by Georgie Lee
‘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.
Chapter Five
Mrs 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 m
an’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 ne
ighbourhood 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.
