her fear of what might have happened whispering through the soft-spoken words. Laura had felt it, too, many times herself in Seven Dials, when each passing day had made their situation worse and lessened Laura’s options for changing it.
Mrs Fairley wiped away the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes and fixed a bright smile back on her face. ‘What of you? Are you excited for your wedding?’
Now it was Laura’s turn to be honest. ‘I’m unsure.’
‘Unsure?’
Laura was unable to believe what she was about to reveal, but speaking to a married woman closer to her age proved too tempting to resist. ‘What do you know of my betrothal to Mr Rathbone?’
Mrs Fairley flipped out the skirt to make it lie better, then examined the line of the hem. ‘I know it was sudden and unexpected.’
‘It was far more than that.’
While Mrs Fairley knelt down to adjust the pins, Laura told her the story of threatening Philip and the strange proposal. At first Mrs Fairley continued to work but the more Laura revealed, the more the modiste sat back on her heels to listen, her work forgotten.
At last Laura finished, barely able to hear her voice over the noise of her heart beating in her ears. If Mrs Fairley wasn’t as discreet as she claimed, if she told every client she possessed about Laura and Philip’s betrothal and if he heard of it, she wasn’t sure how he would react. She couldn’t imagine him being pleased, nor doing anything but hardening him against her and their impending marriage. The task of capturing his heart was daunting enough without her creating more obstacles.
Mrs Fairley clapped her hands together, her eyes round with amazement. ‘If I hadn’t heard it from his intended myself, I never would have guessed Mr Rathbone harboured such romantic tendencies.’
Laura nearly fell off the stool. ‘It isn’t romantic. It’s a deal, a bargain.’
‘He might have dressed it up in such terms to fool himself and you, but it isn’t the real reason for this hasty wedding.’
No. A man who knew his mind so well, who controlled himself with the precision of a tightrope walker like the one she’d once seen in Vauxhall Gardens did not need to invent such excuses to fool himself. Yet hadn’t her father created a hundred of them to maintain faith in Laura’s uncle? He’d been too honest and giving to realise how wicked his brother really was. Until the end, he’d held on to the idea Robert was still the young boy he’d once protected from street bullies, the one he’d felt guilty leaving when he’d left to apprentice with the draper. ‘Perhaps you’re right?’
‘Oh, I know I am.’ Mrs Fairley jumped to her feet, her excitement genuine. Her curls bounced as she snatched the fichu off Laura’s neck. ‘And I will do all I can to help prove it.’
The cold air sweeping over the tops of Laura’s breasts startled her and she moved to tug up the gown again before Mrs Fairley caught her hands.
‘You’ll catch his attention with it lower, I promise you. And when you approach him, don’t scowl with worry. Soften your face.’ She pressed her thumb to the crease between Laura’s eyebrows, smoothing out the skin. ‘He’s a confident man and obviously drawn to your confidence.’
‘My confidence?’
‘Any woman brave enough to threaten him with a pistol is most certainly confident.’
Laura would have called it desperation, but if Mrs Fairley and Philip wanted to believe otherwise, then she’d let them.
Mrs Fairley looked over the selection of dresses, tapping one finger against her chin. ‘When will you see him next?’
‘Dinner. He’s quite busy today.’
Mrs Fairley selected a pale, rose-coloured silk dress and held it up to Laura. ‘Then we’ll make it a meal he won’t soon forget.’
* * *
The rich scent of sage and cooked chicken drew Laura to the dining room. Her stomach growled, reminding her how late she was for dinner. She’d sent Mary down earlier to ask Philip and the others to start without her. Given how hungry Laura was, she didn’t want to keep others from their meal. However, neither tardiness nor hunger pangs were strong enough to stop her from pausing at the mirror hanging in the hallway to admire again the changes Mrs Fairley had wrought.
She and the young modiste had gone well over their appointed time together. A few stitches through the shoulders of the pale rose-hued dress had tightened the bust, bringing the silk up snug against Laura’s breasts. Then Mrs Fairley had arranged Laura’s hair, sweeping it up off the back of her neck and using heated tongs to create small curls which danced about her nape.
For such little effort, it’d made quite a difference. Laura appeared elegant, like one of the rich merchant’s wives who would occasionally visit her parents’ shop whenever her father had acquired a bolt of rare material. Perhaps with a simple necklace and a little more confidence, she would become more like those assured women, and learn to take pride in her position as the wife of a well-to-do moneylender.
Laura turned her face from side to side, pleased with the way the two long curls at the back bounced around her exposed neck. Pausing in her turns, she threw herself a sideways look, trying to mimic the coquettish smile Mrs Fairley had flashed when Laura had asked if Philip would be pleased with the new dress. She’d begged the woman to show her how to flirt, but Mrs Fairley had only laughed and told her she’d know what to do when the time came.
She hoped she was right. Laura’s experience with gentlemen was greatly lacking. The stationer’s son down the street had once shown an interest in her, but the dalliance hadn’t lasted more than a few days. Her father had sent the boy off with a stern warning, reminding him he was in no position to set up house with a wife. She’d railed at her father for driving the boy away until the scandal of the weaver’s daughter broke. Afterwards, she’d completely understood her father’s concern. A solicitor’s apprentice had got the weaver’s daughter with child, then abandoned her, leaving her to face the scrutiny of the neighbourhood alone.
No doubt the old neighbourhood would look down on Laura if news of her nuptials to a moneylender became known. Pinching her cheeks to bring some colour into them, she dismissed her concern. Despite the years they’d lived and worked beside the other merchants, not one of their neighbours had helped her and her mother when the business had begun to fail and they’d been forced to hire a smaller, less expensive shop in a sad little neighbourhood many streets away. Instead they’d all stood around whispering while the removers had loaded the cart with what was left of their belongings, blaming Laura and her mother for Robert Townsend’s mistakes.
Let them judge her for marrying Philip. Her opinion of them and their behaviour was no better.
Her stomach growled again and Laura reluctantly left the mirror, unable to avoid supper and Philip any longer. For all her thoughts of how to impress her betrothed, she had just as many of eating, especially with the scent of cooked chicken growing stronger with each step she took towards the dining rom.
‘The dress is cut too immodestly for a young woman.’ Philip’s voice carried from the dining room, exasperation thick in his words.
‘It’s cut exactly like Princess Charlotte’s,’ Jane protested, sounding much the way Laura had done years ago when she’d wanted an expensive fan and
