins, Laura told her the story of threatening Philip and the strange proposal. At first Mrs Fairley continued to work but the more Laura revealed, the more the modiste sat back on her heels to listen, her work forgotten.
At last Laura finished, barely able to hear her voice over the noise of her heart beating in her ears. If Mrs Fairley wasn’t as discreet as she claimed, if she told every client she possessed about Laura and Philip’s betrothal and if he heard of it, she wasn’t sure how he would react. She couldn’t imagine him being pleased, nor doing anything but hardening him against her and their impending marriage. The task of capturing his heart was daunting enough without her creating more obstacles.
Mrs Fairley clapped her hands together, her eyes round with amazement. ‘If I hadn’t heard it from his intended myself, I never would have guessed Mr Rathbone harboured such romantic tendencies.’
Laura nearly fell off the stool. ‘It isn’t romantic. It’s a deal, a bargain.’
‘He might have dressed it up in such terms to fool himself and you, but it isn’t the real reason for this hasty wedding.’
No. A man who knew his mind so well, who controlled himself with the precision of a tightrope walker like the one she’d once seen in Vauxhall Gardens did not need to invent such excuses to fool himself. Yet hadn’t her father created a hundred of them to maintain faith in Laura’s uncle? He’d been too honest and giving to realise how wicked his brother really was. Until the end, he’d held on to the idea Robert was still the young boy he’d once protected from street bullies, the one he’d felt guilty leaving when he’d left to apprentice with the draper. ‘Perhaps you’re right?’
‘Oh, I know I am.’ Mrs Fairley jumped to her feet, her excitement genuine. Her curls bounced as she snatched the fichu off Laura’s neck. ‘And I will do all I can to help prove it.’
The cold air sweeping over the tops of Laura’s breasts startled her and she moved to tug up the gown again before Mrs Fairley caught her hands.
‘You’ll catch his attention with it lower, I promise you. And when you approach him, don’t scowl with worry. Soften your face.’ She pressed her thumb to the crease between Laura’s eyebrows, smoothing out the skin. ‘He’s a confident man and obviously drawn to your confidence.’
‘My confidence?’
‘Any woman brave enough to threaten him with a pistol is most certainly confident.’
Laura would have called it desperation, but if Mrs Fairley and Philip wanted to believe otherwise, then she’d let them.
Mrs Fairley looked over the selection of dresses, tapping one finger against her chin. ‘When will you see him next?’
‘Dinner. He’s quite busy today.’
Mrs Fairley selected a pale, rose-coloured silk dress and held it up to Laura. ‘Then we’ll make it a meal he won’t soon forget.’
* * *
The rich scent of sage and cooked chicken drew Laura to the dining room. Her stomach growled, reminding her how late she was for dinner. She’d sent Mary down earlier to ask Philip and the others to start without her. Given how hungry Laura was, she didn’t want to keep others from their meal. However, neither tardiness nor hunger pangs were strong enough to stop her from pausing at the mirror hanging in the hallway to admire again the changes Mrs Fairley had wrought.
She and the young modiste had gone well over their appointed time together. A few stitches through the shoulders of the pale rose-hued dress had tightened the bust, bringing the silk up snug against Laura’s breasts. Then Mrs Fairley had arranged Laura’s hair, sweeping it up off the back of her neck and using heated tongs to create small curls which danced about her nape.
For such little effort, it’d made quite a difference. Laura appeared elegant, like one of the rich merchant’s wives who would occasionally visit her parents’ shop whenever her father had acquired a bolt of rare material. Perhaps with a simple necklace and a little more confidence, she would become more like those assured women, and learn to take pride in her position as the wife of a well-to-do moneylender.
Laura turned her face from side to side, pleased with the way the two long curls at the back bounced around her exposed neck. Pausing in her turns, she threw herself a sideways look, trying to mimic the coquettish smile Mrs Fairley had flashed when Laura had asked if Philip would be pleased with the new dress. She’d begged the woman to show her how to flirt, but Mrs Fairley had only laughed and told her she’d know what to do when the time came.
