A Debt Paid In Marriage

‘Goodnight, Miss Townsend.’ Jane hurried out, pausing to rise up on her toes and press a small kiss against her brother’s cheek. He bent forward so she could reach him, straightening as she disappeared down the hall.

‘Your sister is very charming.’ Laura adjusted the banyan, trying to relieve some of the heat beneath it without the garment sliding open and making her appear a slatternly hoyden.

‘Don’t let her deceive you. She can be very stubborn when she wants to be.’

Laura smiled up at him. ‘A family trait, I suspect.’

‘Indeed.’ He motioned to the room. ‘May I?’

No!

‘Of course.’ Laura stepped back a touch as he entered, wondering at the awkwardness coming over her. The door was open and he maintained a respectful distance. Even his eyes had not wandered away from hers. Laura tried to match his fortitude, forcing her arms to stay at her sides instead of crossing over her chest. Though there was no point in covering herself entirely. In the very near future, he’d see more than her dressing gown.

‘I won’t keep you from your rest for long. I need to know if you’d prefer the banns to be read or if I should secure a common licence.’

‘Do you truly want my opinion on the matter or should I acquiesce to your wishes?’ She winced a little at her unsubtle question, but exhaustion, his presence in the room and the uncomfortable weight of the banyan were making her tetchy. She craved sleep and wanted to leave everything else until tomorrow.

If he minded she couldn’t tell, his steady countenance not changing, even when he spoke. ‘You’ll find, Miss Townsend, as my wife, I’ll often consult you on many things, this being only the first.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry, it’s been a long day, a long year in fact.’

‘I understand, the past year has been a trying one for me as well.’ His hard-set jaw softened and Laura remembered the only other time she had seen this happen, when he’d mentioned his wife. A grief she knew well from losing her father had washed over his face and the same expression crossed it again now. Whatever tragedy had brought him to the position of needing help under such unusual circumstances, it’d marked him as hard as all the trials of the past year had stamped her.

She was about to suggest the ease of the banns, eager to gain the three or four weeks it would take before the wedding to settle in and get to know something of the man she was about to share her life with, when an interrupting cough drew their attention to the door. From further away, Laura heard the wail of a small child.

A thin, middle-aged woman wearing a dark dress stepped into the room. ‘Excuse me, Mr Rathbone, I didn’t mean to disturb you in the middle of business.’

The woman’s gaze jumped back and forth between Laura and Mr Rathbone.

Laura pulled the silk closer to her chin. She could only imagine what the woman must think she’d walked in on.

‘Miss Marston, please meet my intended, Miss Townsend,’ Mr Rathbone intervened, the stiff mask of business descending over Philip’s face and covering the faint hint of emotion Laura had caught. ‘Miss Marston is Thomas’s nurse.’

‘Oh, Miss Townsend, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’ Mrs Marston’s smile was more surprised than relieved. Laura suspected she’d encounter many similar reactions in the days to come. ‘Mr Rathbone, Thomas awoke crying and nothing I do will calm him. You always have such a way with him. I thought you might come to the nursery for a moment.’

‘Yes, I will.’ He started for the door, then paused. ‘Miss Townsend, come and meet the gentleman who is part of our arrangement.’

His command given, he didn’t wait for her. Mrs Marston wasn’t at all surprised by the abruptness and followed her employer out of the room.

Laura walked behind them, the cries of a very young child growing louder as they stepped into the hallway. Mr Rathbone and Mrs Marston made steady strides for the door at the far end, but Laura’s progress was slower. When she at last reached the room, the sight inside amazed her. Mr Rathbone stood with the small child in his arms, a little face pressed against his coat, the tears soaking into the wool. One chubby hand clutched his lapel, wrinkling the perfectly pressed crease.

‘What’s wrong, Thomas? Did you have a bad dream?’ Mr Rathbone’s steady voice filled the quiet as he shifted back and forth on the toes of his boots. ‘You have nothing to worry about. I’m here.’

His deep voice conjured up memories of her father holding her and wiping away her tears after a nightmare. It seemed like such a long time since she’d felt so safe and loved. His words curled around her insides, soothing her as they did the boy until she wanted to lay her head on Mr Rathbone’s shoulder and cry away all her frustrations and fears from the past year.

‘He has such a way with the boy,’ Mrs Marston murmured from beside her.

