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‘It would be my pleasure.’ Mr Rathbone motioned to the two remaining men. They hurried past Laura into the bedroom, emerging a moment later with the sad trunk holding what remained of Laura’s and her mother’s possessions.
They were not a foot into the room when another figure staggered into the doorway, the stench of pipe smoke and cheap ale swirling around him.
Uncle Robert.
The air thickened with tension as Mr Rathbone’s men slowly set down the trunk and straightened, dropping their hands to the clubs hanging from their belts. Mr Connor stood behind her uncle, his laughter gone as he shifted back his redingote to reveal the smooth handle of the pistol fastened at his waist. Laura’s hand tightened on her mother’s arm, Mr Rathbone’s warning rushing back to her along with a cutting fear.
‘What’s all this then?’ Robert Townsend demanded, struggling through his stupor to pronounce each word. His eyes fixed on the two men carrying the trunk and his sallow face scrunched with confusion before his bleary look fell on Mr Rathbone. At once, his red-rimmed eyes ignited with anger and he advanced on the moneylender. ‘What’s the meaning of this? I paid my debt to you. I owe you nothing.’
‘My business here today doesn’t concern you, Mr Townsend.’ Philip crossed the room to the older man, preventing him from advancing any further. They were matched in height, but Robert Townsend was wider in the shoulders with a barrel chest made thicker by his large coat. ‘Your niece has agreed to marry me. She and Mrs Townsend are removing to my house.’
‘My business wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to have everything, you greedy pig.’ Her uncle swayed forward on his feet. ‘Do you know what Moll Topp pays for a virgin like her? It would have cleared all my debts.’
Her mother’s hand tightened in Laura’s the way it used to do when she was small and they would cross a busy street. Laura knew her uncle held no love for them, but she hadn’t thought he’d sink to such sickening depths to save himself. She trembled as the shadow of another possible fate passed over her.
Only the stretching of Philip’s leather glove as his hand tightened at his side revealed his disgust. ‘I ask you to remember we are in the presence of ladies.’
‘Don’t pretend you’re my better.’ Robert stuck one thick and dirty finger in Mr Rathbone’s face. ‘I know your kind, feeding off the backs of men like me until you’ve gained every last shilling from us, then crushing us under your boot heels. Well, I won’t be crushed, not by a coward like you.’
Robert pulled back his arm and rammed it forward. Mr Rathbone dipped, dodging the blow, then he came up fast, his fist catching Robert under the chin. The larger man stumbled back across the room, slamming into a small chair, his weight crushing it beneath him. He sat for a moment, stunned sober, and Laura wanted to rush over and add a few kicks of her own in retribution for all he’d done to her parents. There was no time, as Robert hauled himself to his feet, ready to rush at Mr Rathbone.
Mr Rathbone’s men stepped up behind him, sticks clasped in their hands. Mr Connor pulled out his pistol and levelled it at the drunk man.
‘I wouldn’t do that, sir,’ he warned.
Laura drew her mother back, ready to flee into the bedroom and bar the door, but no one moved. She barely dared to breathe.
Through the thin walls came the muffled voice of the man next door cursing at his wife.
Robert met Laura’s eyes over Mr Rathbone’s shoulder, hate twisting his lips into a sneer and drawing tight the red bruise forming beneath the grey stubble on his chin. ‘You think you’ve got the better of me, ya little wench, but ya haven’t. Neither have you, Mr Rathbone. Your men won’t always be around to protect you. Some day you’ll be alone and I’ll be there.’
He spat at Mr Rathbone’s feet.
Mr Rathbone plucked the hat from the table and settled it over his hair. ‘Good day, Mr Townsend.’
He took Mrs Townsend by the arm and escorted both her and Laura around Robert. Laura eyed the old man acidly. Behind them, Mr Rathbone’s men filed out, two carrying the trunk while the other two stood guard. Mr Connor was the last to leave, still brandishing the pistol.
Her mother leaned heavily on Mr Rathbone as they picked their way slowly down the stairs. It took all Laura’s energy not to sag against the railings as fear pressed down hard on her. As she reached the bottom and stepped out into the chill evening air, she willed herself not to think of her uncle or how horribly true Mr Rathbone’s assessment of him had proven. It no longer mattered.
