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‘But you know who has it. You could get it back and we could still reach an arrangement.’
‘I cannot.’
‘You’re leaving us to starve,’ she blurted out as even this slim hope dissolved. There was no chance of reviving the business, or doing anything other than sinking into even more degrading poverty.
No sign of sympathy or regret marred the smoothness of his face. ‘Your plan has merit, but will not succeed. If the cotton becomes fashionable, those with better connections and more money will race to import it before you can secure more, flooding the market with it and lessening its value.’
‘But before then?’ she protested meekly.
‘I can’t afford to gamble my money on the whims of the ton. Nor can you.’
‘I can’t rely on my uncle Robert if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s got everything out of us he wanted, my father’s business and what was left of the money,’ she scoffed. ‘It won’t be long before we see the backside of him. Then what will happen to me and my mother?’
‘You must have other family?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Friends?’
‘Uncle Robert saw to it that they were driven away when he borrowed money from them and never repaid it.’ She dropped her hands to her sides in imitation of Mr Rathbone, trying to appear as confident and sure as he did. ‘I know what I did tonight was foolish and I never meant to hurt you, I only wanted the merchandise back because I couldn’t see the business fail. It took my father years to build and my uncle Robert less than a year to destroy.’
* * *
If Philip had passed Miss Townsend on the street, he’d have overlooked her. Forced to stare down the end of a barrel at her, he couldn’t miss the stunning light of determination in her round hazel eyes. It was undiminished by the faint circles darkening the smooth skin underneath them or the slight hollow beneath the high cheekbones. Loose waves of auburn hair hung on either side of her face and down to the shoulders of her worn-out dress. The sad garment hung loose on her. Regular meals would bring back the fullness of her cheeks and the softness of her waist. Her skin was pale, like Arabella’s had been, but where illness had faded his late wife’s bloom, only hardship dampened the lustre of the lady before him. ‘In business, it’s always best to keep facts and emotions separate so one does not cloud the other.’
‘I’ll remember that when I’m starving,’ she spat.
‘You won’t starve. You’re too smart.’ There was something of life and fight in Miss Townsend, a trait Arabella had not possessed. Despite his annoyance at being disturbed tonight, he admired it too much to see it snuffed out by gaol fever. He swept the pistol from the desk and held it out to her. ‘Thank you for an interesting evening, Miss Townsend.’
Hope flooded her cheeks with a wash of pink. ‘You’re letting me go?’
‘Would you prefer I call the constable and have you hauled before the magistrate?’
‘No.’
He moved aside and waved his hand at the door. ‘Then go.’
In a flutter of threadbare bombazine, she was gone.
‘You there, stop.’ Justin’s voice sounded through the downstairs hall before the thud of the back door hitting the wall and the squeak of the garden gate let Philip know Miss Townsend was away.
A second later Justin came running in, his pistol drawn. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Quite.’ Philip sat down in his chair, rubbing his still-damp chin with his fingers. Miss Townsend had stirred something inside him—not pity, or even lust, though she was pretty. No, it was curiosity, like the first time he’d seen Arabella sitting across his desk next to her father, Dr Hale. Philip hadn’t been able to focus on anything but her while Dr Hale had laid out his plans for a small medical school. The school had failed and Dr Hale had lost both his and Philip’s money. It was the only time Philip had allowed emotion to guide a business decision.
‘Leave it to you to be so cavalier about an intruder threatening you.’ Justin lowered the hammer on the pistol.
‘She was never a threat.’ Philip curled one finger to rub it along his ring finger still missing the plain wedding band he’d buried with Arabella. No, this was nothing like the day he’d met his wife. There was no emotion to touch his love for Arabella, especially not in the guise of this stranger, no matter how intriguing she might appear.
‘You look like the devil.’ Justin slid the pistol in the holster under his coat.
‘It’s been a trying day.’ He’d thought the headaches of it were over when he’d sunk down into the hot water. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
He stared past Justin to the copper bathtub and the thin tendrils of steam still rising from it. Nothing but problems had plagued him today. A cobbler had called to secure a loan to increase his business. The cobbler’s endless words of reassurance and lack of collateral had warned Philip off the venture. The man hadn’t reacted kindly to Philip’s refusal. He’d only just been ejected from the house when Justin had arrived with news of an import company with an outstanding loan having been declared bankrupt. It’d been a scramble to seize the goods stored in the warehouse before the importer moved them and left Philip with the loss.
With business matters secured, household ones had rushed in to consume the remainder of the day. His sister, Jane, had tried his patience with yet another demand for an expensive dress too mature for a budding young woman of thirteen. She’d railed at him with their grandmother’s temper before stomping away after Philip threatened to cut off her dress allowance. On the heels of Jane’s tantrum came the news that Mrs Marston, his son Thomas’s nurse, was moving to Bath to take care of her grandson, leaving Philip with only a month to engage a replacement. Jane was too young to be of assistance and Mrs Palmer, despite running his house with the efficiency of a factory, was not up to the task of mothering his sister and son or finding a suitable replacement for Mrs Marston.
