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‘But—’ Jane began to protest before Laura’s mother laid a tempering hand on hers.
‘I think I might have a suggestion which will suit you both. A width of gorgeous French lace along the top edge, like Miss Lamb wears, will encourage more modesty without ruining the line of the dress. It will be quite elegant and modest.’
‘May I alter it as she says, Philip?’ Jane bit her lip in anticipation, looking back and forth between her brother and the older lady. ‘Mrs Townsend is right, it would be modest just as you like and, oh, so in fashion.’
Philip took a deep breath and Laura caught something of relief rather than frustration in the gesture. She wasn’t sure if it was the desire to end the debate or his glimpse of the wisdom in the matron’s suggestion which led him to nod his head tersely.
‘You may keep the dress if you add the lace.’ He levelled his knife at her. ‘But if you alter one more dress on your own, I won’t buy you another until you’re sixteen.’
‘I promise I won’t change any of the others,’ Jane stressed, before exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Mrs Townsend.
Philip didn’t notice, reaching for his wine glass. Then his hand paused, his attention snapping to Laura.
She tried to steady the rapid rise and fall of her chest, but it was a fruitless struggle. She couldn’t stop breathing, not unless she wanted to faint from the same shock she saw in Philip’s eyes. They dipped down the length of her. The motion was fast, efficient yet potent, making her feel as if it had been her and not him who had crossed his room the other night naked.
Under the force of his gaze, Laura nearly tugged the ribbon from her hair and escaped upstairs to don a less revealing dress. She didn’t flee, but strode into the room, her chin confidently in the air, her mother’s words about working to win Philip following her like the swish of her slippers over the wood floor. She’d certainly succeeded in catching his attention tonight.
‘My goodness, look at you,’ Jane exclaimed.
‘Miss Rathbone, that is not an appropriate response.’ The older woman nudged the girl with her elbow before raising an approving eyebrow at Laura. ‘Laura, you look very lovely this evening.’
‘Indeed, you do,’ Jane chimed in, fixing her brother with a devilish smile. ‘Doesn’t she, Philip?’
Philip didn’t answer, but rose, his expression as stiff as his posture, except where his eyes widened. Yet it wasn’t surprise illuminating their blue. It was something hotter and more potent, like the subtle flash of anger she’d caught just before he’d struck her uncle. This wasn’t anger, or anything like what she’d experienced with the stationer’s son. The stationer’s son had possessed the ridiculous passion of a schoolboy. Philip’s reaction was of a man, albeit a man trying not to react.
Heat swept up from the pit of Laura’s stomach and burned over the tops of her exposed breasts. She nearly reached out and pulled the napkin from the footman’s arm to cover herself before Mrs Fairley’s assurance came rushing back.
‘Good evening, Miss Townsend,’ Philip greeted as she paused beside her chair to let the footman slide it out.
As she took her seat, she threw Philip the sideways look she’d practised in the mirror in the hallway. ‘Good evening, Mr Rathbone.’
A muscle in his jaw twitched and his chest paused before he resumed his steady breathing.
Once she was seated, he took his seat again and she withheld a smile of delight, enjoying this new power over him.
Across the table, her mother’s and Jane’s astonishment was palpable, but Laura didn’t dare look at them. It was difficult enough to maintain her composure in front of Philip. She didn’t need an interested audience distracting her.
She unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap, then sat back to allow the footman to present the cooked chicken, small potatoes and asparagus draped in a white sauce. Laura accepted a serving of each dish, trying not to overfill her plate. When at last she had sufficient, she took up her knife and fork and sliced through the potatoes, moving slowly so as not to fall on the food like some ravenous dog. Her concentration was disturbed when Philip spoke.
‘Did you enjoy your time with Mrs Fairley?’
‘I did. I hope you don’t mind it taking longer than expected. I’m not usually one to spend so many hours fussing over my appearance.’ Though she’d certainly take more care with her toilette from now on.
‘Take whatever time you need with Mrs Fairley. I heartily approve of her work.’
‘Do you?’
‘I do.’ He picked up the wine decanter and moved to fill her glass. ‘She’s exceeded my expectations.’
