by Georgie Lee
It was dim inside the hall and the shadows closed in around her as she walked slowly to the study. The prospect of returning to Seven Dials made her stomach roil. It wasn’t the cold or hunger she feared so much as the loss of Philip’s presence in her life. Over the past few days, he’d been there to support her. He was fast becoming the rock on which everything in her new life was being built. Without his confidence adding to hers, Laura wasn’t sure she could face the challenges of poverty again.
She should have thought of these things before she’d let her anger get the better of her. Now it was too late.
Inside the study, Philip stood behind the desk, leaning on his palms pressed flat on either side of a large, open ledger. Even with his eyes fixed hard on hers, she knew she didn’t want to lose him, or the closeness she’d fought to build between them. Maybe she was no better than a child, knocking contracts from his desk and hurling insults whenever she was frustrated or scared. Maybe she didn’t deserve his trust, respect and affection, but she wanted it, especially now when it was close to being pulled away.
Laura crept into the room, penitent, ready to apologise, grovel, explain, whatever it took to make him forget her ugly words and not cast her out of his life. ‘Philip, I—’
‘Sit, please.’ He pointed to one chair in front of the desk.
She obeyed, more afraid of him now than when he’d disarmed her the night she’d stolen into his house.
‘What questions do I ask men who apply to me for money?’ he demanded.
‘Their collateral,’ she squeaked, then cleared her throat, trying to rouse her nerve. ‘Their business plan.’
‘What else?’
Her memory failed her. She tugged at the lace around her neck, wanting to rip it out by the seams and clear it away from her hot skin.
‘I ask them about their private affairs, whether they have a wife and children and their other household obligations,’ he reminded her like a schoolmaster lecturing an unruly pupil. ‘Mr Hammond succeeded in keeping the truth of his situation from me. Had I known he’d placed his wife in jeopardy with his poor business practices, I wouldn’t have helped him dig the pit deeper. However, having discovered the deception, I’m glad of it.’
‘Glad?’ It didn’t seem possible.
‘Because it afforded me the chance to help her.’ He turned the open ledger around and pushed it across the desk to her. ‘I want you to see this.’
She perched on the edge of the cushion to peer down at the ledger and the long list of women’s names. Next to each was fifty pounds and under the amount, a list of withdrawals with notes for the money’s purpose. She could make little sense of the entries or who the women were. ‘What is it?’
‘The accounts for Halcyon House.’
She sat back, stunned. Tales of Halcyon House and the safety it offered women who’d fallen on hard times were rife in Seven Dials. Entrance was by voucher only, but no one knew who provided them. Laura had once tried to discover it but, for all her enquiries, she’d never even obtained the address of the elusive sanctuary. ‘Why do you have them?’
‘Because I’m the primary patron.’
Laura’s heart dropped to the floor and the guilt that had been steadily rising since her outburst in the carriage increased until she thought it might drown her. Everything she’d believed about him in the landau, all the wrong she’d convinced herself he’d done, ended with this simple admission. She deserved to be tossed into the street.
‘I saw you hand Mrs Hammond something. I thought it was money. It was a voucher, wasn’t it?’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Laura slumped in her chair wishing she could take back everything she’d said in the carriage.
‘My father was one of the primary founders of Halcyon House,’ Philip explained. ‘Since his passing, I’ve continued to manage its affairs, extending vouchers when I see fit and helping to raise the necessary funds to feed, house and clothe the women and their children who live there. We employ appropriate teachers in different endeavours, providing the women with the skills necessary to place them in situations to support themselves. When they are ready to leave, we furnish them with the means to establish a shop.’
Laura stared at the figures, unable to look at Philip. ‘And their husbands?’
‘If they can be helped, we find them a position. If they are dissolute, then we establish a trust for the women, money their husbands cannot squander.’ He laid his finger on the ledger. ‘This page is one list of those trusts. Two lady patrons, wealthy widows, hold the funds in the women’s names for their use so their husbands cannot spend it.’
