Married: The Virgin Widow (5 page)

Despite all her confused, often hostile, feelings about Ford, a bewildering qualm of distress gripped Laura at the thought of him married to someone else.

“It was because we interrupted you, wasn’t it?” Belinda reached for Laura’s hand and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “We spoiled the magical moment, so you want to recapture it later in private. How romantic that Ford proposed to you so soon. He’s probably been yearning for you these past seven years. The moment he heard you were free, he flew to reclaim his first and only love!”

Her sister’s cloying flight of fancy made Laura’s gorge rise. She knew better than to indulge in such starry-eyed delusions about Ford’s proposal. Not only did he no longer love her, if he ever had, the man now proclaimed love an absurdity he was incapable of feeling for any woman.

“Don’t talk such nonsense, Binny.” What she meant
to be an impatient demand came out sounding more like a desperate plea. “This isn’t a fairy story and seven years is a very long time. A great deal has happened to both of us since we parted. We have changed and our feelings have changed—it is only natural.”

Susannah scowled. “Ford’s feelings cannot have changed a great deal if he still wants to marry you. Whatever your feelings, he’s a vast improvement over your first husband. I think you’d be a fool to turn him down.”

Before Laura could box her ears for her impertinence, Susannah flounced off toward the house.

“I do not care what you think!” Laura cried after her. “After this, kindly keep your opinions on the subject to yourself!”

“Don’t mind her.” Belinda’s arms stole around Laura from behind. “She was too young to understand why you married Lord Kingsfold. I’m sorry if what I said before upset you. I’m certain Ford still loves you. A man cannot kiss a woman that way unless he feels something for her.”

“Don’t say that, Binny, please!” With a massive effort, Laura shored up her flagging self-control. Her sister was too innocent to understand that what Ford felt for her had nothing to do with love.

“Very well, if you don’t want me to.” Belinda sounded bewildered and a little hurt. “But whyever not?”

Laura refused to answer. Indeed, she refused to enquire too closely into her reasons. She feared if she did, she might discover some tiny, very foolish part of her wanted to believe it could be true.

W
hat was Laura playing at? Ford wondered as he watched her hurry down the wooded path away from him. Much as he hated to admit it, some part of him found perverse enjoyment in the challenge of guessing her motives and anticipating her next move. So far, she had defied his expectations at every turn.

Despite her barely concealed antagonism, he’d been certain she would seize the opportunity to secure another wealthy, titled husband. Especially when the plum landed in her lap with so little effort and an admirable excuse to accept. Yet in spite of her surprising response to his kiss, she seemed reluctant to wed him.

How could that be? Ford asked himself as he strode away through the beech coppice. After all, she’d married Cyrus—a full generation older and never a favorite with the ladies. But perhaps that did not signify. Cyrus was not his rival for Laura’s hand. Young Mr Crawford, however…

That thought sent Ford in search of information from the one person at Hawkesbourne he dared ask. He found
Pryce, the butler, in the drawing room, supervising a troop of new maids and footmen as they swept, scoured, dusted and polished every visible surface.

Catching sight of Ford, the butler bowed. “May I be of service, my lord?”

“I have a few questions about our neighbour, Crawford.” Ford made it sound like a trifling matter. “Does he call here often?”

“Not in a formal way, my lord. He does stop by now and then to pay his respects to Mrs Penrose.”

Using the ailing mother as an excuse to get closer to the daughter. Ford’s lip began to curl. “Have you any idea of his fortune? Does his family still own that brewery in Southwark?”

“Mr Crawford takes no active part in running it, but I believe the family maintains a share of the profits.” Pryce mentioned a figure he’d heard bandied about in connection with Crawford’s income.

Ford’s brows shot up. No wonder Laura liked the fellow so well.

“What do you make of his temperament?” Ford thought the young fellow rather insipid. Not the type of man capable of making his fortune in distant, forbidding lands.

