Regency Surrender: Debts Reclaimed: A Debt Paid in Marriage / A Too Convenient Marriage

‘Of course.’ It was better to face whatever waited for her in his study than to linger here and pick a fight. Being irritable would get her nowhere and it was a poor way to thank him for all he was doing for her and her mother.

She moved past Philip and he stepped back, as if deliberately maintaining his distance. She was tempted to grasp his hand to see if she could reclaim a little of the connection they’d experienced last night. Instead she strode past him and out of the sitting room, afraid of rattling him with her boldness. With her first taste of this business looming at the other end of the hall, she didn’t want him out of sorts. She was anxious enough about facing a man in need of money without disturbing Philip’s calm.

Outside the room, he fell in step beside her.

‘What should I do?’ she asked.

‘Listen. If you hear something alarming, speak up at once.’

How strange this all seemed when all her life she’d imagined herself behind a shop counter. It was another item to add to the growing list of things to which she must become accustomed, or perhaps resign herself. ‘Do you think him a good candidate for a loan?’

‘I don’t want to prejudice you.’

His answer was strangely flattering, suggesting he valued her opinion. Hopefully, she wouldn’t disappoint him.

Laura followed him into the study. Inside, Mr Connor straightened from where he’d been slouching against the wall next to the French doors. She eyed Mr Connor’s dark coat, trying to catch the outline of the pistol she suspected was hidden beneath. How often did he need a weapon here in Philip’s home?

The importer who occupied one of the two chairs in front of the desk rose to greet Laura and Philip. He studied her from under bushy black-and-grey brows, his scrutiny unsettling as she took the chair beside Philip’s. Something about the rotund man seemed familiar, but Laura couldn’t place his face. He appeared to regard her with the same dilemma before giving up and focusing on Philip.

Outside, her mother’s muffled voice carried in from where she sat with Jane while the girl read aloud. For the second time that morning, Laura envied Jane, wishing she could pass a leisurely hour engrossed in a story, rather than learning how to lend money.

‘Mr Williams, this is Miss Townsend, she will be assisting us today,’ Philip announced to the importer as he settled himself behind the desk.

‘Don’t see why we need a woman here,’ Mr Williams said huffily.

‘I find her opinions necessary.’ Philip rested his hands coolly on the arms of the chair.

‘Have it your way.’ Mr Williams shrugged and stretched his legs out in front of him as though settling in for an evening beside the fire.

His attitude struck Laura as false. He wanted to look at ease, but the way his foot kept moving back and forth betrayed his nervousness. The small but constant fidgeting reminded her of how Uncle Robert used to face her whenever she’d cornered him about missing inventory.

‘Mr Rathbone, I’ll come to the point,’ Mr Williams began. ‘There’s a new cotton out of Georgia with a strand so strong it can be woven in half the time and at greater speed than even the cotton coming from Hispaniola. I don’t have the money to import it, which is why I’ve come to you.’

Laura shifted in her chair. She’d heard about men trying to develop such a strand, but she’d never heard of them succeeding. The weak strands of such cotton seemed better suited to making paper than weaving cloth. She looked to Mr William’s foot. It moved faster back and forth on the heel. He’d need a cobbler soon if he kept up such fidgeting.

‘And your collateral?’ Philip asked.

‘My shares in a shipping business.’ He withdrew a paper from his coat and laid it on the desk.

Philip picked up the certificate, briefly flashing the yellowing bruises on his hand before he settled the document low in front of him to review. Laura studied him as he read, trying to gauge if he saw what she did. Was it only her lack of knowledge about this business and her own discomfort at sitting in a hodgepodge dress in the middle of such an orderly office that was making her uneasy?

At last, Philip folded the paper and laid it in the centre of the clean blotter. She couldn’t tell if he approved or disapproved of it. Neither could Mr Williams, judging by the increased pace of his rocking foot.

‘And your personal situation? Do you have a wife and children?’ Philip asked.

