The Soldier's Dark Secret

A second later Justin came running in, his pistol drawn. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Quite.’ Philip sat down in his chair, rubbing his still-damp chin with his fingers. Miss Townsend had stirred something inside him—not pity, or even lust, though she was pretty. No, it was curiosity, like the first time he’d seen Arabella sitting across his desk next to her father, Dr Hale. Philip hadn’t been able to focus on anything but her while Dr Hale had laid out his plans for a small medical school. The school had failed and Dr Hale had lost both his and Philip’s money. It was the only time Philip had allowed emotion to guide a business decision.

‘Leave it to you to be so cavalier about an intruder threatening you.’ Justin lowered the hammer on the pistol.

‘She was never a threat.’ Philip curled one finger to rub it along his ring finger still missing the plain wedding band he’d buried with Arabella. No, this was nothing like the day he’d met his wife. There was no emotion to touch his love for Arabella, especially not in the guise of this stranger, no matter how intriguing she might appear.

‘You look like the devil.’ Justin slid the pistol in the holster under his coat.

‘It’s been a trying day.’ He’d thought the headaches of it were over when he’d sunk down into the hot water. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

He stared past Justin to the copper bathtub and the thin tendrils of steam still rising from it. Nothing but problems had plagued him today. A cobbler had called to secure a loan to increase his business. The cobbler’s endless words of reassurance and lack of collateral had warned Philip off the venture. The man hadn’t reacted kindly to Philip’s refusal. He’d only just been ejected from the house when Justin had arrived with news of an import company with an outstanding loan having been declared bankrupt. It’d been a scramble to seize the goods stored in the warehouse before the importer moved them and left Philip with the loss.

With business matters secured, household ones had rushed in to consume the remainder of the day. His sister, Jane, had tried his patience with yet another demand for an expensive dress too mature for a budding young woman of thirteen. She’d railed at him with their grandmother’s temper before stomping away after Philip threatened to cut off her dress allowance. On the heels of Jane’s tantrum came the news that Mrs Marston, his son Thomas’s nurse, was moving to Bath to take care of her grandson, leaving Philip with only a month to engage a replacement. Jane was too young to be of assistance and Mrs Palmer, despite running his house with the efficiency of a factory, was not up to the task of mothering his sister and son or finding a suitable replacement for Mrs Marston.

What Philip needed was a wife, someone to deal with these domestic matters.

Justin plucked a small chair from the wall, turned it around in front of the desk, then straddled it, leaning his elbows on the polished back. ‘So, who was the woman?’

‘The niece of Robert Townsend.’ Philip smoothed his hands over his wet hair. ‘She wanted her collateral back.’

‘Don’t they all.’ Justin snorted, propping his chin in his palm. ‘I left two extra men to guard the importer’s stock until you can sell it.’

‘We’ll see to it tomorrow,’ Philip said vaguely, his thoughts consumed with something other than business.

Justin raised one curious eyebrow. ‘What did she do to you?’

Philip straightened a pen on the blotter. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Never seen you this cavalier about a full warehouse. Usually you’re all plans until I’m up all night and engaged through most of tomorrow seeing to it, but not tonight. Why?’

Philip studied his old friend and partner. Justin had stood beside him at his wedding and at Arabella’s funeral. He balled his hand into a fist. His wife should have had the chance to raise their son and attend to their house. Now, it fell to the people Philip paid to assist him. Not the most ideal of situations and one he would soon correct.

Straightening in the chair, he laced his fingers over his stomach. It wasn’t Miss Townsend’s disturbance which troubled him now, as much as the opportunity she presented. His father had trained him to assess a client in a matter of seconds. He’d measured up Miss Townsend and, despite the ridiculousness of her attempted threat, found her useful qualities continued to tip the scales in her favour.

It was madness and he knew it. He should recommend her and the mother to Halcyon House, his charitable organisation, and be done with them both, not continue to entertain the plan developing in his mind. He’d chosen Arabella with his heart, ignoring her frailty, believing it wouldn’t come between them. He’d been a fool and in the end their love had killed her.

Small footsteps pattered down the long hallway outside his bedroom door before steady, larger ones followed. In a moment, he’d help Mrs Marston get Thomas back to sleep, but first there was business to discuss.