A Debt Paid in Marriage Read online

  She knew he cared as much for her as Laura did for him. The strength of her feelings for him surprised her. It didn’t seem possible to come to care so much for someone in so short an amount of time.

  ‘Look at me carrying on when it is time to go.’ Her mother dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief Mrs Fairley handed her. ‘Reverend Clare is waiting and the guests are ready.’

  Laura’s palms went moist and she was glad Mrs Fairley had decided against gloves for this solemn occasion. She said it would be too much trouble with the ring, but Laura sensed it was to keep her nervousness from soaking the fine satin.

  ‘Are you ready, Laura?’ her mother pressed.

  ‘Yes.’ Excitement swept over her as Mrs Fairley knelt to fluff out the skirt of the dress.

  Taking her mother’s arm, the two of them made their way downstairs, Mrs Fairley following behind them. Laura walked proudly through the house, not skulking along the shadows of the walls as she’d done the night she’d broken in. What a strange change in circumstances it all seemed, a welcome reprieve after the nightmare of life with Uncle Robert.

  Downstairs, they were greeted by the chatter and laughter of the servants gathered in two lines flanking the front door. Quiet settled over the house as they all turned to watch her with bright eyes and wide smiles. Mr Connor strode from where he waited by the front door, appearing in a fine mood. Laura suspected his joviality had more to do with Mrs Gammon’s attendance than Laura’s wedding ensemble.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Miss Townsend, as a bride should be.’ He bowed before her then straightened. ‘It’s an honour to escort you and to stand beside Philip. Shall we proceed to the church?’

  ‘We shall.’ She took his arm, walking with him out of the front door. Two footmen flanked the walk, asking the people rushing by to pause and make way for Laura. Two more halted a cart in the street and Laura and Justin hurried across, Mrs Fairley and Mrs Townsend following closely behind. They moved quickly across the pavement and up the few stone steps to the churchyard.

  Laura stepped on to the path leading to the church door, impatient to be inside and beside Philip, but Justin held back, forcing Laura to slow down in order to stay by his side.

  ‘All in good time.’ He chuckled at her eagerness. ‘I don’t want to hurry your happy day.’

  ‘One would think you’d be eager to hand me off and see to Mrs Gammon,’ she teased, his good nature only increasing her anticipation. ‘When can we expect your nuptials?’

  ‘This will be my second time before the altar and neither time will I have been the groom. However, for now, that will suffice.’

  They moved on, passing beneath the tall trees spreading out over the walk and the churchyard. The breeze rustled through the green leaves and the towering branches obscured Christopher Wren’s magnificent bell tower. Then at last it came into full view as they made the turn to enter the church. Just as they reached the door, Justin halted.

  ‘Mrs Fairley, would you be so kind as to inform the bridegroom we are here?’

  ‘It would be an honour.’ Mrs Fairley hurried around them, her blonde curls bouncing as she slipped into the church.

  ‘And, Mrs Townsend, if you would care to proceed inside,’ Justin encouraged, with a wide smile.

  Laura’s mother turned to face her. She tried to say something to Laura, but the tears threatening to spill from the older woman’s eyes left her silent. She placed a swift but tender kiss on Laura’s cheek, then followed the modiste into the church.

  Laura watched her go, her own eyes blurring, glad of Justin’s voice helping to steady her.

  ‘Are you ready, Miss Townsend?’

  She took a deep breath which managed to settle the flutter in her stomach, but not the excitement coursing through her. After all the apprehension and excitement of the past two weeks it was at last time to tie her life to Philip’s. There was no hesitation this morning. She wanted him for her husband and to share his life. ‘Yes, I’m ready.’

  Laura followed Justin’s steady lead into the church, the excited whisper of the guests calming her nerves as she came down the aisle.

  Laura saw almost nothing of the people, the highly polished wood choir stalls, or the white-and-gilded arched ceiling. Not even Jane silently clapping her approval at the dress from where she stood beside Laura’s mother was enough to draw Laura’s attention away from Philip.

