by Georgie Lee
‘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 stud
y 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 daughte
r 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.