What Philip needed was a wife, someone to deal with these domestic matters.
Justin plucked a small chair from the wall, turned it around in front of the desk, then straddled it, leaning his elbows on the polished back. ‘So, who was the woman?’
‘The niece of Robert Townsend.’ Philip smoothed his hands over his wet hair. ‘She wanted her collateral back.’
‘Don’t they all.’ Justin snorted, propping his chin in his palm. ‘I left two extra men to guard the importer’s stock until you can sell it.’
‘We’ll see to it tomorrow,’ Philip said vaguely, his thoughts consumed with something other than business.
Justin raised one curious eyebrow. ‘What did she do to you?’
Philip straightened a pen on the blotter. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Never seen you this cavalier about a full warehouse. Usually you’re all plans until I’m up all night and engaged through most of tomorrow seeing to it, but not tonight. Why?’
Philip studied his old friend and partner. Justin had stood beside him at his wedding and at Arabella’s funeral. He balled his hand into a fist. His wife should have had the chance to raise their son and attend to their house. Now, it fell to the people Philip paid to assist him. Not the most ideal of situations and one he would soon correct.
Straightening in the chair, he laced his fingers over his stomach. It wasn’t Miss Townsend’s disturbance which troubled him now, as much as the opportunity she presented. His father had trained him to assess a client in a matter of seconds. He’d measured up Miss Townsend and, despite the ridiculousness of her attempted threat, found her useful qualities continued to tip the scales in her favour.
It was madness and he knew it. He should recommend her and the mother to Halcyon House, his charitable organisation, and be done with them both, not continue to entertain the plan developing in his mind. He’d chosen Arabella with his heart, ignoring her frailty, believing it wouldn’t come between them. He’d been a fool and in the end their love had killed her.
Small footsteps pattered down the long hallway outside his bedroom door before steady, larger ones followed. In a moment, he’d help Mrs Marston get Thomas back to sleep, but first there was business to discuss.
‘I have another plan in mind, Justin.’ He picked up Robert Townsend’s contract. It was sheer luck he’d decided to bring it upstairs with the others, as was his habit, to review before bed or if he was restless in the middle of the night. He handed it to his friend. ‘Find out everything you can about his niece.’
‘I knew I wouldn’t get off so easy tonight.’ He rose from the chair and set it back by the wall, then plucked the paper from Philip’s hand.
‘Speak to anyone who might know her from her lodgings and from the neighbourhood where the draper shop used to be, I’m sure you can discover its location.’
‘You know I can.’ He folded the contract and slid it into his pocket.
‘Get a sense of her reputation, character and situation. Find out any and every detail you can and bring it to me as soon as possible.’
‘Is she going to become a client?’
Philip rose, eager to see to his son. ‘No. She might become my wife.’
Chapter Two (#u9d866314-f6cd-5fc0-8fa8-80832882d145)
Laura stared at the worn and splintered door, frozen where she stood, her uncle’s dirty tankard in one hand, a cleaning rag in the other.
Someone had knocked. No one ever knocked here. It couldn’t be good.
She jumped again as the wood rattled beneath the fist of whoever was on the other side. She set the tankard down and hurried to the door, eager to silence the person for fear they’d wake her mother.
‘Who is it?’ she hissed through a crack near the centre.
‘Mr Rathbone.’
She jolted away from the wood. It’d been two days since she’d fled from his house and there was nothing he could want from her, unless he’d changed his mind about seeing her gaoled. The constable might be outside with him now. She twisted the rag around one hand, then let go. No, the constable would have announced himself. She’d heard him banging on enough doors in the building to know. Mr Rathbone must want something else, but what? The cotton. Maybe he’d finally seen the sense in her offer, found a way to buy back the bolt and was here to discuss an arrangement.
She pulled open the door to find him standing on the other side. Unlike the few others who came here, he didn’t clutch a scented handkerchief to his face or look around as though expecting a rat to pounce. He stood exactly as he had two nights ago, businesslike, determined, a dark-blue redingote falling straight from his shoulders to cover his lithe but sturdy body. Her eyes trailed the length of him, from the low hat covering his almost black hair to the tips of his polished boots. Taking in this groomed and dressed moneylender, she tried not to imagine him without his clothes. If she hadn’t seen him in such a fashion, she would be more terrified of him now, not mesmerised by the way his high white collar traced the angle of his jaw to where it narrowed to his chin.
‘May I come in?’ His crisp but polite words snapped her out of her musing.
‘Yes, of course.’ She waved him in with the rag, closing the door behind him.
In four steps he reached the centre of the room. The faint, citrus scent of his bergamot cologne struck Laura harder than the stench of the street coming in through the window. The richness of the scent reminded her of the perfume shop situated next to her family’s old shop and for a moment took her away from the filth permeating her life.
Mr Rathbone glanced down at the table where the dirty tankard sat, then turned to face her, his scrutiny pulling her back into the mire. ‘Miss Townsend.’
