Robert pulled back his arm and rammed it forward. Mr Rathbone dipped, dodging the blow, then he came up fast, his fist catching Robert under the chin. The larger man stumbled back across the room, slamming into a small chair, his weight crushing it beneath him. He sat for a moment, stunned sober, and Laura wanted to rush over and add a few kicks of her own in retribution for all he’d done to her parents. There was no time, as Robert hauled himself to his feet, ready to rush at Mr Rathbone.
Mr Rathbone’s men stepped up behind him, sticks clasped in their hands. Mr Connor pulled out his pistol and levelled it at the drunk man.
‘I wouldn’t do that, sir,’ he warned.
Laura drew her mother back, ready to flee into the bedroom and bar the door, but no one moved. She barely dared to breathe.
Through the thin walls came the muffled voice of the man next door cursing at his wife.
Robert met Laura’s eyes over Mr Rathbone’s shoulder, hate twisting his lips into a sneer and drawing tight the red bruise forming beneath the grey stubble on his chin. ‘You think you’ve got the better of me, ya little wench, but ya haven’t. Neither have you, Mr Rathbone. Your men won’t always be around to protect you. Some day you’ll be alone and I’ll be there.’
He spat at Mr Rathbone’s feet.
Mr Rathbone plucked the hat from the table and settled it over his hair. ‘Good day, Mr Townsend.’
He took Mrs Townsend by the arm and escorted both her and Laura around Robert. Laura eyed the old man acidly. Behind them, Mr Rathbone’s men filed out, two carrying the trunk while the other two stood guard. Mr Connor was the last to leave, still brandishing the pistol.
Her mother leaned heavily on Mr Rathbone as they picked their way slowly down the stairs. It took all Laura’s energy not to sag against the railings as fear pressed down hard on her. As she reached the bottom and stepped out into the chill evening air, she willed herself not to think of her uncle or how horribly true Mr Rathbone’s assessment of him had proven. It no longer mattered.
Mr Rathbone settled her mother in the landau and Laura joined her. The hood was open and with the sun dipping, the air had taken on a chill. She drew the blanket over their knees as Mr Rathbone climbed in across from them.
Laura took one last look at the rickety building as the vehicle started to roll away. Robert stood at the filthy window, his obvious hate as searing as if the spring sun were reflecting off the panes. Laura swallowed hard. She might never see this rotting pile of beams again, but she felt certain this wasn’t the last she’d see of her uncle.
If events had proceeded with stunning rapidity in their rented rooms, it was a marvel to see how they moved once they arrived at Mr Rathbone’s house. Business pulled him and Mr Connor away, leaving Laura and her mother in the capable hands of his housekeeper, Mrs Palmer. She proved as efficient as her employer, though much more talkative. In a flash she had them fed, their few things arranged in their separate but adjoining rooms, baths drawn and the clean nightclothes Mr Rathbone had procured from a client laid out on the bed.
While Mrs Palmer assisted Laura’s mother, her coarse laugh carrying through the walls at various intervals and joined by her mother’s higher one, Laura pulled on the cotton chemise. She sighed at the sweep of clean linen against her damp skin, revelling in it too much to be irritated by Mr Rathbone’s presumption she would accept his strange suit. When she pulled on the silk banyan lying next to it, she nearly burst into tears. She’d parted with her French one, a Christmas gift from her father, long ago to buy food. She never thought she’d enjoy such a simple luxury again.
If the chemise and banyan felt heavenly, she could only imagine how the clean sheets on the high bed would feel. She touched the turned-back covers, eager to slide between them and give in to the exhaustion heightened by the warm bath, a full stomach and the comfortable night-dress, when the door whispered open behind her.
She turned, expecting to see a maid coming to empty the hip bath. Instead it was a young lady draped in a pale-pink gown, the first small curves of a woman’s body just beginning to fill out the lines of it. Her face was round with the slight fullness of youth, but her chin was well defined and her eyes the same deep blue as Mr Rathbone’s.
‘Good evening, Miss Townsend. I’m Miss Jane Rathbone, Philip’s sister.’ She dipped a curtsy, pulling out the sides of her simple cotton gown before straightening, arms at her sides just as her brother held himself. ‘Philip told me to look in on you and make sure you have everything you need. He also asked me to inform you that you needn’t worry about what time you rise tomorrow.’
The girl spoke like her brother, too, but in a childish voice with the hint of a lisp.
‘Did he?’
She nodded, her dark curls bobbing around her face and neck. ‘You must enjoy it because it will probably be the last time. Philip likes everyone to keep to a schedule.’
‘I don’t doubt he does.’ Nor did she mind. Her parents, with a business to run, had rarely let her dawdle about without purpose. There was always something to do. ‘He’s very practical.’
‘You must be, too, if you agreed to marry him.’
Laura rubbed the soft banyan strings between her thumb and forefinger. ‘In this instance, I’ve proven myself as sensible as your brother.’
‘Then it will be a good match.’
I hope so, she thought, though any future now was better than the one her uncle had planned for her.
‘In the morning, I’ll see to it Mrs Townsend is dressed and has her breakfast. We were speaking earlier and she is eager for me to show her the garden, especially the roses.’
The girl’s efficiency was surprising, yet not wholly unexpected. Laura wondered what her mother made of the strange creature. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her herself. ‘Thank you, she is very fond of roses.’
‘It’s time for bed now, Jane.’ Mr Rathbone appeared in the doorway behind his sister, his reminder more a firm request than the stern demand of a guardian.
Laura tightened the banyan a touch more about her neck. The chemise beneath stuck to her damp skin, pressing against it with an uncomfortable warmth and making her keenly aware of her undress beneath the silk. It brought to mind how he looked beneath his clothes.
His redingote was gone, revealing a dark jacket woven with a subtle checked pattern paired with tan breeches. Without the bulk of the wool, he seemed leaner, tighter. The well-tailored clothes emphasised his coiled strength, giving a hint of the lithe power he’d revealed when he’d avoided her uncle to land a stunning blow on his chin. Laura hadn’t expected Mr Rathbone to be so physical and she struggled to keep herself steady as his masculinity pounced on her.
‘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