Regency Surrender: Debts Reclaimed

‘You aren’t a thief.’ He swung the safe door closed and locked it.

Apparently, he did know she wasn’t capable of robbing him.

She tugged at the dress, wishing she possessed the same unshakeable confidence in herself and her decision to marry as he did in her and his own decisions.

He returned the mounted dagger to the hooks. The silver cufflinks holding the crisp ends of his sleeves together over his strong wrists flashed with the morning sunlight. Only the yellowing bruises along his knuckles kept his appearance from being perfect.

He’d received those bruises for defending her. It was ungrateful of her to stand here lamenting his help because it hadn’t come from her own effort, yet she still hated the idea of needing his charity.

His papers secure, this pleasant morning repartee came to an end. ‘I asked you to join me because a gentleman is here in need of a loan. It’s the perfect opportunity to begin your training.’

‘So soon?’ The eggs threatened to revolt in her stomach. Perhaps she shouldn’t have enjoyed a second serving.

‘The prospective client is a cloth importer and your expertise might be beneficial to the transaction. Before I decide whether or not to invest in his business, I need to know if his proposal has merit.’

‘My uncle’s plan had merit,’ she challenged.

‘Because it was yours,’ he answered flatly.

‘But you didn’t know that then.’

‘I do now.’

‘Yet you still lent to my uncle. Why?’ she persisted, her unease making her quarrelsome.

‘As I said before, he possessed the collateral to secure the loan. If he’d rebuilt the business, he wouldn’t have been the first unlikely client to exceed my expectations.’

She had the distinct impression the remark was directed at her, but it didn’t ease the way his past dealing with her uncle Robert continued to chafe. ‘Did you know about me and my mother?’

‘He failed to reveal your presence when he initially approached me, but in my research—’

‘Your research?’ Curse it, he was so methodical.

‘I research all my clients before extending a loan. I discovered your and Mrs Townsend’s presence.’

‘And you were still willing to let him ruin us?’

‘No.’ His expression remained impassive, but the force and sincerity behind the single word was strong enough to wilt her anger.

It didn’t stop her from gaping at him in disbelief, not knowing what to think. ‘But—’

‘I’ll explain all to you in good time. Now, we must see to Mr Williams.’ He motioned to the door instead of offering her his arm. ‘Shall we?’

‘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.

She’d been a fool to think it would be so easy accepting a stranger as her husband. It had been even more simple-minded to imagine they’d touch a few times and it would be as if they were in love and well known to one another. That wasn’t how it would be at all. She was going to marry a stranger, live in a strange house and learn a business she wanted nothing to do with. Why? Because she was so desperate, she was willing to sell herself for safety, just as Mr Williams had been about to accuse her of doing before Philip had cut him off.

I’m not selling myself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, repeating the truth over and over. It still didn’t shift the weight sitting hard on her chest. I’m trying to make a secure life for me and my mother.

‘Laura?’ The sound of her name was soothing, like the sound of Thomas’s name on Philip’s lips last night. She opened her eyes, expecting to revel in the same softness, but Philip’s eyes were firm as he studied her.

‘In time, you’ll learn to disregard such people.’ He took up the stack of papers resting on the corner of the desk and shook them into a neat pile. ‘Men like Mr Williams often resort to personal attacks when questioned about their business or finances.’

‘I know. People who owed my father and couldn’t pay often reacted the same way when pressed.’ It wasn’t so very different and yet it was. They hadn’t looked down on her the way Mr Williams had just done. If they had done, her father would send them off and then remind her afterwards of her worth. What was her worth now? Certainly not what she’d once imagined, back when she’d dreamed of a loving husband standing with her behind the counter of their own shop, greeting clients together the way her parents had used to.

‘Many people come here when they’re desperate.’ Philip laid the papers back on the corner of the desk. ‘It affects their better sense.’

Laura wondered if she’d lost hers. Whatever comfort she’d taken in the clean clothes, comfortable bed and good food vanished. She eyed the neat stack of papers, wanting to knock it to the floor, scatter the sheets across the wood and cover the scratch. She’d been desperate enough to come here and turn over the only asset she still possessed to Philip, just as her uncle had been willing to relinquish the business, and Mr Williams the shipping shares. Unlike those men, Laura had been forced by others to part with what little she had left, just as she’d been forced to teach Uncle Robert the business when her father had brought him in, despite her and her mother’s protests. Then she’d been forced to watch while he’d taken everything away piece by awful piece. ‘I wish you hadn’t asked me to join you.’