Laura didn’t taste the wine, not wanting it to fuddle her senses any more than this conversation already had. ‘No mean feat, I imagine.’
He leaned a touch closer and beneath the clove of the chicken, the faint hint of his bergamot cologne lingered, the scent heady and distracting. ‘You’ve imagined correctly.’
‘Then I’ll have to discover how else I may exceed your expectations.’
He didn’t smile, but she caught the glint of humour in his eyes. ‘I anticipate your efforts.’
She focused on her plate, as unnerved as she was emboldened by this flirting. She didn’t think it in him to be so charming. Thankfully, Mrs Fairley had promised to alter and deliver two of the other gowns by morning. It would keep Laura from turning back into a vagabond dressed in borrowed clothing and help her maintain something of the heat flickering in Philip’s expression.
If the sharp and subtle blend of cloves and parsley sprinkled over the chicken’s golden skin wasn’t so distracting, she would have tried to be more intriguing. Instead, she set her knife to the bird, eliciting from the tender flesh a thick drop of juice as she pressed down. Spearing the piece with the fork, she raised it to her mouth. Her lips closed over the meat and she slowly drew it from the tongs. She closed her eyes and sighed as the savoury spices melted over her tongue.
After a year of ugly brown gruel, this was heaven.
Swallowing, she opened her eyes, eager for another taste, but Philip’s expression made her pause.
He flushed as if his bite had stuck in his throat, except the strangled look suggested he’d been hit somewhere lower. His intense gaze warmed Laura’s insides more than the chicken, burning through her like the chilli pepper she’d once tasted from an Indian silk merchant. She’d never thought of herself as a wily charmer of gentlemen, yet without even trying she’d done something, she wasn’t sure what, to Philip.
‘Is the food to your liking?’ Philip coughed, as if struggling through a dry throat. He took up his wine and sipped quickly before setting it at the corner of his plate.
‘Yes, very much.’ Closing her lips over another bite, she tried to recall the weaver’s daughter and the way she’d flirted with her solicitor trainee. She could recall very little about their relationship except the aftermath. At least whatever came of this odd flirtation, it would do so with a ring on her finger.
‘After dinner, I’d like to discuss the advertisement for Thomas’s new governess,’ he announced, seeming to recover his usual poise.
‘I already saw to it this afternoon, before I left for Mrs Fairley’s.’ She sliced a potato, jumping a little when it rolled out from under her knife. ‘Mrs Marston showed me the old advertisement, we discussed Thomas’s present needs and I wrote the new one accordingly.’
She speared the potato with her fork to keep it in place as she cut it, watching Philip from the corner of her eyes, waiting for his reaction, unsure what it would be. She’d taken it upon herself to complete the task, eager for something to do and the chance to impress him. For all the advice Mrs Fairley had given her about her physical appearance, she suspected efficiency in handling domestic matters might be the second-best way to gain his admiration.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she pressed. ‘I thought it best to do it so you had one less item to see to.’
‘I don’t mind at all.’ The stern businessman from this afternoon had vanished, replaced by a more relaxed gentleman, if one could call the straight line of Philip’s shoulders relaxed. ‘I appreciate your desire to help.’
She hoped it wasn’t all he intended to appreciate. Sitting up a little straighter to best highlight the new gown and everything it exposed, she was about to tell him the contents of the advertisement when Jane called out from across the table.
‘Miss Townsend, Philip asked Mrs Townsend to serve as my tutor and she’s agreed.’ The girl was more excited than any thirteen-year-old should be about lessons. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
No, it wasn’t. All thoughts of impressing Philip vanished. ‘Mother, you aren’t well enough for such exertion.’
‘I’m not an invalid, Laura,’ her mother chided, closing her eyes in delight as she sipped her wine. ‘Nor will I be one, not with food this grand and a warm bed.’
She raised her glass to Philip, then turned to Jane. ‘I think we should start with Beadman’s Principles of Accounting, don’t you?’
‘I think it’s a marvellous idea,’ Jane concurred and the two fell to discussing the curriculum.
Laura gaped at them. She’d been dismissed, as if she were sitting here in her child’s dress, not with her womanly figure filling out every inch of the silk. How could her mother do it? And how could Philip ask her mother to do such a thing without consulting his wife-to-be first? It was arrogant of him to be so presumptuous.