“Mr Crawford has been very kind to Mrs Penrose and the young ladies since the master died,” replied the butler. “He often sends presents of game or fish. Sometimes fruit from his hothouse.”

No question the fellow knew how to ingratiate himself. Him and his miserable fish! Laura had gone on as if they were the greatest delicacy in the world, procured by the most extraordinary effort. Meanwhile,
Ford’s offerings of spices, silks and all the treasures of the Orient had scarcely merited an acknowledgement.

Pryce seemed to sense that his praise of their neighbor did not please Ford. “I have observed the young gentleman is rather backward in the social graces. Her ladyship is one of the few people with whom he converses freely.”

Ford lowered his voice so the other servants would not hear over the scrape of scrub brushes and the slosh of water. “Do you reckon Crawford has any interest in her ladyship? Interest of a romantic nature, I mean.”

“Oh, no, my lord,” the butler answered, swiftly and emphatically.

But before the tension in Ford’s body could ease, Pryce added, “Though now that you mention it, I often see them talking together. Her ladyship speaks highly of him and he goes out of his way to make himself agreeable to her.”

The butler’s observation prodded Ford’s conscience. Since returning to Hawkesbourne, he had been rather severe with Laura. No more severe than she deserved, his embittered heart protested. Besides, she provoked him at every turn with her quiet defiance, her flagrant lies and her damned icy allure! His mouth tingled with the memory of their kiss, as if he’d just eaten a highly spiced curry.

Reviewing Crawford’s attractions as a prospective husband, Ford found the list weighted far too heavily in the young man’s favor. He feared if Laura told their neighbour that she was being forced into marriage, it might spur the young fool to make her a better offer.

He must give her no opportunity to go running to
Crawford. And, much as it irked him, he must put aside his gnawing resentment and make an effort to be more agreeable.

The person most likely to prevent her from accepting Ford’s proposal was…Ford, himself. Laura pondered that bit of irony as she hurried to check on her mother. She was determined never to endure another marriage as wretched as her first, and Ford’s manner toward her suggested she would be no less miserable as his wife than she had as his cousin’s.

But what choice did she have if she wanted to protect her family? No more than when she’d been forced to accept Cyrus’s proposal. She doubted Ford would turn them out of Hawkesbourne, if he were convinced they had no other resources. But it was obvious he did not believe that nothing remained of her marriage settlement. She might have persuaded him if she could have told him where the money had gone, but he was the last person she would dare trust with that terrible secret.

Long-suppressed memories stirred, threatening to torment her. When she eased open the door to her mother’s room and discovered Mama’s bed empty for the first time in years, her emotions overwhelmed her.

“Mama!” Laura rushed toward the bed, darting glances around the deserted room. Her stomach churned with panic and her heart raced like a runaway horse.

The muted sound of voices wafting up from the garden outside sent her flying to the window. She sank against it, faint with relief at the sight of her mother sitting in a wheeled garden chair, swathed in shawls and
blankets. Ford was pushing it down a gravel path between the flowerbeds.

What was he trying to do—kill poor Mama? Laura marched out of the room and down the back staircase. Wrenching open a side door, she stormed out into the garden. Her footsteps crunched over the gravel path as she followed the indented tracks left by the wheels of the garden chair. Up ahead, she heard her mother cough.

Breaking into a run, she rounded the hedge so quickly she barrelled into Ford. The sudden, violent contact between them assaulted her with intense, unwelcome sensations. All her churning anger burst forth.

“What do you think you are doing?” She leapt back from him like a cat tossed into a water trough. “Bring my mother back inside at once! You had no right to drag her out here where she might catch a chill.”

“A chill? Rubbish!” A glint of venom flashed in Ford’s green eyes. “It is a mild day and I made certain your mother was well wrapped. Sunshine, fresh air and a change of scene will do her far more good than wasting away in that dark, stuffy room.”

After all she had suffered to secure her mother’s comfort, this arrogant man had the gall to imply that Mama was ill cared for? “How dare you say such a thing? What makes you think you know what my mother needs after being here less than a week?”