‘Yes, he does.’

Whatever reasons she’d had for wanting to wait a month for the wedding disappeared. Too many things might happen in four weeks. He could change his mind and Laura didn’t want to go back to the stinking Seven Dials and the cold, lonely desperation which crept like the damp through those wretched rooms. Even if she never knew the same affection he showed his son, just being in the presence of such love eased the hopelessness and despair she’d suffered for far too long. She didn’t want to lose that.

Mr Rathbone buried his face in the child’s soft blond curls, lowering his voice, but never stopping his soothing words. The boy sniffed, his eyes growing heavy as his father continued to rock him and stroke his little back. Soon the child’s stuffy-nosed breaths gave way to steady, quiet snores. Mr Rathbone kissed his head, then gently laid Thomas back down in his bed. He pulled the blanket up under his chin, then brushed the soft curls with his hand before relinquishing his place next to the bed to Mrs Marston.

‘Come,’ he whispered to Laura, his entreaty for her to join him as soft as his soothing words to his son. ‘We mustn’t disturb him.’

In the hallway, with the door closed behind them, he faced her. A circle of wet from his son’s tears broke the smooth weave of his coat, but he didn’t brush at it or curse the spot. The caring father stood over her, the man of business gone as his eyes swept her face.

Then the look faded and he began to turn and walk away, but she wasn’t ready to see him go.

‘Mr Rathbone.’ She reached out and took his hand.

He whirled, eyes wide, just as stunned as she was by the gesture, but he didn’t pull away. A slight connection jumped between them like a cricket hops between two slender blades of grass, bending but not breaking them. One by one his fingertips pressed against the back of her hand and words deserted her as his breath whispered across her forehead. She didn’t know if the strange catch in her chest was from the excitement of the move, watching her uncle receive a well-deserved beating or the whirlwind of going from pauper to the expected wife of a well-to-do gentleman in the space of two days.

Swallowing hard, she recovered her wits enough to finally speak. ‘I’d prefer the common licence.’

* * *

With his son’s tears soaking through the wool to wet the linen underneath, Philip could deny Miss Townsend nothing, not even his hand. ‘Whatever you wish.’

Something whispered between them, subtle as the faint scent of lavender soap surrounding Laura. This was the first time they’d touched, but it was as comforting as if it were the hundredth. It soothed the panic the unexpected intimacy had sent shooting through him.

‘Thank you for all you did for us today.’ Her fingers tightened with her gratitude, digging into the bruises colouring his knuckles.

He winced and her grip eased. It was his chance to pull away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

‘You hurt your hand.’ The sleeve of her banyan slid back as she traced the dark marks on his knuckles, revealing the soft skin and the hint of her chemise beneath.

‘It wasn’t the first time.’ He forced the words through his lips. She stood so close he could see the wet curls at the nape of her neck clinging to her skin. Heat rushed in hard beneath his stomach, making it difficult to stand still, or concentrate on anything beside the green and gold in her eyes. ‘Mr Connor and I train with a pugilist. It’s imperative my people and I know how to protect ourselves.’

‘Will I learn to box?’ A playful smile danced along the corners of her full lips.

The sharp twitch of old emotions he’d buried with his wife struck him, as hard as Laura’s pulse against his skin.

‘No, but you’ll learn to properly load and fire a pistol.’ He slid his hand out of hers, careful not to jerk away as he struggled to distance himself from her and the memories scratching at his heart. ‘Goodnight, Miss Townsend.’

She dropped her hands to cross them in front of her, letting him go. ‘Goodnight, Mr Rathbone.’

In the confines of the stairwell, out of her sight, Philip paused. Opening and closing his fist, he tried to shake off the heat of her fingers. There was only one other time in his life when he’d experienced a connection so powerful with a stranger. The first time he’d touched Arabella.

He jerked up straight and descended the stairs. This was nothing like what he’d experienced with Arabella. This was a business deal, a venture plain and simple. He’d researched the lady, spent hours pondering both the good and bad aspects of the union. Yet in the end, it hadn’t been the tally sheet which had tilted Philip towards her. It was intuition.

Fear nearly choked the breath from him.

Intuition had failed him before where marriage was concerned. What if it was failing him again?

‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you needed a drink,’ Justin chided as Philip stepped down into the hall.

‘I need exercise.’ Anything to clear the uncertainty pummelling him.