‘I needed your assistance and experience. I knew the shipping shares were worthless. The company refuses to invest in steam engines which I and many others believe are the future, and their fleet is outdated. It was your expertise in cloth I needed.’

She sucked in a deep breath at the blunt statement, struggling to push back the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She straightened her spine and looked at him. If he could stand so impassively in front of her, she would do so, too, and not dissolve into some blubbering girl. ‘Surely there are other people you could have called on.’

‘There are, but I need to know if you can see through what a man says to find the truth of his situation, to gauge his suitability in case there comes a time when you must act alone.’ He pressed his fingers into the stack of papers, making them dip in the middle, something of unease in the simple motion. So he wasn’t infallible after all and he knew it. It was encouraging to know. It made him at last seem mortal, though no less irritating. ‘Your instincts proved correct, as I suspected they would.’

‘And what of my feelings?’ She swept the stack of papers off the desk, sending them fluttering to the floor, her anger fuelled as much by Mr Williams as all the frustrations and humiliations of the past year. ‘Did you ever take those into consideration, or how being bullied and brought low by a man like Mr Williams might hurt me?’

The papers settled over the floor like snow. Philip watched, emotionless, as a contract balanced on the edge of the seat cushion before sliding off to cover the scratch on the wood.

Outside, her mother and Jane passed by the window as they made their way inside.

Horror rushed in to blot out her anger. What had she done? This was Philip’s house, his business and she was here at his whim. His generosity could be withdrawn at any moment and she and her mother would be back in Seven Dials shivering and starving.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to act so childishly.’ She dropped to her knees and snatched up the papers. The edges flapped with her trembling hands as she tried to force them into a neat pile, but they wouldn’t cooperate. The more her hands shook, the more the helplessness widened to consume her. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise. I don’t know what came over me.’

He came around the desk and lowered himself on to one knee across from her. Taking the uneven stack out of her hands, he laid it on the floor beside him. Then he gently caught her chin with his fingers and tilted her face up to his. ‘Forgive me. I should have waited to introduce you to the business.’

Concern softened his blue eyes. He was sorry, genuinely so, with no trace of the false, self-serving contrition her uncle used to offer her father. The same faint bond which had slipped between them last night encircled them again. Philip cared for her and wanted her to be happy. The realisation drained the anger from her, but it couldn’t erase the hurt, worries, helplessness and humiliations she’d suffered so many times. They pressed down on her and not even Philip’s reassuring touch could drive them away.

‘I invited you here because you’re too strong to be bullied by such a man,’ Philip explained.

‘I wish I was.’ She rocked back on her heels and away from his fingers, then fled the room.

The hall and stairway blurred as her eyes filled with tears. They streaked steadily down her cheeks as she made for her mother’s room and pushed open the door without knocking. Thankfully, Jane wasn’t with her. Her mother looked up from the chair by the window, her smile vanishing at the sight of Laura’s expression. Without a word, she held out her arms and Laura flung herself into them, burying her face in her chest to cry.

* * *

Philip lowered his hand, the warmth of Laura’s skin still lingering on his fingertips. It didn’t dispel the cold sitting hard in his chest. None of the insults hurled at him by any defaulting client had pierced him as hard as the realisation he’d allowed a client to hurt someone in his care.

He dragged the last few contracts out from under the desk and shoved them down on top of the pile on the floor. He should have followed his instincts and waited to introduce her to someone like Mr Williams. Instead, he’d dismissed his doubts and convinced himself she was fit to face the ugly man. He should have known better. She was strong, but she’d suffered a great deal and, like him, needed time. It was a mistake, one he should have known better than to make.

‘I said you didn’t understand the terms of the contract and I was right.’ Justin slid into the room and settled into his favourite chair by the cold fireplace. ‘You can’t treat her like a client.’

Philip hauled himself and the contracts off the floor. ‘It was never my intention to.’

‘Yes, it was.’ He reached over to the side table next to him and plucked a crystal glass and decanter of Scotch from it. ‘Thankfully, she’s no shrinking violet which is good if she’s going to marry you.’

