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She expected him to pull away and increase the wall forming between them. To her surprise, he turned his hand over in hers and slid his thumb along the line of her smallest finger. The slow caress ripped through her, as startling as if he’d stroked her nearly bare chest. If the same excitement raced through him she couldn’t tell. His eyes remained fixed on hers, serious yet tempting, his true feelings as hidden from her as they were from his clients.
Despite his stoicism, she silently willed him to close the distance between them, to take her in his arms and kiss her until she could think of nothing except his touch, his warmth, his body. The urge frightened her as much as it made her heart race with anticipation, but the moment never happened. She pressed her fingertips against his wrist. His pulse beat a soothing rhythm against her skin. It didn’t flutter wildly like hers. It seemed he was reaching out to her, but still holding something of himself back, retreating just when she wanted him to press forward.
The deep bells of St Bride’s tolled nine times, marking the hour. Beneath their ringing, Laura caught Thomas’s faint cries from upstairs. The sound didn’t draw Philip’s eyes from hers, but it interrupted the quiet moment and brought it to an end.
Philip slid his hand out from beneath hers, dropping it to his side. ‘I must help Mrs Marston settle Thomas.’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you care to join me?’
‘No, I’ll stay.’ She’d risked enough of herself with him tonight. She didn’t have the strength for more.
‘Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’
He made for the door, stopping just outside it to face her. ‘In the future, I’ll do my best to consult you on matters pertaining to you and your mother before decisions are made.’
‘Thank you.’
His assurance given, he strode away.
Beneath her palm, the marble still radiated with Philip’s heat. Nothing had happened between them except the faintest of touches, yet it was as if he’d swept Laura in his arms and kissed the breath from her.
If only he had, then she wouldn’t feel so unsettled. For all the passion his fingers had aroused in her, there’d been something rote about his touch, as if he’d known what was expected of him and performed his duties accordingly.
She traced the same marble swirl he had, coming close to the white base of a porcelain shepherdess before retreating. Despite the stiffness in his touch, when he’d spoken of his challenges and his true feelings about her being here, he’d been completely honest. It provided the faint hope that there could be something between them and that he might want it as much as her.
‘Did he show you the knife?’ Jane strolled into the room, attempting to not look too curious and failing.
Startled, Laura jerked her hand off the mantel, nearly sending the small figurine toppling to the floor. She caught it just in time.
‘He did. It was quite fascinating.’
‘So was the trick you played with the fork at dinner.’ Jane smirked, strolling to join her at the fireplace.
‘I didn’t play any trick.’ To her horror, Laura knew exactly what Jane was referring to.
‘Yes, you did. I saw it.’ Jane reached up and straightened the statue. ‘Philip saw it, too. I’ve never seen my brother so stunned. You must do it again at breakfast.’
Laura laced her fingers in front of her, trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of receiving flirting lessons from this sober thirteen-year-old girl. ‘Should I die in ecstasy over the eggs just to get your brother’s attention?’
Jane failed to see the humour in the remark, regarding it seriously, the way Philip regarded any proposal. The resemblance to her brother was striking. ‘No, you’re right. One time was good, too many will make it comical. You must continue to employ the subtle approach. Mrs Templeton was quite aggressive and put Philip right off her.’
‘Who’s Mrs Templeton?’ It was the second time she’d heard the woman’s name in connection to Philip.
‘Mrs Templeton’s a widow, all large breasts and red hair. Quite crass, though she doesn’t think so. Her husband was another moneylender, an old man. Mrs Templeton set her cap at Philip after Mr Templeton died, but Philip wasn’t interested. She wasn’t right for him.’
‘Am I right for Philip?’ Laura felt quite brave with her enquiries tonight.
‘You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,’ Jane stated, as if informing Laura of the day’s wool prices.
If only Laura could be so sure. Jane was still a child. There were numerous things she might not know or understand about her brother.
‘If Mrs Templeton was married to a moneylender, then she must know the business and still have her husband’s clients. Wouldn’t it have been prudent on his part to marry her?’ Philip was nothing if not prudent.
‘Her? Here?’ Jane wrinkled her face in disgust. ‘It never would have worked. She’s too fond of her independence to marry again and she isn’t like Philip; she lends to all sorts of questionable people. She’s quite nasty when they don’t repay. No, he’s much better off with you.’
Laura wished she shared Jane’s confidence in her suitability for Philip and his uninterest in the widow. He might not have married Mrs Templeton, but what Jane truly knew about Philip’s relationship with her was sure to be limited. She couldn’t imagine Philip parading his paramour through the house. It was quite possible his proposal to Laura had only come about because Mrs Templeton had rejected his.