She hoped she was right. Laura’s experience with gentlemen was greatly lacking. The stationer’s son down the street had once shown an interest in her, but the dalliance hadn’t lasted more than a few days. Her father had sent the boy off with a stern warning, reminding him he was in no position to set up house with a wife. She’d railed at her father for driving the boy away until the scandal of the weaver’s daughter broke. Afterwards, she’d completely understood her father’s concern. A solicitor’s apprentice had got the weaver’s daughter with child, then abandoned her, leaving her to face the scrutiny of the neighbourhood alone.
No doubt the old neighbourhood would look down on Laura if news of her nuptials to a moneylender became known. Pinching her cheeks to bring some colour into them, she dismissed her concern. Despite the years they’d lived and worked beside the other merchants, not one of their neighbours had helped her and her mother when the business had begun to fail and they’d been forced to hire a smaller, less expensive shop in a sad little neighbourhood many streets away. Instead they’d all stood around whispering while the removers had loaded the cart with what was left of their belongings, blaming Laura and her mother for Robert Townsend’s mistakes.
Let them judge her for marrying Philip. Her opinion of them and their behaviour was no better.
Her stomach growled again and Laura reluctantly left the mirror, unable to avoid supper and Philip any longer. For all her thoughts of how to impress her betrothed, she had just as many of eating, especially with the scent of cooked chicken growing stronger with each step she took towards the dining rom.
‘The dress is cut too immodestly for a young woman.’ Philip’s voice carried from the dining room, exasperation thick in his words.
‘It’s cut exactly like Princess Charlotte’s,’ Jane protested, sounding much the way Laura had done years ago when she’d wanted an expensive fan and her father had refused to purchase it. ‘I altered it myself based on the pattern in the lady’s magazine.’
Laura stopped at the dining-room door, unnoticed by the quarrelling siblings or her mother. Philip sat at the head of the table, his frustration with his sister evident in his tight grip on his knife and fork. Laura tried not to laugh at how easily his sister could rattle him when men like Mr Williams didn’t seem to trouble him at all. Then again, she knew more than anyone how frustrating family could be. She’d been ready to scream more than once when her father had refused to listen to her arguments against her uncle. He’d always wanted to believe the best of his brother, especially at the end.
‘You are not Princess Charlotte, nor are you her age.’ Philip cut his food, the knife scraping lightly across the plate. ‘You will return the dress to Mrs Fairley to alter at once.’
‘I won’t.’ Jane’s foot stamped beneath the table, making the glasses on top rattle. ‘I like the dress this way. Tell him, Mrs Townsend, tell him this is the style.’
‘It is the style, Jane, but Mr Rathbone is right, it is too revealing for a young lady your age,’ Laura’s mother responded with measured patience.
‘But—’ Jane began to protest before Laura’s mother laid a tempering hand on hers.
‘I think I might have a suggestion which will suit you both. A width of gorgeous French lace along the top edge, like Miss Lamb wears, will encourage more modesty without ruining the line of the dress. It will be quite elegant and modest.’
‘May I alter it as she says, Philip?’ Jane bit her lip in anticipation, looking back and forth between her brother and the older lady. ‘Mrs Townsend is right, it would be modest just as you like and, oh, so in fashion.’
Philip took a deep breath and Laura caught something of relief rather than frustration in the gesture. She wasn’t sure if it was the desire to end the debate or his glimpse of the wisdom in the matron’s suggestion which led him to nod his head tersely.
‘You may keep the dress if you add the lace.’ He levelled his knife at her. ‘But if you alter one more dress on your own, I won’t buy you another until you’re sixteen.’
‘I promise I won’t change any of the others,’ Jane stressed, before exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Mrs Townsend.
Philip didn’t notice, reaching for his wine glass. Then his hand paused, his attention snapping to Laura.
She tried to steady the rapid rise and fall of her chest, but it was a fruitless struggle. She couldn’t stop breathing, not unless she wanted to faint from the same shock she saw in Philip’s eyes. They dipped down the length of her. The motion was fast, efficient yet potent, making her feel as if it had been her and not him who had crossed his room the other night naked.