Mr Rathbone settled her mother in the landau and Laura joined her. The hood was open and with the sun dipping, the air had taken on a chill. She drew the blanket over their knees as Mr Rathbone climbed in across from them.
Laura took one last look at the rickety building as the vehicle started to roll away. Robert stood at the filthy window, his obvious hate as searing as if the spring sun were reflecting off the panes. Laura swallowed hard. She might never see this rotting pile of beams again, but she felt certain this wasn’t the last she’d see of her uncle.
Chapter Three
If events had proceeded with stunning rapidity in their rented rooms, it was a marvel to see how they moved once they arrived at Mr Rathbone’s house. Business pulled him and Mr Connor away, leaving Laura and her mother in the capable hands of his housekeeper, Mrs Palmer. She proved as efficient as her employer, though much more talkative. In a flash she had them fed, their few things arranged in their separate but adjoining rooms, baths drawn and the clean nightclothes Mr Rathbone had procured from a client laid out on the bed.
While Mrs Palmer assisted Laura’s mother, her coarse laugh carrying through the walls at various intervals and joined by her mother’s higher one, Laura pulled on the cotton chemise. She sighed at the sweep of clean linen against her damp skin, revelling in it too much to be irritated by Mr Rathbone’s presumption she would accept his strange suit. When she pulled on the silk banyan lying next to it, she nearly burst into tears. She’d parted with her French one, a Christmas gift from her father, long ago to buy food. She never thought she’d enjoy such a simple luxury again.
If the chemise and banyan felt heavenly, she could only imagine how the clean sheets on the high bed would feel. She touched the turned-back covers, eager to slide between them and give in to the exhaustion heightened by the warm bath, a full stomach and the comfortable night-dress, when the door whispered open behind her.
She turned, expecting to see a maid coming to empty the hip bath. Instead it was a young lady draped in a pale-pink gown, the first small curves of a woman’s body just beginning to fill out the lines of it. Her face was round with the slight fullness of youth, but her chin was well defined and her eyes the same deep blue as Mr Rathbone’s.
‘Good evening, Miss Townsend. I’m Miss Jane Rathbone, Philip’s sister.’ She dipped a curtsy, pulling out the sides of her simple cotton gown before straightening, arms at her sides just as her brother held himself. ‘Philip told me to look in on you and make sure you have everything you need. He also asked me to inform you that you needn’t worry about what time you rise tomorrow.’
The girl spoke like her brother, too, but in a childish voice with the hint of a lisp.
‘Did he?’
She nodded, her dark curls bobbing around her face and neck. ‘You must enjoy it because it will probably be the last time. Philip likes everyone to keep to a schedule.’
‘I don’t doubt he does.’ Nor did she mind. Her parents, with a business to run, had rarely let her dawdle about without purpose. There was always something to do. ‘He’s very practical.’
‘You must be, too, if you agreed to marry him.’
Laura rubbed the soft banyan strings between her thumb and forefinger. ‘In this instance, I’ve proven myself as sensible as your brother.’
‘Then it will be a good match.’
I hope so, she thought, though any future now was better than the one her uncle had planned for her.
‘In the morning, I’ll see to it Mrs Townsend is dressed and has her breakfast. We were speaking earlier and she is eager for me to show her the garden, especially the roses.’
The girl’s efficiency was surprising, yet not wholly unexpected. Laura wondered what her mother made of the strange creature. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her herself. ‘Thank you, she is very fond of roses.’
‘It’s time for bed now, Jane.’ Mr Rathbone appeared in the doorway behind his sister, his reminder more a firm request than the stern demand of a guardian.
Laura tightened the banyan a touch more about her neck. The chemise beneath stuck to her damp skin, pressing against it with an uncomfortable warmth and making her keenly aware of her undress beneath the silk. It brought to mind how he looked beneath his clothes.
His redingote was gone, revealing a dark jacket woven with a subtle checked pattern paired with tan breeches. Without the bulk of the wool, he seemed leaner, tighter. The well-tailored clothes emphasised his coiled strength, giving a hint of the lithe power he’d revealed when he’d avoided her uncle to land a stunning blow on his chin. Laura hadn’t expected Mr Rathbone to be so physical and she struggled to keep herself steady as his masculinity pounced on her.
‘Goodnight, Miss Townsend.’ Jane hurried out, pausing to rise up on her toes and press a small kiss against her brother’s cheek. He bent forward so she could reach him, straightening as she disappeared down the hall.