  He stood before the altar next to the silver-haired vicar, a dark-grey jacket covering the sharp cut of his shoulders. His hands were down at his sides as always, but the faintest hint of a smile raised the edges of his lips and made his blue eyes dance. As Mr Connor escorted her down the aisle, Laura’s smile widened with Philip’s approval and the unspoken eagerness hovering between them. Euphoria flooded Laura. In mere moments she would be beside Philip, speaking the vows that would bind them together for the rest of their lives.

  Mr Connor escorted her to Philip’s side, then stepped away to let the ceremony begin.

  The words of the service filled the air as the scent of her rosewater perfume mingled with Philip’s bergamot cologne. With his sturdy form next to hers, it was all Laura could to do to focus on Reverend Clare and not shift in her slippers. When they were instructed to face one another, she turned and the ribbons of her stockings grazed the back of her knees beneath the dress. Determined to say her vows with a seriousness to match Philip’s, she held his eyes, carefully repeating every word, taking each promise and all their meaning to heart. When he spoke his vows, there was no mistaking his earnestness. He’d been her saviour less than two weeks ago, now he would be her partner.

  ‘The rings, please,’ Reverend Clare instructed.

  Mr Connor laid the gold bands on the open prayer book. The diamonds in Laura’s ring winked in the candlelight from the mantel. She tossed Philip a questioning glance. In the slight incline of his head, she could almost hear him telling her the ring had come from a client, another merchant he’d helped who she would no doubt see when time and need called for it. Reverend Clare blessed the rings, then instructed Philip to take her hand.

  Philip slid his palm under hers and raised it between them. Her fingers stretched out over the warm skin of his wrist before she lowered her hand on his. Beneath her fingertips, the quick beat of his pulse mimicked hers. He stood so close that his breath whispered across her forehead. Reverend Clare’s august words were lost in the heady strength of Philip’s touch as he slid the ring over her finger. She could feel almost nothing of the smooth metal encircling it, only the softness of his skin grazing hers. Nothing in Philip’s touch changed and yet, at the same time, everything felt different.

  When instructed, Laura took up Philip’s ring and held it just beyond his strong fingers. She repeated Reverend Clare’s words, ready to abide by everything she was promising today, including the vow made in her own heart to honour the man facing her, the man she loved.

  Shock at her emotions forced her to pinch the ring tight so as not to risk fumbling it. Yes, she loved him. It’d crept up on her during their quiet conversations in the sitting room, his study, the garden. It didn’t scare her as it might have done a week, or even a few days, ago. There was something between them now. It was slender yet strong, growing sturdier as the days passed, like gentle threads of silk bound together in a twist strong enough to edge even an admiral’s uniform.

  ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’ She slid the band over Philip’s finger. It caught a bit on his knuckle before she eased it down to fit snugly around his finger, to claim him as he’d claimed her.

  Reverend Claire finished the ceremony with his last instruction. ‘You may now kiss the bride.’

  The kiss in Philip’s room the other night seared through Laura’s memory as she tilted her face up to meet her new husband’s. He bowed forward and she closed her eyes in anticipation, her body tingling as they drew together. When their
lips merged, heat leapt between them like sparks flashing between pieces of wool on a hot, dry day. The kiss was tender, light, but in the press of flesh to flesh, she felt him struggling between pushing forward and holding back. Behind her the muffled applause of the guests faded away. There was only Philip, his lips warm against hers, his hand firm and fast in hers, a beautiful, wonderful assurance of their future together.

  All too soon, she opened her eyes to watch Philip pull away and she was left wanting more of him and his lips against hers. Without his kiss to muddle her, the sweeping architecture of the church and the presence of the vicar and the guests rushed back. Her cheeks burned with the embarrassment of having enjoyed the kiss so much as she turned with Philip to accept the congratulations of their friends and family.

  ‘Oh, it was so romantic,’ Jane gushed as she hurried forward to throw her arms around Laura, hugging her with girlish delight before stepping back to allow Dr Hale to approach.