Under the force of his gaze, Laura nearly tugged the ribbon from her hair and escaped upstairs to don a less revealing dress. She didn’t flee, but strode into the room, her chin confidently in the air, her mother’s words about working to win Philip following her like the swish of her slippers over the wood floor. She’d certainly succeeded in catching his attention tonight.
‘My goodness, look at you,’ Jane exclaimed.
‘Miss Rathbone, that is not an appropriate response.’ The older woman nudged the girl with her elbow before raising an approving eyebrow at Laura. ‘Laura, you look very lovely this evening.’
‘Indeed, you do,’ Jane chimed in, fixing her brother with a devilish smile. ‘Doesn’t she, Philip?’
Philip didn’t answer, but rose, his expression as stiff as his posture, except where his eyes widened. Yet it wasn’t surprise illuminating their blue. It was something hotter and more potent, like the subtle flash of anger she’d caught just before he’d struck her uncle. This wasn’t anger, or anything like what she’d experienced with the stationer’s son. The stationer’s son had possessed the ridiculous passion of a schoolboy. Philip’s reaction was of a man, albeit a man trying not to react.
Heat swept up from the pit of Laura’s stomach and burned over the tops of her exposed breasts. She nearly reached out and pulled the napkin from the footman’s arm to cover herself before Mrs Fairley’s assurance came rushing back.
‘Good evening, Miss Townsend,’ Philip greeted as she paused beside her chair to let the footman slide it out.
As she took her seat, she threw Philip the sideways look she’d practised in the mirror in the hallway. ‘Good evening, Mr Rathbone.’
A muscle in his jaw twitched and his chest paused before he resumed his steady breathing.
Once she was seated, he took his seat again and she withheld a smile of delight, enjoying this new power over him.
Across the table, her mother’s and Jane’s astonishment was palpable, but Laura didn’t dare look at them. It was difficult enough to maintain her composure in front of Philip. She didn’t need an interested audience distracting her.
She unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap, then sat back to allow the footman to present the cooked chicken, small potatoes and asparagus draped in a white sauce. Laura accepted a serving of each dish, trying not to overfill her plate. When at last she had sufficient, she took up her knife and fork and sliced through the potatoes, moving slowly so as not to fall on the food like some ravenous dog. Her concentration was disturbed when Philip spoke.
‘Did you enjoy your time with Mrs Fairley?’
‘I did. I hope you don’t mind it taking longer than expected. I’m not usually one to spend so many hours fussing over my appearance.’ Though she’d certainly take more care with her toilette from now on.
‘Take whatever time you need with Mrs Fairley. I heartily approve of her work.’
‘Do you?’
‘I do.’ He picked up the wine decanter and moved to fill her glass. ‘She’s exceeded my expectations.’
Laura didn’t taste the wine, not wanting it to fuddle her senses any more than this conversation already had. ‘No mean feat, I imagine.’
He leaned a touch closer and beneath the clove of the chicken, the faint hint of his bergamot cologne lingered, the scent heady and distracting. ‘You’ve imagined correctly.’
‘Then I’ll have to discover how else I may exceed your expectations.’
He didn’t smile, but she caught the glint of humour in his eyes. ‘I anticipate your efforts.’
She focused on her plate, as unnerved as she was emboldened by this flirting. She didn’t think it in him to be so charming. Thankfully, Mrs Fairley had promised to alter and deliver two of the other gowns by morning. It would keep Laura from turning back into a vagabond dressed in borrowed clothing and help her maintain something of the heat flickering in Philip’s expression.
If the sharp and subtle blend of cloves and parsley sprinkled over the chicken’s golden skin wasn’t so distracting, she would have tried to be more intriguing. Instead, she set her knife to the bird, eliciting from the tender flesh a thick drop of juice as she pressed down. Spearing the piece with the fork, she raised it to her mouth. Her lips closed over the meat and she slowly drew it from the tongs. She closed her eyes and sighed as the savoury spices melted over her tongue.
