A Debt Paid In Marriage

She breathed hard against the tightening stays, fear and anticipation pressing against her chest. She should have asked for the banns instead of insisting on the common licence. She wasn’t ready for such intimacy, not yet, not with everything, especially their future together, so unsure.

Mary tied off the stays then picked up the dress, opening it so Laura could slip inside. She held up her arms and let the blue cotton flow down over her shoulders and body. The soft material made her sigh with delight and eased some of her fears. A man who was so loving and tender with his son wouldn’t be cruel to her.

Mary did up the row of buttons at the back, but the dress was too large in the bust. Even Laura’s well-formed breasts weren’t ample enough to keep the front from billowing and gaping open. While Mary pinned the dress to make it fit better, Laura opened and closed her hand. The shock of Mr Rathbone’s touch had remained with her long after she’d blown out her candle and settled into the clean sheets last night. It wasn’t his hand in hers which had remained with her the longest, but the conflict she’d noticed coursing beneath his calm exterior. More than once he’d begun to withdraw from her before his palm had settled again, surrendering to her hold. It was as if he both wanted and didn’t want to draw close to her. It seemed strange for a man who seemed so determined about everything to be confused about something as simple as touching his intended. Although it wasn’t as simple as she wanted to believe.

At Mary’s urging, Laura seated herself in the chair before the dressing table and let the young maid arrange her hair. She barely noticed the tugging and combing as she remembered Mr Rathbone’s eyes upon hers. There’d been more in the joining of their hands than conveying her desire to wed quickly. There was something she hadn’t allowed herself to consider possible when she’d accepted his proposal yesterday—a deeper concern for her than business.

The faint hint of it made her eager to be done with the dressing table and be in front of him again.

With her hair arranged into a simple jumble of curls at the back of her head, Laura made her way downstairs. She felt guilty leaving Mary behind to see to the room. She’d tried to assist her, perfectly capable of making her own bed, but the maid had insisted it was her duty to straighten it and Laura had reluctantly left her to it.

Laura took in the house as she moved slowly down the hallway. Last night, with the myriad arrangements and settling in, there hadn’t been time to explore. Her first time here, she’d been too occupied trying not to be seen to admire anything more than the direct route from the back door, down the hall, to the stairs.

The upstairs hall was plain, the length of it punctuated by doors to the various bedrooms and landscapes in gilded frames. The staircase at the far end made one turn before opening into the entrance hall below. It wasn’t overly high, but wider than those she’d seen in the few merchants’ houses she’d visited with her father when she was a child. Stone covered the floor, leading to a solid door flanked by two glass windows. Through them she could see people passing by in a steady stream along the pavement lining Bride Lane. Some of them entered the churchyard of St Bride’s across the street, the rest hurried on to nearby Fleet Street.

Making for the dining room at the back of the house, Laura noted the rich panelling lining the downstairs hall seemed less dark and foreboding in the bright morning light, though it still made her a touch uneasy to be striding so boldly through the house. It was nearly incomprehensible to think she would soon be mistress of it.

She passed the study, the masculine mahogany desk, neatly ordered shelves and solid chairs inside indicating this must be where Mr Rathbone managed his affairs. He wasn’t there and she ventured inside. The neatness and fine taste of the appointments matched his attire. Where the back room behind the draper shop had always been cluttered with account books and fabrics, not a speck of dirt or an out-of-place ledger marred the clean lines of this room. Though Laura was by no means slovenly, she wondered how she would be able to keep pace with such a man.

The French doors on the far wall leading to the garden drew her to them. Outside, the sky was clear, with a few wispy clouds floating past the sun. They were only a mile or so from Seven Dials, but it might have been halfway around the world for how different everything appeared here. The air seemed cleaner, the buildings solid stone instead of sagging wood. The whole garden was green, punctuated by the white and red of blooming roses, their brightness a welcome sight after the grime and dirt of Laura’s former lodgings.

The moneylender’s fortune must be larger than she’d thought for him to possess the luxury of such a garden, one surrounded by a tall, fine wall. Just beyond it, through the iron gate, the one she’d crept through the other night, she noticed a horse staring out from the mews.

In the centre of the garden, Jane escorted Laura’s mother around a raised brick bed filled with rosebushes. Excitement lightened each muffled word as Jane pointed out flower after flower, motioning to them with the pride of a silversmith displaying her finest wares.

As they made a turn, her mother caught sight of Laura. She raised a hand in greeting, her simple gesture joined by Jane’s more eager wave. Jane’s enthusiasm eased the stiffness in her posture and made her look more like a young girl rather than a female copy of her brother.

Whatever changes Laura’s mother had wrought in Jane, the young lady’s effect on the older woman was tenfold. Laura’s mother wore a dress of dark-blue muslin. It needed to be altered to fit properly, but the clean lines and fine material lent her a measure of dignity which showed itself in the new straightness in her posture. She didn’t lean as heavily on her walking stick as before and for the first time in over a year, she appeared rested and happy. Whatever Laura’s concerns about herself, they were eased by the smile gracing her mother’s thin face.

Laura’s stomach growled and she left the window and the room to search out the food Mrs Palmer had promised. The dining room sat across the hall from the study, a shining table with ball-and-claw feet dominating the centre. The panelling didn’t extend in here, but gave way to a pale-blue paper on the walls overseen by the portrait of a matronly woman in the dress and cap of a few decades ago.

