unnoticed by the quarrelling siblings or her mother. Philip sat at the head of the table, his frustration with his sister evident in his tight grip on his knife and fork. Laura tried not to laugh at how easily his sister could rattle him when men like Mr Williams didn’t seem to trouble him at all. Then again, she knew more than anyone how frustrating family could be. She’d been ready to scream more than once when her father had refused to listen to her arguments against her uncle. He’d always wanted to believe the best of his brother, especially at the end.
‘You are not Princess Charlotte, nor are you her age.’ Philip cut his food, the knife scraping lightly across the plate. ‘You will return the dress to Mrs Fairley to alter at once.’
‘I won’t.’ Jane’s foot stamped beneath the table, making the glasses on top rattle. ‘I like the dress this way. Tell him, Mrs Townsend, tell him this is the style.’
‘It is the style, Jane, but Mr Rathbone is right, it is too revealing for a young lady your age,’ Laura’s mother responded with measured patience.
‘But—’ Jane began to protest before Laura’s mother laid a tempering hand on hers.
‘I think I might have a suggestion which will suit you both. A width of gorgeous French lace along the top edge, like Miss Lamb wears, will encourage more modesty without ruining the line of the dress. It will be quite elegant and modest.’
‘May I alter it as she says, Philip?’ Jane bit her lip in anticipation, looking back and forth between her brother and the older lady. ‘Mrs Townsend is right, it would be modest just as you like and, oh, so in fashion.’
Philip took a deep breath and Laura caught something of relief rather than frustration in the gesture. She wasn’t sure if it was the desire to end the debate or his glimpse of the wisdom in the matron’s suggestion which led him to nod his head tersely.
‘You may keep the dress if you add the lace.’ He levelled his knife at her. ‘But if you alter one more dress on your own, I won’t buy you another until you’re sixteen.’
‘I promise I won’t change any of the others,’ Jane stressed, before exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Mrs Townsend.
Philip didn’t notice, reaching for his wine glass. Then his hand paused, his attention snapping to Laura.
She tried to steady the rapid rise and fall of her chest, but it was a fruitless struggle. She couldn’t stop breathing, not unless she wanted to faint from the same shock she saw in Philip’s eyes. They dipped down the length of her. The motion was fast, efficient yet potent, making her feel as if it had been her and not him who had crossed his room the other night naked.
Under the force of his gaze, Laura nearly tugged the ribbon from her hair and escaped upstairs to don a less revealing dress. She didn’t flee, but strode into the room, her chin confidently in the air, her mother’s words about working to win Philip following her like the swish of her slippers over the wood floor. She’d certainly succeeded in catching his attention tonight.
‘My goodness, look at you,’ Jane exclaimed.
‘Miss Rathbone, that is not an appropriate response.’ The older woman nudged the girl with her elbow before raising an approving eyebrow at Laura. ‘Laura, you look very lovely this evening.’
‘Indeed, you do,’ Jane chimed in, fixing her brother with a devilish smile. ‘Doesn’t she, Philip?’
Philip didn’t answer, but rose, his expression as stiff as his posture, except where his eyes widened. Yet it wasn’t surprise illuminating their blue. It was something hotter and more potent, like the subtle flash of anger she’d caught just before he’d struck her uncle. This wasn’t anger, or anything like what she’d experienced with the stationer’s son. The stationer’s son had possessed the ridiculous passion of a schoolboy. Philip’s reaction was of a man, albeit a man trying not to react.
Heat swept up from the pit of Laura’s stomach and burned over the tops of her exposed breasts. She nearly reached out and pulled the napkin from the footman’s arm to cover herself before Mrs Fairley’s assurance came rushing back.
‘Good evening, Miss Townsend,’ Philip greeted as she paused beside her chair to let the footman slide it out.
As she took her seat, she threw Philip the sideways look she’d practised in the mirror in the hallway. ‘Good evening, Mr Rathbone.’
A muscle in his jaw twitched and his chest paused before he resumed his steady breathing.
Once she was seated, he took his seat again and she withheld a smile of delight, enjoying this new power over him.
Across the table, her mother’s and Jane’s astonishment was palpable, but Laura didn’t dare look at them. It was difficult enough to maintain her composure in front of Philip. She didn’t need an interested audience distracting her.
She unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap, then sat back to allow the footman to present the cooked chicken, small potatoes and asparagus draped in a white sauce. Laura accepted a serving of each dish, trying not to overfill her plate. When at last she had sufficient, she took up her knife and fork and sliced through the potatoes, moving slowly so as not to fall on the food like some ravenous dog. Her concentration was disturbed when Philip spoke.
‘Did you enjoy your time with Mrs Fairley?’
‘I did. I hope you don’t mind it taking longer than expected. I’m not usually one to spend so many hours fussing over my appearance.’ Though she’d certainly take more care with her toilette from now on.
‘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,