  ‘Congratulations, Philip.’ Dr Hale vigorously shook Philip’s hand.

  Philip returned the gesture, at ease with the gentleman. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And the very best to you, Mrs Rathbone.’ He bowed to Laura. The sound of her new name was startling, but she loved it, just as she’d come to love so many other aspects of Philip’s life over the past few days. ‘One day I hope to see a little brother or sister joining Thomas in the nursery,’ he said, stepping away to speak with Mrs Townsend, as a faint flush of embarrassment rose to Laura’s cheeks.

  ‘Shall we return home for the wedding breakfast?’ Laura asked Philip.

  Philip raised her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to her skin. He gazed up at her, the promise of the night to come heavy in his gaze. ‘Yes, please.’

  Laura shifted on her feet and felt the stocking ribbons ruffle again. She didn’t know how she would make it through the next few hours with such anticipation pooling deep inside her.

  After the register was signed, Laura and Philip led a chatting and laughing parade of guests out of the church and back across the street to their house. The lively wedding breakfast extended well into the late afternoon, the conversation flowing as steadily as the port.

  The cook had prepared a scrumptious meal and Mrs Moseley raved no end about the almond blancmange while Mrs Charton and Laura’s mother discussed the challenges of raising a daughter. Mrs Charton had seen her eldest daughter married last year and talked at great length about her new grandbaby. As they spoke, the older women tossed Laura more than one suggestive look.

  If Philip was anxious about the wedding night, it didn’t show in his spirited discussions with Mr Charton and Mr Felton. Even if he never quite smiled, in the midst of such warm-hearted and festive people, he was cheerful and his dry humour flourished to Laura’s and everyone’s delight.

  At last, when the best of the French wine was gone and the candles needed to be lit, Mrs Charton rose, sending a secret signal to the other ladies. Mrs Felton, Laura’s mother and Jane stood as well, the women forcing the men to their feet.

  ‘We do not wish to intrude on the rest of your celebration tonight,’ Mrs Charton explained, barely containing a mischievous smile. ‘Mr and Mrs Rathbone, we wish you all the best.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ Mr Charton chimed in, raising his wine glass before finishing the last of the deep-red liquid and staggering after his wife into the entrance hall.

  All too soon the guests were gone. Mr Connor and Mrs Gammon melted away along with Laura’s mother, Jane and the servants, leaving Laura and Philip alone at last.

  * * *

  In Philip’s room, they stood across from one another. The fire crackled in the grate and a candle sputtered. Mary worked near the dressing table, laying out a chemise and robe.

  ‘Shall I leave you to prepare for bed?’ Philip trilled his fingers against his thigh, one foot turned as if he intended to go.

  Laura’s bravery nearly fled. It would be easier to meet him beneath the sheets with the room dark than to face him in the soft glow of the candles. She curled her toes in her shoes and the silk stockings slid along her skin. She wouldn’t deny herself, or him, the pleasure of seeing the fine needlework.

  She reached out and stilled his fingers. ‘No, your assistance is all I require tonight.’

  Without being asked, Mary removed herself from the room, closing the door behind her.

  Philip drew Laura to him, step by slow step until they were nearly touching. As he looked down at her, a strand of dark hair fell over his forehead. She reached up to brush it aside, then stopped, still hesitant to be so intimate with him. His hand squeezed hers, as if nudging her on, and she stroked the faint lines of his forehead. With the backs of her fingers she traced the angle of his cheek, dropping to the smooth jaw below. He remained steady beneath her touch, not alarmed or uncomfortable at her caress. Heat began to build in his eyes and he ran his thumb tenderly across her palm. At last she slid her hand along the skin above his collar, bringing it to rest in the short hair at his nape.

  Accepting her subtle invitation, he leaned forward and Laura closed her eyes, waiting, expecting. She wasn’t prepared for the intensity of this kiss.