After a year of ugly brown gruel, this was heaven.
Swallowing, she opened her eyes, eager for another taste, but Philip’s expression made her pause.
He flushed as if his bite had stuck in his throat, except the strangled look suggested he’d been hit somewhere lower. His intense gaze warmed Laura’s insides more than the chicken, burning through her like the chilli pepper she’d once tasted from an Indian silk merchant. She’d never thought of herself as a wily charmer of gentlemen, yet without even trying she’d done something, she wasn’t sure what, to Philip.
‘Is the food to your liking?’ Philip coughed, as if struggling through a dry throat. He took up his wine and sipped quickly before setting it at the corner of his plate.
‘Yes, very much.’ Closing her lips over another bite, she tried to recall the weaver’s daughter and the way she’d flirted with her solicitor trainee. She could recall very little about their relationship except the aftermath. At least whatever came of this odd flirtation, it would do so with a ring on her finger.
‘After dinner, I’d like to discuss the advertisement for Thomas’s new governess,’ he announced, seeming to recover his usual poise.
‘I already saw to it this afternoon, before I left for Mrs Fairley’s.’ She sliced a potato, jumping a little when it rolled out from under her knife. ‘Mrs Marston showed me the old advertisement, we discussed Thomas’s present needs and I wrote the new one accordingly.’
She speared the potato with her fork to keep it in place as she cut it, watching Philip from the corner of her eyes, waiting for his reaction, unsure what it would be. She’d taken it upon herself to complete the task, eager for something to do and the chance to impress him. For all the advice Mrs Fairley had given her about her physical appearance, she suspected efficiency in handling domestic matters might be the second-best way to gain his admiration.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she pressed. ‘I thought it best to do it so you had one less item to see to.’
‘I don’t mind at all.’ The stern businessman from this afternoon had vanished, replaced by a more relaxed gentleman, if one could call the straight line of Philip’s shoulders relaxed. ‘I appreciate your desire to help.’
She hoped it wasn’t all he intended to appreciate. Sitting up a little straighter to best highlight the new gown and everything it exposed, she was about to tell him the contents of the advertisement when Jane called out from across the table.
‘Miss Townsend, Philip asked Mrs Townsend to serve as my tutor and she’s agreed.’ The girl was more excited than any thirteen-year-old should be about lessons. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
No, it wasn’t. All thoughts of impressing Philip vanished. ‘Mother, you aren’t well enough for such exertion.’
‘I’m not an invalid, Laura,’ her mother chided, closing her eyes in delight as she sipped her wine. ‘Nor will I be one, not with food this grand and a warm bed.’
She raised her glass to Philip, then turned to Jane. ‘I think we should start with Beadman’s Principles of Accounting, don’t you?’
‘I think it’s a marvellous idea,’ Jane concurred and the two fell to discussing the curriculum.
Laura gaped at them. She’d been dismissed, as if she were sitting here in her child’s dress, not with her womanly figure filling out every inch of the silk. How could her mother do it? And how could Philip ask her mother to do such a thing without consulting his wife-to-be first? It was arrogant of him to be so presumptuous.
She sliced at her bird, then stuck a larger piece than intended in her mouth. It caught in her throat and she snatched up the wine everyone else seemed so eager to indulge in. The bouquet was as heavenly as the tender chicken, making the bird slide down her throat. If only the continued barrage of surprises would go down as easily.
Setting her wine glass on the table, she caught Philip watching her, his brow wrinkling in question at the change in her mood. Thankfully, Jane drew his attention away before he could say anything, then the girl dominated the conversation with her thoughts on women’s education.
Laura focused on her food as the topic changed from bluestockings to the Prince Regent’s latest scandal. Her mother and Jane exchanged details of it with the same animation which used to dominate her conversations with Laura while they’d tidied up the shop in the evenings.