‘Shh...’ Laura gestured to silence him, then caught sight of her dirty fingernails and lowered her hand as fast as she’d raised it. ‘I must ask you to speak quietly. My mother is resting. She slept poorly last night and every night before.’
He nodded and removed his hat, holding it against his left side. ‘Miss Townsend, I’ve come to speak to you about a business proposal.’
She twisted the rag tight between her hands. ‘You’ve come to accept my offer? You found a way to retrieve the cotton bolt and return it to me?’
‘No. As I told you, it is no longer in my possession.’
‘But—’
He raised a silencing hand. ‘Mr Townsend knew the consequences when he took my money and he will pay them. He is no longer my concern or yours.’
She perched one fist on her hip. ‘Then what is our concern?’
He shifted the hat to his other hand so it rested against his right thigh instead of his left. If she thought the man capable of emotion, she might say he was nervous. ‘You managed your father’s draper business before Mr Townsend assumed control?’
‘Before my uncle stole it from us,’ she corrected, more curious than cautious.
‘You kept accounts, inventory, credit?’
‘I did.’ She didn’t hide her pride. ‘My father thought it better for me to learn the business than attend a lady’s school.’
‘I know by the speed at which you comprehended the agreement that you can read and understand contracts and your business plan indicates you can write.’
‘A fine hand.’ She wondered where this line of questioning was leading. Maybe he’d taken pity on her and come to offer work. She smoothed one hand over her hair, wishing he’d given her some notice and a chance to make herself more presentable.
‘And you are well, your mother’s illness does not extend to you?’
‘I am very hearty, thank you. My mother broke her leg a few years ago and, though it healed, she’s afflicted with rheumatism. It’s nothing food and heat wouldn’t ease, but since we have neither, she suffers.’
His eyes dropped down, covering the length of her in a heartbeat before his head rose a touch as though appraising her collateral. She couldn’t imagine what he saw since she wore no jewellery and her dress was too old to be of much value to even a secondhand-clothes merchant. ‘There is no one, apart from your mother and Mr Townsend, to make a claim on you?’
Worry coiled inside her, fuelled by the memory of him parading before her naked without shame. ‘If you’ve come to make an immodest proposal, you can leave.’
‘There’s nothing untoward in what I’m about to suggest, Miss Townsend. After a great deal of thought, I have another venture which might interest you.’
From the next room, her mother coughed and Laura tensed, waiting to see if she settled back to sleep or awoke. Hopefully she’d sleep. She needed the rest as much as she needed a decent meal and a proper pelisse to keep out the cold. Eyeing the moneylender, her dread increased. Even if he made her an indecent offer, she couldn’t afford to refuse it. With the business lost, there were only more horrors waiting for her and her mother out on the street. ‘I’m listening, Mr Rathbone.’
* * *
Philip shifted his hat to his other hand. From somewhere outside he heard the cry of an infant. It sounded too much like the way Thomas had wailed in the nurse’s arms while Philip had held Arabella in his, clutching her to him as her life had slipped away.
He set the hat down on the table. This transaction had nothing to do with the past, but the more pressing needs of the present. ‘A year ago, I lost my wife in childbirth. I’m in need of the services of a woman with your skills.’
Her brow scrunched down over her straight nose. ‘You mean as a nurse?’
‘No, as a wife.’
‘A wife?’ Her jaw dropped open before she pulled it closed, her eyes wider than when he’d snatched the pistol from her.
‘I assume you’re not already married.’
‘No, but—’
‘And you have no suitors?’
‘Unless you consider the drunk who sits in the doorway and pesters me whenever I come and go, no.’
‘Good. At present, I employ a capable nurse for my son, but she is leaving at the end of the month. I think it preferable for family to see to the welfare of a child. My sister is thirteen and too young for such things. She is also in need of a guiding hand. She will soon be faced with suitors and I don’t have aunts or cousins on whom I may call to assist her.’
‘And my mother?’
‘I will see to her welfare and care.’
‘By placing her in a home with some ill-mannered nurse?’
‘She will have a suitable room in my house and a proper maid to attend her. You will learn my business and help me manage it.’
She continued to stare at him as if he’d suggested she be presented to the king. ‘I nearly killed you and you wish to trust me with your son and business?’
Her reservations needled him. He’d reviewed the facts last night and they made sense. There was no room for doubt. He pressed on. ‘You were never a threat to me.’
A tiny curve appeared at the corner of her mouth and he couldn’t tell if she was going to smile or frown. ‘How do you know I won’t steal from you and run off?’
‘Not likely with your mother residing under my roof.’
‘There is truth in that.’ She uncrossed her arms, the crease beside her lips growing deeper as she silently considered the merits of his offer as any wise client might contemplate the terms of a loan. ‘Why me? Why marriage?’
‘In my experience, a wife is a better business partner than any other as her interests are my interests. As to why you, you seem a quick wit, except where firearms are concerned.’ Her crease deepened into a disapproving frown but he didn’t let it deter or distract him. ‘Your brazen act the other night demonstrated a degree of courage and strength.’
