the purpose he’d shown last night, but more slowly, as though weighed down by grief. He knelt and threw open his arms to embrace his giggling son, burying his face in the boy’s neck as if he were afraid of losing him. ‘He’s hurting, Laura, but he isn’t without love.’
Jane came out from the house, snapped a rose off one slender branch and tapped her brother on the shoulder. He stood and steadied Thomas on his slender hip as Jane held up the flower to the boy’s button nose.
‘You can see it in how much he loves his child and Jane. For all the girl’s peculiarities, when I speak with her, it’s obvious she knows he cares for her.’
Laura remembered the juvenile kiss Philip had received from Jane last night.
‘Yes, he loves her, but what am I to him? A contract? A convenient solution to myriad problems?’
‘If he truly wanted an easy solution, he would have hired another nurse and expanded Mrs Palmer’s responsibilities. He asked you to marry him because he saw something in you, something he isn’t completely aware of himself. It’s as if, deep down, he feels you can help him.’
‘He doesn’t want help. He wants someone to run his house and warm his bed.’
Her mother’s shoulders rose with a sigh as they watched Philip set Thomas on the ground. He took one of the boy’s hands and Jane took the other and together they led the child to the far wall where a lion-headed fountain spat water into an urn.
‘When I lost your older brother, I was heartbroken. I threw myself into the shop, working to near exhaustion to try to dull my grief. No matter how much I tried to bury myself, your father never gave up on me.’ She gazed serenely down on the garden, but sorrow laced her words, as palpable as Philip’s grief had been when he’d first mentioned his late wife. ‘Then one day, the darkness lifted and your father was still there, as loving as ever. Soon you were there, too, and I was happy again.’
Mother slid her hand beneath Laura’s and gave it a squeeze. ‘Mr Rathbone needs you. I know it’s difficult to see right now, but if you’re stubborn and refuse to give up on him, you’ll capture as deep an affection as he shows to all he loves. I know it.’
Laura studied her mother’s long fingers, thinking of Philip’s hand in hers last night and the faint connection it’d created between them. She’d experienced it again when he’d apologised this morning, only that time it was him, not her, asking for something deeper. Both moments had been as fragile as fine silk thread. How could she possibly grab hold of something so delicate and make it strong enough to hold them both together?
‘I don’t even know where to begin.’ She waved her hands over her dress, herself. ‘I’m hardly going to arouse a grand passion in him.’
‘I don’t think Mr Rathbone is the sort of man easily ensnared by superficial things like dresses.’ Mother’s lips drew up in one corner with a mischievous smile. ‘Though a finely turned-out figure doesn’t hurt where men are concerned.’
‘It will be easier to dress myself than it will be to figure out how to catch his fancy.’ She knew almost nothing about gaining a gentleman’s attention, especially such a stern gentleman.
‘Follow your instincts, Laura. They’ll guide you well.’
Philip looked up at the window, suddenly meeting Laura’s eyes. He didn’t turn away or nod, or do anything except study her as he had from the copper tub. She stroked her chin with her thumb and forefinger, almost able to feel Philip’s hand on it. If there was one thing she knew to be true of Philip, it was his adherence to the contracts he made. When they stood before the vicar and uttered the vows, he’d be bound by what he said to her, what he stated before all his friends. It would be up to her to see he did more than simply uphold his promise.
‘It won’t be easy.’ He’d fight like a dog to guard the wounded part of himself, but Laura had faced worse battles over the past year and in her own way won them, keeping a roof over her and her mother’s heads, even staring down her uncle Robert on more than one occasion.
‘Nothing worth having is ever easy.’
Laura nodded in silent agreement. No matter what she might wish for or think she wanted, the truth was, her future lay with Philip. If she hoped to have even a small portion of the life she’d once imagined for herself, a life of love with a true partner in the business and her bed, then she must find a way into Philip’s heart.
Mrs Fairley fastened the last button and Laura turned to face the full-length mirror in the modiste’s fitting room, moving slowly so as not to tumble off the small fitting stool. She sucked in a surprised breath at the reflection which greeted her. After a year in tatty black, the light-green muslin dress Mrs Fairley had chosen to alter first was a stunning change. Laura pulled out the skirt, then shifted from side to side to watch the material move. With the swish of the fabric, she caught a little of the excitement of that Christmas morning when her parents had given her a yellow silk dress, her first adult one. For a week afterwards, she’d crept down to the shop mirror at night to admire it.
The excitement of the memory faded and she let the skirt go. The silk dress had been one of the first things she’d sold to pay for the meagre rooms in Seven Dials. More than once while walking through Petticoat Lane with the rest of her dwindling wardrobe, she’d wondered which lady’s maid or shop girl wore it now.
‘It suits you as if it were made for you.’ Mrs Fairley came to stand beside her, a box of pins in one hand. She nodded with approval at Laura’s reflection. ‘Brings out the green in your eyes.’
Her eyes weren’t the only part of her the dress emphasised. The bodice was cut deeper than any she’d ever worn before, exposing the tops of her breasts which rested higher on her chest thanks to the temporary new stays Mrs Fairley had secured for her. It was by no means immodest, but Laura wasn’t accustomed to it.
On the chaise next to the mirror lay the other dresses Mrs Fairley was to alter. They would keep Laura respectably clothed while Mrs Fairley prepared the rest of the new wardrobe in accordance with Philip’s list. The sheer number of garments he’d requested was staggering. It didn’t even include the gloves, fans, stockings and various other small items he’d sent instructions to other merchants to secure.
‘Do I really need so many dresses?’ Laura questioned as Mrs Fairley leaned down to begin pinning the hem.
‘If Mr Rathbone says you need them, then I suppose you must.’
Laura tugged up the low bodice again. Even when the draper shop had been a success, her father hadn’t spent like this on clothing, not even for his wife. Her father had insisted his family dress well, but simply, and with as few items as they could make do with. He’d believed in selling material, not spending their profits on it. ‘I’m not usually so extravagant with my wardrobe.’
‘Neither is Mr Rathbone. He never lets Miss Jane indulge in this manner, though she tries.’ She slid a sly look up at Laura. ‘He must have quite a fancy for you to be so generous.’
‘I suppose he must.’ Laura fingered the side of the gown, wishing she were a better liar.
‘You don’t sound so sure.’
‘I am, I mean he does. I’m sorry, there’s a great deal on my mind right now.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Mrs Fairley agreed as she slid a pin in the hem. ‘What happened to your things for you to need so many new ones?’
It was an innocent enough question, but Laura’s embarrassment flared at the need to answer it. She’d kept her dignity in Seven Dials. Out of it, she didn’t want anyone to know the degradations she and her mother had suffered. She was terrified they would judge her, just as Mr Williams had. ‘They were lost in an accident.’
‘You mean to debt.’ Mrs Fairley