chapter 2
Laura gazed at the cluttered room. She had packed most of their remaining belongings, but she had not had the heart to enter her father’s study. Now, looking at his books and papers haphazardly stacked and fallen and wedged in wherever they would go, the long scarred table on which sat beakers and dishes and various pots and jars, tears clogged her throat anew.
It was so unfair, so vastly unfair that a good, kind, intelligent man like her father, a man who had spent his life healing others, should be taken away at his young age when so many other men far less worthy than he survived. Venal, brutal men like Sid Merton.
She scowled at the thought of their landlord. He would be coming around today, wanting his money in full—no matter that her father had been in his grave less than two weeks. She had sold everything she could the past few days, but not many people wanted medical tomes or old, well-worn furniture. A doctor in the next village had purchased her father’s instruments, and she thought one of the men with whom her father had corresponded might buy some of his library, but it was scarcely enough to pay her father’s debts.
She could only hope that she could stave off Merton with it, allowing her time to try to find the rest of the money . . . though God only knew how she would manage that feat. Panic seized her as it had several times since her father’s death, flooding her chest and throat as if to choke her. What was she to do?
A heavy succession of thuds against the door of the cottage made her jump. It would be Merton. Who else would hammer so gracelessly at a house in mourning?
Laura opened the door with all the calm and dignity she could muster and faced Sid Merton. Tall and broad, he was accustomed to intimidating everyone with his size. The fact that neither Laura nor her father had allowed him to bully them had offended Merton and seemingly made him determined to prove that he was to be feared.
He started inside, but Laura neatly sidestepped him, slipping out of the house and into the yard, so that to talk to her Merton had to turn away from the door. She waited for him to speak, her face set in the calm aristocratic mask she knew he hated.
She could hear faint noises from the street in the background—the rumble of a wagon farther down the road, the swish of a broom sweeping the stoop across the street, a child’s high-pitched laughter. She hoped even Sid Merton would think twice about threatening her in public view.
“Have you got it, then? I want my money.” Merton scowled, thrusting out his hand.
“I have sold some of Papa’s things.” Laura reached into her pocket and pulled out a coin purse, opening it and pouring the contents into his outstretched palm.
“This?” He stared at the pitifully small pile in the center of his beefy hand. “This is what you’re giving me?”
Laura reached into her other pocket, withdrawing two paper pound notes, and laid them on top of the coins. “And this. It’s all I’ve been able to get so far, but I’m sure I’ll manage more if you will but give me a little time.”
“That’s not even half what you owe me. And that’s only for the note your father signed. You’re also behind in your rent. Four weeks behind.” He held up his other hand, fingers spread and thumb tucked in, to demonstrate.
“Yes. I am aware how many four is,” Laura retorted. “But—”
“Are you mocking me?” He took a long step forward, looming over her. “D’ya think this is a joke?”
“Believe me, I find nothing humorous in my situation.”
“You think I should just let you stay here for free?”
“I’m not asking for that.” Laura’s hand curled her fingers into her skirts, struggling to maintain her calm. “But my father passed quite recently, as you know. It will take a bit of time for me to settle his affairs. I’ll find a way to pay you the rest if you would only—”
“Oh, I could let you stay here.” Merton smiled in a way that sent a shiver of dread down her spine. He reached out to wrap his thick fingers around her wrist. “If you were a bit nicer to me, maybe.”
Laura stiffened, fury coursing through her. Behind her she heard the jingle of horses in harness and the roll of wheels, but she paid no attention. “I’d sooner go to debtors’ prison than be ‘nice’ to you.”
“Fine by me.” He yanked her forward, and she slammed against his broad chest. Jerking her arm up behind her back, he bent over her. “I like a bit of a fight.”
“Stop!” Laura wedged her other arm between them and pushed with all her strength, turning her head aside. A sharp pain shot up her twisted arm. “Let go of me!”
Behind them a man loudly cleared his voice. “I beg your pardon.”
Merton straightened to glare over Laura’s head at the man who had dared interrupt him. His grip slackened enough for Laura to turn, easing the pain in her shoulder, and edge away from Merton.
A tall, thin man, his face shadowed by a hat, stood at the edge of their yard, a team of horses and a carriage behind him. His pose was studiedly careless, weight on one leg and a hand resting lightly on the head of a gold-knobbed cane. In a cool, faintly bored voice, steeped in aristocratic hauteur, he went on, “It appears your suit is unwelcome to the lady.”
“What business is it of yours?” Merton snarled.
“Well, you see, I have come to speak with her father.” He swept off his hat and sketched a bow to Laura. “Good afternoon, Miss Hinsdale. I hope I have not arrived at an inopportune time.”
“James de Vere?” Laura stared. Graeme’s cousin was the last person she expected to see in her yard. He looked older and thinner than the last time she’d seen him, when he’d come to inform her that she must give up the man she loved. But he was just as coldly handsome, his tone as supercilious. It was humiliating that he of all people should find her grappling with Sid Merton in front of her house. Even more humiliating, given her current situation, she must hope for his help.
Beside her, Merton let out a short, harsh laugh. “I wish you luck with that.”
Sir James’s brows lifted faintly at the words, but he ignored Merton, saying, “If you would be so kind, Miss Hinsdale, I would appreciate a bit of your time. If, of course, you are not otherwise occupied.”
“I am perfectly free.” Laura took another step away, jerking her arm as hard as she could. Merton’s grip did not loosen.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Merton growled.
James turned a disdainful gaze on him. “You, my good man, are becoming tiresome.”
“Tiresome!” Merton gaped at him.
“Time you left, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think.” Merton tossed back James’s words in a smug, singsong mockery.
“Mm. Clearly.”
The large man flushed with anger. Naturally, Sir James would come to one’s rescue in an irritating manner. Even the way he stood was insulting, too certain he would have his way to bother bracing for a fight. His arrogance would probably cow many men, but Sid Merton was a bully used to relying on his size and his fists to get what he wanted. It would take more than a haughty attitude to intimidate him.
“Sir James . . .” Laura began in a conciliatory fashion, hoping she could convey to him the need to tread lightly.
Both men ignored her.
“You’re the one who’s leaving.” Merton scowled menacingly, his free hand knotting into a fist.
“I think not. For the last time, release Miss Hinsdale and go.”
Merton let out a scornful laugh, making a show of looking the other man up and down. “You think you’re going to make me?”
“No.” James smiled thinly. He snapped his fingers, and the largest dog Laura had ever seen jumped out of the open carriage door. “He is.”