She sliced at her bird, then stuck a larger piece than intended in her mouth. It caught in her throat and she snatched up the wine everyone else seemed so eager to indulge in. The bouquet was as heavenly as the tender chicken, making the bird slide down her throat. If only the continued barrage of surprises would go down as easily.
Setting her wine glass on the table, she caught Philip watching her, his brow wrinkling in question at the change in her mood. Thankfully, Jane drew his attention away before he could say anything, then the girl dominated the conversation with her thoughts on women’s education.
Laura focused on her food as the topic changed from bluestockings to the Prince Regent’s latest scandal. Her mother and Jane exchanged details of it with the same animation which used to dominate her conversations with Laura while they’d tidied up the shop in the evenings.
Laura pushed a piece of asparagus through the sauce, hating to admit she wasn’t just worried about her mother’s health. She was jealous of her tutoring Jane. In a matter of hours it seemed as if Laura had been tossed aside while a new young lady had been whisked in to take her place. It wasn’t a charitable thought, but she couldn’t help herself. If she lost her mother’s affection and failed to secure Philip’s, what would be left for her?
* * *
Laura’s discomfort soured her mood, but it didn’t dampen her appetite and she enjoyed hearty helpings of the next two courses. It was only her fear of looking like a glutton which prevented her from asking for a second serving of trifle at the end of the meal.
At last, with her mind still troubled but her stomach full, Philip rose, as did Jane and Mrs Townsend. Laura was glad for the end of the meal, eager to be in her room and to let out her now very tight stays.
‘Philip, you must show Miss Townsend Great-Great-Grandmama’s knife,’ Jane suggested, mischief in her eyes. ‘You must see it, Miss Townsend, and have Philip tell you the story behind it. It’s quite thrilling.’
Laura looked to Philip, expecting him to resist his sister’s obvious attempt to see them alone together. She wasn’t prepared for him to agree with the idea.
‘Would you care to accompany me to the sitting room?’
No. Yes. She wasn’t sure. She could almost hear her mother urging her to accept the invitation, but she’d been through so much already today. She wasn’t sure she could endure being alone with him dressed so boldly.
‘Please, lead the way,’ she answered at last, not wanting to leave them all standing in the dining room waiting for her to make up her mind.
He didn’t offer his arm as he escorted her out of the dining room. She wasn’t surprised or offended. With the exception of last night and this morning, he’d avoided touching her since her arrival. She wondered how he intended to manage their marital relations if he could only be coerced into touching her by an apology. It seemed just another of the many things she’d be forced to overcome if she were to draw them together, yet it might prove the most difficult. She could hardly pounce on him and kiss him the way the stationer’s son had done with her in the dark hallway between the shop and the store room. Or could she?
‘Why did your great-great-grandmama need a knife?’ Laura prompted once they reached the sitting room.
Inside, a warm fire burned in the grate, making the room more intimate and inviting than when she’d met him there that morning.
‘She was a moneylender, the one who introduced our family to the business.’
‘A woman? I don’t believe you,’ she teased, but his expression remained solemn.
‘She and my great-great-grandfather lived in North Carolina and owned a tobacco plantation.’ He removed the slender knife from its place of honour above the mantel and brought it to her. ‘After she became a widow, she began lending money to planters and merchants and amassed a sizeable fortune.’
‘If your family was so successful, then why did they leave the colonies?’
‘My grandparents saw the threat the American Rebellion posed to their business. Well before war was declared, they sold the plantation at a profit and returned to London. The two of them re-established themselves here.’
‘And the knife?’ Laura’s fingertips brushed his palms as she tilted it so the engraving could catch the light. Philip’s heat was so distracting, she comprehended not one word of the inscription on the blade.
‘Great-Great-Grandmama helped fund Lieutenant-Governor Spotswood’s attack against Blackbeard.’ They stood so close, she could hear the uneven rhythm of his breathing. ‘When Governor Spotswood repaid the loan, he gave her this in thanks. It belonged to the pirate. It was one of many he was wearing when he was killed. It’s been in the family ever since.’
