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

‘Moving? Where?’ She looked past Laura to the men behind her.

‘Mother, allow me to introduce Mr Rathbone.’

Mr Rathbone bowed with respect, not mockery, but it failed to ease the suspicion hardening her mother’s pale-brown eyes.

‘Yes, I know who he is.’ Her mother eyed the moneylender down the length of her straight nose like she used to do with ragamuffins intent on swiping a ribbon from the shop. The fierce look would send them scurrying off in search of easier pickings. Mr Rathbone wasn’t so easily cowed. He met her stern glare as he had met almost everything else which had transpired between them, with no emotion.

‘He and I are to be married and we are to live with him,’ Laura announced. There was no other way to break the startling news.

‘Was this the price of Robert’s loan?’ Her mother banged her walking stick against the floor. ‘If so, I won’t let you do it. I won’t let you sell yourself to pay off one of Robert’s debts. Your uncle isn’t worth it. I deny my permission for this marriage.’

Laura stiffened. At three and twenty, she was two years past the age when such consent was necessary. However, she could feel her mother’s strong will rising, a will which illness, misfortune and widowhood had sapped from her this past year. It gave Laura hope for her future.

‘You have every right to object,’ Mr Rathbone agreed, his features taking on a more civil countenance. ‘As Miss Townsend’s mother, I should have consulted you on the matter before making the proposal. I apologise for my breach of manners, but the circumstances of our betrothal are most unusual and allowed no time for a more formal courtship. May we discuss the matter now, in private?’

He moved forward and held out his arm. Beneath the stern set of her mother’s expression, Laura caught the subtle arch of a raised eyebrow. He’d won her with his manners, hopefully whatever he intended to say to her would win her favour for the match.

‘Yes, for I wish to know how my daughter has so suddenly transfixed you.’ Mrs Townsend laid her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her back into the cramped bedroom and help her to sit on the edge of the broken-down bed.

Laura pulled the door closed on them, not envying Mr Rathbone. It’d been a long time since she’d experienced her mother’s chastising scrutiny. It was formidable, but she felt the moneylender equal to the challenge.

In the tiny sitting room, she tossed a weak smile to the two remaining men flanking the door. They nodded in return before Mr Connor came to stand beside her.

‘You’re a very fortunate lady, Miss Townsend.’ There was a hint of teasing in the compliment.

‘Am I?’

‘Yes, the widowed Mrs Templeton has been trying to capture Philip’s attention for many months now. If I’d known aiming a pistol at him would do the trick, I’d have advised her to try it.’ He threw back his head and laughed, filling the room with the merriest sound that had been heard there for ages.

Laura let out a long breath, his humour allowing her to smile. ‘You are Mr Rathbone’s business partner then?’

‘We’re friends. Grew up together. My father worked for his father, seeing to the more practical aspects of the business.’ He nodded at the men by the door. ‘Just as I do. Though not for much longer. I intend to establish myself in a business, once I decide which is the best to pursue.’

‘Then I wish you the greatest success.’

‘As I do you.’ He threw her a wide sideways smile she couldn’t fail to meet with one of her own.

‘Tell me, is Mr Rathbone always so businesslike?’

‘Oh, he’s almost jovial today. You should see how stern he is with clients.’

‘Apparently, I will.’

The door to her mother’s room opened and she and Mr Rathbone stepped through it. His face revealed nothing of their conversation. Her mother, however, beamed, striding in on his arm as though a duchess in Hyde Park. Laura gaped at them, wondering if there would be any end to the surprises in store for her today. She wasn’t sure she could handle too many more.

‘You have nothing to worry about, my dear.’ Her mother patted her shoulder. ‘Now, let’s be off. I see they’ve taken the painting and the desk.’ She looked up at Mr Rathbone. ‘Would you please ask your men to fetch our trunk from the bedroom? Everything else Robert can have.’

‘It would be my pleasure.’ Mr Rathbone motioned to the two remaining men. They hurried past Laura into the bedroom, emerging a moment later with the sad trunk holding what remained of Laura’s and her mother’s possessions.

They were not a foot into the room when another figure staggered into the doorway, the stench of pipe smoke and cheap ale swirling around him.

Uncle Robert.

The air thickened with tension as Mr Rathbone’s men slowly set down the trunk and straightened, dropping their hands to the clubs hanging from their belts. Mr Connor stood behind her uncle, his laughter gone as he shifted back his redingote to reveal the smooth handle of the pistol fastened at his waist. Laura’s hand tightened on her mother’s arm, Mr Rathbone’s warning rushing back to her along with a cutting fear.

‘What’s all this then?’ Robert Townsend demanded, struggling through his stupor to pronounce each word. His eyes fixed on the two men carrying the trunk and his sallow face scrunched with confusion before his bleary look fell on Mr Rathbone. At once, his red-rimmed eyes ignited with anger and he advanced on the moneylender. ‘What’s the meaning of this? I paid my debt to you. I owe you nothing.’