‘Your sister is very charming.’ Laura adjusted the banyan, trying to relieve some of the heat beneath it without the garment sliding open and making her appear a slatternly hoyden.
‘Don’t let her deceive you. She can be very stubborn when she wants to be.’
Laura smiled up at him. ‘A family trait, I suspect.’
‘Indeed.’ He motioned to the room. ‘May I?’
No!
‘Of course.’ Laura stepped back a touch as he entered, wondering at the awkwardness coming over her. The door was open and he maintained a respectful distance. Even his eyes had not wandered away from hers. Laura tried to match his fortitude, forcing her arms to stay at her sides instead of crossing over her chest. Though there was no point in covering herself entirely. In the very near future, he’d see more than her dressing gown.
‘I won’t keep you from your rest for long. I need to know if you’d prefer the banns to be read or if I should secure a common licence.’
‘Do you truly want my opinion on the matter or should I acquiesce to your wishes?’ She winced a little at her unsubtle question, but exhaustion, his presence in the room and the uncomfortable weight of the banyan were making her tetchy. She craved sleep and wanted to leave everything else until tomorrow.
If he minded she couldn’t tell, his steady countenance not changing, even when he spoke. ‘You’ll find, Miss Townsend, as my wife, I’ll often consult you on many things, this being only the first.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry, it’s been a long day, a long year in fact.’
‘I understand, the past year has been a trying one for me as well.’ His hard-set jaw softened and Laura remembered the only other time she had seen this happen, when he’d mentioned his wife. A grief she knew well from losing her father had washed over his face and the same expression crossed it again now. Whatever tragedy had brought him to the position of needing help under such unusual circumstances, it’d marked him as hard as all the trials of the past year had stamped her.
She was about to suggest the ease of the banns, eager to gain the three or four weeks it would take before the wedding to settle in and get to know something of the man she was about to share her life with, when an interrupting cough drew their attention to the door. From further away, Laura heard the wail of a small child.
A thin, middle-aged woman wearing a dark dress stepped into the room. ‘Excuse me, Mr Rathbone, I didn’t mean to disturb you in the middle of business.’
The woman’s gaze jumped back and forth between Laura and Mr Rathbone.
Laura pulled the silk closer to her chin. She could only imagine what the woman must think she’d walked in on.
‘Miss Marston, please meet my intended, Miss Townsend,’ Mr Rathbone intervened, the stiff mask of business descending over Philip’s face and covering the faint hint of emotion Laura had caught. ‘Miss Marston is Thomas’s nurse.’
‘Oh, Miss Townsend, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’ Mrs Marston’s smile was more surprised than relieved. Laura suspected she’d encounter many similar reactions in the days to come. ‘Mr Rathbone, Thomas awoke crying and nothing I do will calm him. You always have such a way with him. I thought you might come to the nursery for a moment.’
‘Yes, I will.’ He started for the door, then paused. ‘Miss Townsend, come and meet the gentleman who is part of our arrangement.’
His command given, he didn’t wait for her. Mrs Marston wasn’t at all surprised by the abruptness and followed her employer out of the room.
Laura walked behind them, the cries of a very young child growing louder as they stepped into the hallway. Mr Rathbone and Mrs Marston made steady strides for the door at the far end, but Laura’s progress was slower. When she at last reached the room, the sight inside amazed her. Mr Rathbone stood with the small child in his arms, a little face pressed against his coat, the tears soaking into the wool. One chubby hand clutched his lapel, wrinkling the perfectly pressed crease.
‘What’s wrong, Thomas? Did you have a bad dream?’ Mr Rathbone’s steady voice filled the quiet as he shifted back and forth on the toes of his boots. ‘You have nothing to worry about. I’m here.’
His deep voice conjured up memories of her father holding her and wiping away her tears after a nightmare. It seemed like such a long time since she’d felt so safe and loved. His words curled around her insides, soothing her as they did the boy until she wanted to lay her head on Mr Rathbone’s shoulder and cry away all her frustrations and fears from the past year.
‘He has such a way with the boy,’ Mrs Marston murmured from beside her.
‘Yes, he does.’