The hope she’d experienced earlier dimmed. If his heart lay elsewhere, her chances of securing it were slim. She rubbed her thumb along the tips of her fingers, unwilling to give up so soon after she’d started. There had been something between them tonight, however faint. Whatever his relationship with the widow, Laura possessed the advantage of being here before him each day. She would use that to her advantage, even if she wasn’t precisely sure how.
* * *
Philip sat behind his desk, the ledger open, the pen settled in the crease in the centre. He needed to finish the accounts tonight or it would be one more task to do tomorrow. Through the window, the moon grazed the top of the sill, looking down on the garden outside as Laura had looked down on him this morning.
Philip shifted in his chair, the tension low inside him as disconcerting as when Laura had entered the dining room. He’d sent her to Mrs Fairley out of necessity. He hadn’t expected the results to be so striking. The pale rose-coloured silk had highlighted the slight blush of her skin and exposed the roundness of her breasts. The effect had hit him hard, as had the sigh of delight when she’d slid the morsel of chicken from the silver tines with her full lips.
Philip tugged at the knot of his cravat, working the tightness off his throat. Justin had told him stories of men with strange tastes, ladies’ shoes and stockings driving them to the height of need. Philip had scoffed at the idea, until tonight. If Laura relished every meal in such an uninhibited fashion, he might develop a taste for watching her eat, naked, in the middle of his bed.
He pulled his list of things to do in front of him and wrote a reminder to instruct Mrs Palmer to remove chicken from the menu. He couldn’t endure another meal like the one tonight. He might have walked naked in front of Laura when she’d been a stranger, but he was not about to parade his more carnal needs in front of his future mother-in-law or his overly precocious sister.
The item added, he studied the list. Only a few things remained. Almost every one related to Laura. He stuck the pen in its stand, disturbed by how quickly she’d wound her way into his life. Though if any of the tasks on the list wrought the transformation the single visit to Mrs Fairley had achieved, he’d gladly put everything aside to see Laura off to the stay maker.
It was what lay beneath the stays which interested him the most.
His loins tightened again and he stood, trying to pace off the agitating desire. There’d been no one since Arabella. Many times Justin had urged Philip to follow him to his pleasure haunts, but he’d refused. Unlike Justin, Philip didn’t allow his carnal cravings to guide his decisions, though he’d come perilously close to letting them influence him tonight. Only the greatest control, and the open door, had kept him from kissing Laura. She’d have allowed him the liberty, he was sure. He’d caught the invitation in the faint parting of her lips and the eagerness in her eyes.
His steps slowed as he reached the centre of the carpet. It wasn’t just the unexpected surge of desire which had made him pull back tonight. It was the other, more subtle urge driving him—the craving for her presence as much as her curving body. Her willingness to express her fears and troubles had almost drawn him into revealing his own. It hadn’t been false comfort when he’d said he needed someone to share his burdens with. He did. He wanted her here. He wanted her help. How much more he desired was difficult to discern above the cracking of the ice surrounding his heart.
He stopped and removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. It was early still. He and Justin could spar a few rounds at the club and he might shift some of the lingering discomfort distracting him tonight.
He closed the watch case and slid his thumb over the smooth gold, the memory of Laura’s skin beneath his as troubling as his behaviour with her tonight. She’d caught the reluctance in his caress as easily as he’d noted the hesitation in her answer to his question about being here. At least her hesitation had been honest and affirmative. It was more than he’d expected after this morning’s debacle. Sadly, he hadn’t been as unguarded with her.
He dropped the watch back in his pocket and rang for Chesterton, eager to be at his boxing club. He didn’t need to bare his soul like some poet to establish a solid relationship with Laura. What he needed was time and knowledge. In the coming days, as he taught her his business and she became further enveloped in his life, they would come to know each other and the awkwardness they’d experienced today would lessen. He would keep the hardness inside him hidden as well as the sense of failure fuelling it. They would build a relationship on mutual respect and affection, not worries and fears. They would enjoy a solid future together. The past need not trouble them.
Chapter Six (#u9d866314-f6cd-5fc0-8fa8-80832882d145)
Philip sat in the big chair by the window in the sitting room. Outside, the sunlight was dampened by the darkening clouds beginning to cover the city. They thickened the shadows in the room and made it seem as if sunset had arrived early today. A lively fire danced in the grate and candles burned in the holder beside Laura’s chair, flickering in the faint light streaks in her amber hair. Thomas sat snug on her lap, his little head against her full chest as she read the horse story to him for the third time.