‘Perhaps I was short-sighted in my assumptions about our arrangement.’ And its simplicity. Justin was right, it wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d first believed. ‘Assuming, after this morning, our agreement still stands.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, she’ll marry you.’ Justin poured out a measure of Scotch, then returned the decanter to the table. ‘Now you must ask yourself, why do you really want to marry her? And I want the real reason, not your drivel about needing a housekeeper.’

Philip traced the scratch in the floor with his boot. The memory of Laura scrambling about for the papers, as lost and frightened as he’d been the morning Arabella had died, tore at him. That cold morning, he’d come to this room and nearly ripped it all to pieces, gouging the floorboards in a fruitless effort to overturn the desk. If Justin hadn’t found him, he might have destroyed the room and himself.

‘I lost something when Arabella died; it was as if I buried my humanity with her.’ Every day he felt the hardness creeping in where warmth and happiness used to be. It hurt to admit it, even to his closest friend. ‘My father always said it was the one thing we must hold on to in this business because it’s too easy to lose, as evidenced by so many others in our profession.’

‘You’ve hardly become like them. You never will.’

‘I’m not so sure.’ After Arabella’s death, Philip had shut himself off from his emotions just to move through the day without crumbling. As time passed it was growing more difficult to draw them out again.

‘You think Miss Townsend can help you reclaim your humanity?’

Philip didn’t respond, but studied the snaking scratch marking the wood. When the workmen had repaired the room, he’d refused to let them sand it away. It was a reminder of his loss of control. Something he’d never let happen again. ‘Miss Townsend and Mrs Townsend’s influence will do Jane good. I heard her laugh with Miss Townsend earlier.’

‘It’s about time.’ Justin swirled the last sip of his Scotch before downing it. ‘She’s too serious for a girl her age.’

Philip strode to the table and plucked up a glass. ‘I’m to blame.’

‘Hardly. Seriousness is a family trait. Your mother was the only one who could enjoy a good joke.’

‘She tempered my father.’ He removed the crystal stopper from the decanter and rolled it in his palm. ‘I worry how my nature might affect Thomas.’

Thomas’s happy squeal carried in from outside. Philip set the glass and stopper down and went to the French doors leading to the garden. He opened them and inhaled the pungent scent of roses and earth fighting with the thicker stench of horses and smoke from the streets beyond. ‘Arabella should have had time with Thomas. She should have seen him grow.’

‘But that’s not the way it happened,’ Justin gently reminded him.

No, it wasn’t. The finality of it was too much like standing at Arabella’s grave again, the sun too bright off the green grass surrounding the dim hole in the earth.

Thomas toddled around a square half-pillar supporting an urn. He peeked out from one side of it, and then the other, squealing with laughter as Mrs Marston met him with a playful boo. The sun caught his light hair, making the subtle orange strands shine the way Arabella’s used to whenever she’d strolled here.

Philip had used to look up from his accounts to watch her, wanting to join her, but he’d dismissed the urge in favour of the many other things commanding his attention. If he’d known their days together were limited, he would have tossed aside his work and rushed to be with her. If he’d known their love would kill her, he never would have opened his heart to her in Dr Hale’s sitting room.

A dull ache settled in behind his eyes, heightened by the bright day. There’d never been a choice between loving or not loving Arabella. He’d loved her from the first moment she’d entered his office looking as unsure as Laura had today. During the first days of their courtship there’d been an unspoken accord between them, as if they understood one another without ever having to speak.

When Laura had reached out to him last night, and when he’d touched her today, something of the understanding and comfort that had so long been missing had passed between them and shaken him to the core.

‘Miss Townsend’s presence will benefit Thomas,’ Philip observed, pulling himself off the unsettling road his thoughts were travelling. His relationship with Laura was nothing like his relationship with Arabella.

‘Her presence will benefit you, too.’ Justin came to his side and cocked a knowing eyebrow at him. ‘Often and quite pleasurably.’

If he wasn’t Philip’s greatest friend, he would have dismissed him. ‘Your experience with women has muddled your impression of relationships.’

‘Actually, it’s heightened them, which is why I can see matters with Miss Townsend so clearly and you cannot.’ He dropped a comforting hand on Philip’s shoulder. ‘If you let her, Miss Townsend will temper you and more. Just don’t resist her when she tries.’