Laura pushed a piece of asparagus through the sauce, hating to admit she wasn’t just worried about her mother’s health. She was jealous of her tutoring Jane. In a matter of hours it seemed as if Laura had been tossed aside while a new young lady had been whisked in to take her place. It wasn’t a charitable thought, but she couldn’t help herself. If she lost her mother’s affection and failed to secure Philip’s, what would be left for her?
* * *
Laura’s discomfort soured her mood, but it didn’t dampen her appetite and she enjoyed hearty helpings of the next two courses. It was only her fear of looking like a glutton which prevented her from asking for a second serving of trifle at the end of the meal.
At last, with her mind still troubled but her stomach full, Philip rose, as did Jane and Mrs Townsend. Laura was glad for the end of the meal, eager to be in her room and to let out her now very tight stays.
‘Philip, you must show Miss Townsend Great-Great-Grandmama’s knife,’ Jane suggested, mischief in her eyes. ‘You must see it, Miss Townsend, and have Philip tell you the story behind it. It’s quite thrilling.’
Laura looked to Philip, expecting him to resist his sister’s obvious attempt to see them alone together. She wasn’t prepared for him to agree with the idea.
‘Would you care to accompany me to the sitting room?’
No. Yes. She wasn’t sure. She could almost hear her mother urging her to accept the invitation, but she’d been through so much already today. She wasn’t sure she could endure being alone with him dressed so boldly.
‘Please, lead the way,’ she answered at last, not wanting to leave them all standing in the dining room waiting for her to make up her mind.
He didn’t offer his arm as he escorted her out of the dining room. She wasn’t surprised or offended. With the exception of last night and this morning, he’d avoided touching her since her arrival. She wondered how he intended to manage their marital relations if he could only be coerced into touching her by an apology. It seemed just another of the many things she’d be forced to overcome if she were to draw them together, yet it might prove the most difficult. She could hardly pounce on him and kiss him the way the stationer’s son had done with her in the dark hallway between the shop and the store room. Or could she?
‘Why did your great-great-grandmama need a knife?’ Laura prompted once they reached the sitting room.
Inside, a warm fire burned in the grate, making the room more intimate and inviting than when she’d met him there that morning.
‘She was a moneylender, the one who introduced our family to the business.’
‘A woman? I don’t believe you,’ she teased, but his expression remained solemn.
‘She and my great-great-grandfather lived in North Carolina and owned a tobacco plantation.’ He removed the slender knife from its place of honour above the mantel and brought it to her. ‘After she became a widow, she began lending money to planters and merchants and amassed a sizeable fortune.’
‘If your family was so successful, then why did they leave the colonies?’
‘My grandparents saw the threat the American Rebellion posed to their business. Well before war was declared, they sold the plantation at a profit and returned to London. The two of them re-established themselves here.’
‘And the knife?’ Laura’s fingertips brushed his palms as she tilted it so the engraving could catch the light. Philip’s heat was so distracting, she comprehended not one word of the inscription on the blade.
‘Great-Great-Grandmama helped fund Lieutenant-Governor Spotswood’s attack against Blackbeard.’ They stood so close, she could hear the uneven rhythm of his breathing. ‘When Governor Spotswood repaid the loan, he gave her this in thanks. It belonged to the pirate. It was one of many he was wearing when he was killed. It’s been in the family ever since.’
‘I should have known you were right.’ She looked up at him through her lashes and a strange sort of panic flashed through his eyes. Beneath her fingertips, his hands stiffened on the blade. He’d been bold enough to stride in front of her naked when she’d threatened him. Tonight, when he held a weapon and there was no more flesh showing than the curved tops of her breasts, it was as if he wanted to flee. ‘You don’t lie.’
‘I’ve never had a reason to.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is one of the many things I admire you for.’
He arched one eyebrow at her. ‘Then I assume you’ve forgiven me for this morning.’
‘I have.’
Something like relief rippled through his eyes. She withdrew her hand from the knife, stunned. She thought nothing besides his sister’s strong will could upset him, but it seemed their row this morning had troubled him too.
