‘Take whatever time you need with Mrs Fairley. I heartily approve of her work.’
‘Do you?’
‘I do.’ He picked up the wine decanter and moved to fill her glass. ‘She’s exceeded my expectations.’
Laura didn’t taste the wine, not wanting it to fuddle her senses any more than this conversation already had. ‘No mean feat, I imagine.’
He leaned a touch closer and beneath the clove of the chicken, the faint hint of his bergamot cologne lingered, the scent heady and distracting. ‘You’ve imagined correctly.’
‘Then I’ll have to discover how else I may exceed your expectations.’
He didn’t smile, but she caught the glint of humour in his eyes. ‘I anticipate your efforts.’
She focused on her plate, as unnerved as she was emboldened by this flirting. She didn’t think it in him to be so charming. Thankfully, Mrs Fairley had promised to alter and deliver two of the other gowns by morning. It would keep Laura from turning back into a vagabond dressed in borrowed clothing and help her maintain something of the heat flickering in Philip’s expression.
If the sharp and subtle blend of cloves and parsley sprinkled over the chicken’s golden skin wasn’t so distracting, she would have tried to be more intriguing. Instead, she set her knife to the bird, eliciting from the tender flesh a thick drop of juice as she pressed down. Spearing the piece with the fork, she raised it to her mouth. Her lips closed over the meat and she slowly drew it from the tongs. She closed her eyes and sighed as the savoury spices melted over her tongue.
After a year of ugly brown gruel, this was heaven.
Swallowing, she opened her eyes, eager for another taste, but Philip’s expression made her pause.
He flushed as if his bite had stuck in his throat, except the strangled look suggested he’d been hit somewhere lower. His intense gaze warmed Laura’s insides more than the chicken, burning through her like the chilli pepper she’d once tasted from an Indian silk merchant. She’d never thought of herself as a wily charmer of gentlemen, yet without even trying she’d done something, she wasn’t sure what, to Philip.
‘Is the food to your liking?’ Philip coughed, as if struggling through a dry throat. He took up his wine and sipped quickly before setting it at the corner of his plate.
‘Yes, very much.’ Closing her lips over another bite, she tried to recall the weaver’s daughter and the way she’d flirted with her solicitor trainee. She could recall very little about their relationship except the aftermath. At least whatever came of this odd flirtation, it would do so with a ring on her finger.
‘After dinner, I’d like to discuss the advertisement for Thomas’s new governess,’ he announced, seeming to recover his usual poise.
‘I already saw to it this afternoon, before I left for Mrs Fairley’s.’ She sliced a potato, jumping a little when it rolled out from under her knife. ‘Mrs Marston showed me the old advertisement, we discussed Thomas’s present needs and I wrote the new one accordingly.’
She speared the potato with her fork to keep it in place as she cut it, watching Philip from the corner of her eyes, waiting for his reaction, unsure what it would be. She’d taken it upon herself to complete the task, eager for something to do and the chance to impress him. For all the advice Mrs Fairley had given her about her physical appearance, she suspected efficiency in handling domestic matters might be the second-best way to gain his admiration.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she pressed. ‘I thought it best to do it so you had one less item to see to.’
‘I don’t mind at all.’ The stern businessman from this afternoon had vanished, replaced by a more relaxed gentleman, if one could call the straight line of Philip’s shoulders relaxed. ‘I appreciate your desire to help.’
She hoped it wasn’t all he intended to appreciate. Sitting up a little straighter to best highlight the new gown and everything it exposed, she was about to tell him the contents of the advertisement when Jane called out from across the table.
‘Miss Townsend, Philip asked Mrs Townsend to serve as my tutor and she’s agreed.’ The girl was more excited than any thirteen-year-old should be about lessons. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
No, it wasn’t. All thoughts of impressing Philip vanished. ‘Mother, you aren’t well enough for such exertion.’
‘I’m not an invalid, Laura,’ her mother chided, closing her eyes in delight as she sipped her wine. ‘Nor will I be one, not with food this grand and a warm bed.’
She raised her glass to Philip, then turned to Jane. ‘I think we should start with Beadman’s Principles of Accounting, don’t you?’
‘I think it’s a marvellous idea,’ Jane concurred and the two fell to discussing the curriculum.
Laura gaped at them. She’d been dismissed, as if she were sitting here in her child’s dress, not with her womanly figure filling out every inch of the silk. How could her mother do it? And how could Philip ask her mother to do such a thing without consulting his wife-to-be first? It was arrogant of him to be so presumptuous.
She sliced at her bird, then stuck a larger piece than intended in her mouth. It caught in her throat and she snatched up the wine everyone else seemed so eager to indulge in. The bouquet was as heavenly as the tender chicken, making the bird slide down her throat. If only the continued barrage of surprises would go down as easily.
Setting her wine glass on the table, she caught Philip watching her, his brow wrinkling in question at the change in her mood. Thankfully, Jane drew his attention away before he could say anything, then the girl dominated the conversation with her thoughts on women’s education.
Laura focused on her food as the topic changed from bluestockings to the Prince Regent’s latest scandal. Her mother and Jane exchanged details of it with the same animation which used to dominate her conversations with Laura while they’d tidied up the shop in the evenings.
Laura pushed a piece of asparagus through the sauce, hating to admit she wasn’t just worried about her mother’s health. She was jealous of her tutoring Jane. In a matter of hours it seemed as if Laura had been tossed aside while a new young lady had been whisked in to take her place. It wasn’t a charitable thought, but she couldn’t help herself. If she lost her mother’s affection and failed to secure Philip’s, what would be left for her?
* * *
Laura’s discomfort soured her mood, but it didn’t dampen her appetite and she enjoyed hearty helpings of the next two courses. It was only her fear of looking like a glutton which prevented her from asking for a second serving of trifle at the end of the meal.
At last, with her mind still troubled but her stomach full, Philip rose, as did Jane and Mrs Townsend. Laura was glad for the end of the meal, eager to be in her room and to let out her now very tight stays.
‘Philip, you must show Miss Townsend Great-Great-Grandmama’s knife,’ Jane suggested, mischief in her eyes. ‘You must see it, Miss Townsend, and have Philip tell you the story behind it. It’s quite thrilling.’
Laura looked to Philip, expecting him to resist his sister’s obvious attempt to see them alone together. She wasn’t prepared for him to agree with the idea.
‘Would you care to accompany me to the sitting room?’
No. Yes. She wasn’t sure. She could almost hear her mother urging her to accept the invitation, but she’d been through so much already today. She wasn’t sure she could endure being alone with him dressed so boldly.
‘Please, lead the way,’ she answered at last, not wanting to leave them all standing in the dining room waiting for her to make up her mind.
He didn’t