‘I’m sorry, Philip.’ She looked at him at last. There was no anger hardening his stunning blue eyes, only disappointment in her opinion of him. He’d believed in her when no one else would. She’d offered her assistance, listened to his troubles, but deep down, she’d failed to act from her heart. ‘You’re right. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. After everything you’ve done for me and my mother, I should have thought better of you.’
‘Yes, you should have.’ He rounded the desk. She stiffened, expecting him to escort her from the room, his house, his life. Instead he strode past her, his coldness as brutal as any words he could have thrown at her.
At the door, he paused and regarded her with the same detached reserve she’d come to recognise. ‘I would have extended a voucher to you, if I hadn’t asked you to marry me.’
He walked away, leaving Laura with the ledger and to reflect on the truth.
She rose on shaking legs and staggered from the room, too agitated to sit still, but not sure what to do or where to go. She wanted to talk to her mother and hear her reassurances, but it would mean admitting her mistake. She climbed the stairs, remorse following her. If Philip cast her aside, she didn’t know how she and her mother would survive. Hopefully, Philip would send her to Halcyon House, though she wouldn’t blame him if he decided to cast her off with no help at all.
Upstairs, the hallway was empty and she slipped thankfully into her room without being seen. She couldn’t face her mother and burden her with worries about their future.
She paced across the thick carpet, her mind flitting from one awful possibility to the next. Making a quick turn, she upset the small stack of envelopes on the corner of her writing table. She dropped to her knees to snatch them up, pausing to look at the names on each one. They were answers to the advertisement for Thomas’s nurse.
Laura pulled herself off the floor and settled herself in the chair by the window to read the letters. She might have failed to give Philip her full support, but she wouldn’t fail him with her tasks. If she was efficient in this matter and continued to prove her worth, then he might see the value in upholding the engagement. It would give her time to rebuild the trust she’d so thoughtlessly shattered, the trust she hadn’t realised was so precious to her until it had gone.
* * *
‘Shouldn’t Mr Woodson have obtained the common licence by now?’ Justin’s grip tightened on the dummy as Philip pummelled it. ‘Your constant need to exercise is impinging on my more pleasurable pursuits.’
‘Mr Woodson delivered it yesterday.’ Philip punched the dummy hard, but it failed to drive back the anger gripping him.
‘Then why haven’t you summoned the vicar, set a date and instructed Mrs Palmer to prepare a wedding-breakfast menu? Not having second thoughts, are you?’ Justin teased.
Philip jolted upright, dropping his hands to his sides, but not unclenching his aching fists.
Justin’s smile wilted. ‘You are.’
‘Despite the past few days, my intended is determined to see me as nothing more than a grubbing moneylender intent on ruining everyone who wanders across my path.’ He slammed his fist into the leather, the blow vibrating up his arm. The control he’d mainta
ined all day, in the bookseller’s, then after Laura had thrown her aspersions in his face, nearly failed him. He straightened, closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the room, concentrating on the slap of fists against flesh, leather and canvas, the shuffle of feet over the dirt floor and the yelling of the trainers until his calm returned.
He opened his eyes and struck the dummy again, his punch controlled and well executed.
Justin clapped his hands on either side of the wobbling figure. ‘You can’t expect Miss Townsend to possess unshakeable faith in you because you bought her dresses and made her mother happy. It’ll take time, which you won’t gain by putting off the wedding.’
‘Perhaps marriage isn’t the best solution to my problems.’ Philip shook out the burning in his arms, but couldn’t shift the uncertainty which had plagued him since this morning. He’s been so certain in his decision when he’d proposed, now he doubted both himself and Laura.
‘Breaking the engagement will only cause more problems. Imagine Jane’s tantrum when you tell her Mrs and Miss Townsend are leaving.’ He pointed a warning finger at Philip. ‘That alone should encourage you to set a date.’