‘I apologise for placing you in a situation you weren’t ready for. It won’t happen again.’
‘Thank you, but what about my mother? Have you placed her in a role she’s not ready for?’
‘No.’ He lowered the dagger, untroubled by her question. ‘When I approached her with the suggestion, she readily agreed.’
‘I’m sure she felt compelled to.’
‘No, not at all.’ A moment ago he’d been willing to admit he was wrong. Now he was so arrogantly sure of himself.
‘You still should have discussed it with me first.’
‘Why?’ He returned the dagger to its place above the mantel. ‘Mrs Townsend is a woman of mature years and doesn’t need anyone’s approval to do as she pleases.’
‘She’s ill. She needs rest.’ Laura’s voice rose before she brought herself back under control. ‘Too much exertion might be bad for her.’
‘I must disagree.’ He wiped the fingerprints off the blade with the cuff of his sleeve. ‘Mrs Townsend, like you, is not used to being idle. With your attention directed elsewhere, she needs an occupation. My sister will gain from the benefit of your mother’s maternal care and business knowledge, and your mother from having another young person to guide and teach.’
Laura had no answer for him because he was right. She’d been wrong about him. Once again, he hadn’t acted out of arrogance, but concern. If she didn’t learn to think better of him, it would undermine everything she was trying to accomplish.
‘I’m sorry and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.’ She gripped the edge of the mantel. The cold marble corner dug into her palm. ‘Only, I’ve been taking care of her for so long, it’s difficult to think I won’t have to any longer.’
He laid his hand on the mantel in front of hers. The heat of his skin radiated across the short distance between their fingertips. ‘She does still need you. She always will.’
‘Just like Jane still needs you.’
He heaved a weary sigh. ‘She doesn’t believe she does, but, yes.’
If only he needed Laura. Dread made her long to pace. If something happened to her mother, Philip and his family would be all she’d have left. It would be a lonely future if she failed to capture his affection. ‘You make it look so effortless, managing your business and your family. If I’d had your talent for it, I might have saved the shop.’
‘Then you wouldn’t be here.’
She straightened, stunned by the faint hope woven into the words. Maybe it was possible. Maybe she could win his heart. ‘Are you glad I’m here?’
After this morning, she wouldn’t be surprised if he regretted his proposal.
‘I am.’ The honesty of his admission stunned her, as did his question. ‘Are you?’
She wasn’t sure. She’d wanted only the shop for so long. Now she wanted something else, something she wasn’t sure she could achieve. If she couldn’t win him, at least she was safe here. For that she was grateful. ‘Yes.’
He looked down at the marble and traced a dark swirl in the stone. It brought his fingers achingly close to hers. She thought he might take her hand, but then he slid his away.
‘It’s taken me a long time to become comfortable raising Jane, and then Thomas and managing the business.’ Loneliness and heartache tainted his words. Like her, he’d taken care of his loved ones while shouldering the burden of continuing on after a loved one’s death. Philip might have been more successful with his business, but grief had left its mark on him just as it had on Laura. ‘It wasn’t easy. Some days it still isn’t. It will help to have someone to assist me. I hope to offer you the same comfort.’
‘In many ways, you already have.’ She slid her hand over his, eager to chase away the darkness filling his eyes.
Beneath her fingers his muscles stiffened. The easy intimacy of a moment before vanished, the pain straining his expression dampening to something more solid, something she couldn’t read.
She expected him to pull away and increase the wall forming between them. To her surprise, he turned his hand over in hers and slid his thumb along the line of her smallest finger. The slow caress ripped through her, as startling as if he’d stroked her nearly bare chest. If the same excitement raced through him she couldn’t tell. His eyes remained fixed on hers, serious yet tempting, his true feelings as hidden from her as they were from his clients.
Despite his stoicism, she silently willed him to close the distance between them, to take her in his arms and kiss her until she could think of nothing except his touch, his warmth, his body. The urge frightened her as much as it made her heart race with anticipation, but the moment never happened. She pressed her fingertips against his wrist. His pulse beat a soothing rhythm against her skin. It didn’t flutter wildly like hers. It seemed he was reaching out to her, but still holding something of himself back, retreating just when she wanted him to press forward.