  He didn’t hold back this time, but covered her lips hard with his. His arms encircled her waist, pressing her stomach to his need rising beneath the fine material of his breeches. The ribbons from one of the garters brushed the back of her leg as her form curved to fit into the arch of his. The strength of his embrace kept her from falling on to the carpet he’d been so worried about ruining the night they’d first met.

  Twining her arms around his neck, she held on tight, not frightened but excited by the passion building between them. His tongue traced the line of her lips, nudging them open. She took in the firmness as it teased and tasted her, urging her to do the same. She surrendered to the thrilling caress, heeding nothing but his body against hers, his breath on her cheeks, his fingers sliding over her shoulders. His desire reverberated through her and she didn’t hold back, eager to ride the crest of it into the unknown.

  It wasn’t until the first prick of cool air on her back awakened her from this delicious fugue that she noticed he’d undone the buttons of her dress. Whatever fears she’d had of coming together with him dropped like the silk pooling around her feet. Breaking away from his kiss, she stepped out of the circle of the garment, noting how his eyes widened at the sight of her near undress.

  ‘Your stay-maker does excellent work,’ he choked, sliding his hand along the curve of her waist to rest on her hip. His shock emboldened her and she clutched the edges of his lapels in her hand.

  ‘Your tailor is very talented, too.’ She touched her tongue to her top teeth, feeling quite bold as she peeled the fine wool away from his chest.

  He didn’t help, but watched her, his chest rising and falling fast as she set to work on the buttons of his waistcoat. She slipped each one through the holes until the garment hung open over his trim waist. Her palms grazed his hard muscles as she pressed both the jacket and waistcoat off his shoulders and down over his arms.

  He made the task easier by lowering his hands and allowing them to rest on either side of him as he always did, but tonight his stance was different. His fingers loosened from their fists to let the jacket and waistcoat slide free. They didn’t curl back under when the clothing fell away, but reached for her urgently, as if she’d been away too long, drawing her to him so he could kiss her. Yet even in his grasp she felt Philip’s steady self-control while her urges ran wild beneath the taste of his tongue against hers.

  His lips never broke from hers as he pulled each tie of the new stays through the eyelets, loosening the fine garment. With the last few strings still fastened, he turned her around.

  ‘Don’t I get to see you?’ She glanced over one shoulder, trying to tease him though she could barely speak through her nervousness. His warm cheek came up against
hers, his body achingly close though just far enough away for his fingers to continue their work.

  ‘You’ve already seen me naked. Now it’s my turn.’ His playfulness surprised her and increased the warmth spreading inside her.

  Her stays opened and her heavy breasts bounced lightly as he moved the restraints away and let them fall forward on to the floor. The chemise billowed out around her naked skin, teasing the tight tips of her breasts. There was nothing separating her from him except the thin layer of cotton and a delicious heat radiated between them. His hands didn’t retreat entirely as he moved up close behind her. He swept the curve of her hips through the cotton before his fingers tangled in the material and he began to draw it over her head. Her arms stiffened, the unfamiliar making her resist a moment before she raised her arms to let the chemise come free of her body. Philip was her husband now, there was no reason to hide herself from him.

  Husband. The word curled around her heart. Now she was his, she would give her entire self to him tonight.

  Cold swept over her, tickling her hot skin like his breath whispering across the back of her bare shoulders. She turned to press her body against his, something deep and primal she didn’t understand urging her on, but he stepped back. The same passion burning low inside of her flared in his eyes as his gaze dropped lower and lower to the garters, red ribbons bold against her legs.

  The sheer fabric and fragile silk were the only things still covering her and the vulnerability in her nakedness nearly struck down her bravery. He could pounce on her, satiate his lust and be done, leaving her confused and wanting. Instead, the control which dominated Philip’s life kept him planted to the floor. It increased her courage and she turned on the balls of her feet, rising on her toes to give him a better view of the embroidery and her round derrière.

  ‘Do you like them?’ Her voice wavered as she lowered herself to rest the heels of the clocked stockings against the plush carpet. The ribbons fluttered a touch as she moved, sweeping her skin with the same feathery heat she’d witnessed in his gaze.