Philip turned and strode to the far end of the sparring ring, the potential scene with his sister threatening to bring on a headache. However, it wasn’t Jane’s disappointment which kept the common licence sealed on his desk instead of discarded in the grate. It was his own. He didn’t want to see the light go out of Laura’s beautiful face when he told her he’d changed his mind. He didn’t want to experience even a small measure of the despair which stung his chest whenever he imagined the scene.
He paced back to where Justin waited with a towel. Taking it, Philip rubbed the coarse cotton between his thumb and forefinger. He was allowing emotions to guide his decision and it unnerved him. Such weakness had allowed him to ignore Arabella’s frailty and it had killed her. If he continued on this path with Laura, he might be the one to suffer this time.
‘What if marrying her is a mistake?’ After her actions in the entrance hall and their kiss the previous evening, he’d thought her concern for him extended further than the mere convenience of his money and name. Today, he wasn’t so sure. He despised this confusion. He wanted to see the situation as plainly as he had the day he’d proposed.
‘The only mistake you’re making is putting off the wedding.’ Justin threw one arm around Philip’s shoulders, the rogue returning to replace the concerned friend. ‘What you need is a wedding night. It’ll clear your head.’
The memory of Laura’s mouth eager and open beneath his nearly sent him back to pummelling the dummy. Twice yesterday he’d lost control, once after Dr Hale’s visit and again in his bedroom. It’d taken the better part of the night and reviewing nearly every contract on his desk to forget the sweet taste of her kiss and how her soft sigh had nearly been his undoing. Not even his embarrassment over his confession in the entrance hall had been enough to drive the unsettling urges her tender cheek beneath his fingertips had raised. How easy it was to forget himself in her presence proved unsettling. ‘I don’t think the more intimate demands of marriage will make things clearer.’
‘I know you don’t, but trust me, intimacy is exactly what you need to settle yourself. So take my advice and set the date.’ Justin punched Philip’s arm lightly. ‘Now, come on, we have to get you cleaned up and home before Mr Charton’s party tonight.’
‘You’re coming, then?’
‘The lovely widow Gammon will be there. With her, I expect to be very settled by the end of the night.’ He whistled as he strolled off to the bathing room.
Philip followed at a slower pace. He was done fighting for the day, fighting Laura, his feelings, himself. He wasn’t ready to hurry to the church or to terminate his agreement with Laura, but something had to change before he entered into this most binding of contracts. He needed some assurance his future with Laura would be one of mutual companionship, not derision and disgust. Hopefully, tonight, he would find it.
Chapter Eight
Laura held on to Philip’s arm as they walked up to the Chartons’ wide front door, careful not to squeeze too tight. Tonight there was none of the warmth she’d experienced in the previous times they’d touched, only an awkwardness she attributed to that morning’s row.
Despite an afternoon of attending to household business, worry continued to cling to her like moist linen on a hot day. Not even Mary arriving to help her dress for tonight had eased her concerns. Mrs Fairley had sent over a cream-coloured silk gown with matching elbow-length gloves. A black ribbon edged the bodice, curling down to nip in beneath her breasts before falling in a straight line to her feet. Upon seeing the dress, Jane had insisted on instructing Mary in arranging Laura’s hair into a pretty new style displayed in one of her fashion magazines. The tumble of curls gathered near the nape of Laura’s neck and spilling over her shoulder to rest on the top of one breast was both demure and suggestive. Mother and Jane had been effusive in their praise of Laura’s appearance tonight. Philip had not uttered one word, good or bad about it, nor had he stared at her in the carriage the way he had the night she’d surprised him with her dress at dinner. Instead, his focus had remained on London passing outside the landau window.
Now, as they stepped into the Chartons’ columned hall, the fears his indifference raised settled a little. If he was still intent on introducing her to his associates and friends, then it must mean he intended to proceed with the wedding. Perhaps after a few glasses of port and convivial conversation with his associates had put him at his ease, she might gently press the subject of the wedding and put her mind at rest.