The deep bells of St Bride’s tolled nine times, marking the hour. Beneath their ringing, Laura caught Thomas’s faint cries from upstairs. The sound didn’t draw Philip’s eyes from hers, but it interrupted the quiet moment and brought it to an end.
Philip slid his hand out from beneath hers, dropping it to his side. ‘I must help Mrs Marston settle Thomas.’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you care to join me?’
‘No, I’ll stay.’ She’d risked enough of herself with him tonight. She didn’t have the strength for more.
‘Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’
He made for the door, stopping just outside it to face her. ‘In the future, I’ll do my best to consult you on matters pertaining to you and your mother before decisions are made.’
‘Thank you.’
His assurance given, he strode away.
Beneath her palm, the marble still radiated with Philip’s heat. Nothing had happened between them except the faintest of touches, yet it was as if he’d swept Laura in his arms and kissed the breath from her.
If only he had, then she wouldn’t feel so unsettled. For all the passion his fingers had aroused in her, there’d been something rote about his touch, as if he’d known what was expected of him and performed his duties accordingly.
She traced the same marble swirl he had, coming close to the white base of a porcelain shepherdess before retreating. Despite the stiffness in his touch, when he’d spoken of his challenges and his true feelings about her being here, he’d been completely honest. It provided the faint hope that there could be something between them and that he might want it as much as her.
‘Did he show you the knife?’ Jane strolled into the room, attempting to not look too curious and failing.
Startled, Laura jerked her hand off the mantel, nearly sending the small figurine toppling to the floor. She caught it just in time.
‘He did. It was quite fascinating.’
‘So was the trick you played with the fork at dinner.’ Jane smirked, strolling to join her at the fireplace.
‘I didn’t play any trick.’ To her horror, Laura knew exactly what Jane was referring to.
‘Yes, you did. I saw it.’ Jane reached up and straightened the statue. ‘Philip saw it, too. I’ve never seen my brother so stunned. You must do it again at breakfast.’
Laura laced her fingers in front of her, trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of receiving flirting lessons from this sober thirteen-year-old girl. ‘Should I die in ecstasy over the eggs just to get your brother’s attention?’
Jane failed to see the humour in the remark, regarding it seriously, the way Philip regarded any proposal. The resemblance to her brother was striking. ‘No, you’re right. One time was good, too many will make it comical. You must continue to employ the subtle approach. Mrs Templeton was quite aggressive and put Philip right off her.’
‘Who’s Mrs Templeton?’ It was the second time she’d heard the woman’s name in connection to Philip.
‘Mrs Templeton’s a widow, all large breasts and red hair. Quite crass, though she doesn’t think so. Her husband was another moneylender, an old man. Mrs Templeton set her cap at Philip after Mr Templeton died, but Philip wasn’t interested. She wasn’t right for him.’
‘Am I right for Philip?’ Laura felt quite brave with her enquiries tonight.
‘You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,’ Jane stated, as if informing Laura of the day’s wool prices.
If only Laura could be so sure. Jane was still a child. There were numerous things she might not know or understand about her brother.
‘If Mrs Templeton was married to a moneylender, then she must know the business and still have her husband’s clients. Wouldn’t it have been prudent on his part to marry her?’ Philip was nothing if not prudent.
‘Her? Here?’ Jane wrinkled her face in disgust. ‘It never would have worked. She’s too fond of her independence to marry again and she isn’t like Philip; she lends to all sorts of questionable people. She’s quite nasty when they don’t repay. No, he’s much better off with you.’
Laura wished she shared Jane’s confidence in her suitability for Philip and his uninterest in the widow. He might not have married Mrs Templeton, but what Jane truly knew about Philip’s relationship with her was sure to be limited. She couldn’t imagine Philip parading his paramour through the house. It was quite possible his proposal to Laura had only come about because Mrs Templeton had rejected his.