‘I should have known you were right.’ She looked up at him through her lashes and a strange sort of panic flashed through his eyes. Beneath her fingertips, his hands stiffened on the blade. He’d been bold enough to stride in front of her naked when she’d threatened him. Tonight, when he held a weapon and there was no more flesh showing than the curved tops of her breasts, it was as if he wanted to flee. ‘You don’t lie.’
‘I’ve never had a reason to.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is one of the many things I admire you for.’
He arched one eyebrow at her. ‘Then I assume you’ve forgiven me for this morning.’
‘I have.’
Something like relief rippled through his eyes. She withdrew her hand from the knife, stunned. She thought nothing besides his sister’s strong will could upset him, but it seemed their row this morning had troubled him too.
‘I apologise for placing you in a situation you weren’t ready for. It won’t happen again.’
‘Thank you, but what about my mother? Have you placed her in a role she’s not ready for?’
‘No.’ He lowered the dagger, untroubled by her question. ‘When I approached her with the suggestion, she readily agreed.’
‘I’m sure she felt compelled to.’
‘No, not at all.’ A moment ago he’d been willing to admit he was wrong. Now he was so arrogantly sure of himself.
‘You still should have discussed it with me first.’
‘Why?’ He returned the dagger to its place above the mantel. ‘Mrs Townsend is a woman of mature years and doesn’t need anyone’s approval to do as she pleases.’
‘She’s ill. She needs rest.’ Laura’s voice rose before she brought herself back under control. ‘Too much exertion might be bad for her.’
‘I must disagree.’ He wiped the fingerprints off the blade with the cuff of his sleeve. ‘Mrs Townsend, like you, is not used to being idle. With your attention directed elsewhere, she needs an occupation. My sister will gain from the benefit of your mother’s maternal care and business knowledge, and your mother from having another young person to guide and teach.’
Laura had no answer for him because he was right. She’d been wrong about him. Once again, he hadn’t acted out of arrogance, but concern. If she didn’t learn to think better of him, it would undermine everything she was trying to accomplish.
‘I’m sorry and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.’ She gripped the edge of the mantel. The cold marble corner dug into her palm. ‘Only, I’ve been taking care of her for so long, it’s difficult to think I won’t have to any longer.’
He laid his hand on the mantel in front of hers. The heat of his skin radiated across the short distance between their fingertips. ‘She does still need you. She always will.’
‘Just like Jane still needs you.’
He heaved a weary sigh. ‘She doesn’t believe she does, but, yes.’
If only he needed Laura. Dread made her long to pace. If something happened to her mother, Philip and his family would be all she’d have left. It would be a lonely future if she failed to capture his affection. ‘You make it look so effortless, managing your business and your family. If I’d had your talent for it, I might have saved the shop.’
‘Then you wouldn’t be here.’
She straightened, stunned by the faint hope woven into the words. Maybe it was possible. Maybe she could win his heart. ‘Are you glad I’m here?’
After this morning, she wouldn’t be surprised if he regretted his proposal.
‘I am.’ The honesty of his admission stunned her, as did his question. ‘Are you?’
She wasn’t sure. She’d wanted only the shop for so long. Now she wanted something else, something she wasn’t sure she could achieve. If she couldn’t win him, at least she was safe here. For that she was grateful. ‘Yes.’
He looked down at the marble and traced a dark swirl in the stone. It brought his fingers achingly close to hers. She thought he might take her hand, but then he slid his away.
‘It’s taken me a long time to become comfortable raising Jane, and then Thomas and managing the business.’ Loneliness and heartache tainted his words. Like her, he’d taken care of his loved ones while shouldering the burden of continuing on after a loved one’s death. Philip might have been more successful with his business, but grief had left its mark on him just as it had on Laura. ‘It wasn’t easy. Some days it still isn’t. It will help to have someone to assist me. I hope to offer you the same comfort.’
‘In many ways, you already have.’ She slid her hand over his, eager to chase away the darkness filling his eyes.
Beneath her fingers his muscles stiffened. The easy intimacy of a moment before vanished, the pain straining his expression dampening to something more solid, something she couldn’t read.