‘Haven’t much seen the need of tying myself to an interfering woman.’ He slid Laura a hard look which she matched with a steady one of her own. ‘Though I don’t see what difference it makes to a sound investment like this one.’

Laura glanced back and forth between Philip and Mr Williams, wondering if she should say something about the cotton before Philip agreed to the loan. There was nothing sound about his proposal. Philip had asked her to speak out if she had reservations, but what he’d said in the quiet of the hallway and what he wanted from her now with the client staring him down like an overeager bulldog might be a very different thing.

‘It makes a great deal of difference to me since it’s my money you’re seeking to fund your endeavour,’ Philip countered. ‘If you fail, I’ll be the one bearing the brunt of the loss.’

‘I won’t fail and you’ll get back three times the amount I’m asking for.’

Philip paused and Laura shifted in her chair, unsure whether he was preparing to let the man down or accept his offer. ‘When would I see the dividends?’

‘There’s a ship out of Portsmouth ready to sail within the week if I can raise the money. In six months’ time it could be back here, the cotton sold and a tidy sum in your pocket.’

Philip paused again and Laura couldn’t stay silent any longer.

‘You won’t see a farthing of what he’s promising.’

‘This doesn’t concern you, woman,’ Mr Williams snapped, struggling to twist his large self around in the chair and glare her into silence.

‘Miss Townsend, you have reservations about Mr Williams’s proposal?’ Philip coaxed, unruffled by the importer’s outburst.

‘Don’t matter what she thinks of it,’ Mr Williams scoffed. ‘You’re the man. It’s up to you.’

‘As the man, I’m eager to hear the lady’s opinion.’

Laura swallowed hard, wishing she possessed Philip’s composure, but now was no time to lose her wits. ‘What he’s suggesting won’t work. The new cotton from Georgia isn’t strong enough to take the pressure of the new water-powered looms. Mr Williams may import the cotton, but he won’t be able to weave it as he’s indicated and it won’t be worth even half of what he’s going to pay to buy and ship it.’

‘You don’t know anything, girlie, except what your dressmaker tells you. Judging by your frock, even she don’t know two whiskers about cloth.’ The man snorted.

‘My father was John Townsend, a draper in Wood Street, Cheapside. I worked with him in his shop my whole life. I know more about cloth, cotton, silk and muslin than you can imagine.’

Philip exchanged a quick look with Mr Connor. Laura wasn’t sure if it was admiration or worry.

Mr Williams wasn’t as enamoured of her pluck; recognition spread across his face. ‘I knew you was familiar. I remember your father. He was a good man, God rest him. What would he think to see you here, meddling with the likes of ’im?’

He jerked his thick thumb at Philip.

‘Our business is concluded, Mr Williams,’ Philip announced in a low voice as he rose slowly from the chair to stare down at the man. ‘I can be of no help to you in this matter. Mr Connor will see you out.’

‘You’re damned right our business is concluded.’ Mr Williams struggled with his large stomach to stand. ‘I wouldn’t take your money if you offered it to me on a velvet pillow.’

He snatched the shipping share from the desk and shoved it in his pocket before turning a squinted eye to Laura. ‘Your father would turn in his grave if he knew his only daughter was now some moneylender’s wh—’

‘Out, now.’ Philip’s voice cracked over Mr Williams, stunning the importer silent.

‘Come on then.’ Mr Connor took Mr Williams by the arm and tugged him towards the door.

Mr Williams jerked free and left of his own accord, a trail of mumbled curses following him.

Philip rounded the desk and closed the door. ‘I apologise for what just happened.’

‘One would think I’d be used to bullying men after enduring my uncle.’ Laura opened her hand, her fingers tight from where she’d gripped the arm of the chair. ‘He used to fly into a rage whenever I questioned him about missing money or unpaid bills.’

She studied a deep scratch in the wood floor, following it from where it met the leg of Mr Williams’s chair to where it snaked under Philip’s desk. The pride she’d experienced when she’d spoken about her father’s shop faded like the scratch thinned beneath the desk.