‘Mr Rathbone, good to see you.’ An older gentleman with a round stomach concealed by a fine red waistcoat and dark jacket swept down the curving marble staircase, to grip Philip’s hand. ‘And you’ve brought a guest?’
‘Allow me to introduce Miss Laura Townsend. We’re engaged to be married.’
‘I never would have guessed it.’ Mr Charton gaped back and forth between them. As reassuring as Philip’s announcement might be, she was growing tired of seeing surprise on people’s faces when she was introduced. ‘But I should have known you’d simply spring her on us. With how close you keep things to the vest, it’s a wonder you didn’t marry her and then tell us.’
‘I wouldn’t have wanted to deny the ladies their share of the conversation and excitement.’
Laura tried not to stare at Philip. His near-joke had come out in his usual straightforward tone, but there was no mistaking the humour in it. Mr Charton certainly didn’t miss it.
‘No, they’d never forgive you.’ Mr Charton laughed, then turned to Laura and made a small bow. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Townsend. You must be quite a lady to catch Rathbone’s eye. Well, come up to the drawing room, both of you, Margaret and the others will be all in a flutter when they hear the news.’
Philip inclined his head, the only indication he agreed.
They started for upstairs, Laura struggling to watch her step and admire the fine plasterwork on the ceiling at the same time. She’d thought Philip’s house grand until she’d entered this one. Philip’s was more modest, his wealth was whispered rather than proclaimed.
Near the top, Mr Charton moved to Philip’s other side, mumbling in a voice which wasn’t quite low enough for Laura not to hear. ‘Mrs Templeton won’t be pleased about your engagement.’
‘Her opinion doesn’t concern me.’ It was difficult to tell if Philip’s declaration was the truth or merely made for Laura’s and propriety’s sake.
‘No, I don’t suppose it does,’ Mr Charton conceded honestly.
It did little to calm the anxiety growing inside Laura or the very real fear she would have an enemy among his friends before she uttered so much as a good evening.
Mr Charton led them into the long drawing room just off the top of th
e stairs.
‘Lily, stop playing,’ he called out above the chatter to the young woman seated at the nearby piano forte. Then he looked over his shoulder at Laura. ‘My middle daughter, no talent for drawing, but quite the musician.’
Mr Charton raised his hands, making the port in his glass slosh up along the sides. ‘Attention, everyone.’
The conversation ceased as the guests turned to face them, their scrutiny and curiosity fixed on Laura, the stranger. Among them she spied Mr Connor lounging near the widow with a buxom woman with deep-brown hair. At least there was one person Laura knew here. She settled her shoulders and stood proudly next to Philip. In time, there would be more, she was sure of it. She had to be sure. The alternative was too frightening to contemplate.
‘Mr Rathbone has joined us with some surprising news,’ Mr Charton announced. ‘He’s engaged to be married.’
The gasps of surprise nearly rattled the house to its rafters. Laura’s fingers tightened on Philip’s arm, digging in hard to the stiff muscle beneath. Neither of them was used to being the centre of so much attention and neither approved of it.
Mr Charton tossed Philip a ribbing smile. ‘Now that’s out of the way.’
‘I would have preferred something more subtle,’ Philip chided, both amusement and irritation dotting his words.
Beneath her palm she felt his arm relax, just as her hand tightened as one of the ladies hurried up to them.
‘Mr Rathbone, how clever of you to spring such a thing on us,’ exclaimed the tall woman in an expensive red silk gown and matching turban. ‘Who knew you could be so surprising?’
‘I did,’ Laura answered, her cheeks burning with her boldness.
‘I bet you do.’ The woman waved her closed fan at Laura. ‘I’m Mrs Charton. You don’t know how excited I am to have you here.’
Laura flicked a glance at Philip, wondering if he was excited to be here with her, or if he was regretting it. His demeanour was as unyielding as always and she could discern nothing from it.