Whatever reasons she’d had for wanting to wait a month for the wedding disappeared. Too many things might happen in four weeks. He could change his mind and Laura didn’t want to go back to the stinking Seven Dials and the cold, lonely desperation which crept like the damp through those wretched rooms. Even if she never knew the same affection he showed his son, just being in the presence of such love eased the hopelessness and despair she’d suffered for far too long. She didn’t want to lose that.
Mr Rathbone buried his face in the child’s soft blond curls, lowering his voice, but never stopping his soothing words. The boy sniffed, his eyes growing heavy as his father continued to rock him and stroke his little back. Soon the child’s stuffy-nosed breaths gave way to steady, quiet snores. Mr Rathbone kissed his head, then gently laid Thomas back down in his bed. He pulled the blanket up under his chin, then brushed the soft curls with his hand before relinquishing his place next to the bed to Mrs Marston.
‘Come,’ he whispered to Laura, his entreaty for her to join him as soft as his soothing words to his son. ‘We mustn’t disturb him.’
In the hallway, with the door closed behind them, he faced her. A circle of wet from his son’s tears broke the smooth weave of his coat, but he didn’t brush at it or curse the spot. The caring father stood over her, the man of business gone as his eyes swept her face.
Then the look faded and he began to turn and walk away, but she wasn’t ready to see him go.
‘Mr Rathbone.’ She reached out and took his hand.
He whirled, eyes wide, just as stunned as she was by the gesture, but he didn’t pull away. A slight connection jumped between them like a cricket hops between two slender blades of grass, bending but not breaking them. One by one his fingertips pressed against the back of her hand and words deserted her as his breath whispered across her forehead. She didn’t know if the strange catch in her chest was from the excitement of the move, watching her uncle receive a well-deserved beating or the whirlwind of going from pauper to the expected wife of a well-to-do gentleman in the space of two days.
Swallowing hard, she recovered her wits enough to finally speak. ‘I’d prefer the common licence.’
* * *
With his son’s tears soaking through the wool to wet the linen underneath, Philip could deny Miss Townsend nothing, not even his hand. ‘Whatever you wish.’
Something whispered between them, subtle as the faint scent of lavender soap surrounding Laura. This was the first time they’d touched, but it was as comforting as if it were the hundredth. It soothed the panic the unexpected intimacy had sent shooting through him.
‘Thank you for all you did for us today.’ Her fingers tightened with her gratitude, digging into the bruises colouring his knuckles.
He winced and her grip eased. It was his chance to pull away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.
‘You hurt your hand.’ The sleeve of her banyan slid back as she traced the dark marks on his knuckles, revealing the soft skin and the hint of her chemise beneath.
‘It wasn’t the first time.’ He forced the words through his lips. She stood so close he could see the wet curls at the nape of her neck clinging to her skin. Heat rushed in hard beneath his stomach, making it difficult to stand still, or concentrate on anything beside the green and gold in her eyes. ‘Mr Connor and I train with a pugilist. It’s imperative my people and I know how to protect ourselves.’
‘Will I learn to box?’ A playful smile danced along the corners of her full lips.
The sharp twitch of old emotions he’d buried with his wife struck him, as hard as Laura’s pulse against his skin.
‘No, but you’ll learn to properly load and fire a pistol.’ He slid his hand out of hers, careful not to jerk away as he struggled to distance himself from her and the memories scratching at his heart. ‘Goodnight, Miss Townsend.’
She dropped her hands to cross them in front of her, letting him go. ‘Goodnight, Mr Rathbone.’
In the confines of the stairwell, out of her sight, Philip paused. Opening and closing his fist, he tried to shake off the heat of her fingers. There was only one other time in his life when he’d experienced a connection so powerful with a stranger. The first time he’d touched Arabella.
He jerked up straight and descended the stairs. This was nothing like what he’d experienced with Arabella. This was a business deal, a venture plain and simple. He’d researched the lady, spent hours pondering both the good and bad aspects of the union. Yet in the end, it hadn’t been the tally sheet which had tilted Philip towards her. It was intuition.
Fear nearly choked the breath from him.
Intuition had failed him before where marriage was concerned. What if it was failing him again?
‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you needed a drink,’ Justin chided as Philip stepped down into the hall.
‘I need exercise.’ Anything to clear the uncertainty pummelling him.
* * *
An hour later, Justin swung at Philip, who ducked and came up behind him. The skin over Philip’s bruised knuckles smarted as he curled his fingers into a tighter fist.