The hope she’d experienced earlier dimmed. If his heart lay elsewhere, her chances of securing it were slim. She rubbed her thumb along the tips of her fingers, unwilling to give up so soon after she’d started. There had been something between them tonight, however faint. Whatever his relationship with the widow, Laura possessed the advantage of being here before him each day. She would use that to her advantage, even if she wasn’t precisely sure how.
* * *
Philip sat behind his desk, the ledger open, the pen settled in the crease in the centre. He needed to finish the accounts tonight or it would be one more task to do tomorrow. Through the window, the moon grazed the top of the sill, looking down on the garden outside as Laura had looked down on him this morning.
Philip shifted in his chair, the tension low inside him as disconcerting as when Laura had entered the dining room. He’d sent her to Mrs Fairley out of necessity. He hadn’t expected the results to be so striking. The pale rose-coloured silk had highlighted the slight blush of her skin and exposed the roundness of her breasts. The effect had hit him hard, as had the sigh of delight when she’d slid the morsel of chicken from the silver tines with her full lips.
Philip tugged at the knot of his cravat, working the tightness off his throat. Justin had told him stories of men with strange tastes, ladies’ shoes and stockings driving them to the height of need. Philip had scoffed at the idea, until tonight. If Laura relished every meal in such an uninhibited fashion, he might develop a taste for watching her eat, naked, in the middle of his bed.
He pulled his list of things to do in front of him and wrote a reminder to instruct Mrs Palmer to remove chicken from the menu. He couldn’t endure another meal like the one tonight. He might have walked naked in front of Laura when she’d been a stranger, but he was not about to parade his more carnal needs in front of his future mother-in-law or his overly precocious sister.
The item added, he studied the list. Only a few things remained. Almost every one related to Laura. He stuck the pen in its stand, disturbed by how quickly she’d wound her way into his life. Though if any of the tasks on the list wrought the transformation the single visit to Mrs Fairley had achieved, he’d gladly put everything aside to see Laura off to the stay maker.
It was what lay beneath the stays which interested him the most.
His loins tightened again and he stood, trying to pace off the agitating desire. There’d been no one since Arabella. Many times Justin had urged Philip to follow him to his pleasure haunts, but he’d refused. Unlike Justin, Philip didn’t allow his carnal cravings to guide his decisions, though he’d come perilously close to letting them influence him tonight. Only the greatest control, and the open door, had kept him from kissing Laura. She’d have allowed him the liberty, he was sure. He’d caught the invitation in the faint parting of her lips and the eagerness in her eyes.
His steps slowed as he reached the centre of the carpet. It wasn’t just the unexpected surge of desire which had made him pull back tonight. It was the other, more subtle urge driving him—the craving for her presence as much as her curving body. Her willingness to express her fears and troubles had almost drawn him into revealing his own. It hadn’t been false comfort when he’d said he needed someone to share his burdens with. He did. He wanted her here. He wanted her help. How much more he desired was difficult to discern above the cracking of the ice surrounding his heart.
He stopped and removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. It was early still. He and Justin could spar a few rounds at the club and he might shift some of the lingering discomfort distracting him tonight.
He closed the watch case and slid his thumb over the smooth gold, the memory of Laura’s skin beneath his as troubling as his behaviour with her tonight. She’d caught the reluctance in his caress as easily as he’d noted the hesitation in her answer to his question about being here. At least her hesitation had been honest and affirmative. It was more than he’d expected after this morning’s debacle. Sadly, he hadn’t been as unguarded with her.
He dropped the watch back in his pocket and rang for Chesterton, eager to be at his boxing club. He didn’t need to bare his soul like some poet to establish a solid relationship with Laura. What he needed was time and knowledge. In the coming days, as he taught her his business and she became further enveloped in his life, they would come to know each other and the awkwardness they’d experienced today would lessen. He would keep the hardness inside him hidden as well as the sense of failure fuelling it. They would build a relationship on mutual respect and affection, not worries and fears. They would enjoy a solid future together. The past need not trouble them.