A footman stood beside a heavy sideboard laden with silver dishes full of eggs, ham and bread. Laura gasped at the plenty of it. During all the weak suppers in Seven Dials, she never thought she’d ever see or enjoy such abundance again.

Taking the plate offered by the footman, she selected a little food from each silver server, then sat down at the table. She savoured every bite, glad to be alone so she could relish the simple food without the humiliation of revealing the depths of her previous deprivation. After using her toast to wipe up the last bits of her second helping, she rose to get another serving when Chesterton, the butler, stepped into the room.

‘Miss Townsend.’ Her name sounded so imperious and important in his deep voice. ‘Mr Rathbone would like you to join him in the sitting room.’

‘Of course.’ Laura slid the plate down on to the buffet, suddenly feeling like a thief for indulging so much. The fork scraped and clanked across the porcelain and she winced, wondering when she’d become such a scared mouse. She straightened the knife and fork on the plate, then stood straight, clasping her hands in a businesslike manner in front of her. ‘Would you please show me the way?’

‘It would be my pleasure.’ He almost smiled and Laura caught something of Mrs Palmer’s tenderness around his eyes. With everyone silently encouraging her rather than sneering, laughing or pitying her behind her back, it made the idea of easing into her new place as their mistress a great deal easier.

As she followed Chesterton out of the dining room and across the hall, she thought it strange to have so many people thinking well of her presence here and her the only one in doubt.

Jane came bounding down the stairs, carrying a book and Laura’s mother’s dark shawl, looking more like a thirteen-year-old than she had last night. Spying Laura, she halted and took the last few stairs with the elegance of a woman far beyond her years. ‘Good morning, Miss Townsend.’

‘Please, call me Laura.’ She smiled warmly, trying to put the girl at ease, disliking such seriousness in one so young.

The stiff set of Jane’s body eased with Laura’s invitation. ‘And you may call me Jane.’

‘I see you and my mother are getting along well.’

‘Very well.’ A proud smile spread over her stern lips, bringing back the youthful light which had illuminated her face as she’d come down the stairs. ‘We are to visit Mrs Fairley together tomorrow. She was too tired to go today, but you mustn’t worry about her. I’ll see she gets enough rest.’

‘Thank you. It means a great deal to me to have someone keeping her company while I’m occupied.’

‘It’s my pleasure. I’m going to read to her now. Where are you going?’

‘The sitting room.’

‘Philip summoned you?’

Laura choked back a laugh. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

The girl moved closer as if she possessed something urgent to impart. ‘Touch his hand again like you did last night. Miss Lavinia does it in The Wanderer and it drives Mr Welton absolutely mad.’

Laura crossed her arms, mimicking the way her mother used to stare at her whenever she’d offered unasked-for advice or stuck her nose in where it was unwanted. ‘Jane, were you spying on us?’

‘No, not at all.’ Jane possessed too much of her brother’s confidence to be cowed by Laura’s stern look. ‘I peeked out my door and saw you. You two looked just how I imagined Viscount Rapine and Miss Anne must look in The Lothario.’

‘You’re reading The Lothario?’ Her brother couldn’t possibly approve of such a choice.

Apparently he didn’t, for Jane clapped her hand over her mouth as if she’d mistakenly revealed a great secret. Her eyes darted to the butler standing a polite distance away, then back to Laura. ‘You won’t tell Philip, will you? If he finds out I’m reading romantic novels, he might end my subscription to the lending library.’

Laura dropped her stern look and all pretence at reprimanding. ‘As long as you reserve your employment of their knowledge to dispensing advice and nothing else, I won’t tell your brother and I won’t object.’

Jane sighed with relief. ‘Good, because Mrs Townsend would be very disappointed. We’re going to start reading Glenarvon this afternoon and I can’t wait.’

‘You and my mother are going to read Glenarvon?’ She never would have been allowed to read such a salacious book. With the exception of the few novels Laura had managed to borrow from friends and sneak into her room, her reading had been comprised of business tracts and the stock pages. While she was grateful for the education, especially now, she wondered when her mother had grown so soft.

‘Yes.’ Jane moved a touch closer, whispering with Laura in collusion. ‘I hear it’s quite scandalous.’

‘I’ve heard so, too.’ Laura dropped her voice, encouraging the youthful confidence between them. It was a treat to see Jane acting more like a young lady than a stiff governess. ‘When you’re done with it, I’d like to read it. I might learn a trick or two.’

Jane gaped at Laura. Then a smile broke the line of her lips and she laughed, a good genuine girlish one which brightened the hall. ‘I shall be happy to pass it on to you. Now, I must return to Mrs Townsend. I’ve kept her waiting long enough and she needs her shawl.’

‘And I must answer your brother’s summons.’

Jane sobered, laying a hand on Laura’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, Philip isn’t as stern as he likes everyone to think.’

‘I’ll keep it in mind.’ And she would, for if his sister believed it, it was most likely true.

With a squeeze of her hand, Jane let go and hurried off down the hall, allowing the door at the back of the house leading to the garden to bang shut behind her.

Laura wished she could follow. After a year of looking after her mother, it felt odd to relinquish her duties to someone else, but at least Jane’s attention meant her mother wasn’t left alone in a strange place while Laura attended to business.

‘Here you are, Miss Townsend.’ Chesterton stopped at the sitting-room door at the front of the house.

Laura gave him a smile of gratitude and stepped inside.