Gone was the ragged, desperate woman who’d slipped into his dressing room a short time ago. In front of him sat a poised lady and her confidence increased each day. Whether it was due to the gowns Mrs Fairley sent over every morning or Laura’s growing confidence in her place here, he didn’t know. He did know the modiste’s bill at the end of the month would be substantial and he would gladly pay it.
‘You’re staring again,’ Laura chided with a sideways smile when she reached the end of the book.
‘I’m enjoying listening.’ Philip laced his fingers beneath his chin. Over the past three days, he’d made a point of spending time with Laura, instructing her on the management of his business or, like tonight, joining her and Thomas in the evenings. ‘You have a way with him.’
‘He’s a sweet boy.’ She pressed her lips to Thomas’s neck and kissed him, eliciting a peel of baby laughter from the child. Then she threw Philip a teasing look from beneath her long lashes. ‘And not nearly as serious as his father.’
Philip lowered one hand to trace the curve of the chair’s carved arm, fighting to douse the heat licking through him. ‘Good.’
Thomas slapped his little hands against the book, demanding Laura start the horse story again.
‘Yes, Master Thomas, I will read it once more.’
Thomas clapped with delight as Laura turned to the first page, ready to begin their fourth reading when Chesterton entered the room.
‘Dr Hale,’ the butler announced.
Philip’s ease vanished as he rose to greet his father-in-law. ‘Dr Hale, I didn’t expect to see you today.’
‘I was on my way to visit a patient. Thought I’d stop in and see my grandson.’ Dr Hale reached for Thomas, who held out his chubby arms to his grandfather. ‘How is my little man?’
Without hesitation, Laura rose and handed Thomas to the doctor. He bounced the boy on his hip, making Thomas squeal with delight. The two of them shared the same smile, top lips flat whilst the bottom lips spread wide to reveal the gentleman’s full set of teeth and Thomas’s small scattered ones.
Over Thomas’s shoulder, Dr Hale examined Laura with an appreciative eye. ‘You must be Thomas’s new nurse?’
‘No, I’m...’ Laura’s voice failed as she looked to Philip for assistance.
‘Miss Townsend isn’t the new nurse. Mrs Marston doesn’t leave until the end of the month,’ Philip corrected, reluctant to announce the end of his mourning, but he had no choice. ‘Miss Townsend, allow me to introduce Dr Hale, Arabella’s father. Dr Hale, Miss Townsend is my intended. We’re to be married.’
Dr Hale looked back and forth between them so fast, the fine wisps of grey hair at the sides of his head swung out. ‘Married?’
Philip’s eyes darted to Thomas, then the floor before fixing on Dr Hale. Until this moment, Philip had ignored the guilt lacing this marriage, the guilt which had pricked him when he’d engaged Mr Woodson, his solicitor, to secure the common licence. He didn’t want to admit how much this new union felt like a betrayal of the old. ‘Yes.’
Dr Hale moved Thomas to his other hip. ‘I see.’
‘I apologise for not informing you of the situation sooner.’ He’d written the note summoning Dr Hale to discuss the matter. It still sat on his desk, unsent, just as the common licence now rested there unopened after Mr Woodson had delivered it this afternoon.
‘I’m sorry if the news has come as a shock,’ Laura soothed, dispelling some of the increasing awkwardness threatening to suffocate them all.
Dr Hale stroked Thomas’s cheek, then offered her a grandfatherly smile. ‘Miss Townsend, I’ve found there’s very little news in this world, good or bad, that doesn’t come as a shock to someone. Don’t let me make you feel awkward. I wish you and Philip the greatest happiness.’
‘Thank you, and please know you may continue to come here at any time. I want Thomas to know his grandfather, and his mother.’ She brushed Thomas’s hair off his forehead, then squeezed the doctor’s arm.
It humbled Philip to see her so welcoming when all he could do was stand there.
Thankfully, Mrs Marston’s arrival prevented yet another uncomfortable quiet from settling over them.
‘It’s time for Thomas to prepare for bed,’ the nurse announced.
‘Don’t want to keep the lad from his sleep.’ Dr Hale kissed the boy’s chubby cheek, then handed him to the nurse. ‘There you go. Sleep well.’
Mrs Marston presented Thomas to Philip. He pressed a kiss to his son’s temple, lingering with his eyes closed, seeking comfort, not giving it. Philip was flailing this evening and he hated it.
