out of the dining room and across the hall, she thought it strange to have so many people thinking well of her presence here and her the only one in doubt.
Jane came bounding down the stairs, carrying a book and Laura’s mother’s dark shawl, looking more like a thirteen-year-old than she had last night. Spying Laura, she halted and took the last few stairs with the elegance of a woman far beyond her years. ‘Good morning, Miss Townsend.’
‘Please, call me Laura.’ She smiled warmly, trying to put the girl at ease, disliking such seriousness in one so young.
The stiff set of Jane’s body eased with Laura’s invitation. ‘And you may call me Jane.’
‘I see you and my mother are getting along well.’
‘Very well.’ A proud smile spread over her stern lips, bringing back the youthful light which had illuminated her face as she’d come down the stairs. ‘We are to visit Mrs Fairley together tomorrow. She was too tired to go today, but you mustn’t worry about her. I’ll see she gets enough rest.’
‘Thank you. It means a great deal to me to have someone keeping her company while I’m occupied.’
‘It’s my pleasure. I’m going to read to her now. Where are you going?’
‘The sitting room.’
‘Philip summoned you?’
Laura choked back a laugh. ‘In a manner of speaking.’
The girl moved closer as if she possessed something urgent to impart. ‘Touch his hand again like you did last night. Miss Lavinia does it in The Wanderer and it drives Mr Welton absolutely mad.’
Laura crossed her arms, mimicking the way her mother used to stare at her whenever she’d offered unasked-for advice or stuck her nose in where it was unwanted. ‘Jane, were you spying on us?’
‘No, not at all.’ Jane possessed too much of her brother’s confidence to be cowed by Laura’s stern look. ‘I peeked out my door and saw you. You two looked just how I imagined Viscount Rapine and Miss Anne must look in The Lothario.’
‘You’re reading The Lothario?’ Her brother couldn’t possibly approve of such a choice.
Apparently he didn’t, for Jane clapped her hand over her mouth as if she’d mistakenly revealed a great secret. Her eyes darted to the butler standing a polite distance away, then back to Laura. ‘You won’t tell Philip, will you? If he finds out I’m reading romantic novels, he might end my subscription to the lending library.’
Laura dropped her stern look and all pretence at reprimanding. ‘As long as you reserve your employment of their knowledge to dispensing advice and nothing else, I won’t tell your brother and I won’t object.’
Jane sighed with relief. ‘Good, because Mrs Townsend would be very disappointed. We’re going to start reading Glenarvon this afternoon and I can’t wait.’
‘You and my mother are going to read Glenarvon?’ She never would have been allowed to read such a salacious book. With the exception of the few novels Laura had managed to borrow from friends and sneak into her room, her reading had been comprised of business tracts and the stock pages. While she was grateful for the education, especially now, she wondered when her mother had grown so soft.
‘Yes.’ Jane moved a touch closer, whispering with Laura in collusion. ‘I hear it’s quite scandalous.’
‘I’ve heard so, too.’ Laura dropped her voice, encouraging the youthful confidence between them. It was a treat to see Jane acting more like a young lady than a stiff governess. ‘When you’re done with it, I’d like to read it. I might learn a trick or two.’
Jane gaped at Laura. Then a smile broke the line of her lips and she laughed, a good genuine girlish one which brightened the hall. ‘I shall be happy to pass it on to you. Now, I must return to Mrs Townsend. I’ve kept her waiting long enough and she needs her shawl.’
‘And I must answer your brother’s summons.’
Jane sobered, laying a hand on Laura’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, Philip isn’t as stern as he likes everyone to think.’
‘I’ll keep it in mind.’ And she would, for if his sister believed it, it was most likely true.
With a squeeze of her hand, Jane let go and hurried off down the hall, allowing the door at the back of the house leading to the garden to bang shut behind her.
Laura wished she could follow. After a year of looking after her mother, it felt odd to relinquish her duties to someone else, but at least Jane’s attention meant her mother wasn’t left alone in a strange place while Laura attended to business.
‘Here you are, Miss Townsend.’ Chesterton stopped at the sitting-room door at the front of the house.
Laura gave him a smile of gratitude and stepped inside.
Mr Rathbone stood near the fireplace, reviewing papers. Through the sheer curtains behind him passed the shadows of people moving on the pavement outside. Laura barely noticed them. The only thing she could concentrate on was the soft light coming through the delicate fabric and spreading over Mr Rathbone’s profile. It lightened his dark hair and caressed the strong line of his nose. A fine, camel-coloured jacket draped his shoulders, emphasising the solidness of the long arms arched gracefully in front of him as he reviewed papers. He appeared to her like one of the Greek statues she’d seen in the British Museum. She’d gone there before she’d sold her last decent dress to view the Elgin Marbles and distract herself from her troubles. Like the statues, Mr Rathbone was elegant and refined, yet the memory of his sudden, lethal movements facing her uncle made her shiver. There was an edge of danger beneath his calm facade, one she hoped he reserved only for the worst clients.
‘Good morning, Mr Rathbone.’ She tugged down the overlarge bodice, which kept rising up as she moved deeper into the room. She wished she looked as fine and well put together as him, instead of unkempt and thin in her second-hand clothes. ‘You summoned me?’
He didn’t look up from his papers. ‘My sister’s choice of words, I assume.’
‘She has a very interesting sense of humour.’
‘She’s a hoyden.’ He reached up and removed the dagger mounted on two brass hooks to a wood plaque hanging over the mantel. Behind it lay a small safe set into the wall. ‘However, Jane is smart and minds herself well enough for someone her age. She shouldn’t give you trouble. If she does, speak to me about it at once.’
She wouldn’t speak to him. No, she would handle it in her own way and see to it there was more of the spirited young lady on the stairs and less of the dour miss. ‘Yes, Mr Rathbone.’
Resting the mounted dagger on the floor, he finally met her eyes. ‘Please, call me Philip.’
His gaze was intense, but not stern, inviting her to explore more deeply the slight bond weaving them together like embroidery over fine netting.
‘Yes, of course, Philip.’ The name was as awkward on her tongue as a button held with her teeth while she was sewing. It would take practice getting used to such intimacy with this stranger. Except he wasn’t a stranger, but her husband-to-be.