‘My business here today doesn’t concern you, Mr Townsend.’ Philip crossed the room to the older man, preventing him from advancing any further. They were matched in height, but Robert Townsend was wider in the shoulders with a barrel chest made thicker by his large coat. ‘Your niece has agreed to marry me. She and Mrs Townsend are removing to my house.’

‘My business wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to have everything, you greedy pig.’ Her uncle swayed forward on his feet. ‘Do you know what Moll Topp pays for a virgin like her? It would have cleared all my debts.’

Her mother’s hand tightened in Laura’s the way it used to do when she was small and they would cross a busy street. Laura knew her uncle held no love for them, but she hadn’t thought he’d sink to such sickening depths to save himself. She trembled as the shadow of another possible fate passed over her.

Only the stretching of Philip’s leather glove as his hand tightened at his side revealed his disgust. ‘I ask you to remember we are in the presence of ladies.’

‘Don’t pretend you’re my better.’ Robert stuck one thick and dirty finger in Mr Rathbone’s face. ‘I know your kind, feeding off the backs of men like me until you’ve gained every last shilling from us, then crushing us under your boot heels. Well, I won’t be crushed, not by a coward like you.’

Robert pulled back his arm and rammed it forward. Mr Rathbone dipped, dodging the blow, then he came up fast, his fist catching Robert under the chin. The larger man stumbled back across the room, slamming into a small chair, his weight crushing it beneath him. He sat for a moment, stunned sober, and Laura wanted to rush over and add a few kicks of her own in retribution for all he’d done to her parents. There was no time, as Robert hauled himself to his feet, ready to rush at Mr Rathbone.

Mr Rathbone’s men stepped up behind him, sticks clasped in their hands. Mr Connor pulled out his pistol and levelled it at the drunk man.

‘I wouldn’t do that, sir,’ he warned.

Laura drew her mother back, ready to flee into the bedroom and bar the door, but no one moved. She barely dared to breathe.

Through the thin walls came the muffled voice of the man next door cursing at his wife.

Robert met Laura’s eyes over Mr Rathbone’s shoulder, hate twisting his lips into a sneer and drawing tight the red bruise forming beneath the grey stubble on his chin. ‘You think you’ve got the better of me, ya little wench, but ya haven’t. Neither have you, Mr Rathbone. Your men won’t always be around to protect you. Some day you’ll be alone and I’ll be there.’

He spat at Mr Rathbone’s feet.

Mr Rathbone plucked the hat from the table and settled it over his hair. ‘Good day, Mr Townsend.’

He took Mrs Townsend by the arm and escorted both her and Laura around Robert. Laura eyed the old man acidly. Behind them, Mr Rathbone’s men filed out, two carrying the trunk while the other two stood guard. Mr Connor was the last to leave, still brandishing the pistol.

Her mother leaned heavily on Mr Rathbone as they picked their way slowly down the stairs. It took all Laura’s energy not to sag against the railings as fear pressed down hard on her. As she reached the bottom and stepped out into the chill evening air, she willed herself not to think of her uncle or how horribly true Mr Rathbone’s assessment of him had proven. It no longer mattered.

Mr Rathbone settled her mother in the landau and Laura joined her. The hood was open and with the sun dipping, the air had taken on a chill. She drew the blanket over their knees as Mr Rathbone climbed in across from them.

Laura took one last look at the rickety building as the vehicle started to roll away. Robert stood at the filthy window, his obvious hate as searing as if the spring sun were reflecting off the panes. Laura swallowed hard. She might never see this rotting pile of beams again, but she felt certain this wasn’t the last she’d see of her uncle.

Chapter Three (#u9d866314-f6cd-5fc0-8fa8-80832882d145)

If events had proceeded with stunning rapidity in their rented rooms, it was a marvel to see how they moved once they arrived at Mr Rathbone’s house. Business pulled him and Mr Connor away, leaving Laura and her mother in the capable hands of his housekeeper, Mrs Palmer. She proved as efficient as her employer, though much more talkative. In a flash she had them fed, their few things arranged in their separate but adjoining rooms, baths drawn and the clean nightclothes Mr Rathbone had procured from a client laid out on the bed.

While Mrs Palmer assisted Laura’s mother, her coarse laugh carrying through the walls at various intervals and joined by her mother’s higher one, Laura pulled on the cotton chemise. She sighed at the sweep of clean linen against her damp skin, revelling in it too much to be irritated by Mr Rathbone’s presumption she would accept his strange suit. When she pulled on the silk banyan lying next to it, she nearly burst into tears. She’d parted with her French one, a Christmas gift from her father, long ago to buy food. She never thought she’d enjoy such a simple luxury again.

If the chemise and banyan felt heavenly, she could only imagine how the clean sheets on the high bed would feel. She touched the turned-back covers, eager to slide between them and give in to the exhaustion heightened by the warm bath, a full stomach and the comfortable night-dress, when the door whispered open behind her.