‘I must be going, too. I have a patient expecting me,’ Dr Hale announced as Mrs Marston carried Thomas from the room. ‘Mrs Linton. Healthy as a horse, but convinced she’s dying. I suspect its unhappiness keeping her in bed. Husband ignores her. I do what I can to encourage her to pursue other interests, but instead she focuses on every twinge and cough.’
‘Wish her good health from us,’ Laura said.
‘I will. Congratulations again to you, Miss Townsend.’ He turned to Philip, his smile fading. ‘Will you see me out?’
‘Of course.’ Philip might have avoided telling him of the marriage, but he would face like a gentleman whatever harsh words the doctor wished to level at him.
Laura remained behind as Philip accompanied Dr Hale to the entrance hall. The house seemed unusually dark, and when Chesterton opened the front door to let in the fading daylight it didn’t dispel the gloom.
‘You’ve chosen well with Miss Townsend,’ Dr Hale offered as he accepted his hat from Chesterton and settled it over his hair. ‘I can see she’ll love the boy as if he were her own. It’s the most I could’ve asked of you in choosing your next partner.’
Philip stiffened, wishing the man would curse at him for all his mistakes and failures the way he cursed himself. ‘I do still grieve for Arabella.’
‘And part of you always will, just as I grieve for my dear wife.’ There wasn’t blame in his long face, or hate, or any of the emotions torturing Philip, only a weary mask of resignation, like the one he’d worn the morning of Arabella’s funeral. ‘But time passes and eventually the pain fades. Let it and give yourself a chance to be happy with Miss Townsend.’
He clapped Philip on the arm, then made for the street, his trim figure silhouetted against the grey wall of St Bride’s churchyard as Chesterton swung the door shut.
‘Is there something you need, sir?’ he asked when Philip didn’t walk away.
‘No.’
When Chesterton left, Philip didn’t move or return to the sitting room. He stared at the carved panels of the door, struggling to push back the guilt threatening to crush him. Dr Hale was right, Philip needed to think of the future, but all he could see was that cold morning cloaked in misery and devastating grief.
‘He’s a very nice man.’ Laura’s voice filled the hall from behind him.
‘I should have told him sooner. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.’ He regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. Laura’s opinion of him mattered, especially while his own was so low. He’d been a coward and now both she and Dr Hale knew it.
She came to stand beside him and slid her hand into his, twining their fingers together. The gentle grip steadied his desire to stride out of the house and follow the pavement until the hole inside him engulfed all of London.
‘My mother told me once that sometimes, after I was born, she would think of my dead brother and feel guilty for being happy with me,’ Laura gently offered. ‘She loved him very much, she still does, but at times it felt as if letting go of him was wrong.’
Something inside Philip cracked and he tightened his hand in hers. The words rose up inside him, despite every effort to stifle them. She understood and he wanted her to know.
‘She wasn’t like you, healthy and strong. When she wanted a child, I refused, but in the end I couldn’t deny her and it killed her.’
Laura laid her hand on his cheek and turned his face to hers. ‘It’s not your fault, Philip. It’s no one’s fault when people get sick and die.’
‘It was my fault. I should have known better. I should have kept her safe and I failed.’ He let go of her hand and leaned away from her palm as the hardness rushed back in to surround his heart. He hadn’t wanted her to know his gravest mistake. Now she did and he couldn’t stand it. ‘I have business to see to.’
He made for his office, ashamed of himself and his past.
* * *
Laura didn’t follow, recognising the grief pulling Philip inside himself. If she tried to draw him out now, he’d only push her away. All she could do was wait until he was ready to reveal more. Then she would listen and help him as best she could, assuming he ever placed as much faith in her as he had in Arabella.
She wandered back into the sitting room and lifted Thomas’s discarded book from the chair. Until Dr Hale’s arrival, she’d failed to realise how tight a hold the past still had on Philip. It was stronger than any power Laura possessed or could hope to forge in so short an amount of time.
Closing the book, she clutched it to her chest. In a few days, Philip’s claim over her had tightened. It wasn’t just the food, clothes and his house, it was him and his unwavering presence. She needed him as much as he needed her. Yet tonight he’d strode away from her help and she worried he always would. Then some day, she might take to her bed, focusing on every ailment as she grew old with a man who’d never regard her as more than part of a contract, a deal.
She quit the room, heading upstairs to see to the numerous packages which had arrived today from the glover and the stocking maker. Becoming an invalid like one of Dr Hale’s patients wasn’t her future. Philip might withdraw from her today, but she wouldn’t give up on him, or their life together.
* * *