‘Not like you to be so sloppy.’ Justin danced around the ring out of Philip’s reach. ‘What’s gnawing at you?’
A bolt of pain raced along Philip’s arm as he jabbed at Justin and missed. They’d been sparring for over half an hour and neither the exertion nor the sweat trickling down the sides of his face had snuffed out the faint spark smouldering in the back of Philip’s mind, the spark ignited by Laura’s hand. The spark he feared was distracting him from noticing a potential mistake. ‘Nothing.’
‘You mean nothing as in your soon-to-be wife?’ They circled one another, fists raised. The sounds of other men fighting nearby and the pugilists calling out orders to them rang through the high-ceilinged hall. Though not as elegant or well fitted as Gentleman Joe Jackson’s establishment, the lessons here were for men like Philip and Justin who needed their skills to defend themselves, not simply dance around their opponents for show. ‘You know, if you have needs, I could arrange something less taxing than a wife.’
Justin stepped in to make a hit, but Philip side-stepped out of the way. ‘My needs have no bearing on the situation.’
His needs had nearly risen up in the hallway outside Thomas’s room to embarrass him and quite possibly her.
‘Liar.’ Justin circled Philip, whose raw knuckles itched to knock the smug grin off his friend’s face. ‘She’s the most attractive woman yet to appear on your doorstep, demanding her assets.’
Philip swung, his fist brushing Justin’s arm as he turned out of the way. ‘She wasn’t on my step, she was in my bedroom.’
‘And she will be again, many times with the way you’ve arranged it,’ Justin taunted, as unguarded with his words as Philip was guarded with his thoughts. ‘I still can’t believe you’re doing this.’
‘Why?’ Philip jabbed at Justin. ‘My son needs a mother, my sister a chaperon and my house a proper steward.’
The tally sheet he’d compiled on Miss Townsend rushed back to him. What was he failing to see? Why was he doubting himself?
‘You think it’ll be so simple, but mark my words, it won’t.’ Justin swung at him, but Philip didn’t turn fast enough and his shoulder burned from the hit. ‘It never is where women are concerned.’
Philip shook out his arm, the pain dull compared to his concern. Justin was right, it wasn’t so simple, nothing in life ever was. He’d loved Arabella and she’d loved him. They’d courted and married and she’d fallen pregnant with his child. Simple. The complications had begun with her pains. Then everything had turned into a nightmare.
‘We’ve sparred enough today.’ Philip snatched a towel from the hook on the wall and scraped the coarse linen over his face. It wasn’t too late to end the venture. He could send Miss Townsend to the safety of Halcyon House or provide her with a few pounds to start another draper business.
He ran the towel over the back of his neck, studying the mix of footprints in the sand on the floor. He couldn’t send her away any more than he could leave Thomas to cry in his bed. He’d seen her lodgings, heard Mr Townsend’s nasty words. He knew what waited for her beyond the protection of his home and name. He’d made her an offer and she’d accepted the terms of the deal. This would not become the first time he reneged on a contract.
His determination failed to erase his unease. ‘What if I’m wrong about Miss Townsend, the way I was with the silversmith I loaned money to all those years ago?’
‘Oh, you’re wrong. But not in the way you think.’ Justin rocked back on his heels and Philip nearly struck him in the gut. ‘You think you can keep Miss Townsend in your house, share her bed and still remain the aloof man of business?’
A bachelor with a taste for numerous women wasn’t a man to look to for marital advice, no matter how deep their friendship. ‘She understands the terms of our arrangement.’
‘Perhaps, but you don’t.’ He smacked Philip on the arm. ‘Now come and get cleaned up. You have tomorrow to face. Tonight, I have a very pleasurable venture of my own to see to.’
Justin turned and made for the dressing rooms.
Philip wrapped the towel behind his neck and gripped both ends. Justin was mistaken if he thought there was more to this contract than convenience. Miss Townsend was as practical as Philip, if not a little rash. She understood their arrangement. Or did she?
The idea Justin might be right about Miss Townsend wanting more nagged. He wasn’t stone enough not to feel something for her. She was too determined and strong not to admire. In many ways she reminded him of himself, still struggling to find her feet after a reeling loss. As his wife, she deserved his respect and he would give it. He refused to surrender his heart. Doing so was not a part of their bargain.