“Don’t be cross with Ford, dearest.” Her mother’s frail protest halted the bitter torrent of words Laura had been about to unleash. “He asked me if I felt…strong enough for a walk in the garden. I thought how pleasant…it would be to smell things growing.”

Laura’s insides twisted in a knot of shame. No matter
how much Ford vexed her, it was no excuse to distress her mother. The fact that he had provoked her outburst made her resent him more. The possibility that he might be in the right was simply intolerable.

“Forgive me, Mama!” She flew to her mother’s side, giving Ford as wide a berth as possible on the narrow path. “I was so alarmed to find you gone from your room that I lost my head. Of course you should come out and enjoy the flowers if you feel up to it. I only wish I’d been told so I would not have worried. Are you quite certain you’re warm enough and not too tired?”

Before Mrs Penrose could answer, Ford did. “We have not been out more than ten minutes. I told your mother to let me know the moment she feels chilled or fatigued and I will take her back inside at once.”

Though he spoke in a calm tone, Laura sensed answering hostility behind his composed features. In his level gaze she detected a hint of something unexpected. If she hadn’t known better, she might have fancied his feeling slighted.

Refusing to acknowledge his words, she fixed her attention on her mother. “If you are quite comfortable, then I will leave you to your walk.”

Mrs Penrose laid one delicate hand upon Laura’s. “I should enjoy my outing so much more…if you accompanied us. I’m certain Ford would, too.” She twisted about in the chair to offer him a wan smile. “He tells me you are considering a rather special request he made of you.”

“Did he?” For her mother’s sake, Laura strove to mask her exasperation. “I thought it was customary to keep such matters private until a decision had been reached. Perhaps Ford is used to different customs from the Indies.”

“I am.” Ford began to push the garden chair forwards at a leisurely pace. “In the East, a girl’s parents negotiate all the details of her marriage before she is informed of it.”

“And the bride has no say in the matter?” Almost against her will, Laura began to walk along beside. “Infamous!”

She caught Ford in a fleeting grin. He enjoyed goading her, the beast!

“Do not be so quick to condemn a tradition that has endured for centuries. Perhaps it is we English who are misguided in our willingness to base the commitment of a lifetime upon the passing romantic fancies of callow youth.”

So that was all he’d felt for her—a passing romantic fancy? Though Laura fought to stifle her emotions, her eyes stung and her throat tightened. Cyrus had used almost those exact words seven years ago, when he’d insisted his cousin had no deeper feelings for her. For the longest time, in spite of mounting evidence, a stubborn corner of her heart had refused to believe it. Now she felt as if Ford had reached into her chest and ripped out that last sliver of dogged faith.

“I am surprised,” he added, with callous disregard for her feelings, “that a woman of your admirable prudence should not perceive the merits of arranged marriages.”

“My dear Ford,” Mrs Penrose chided him with gently, “you sound so severe one might believe you were in earnest. You men take such delight in teasing your sweethearts. Laura’s father was just the same when we were courting.”

Ford gave a rich, rustling chuckle that seemed to
confirm her mother’s charge. Laura thought it more likely he was mocking Mama’s naïveté. “If I must not tease my sweetheart, what should I talk about, ma’am?”

“Why not tell us about your plans for improving the estate. I’m certain my daughter will be as interested in hearing about them as I am.”

Ford glanced toward Laura. “Would you?”

By now she had regained sufficient composure to look him in the eye. But she still did not trust her voice. Instead she replied with a curt nod.

“Very well then.” Ford launched into a discourse on animal pasturage, fruit cultivation and drainage, which Laura hated to admit she found fascinating.

From the time she’d come to Hawkesbourne, the tenants had always treated her with respect and kindness. She’d watched with helpless dismay as Cyrus had neglected the estate. If Ford’s ideas helped put more acreage under cultivation, or increased crop yields, those hardworking people she’d come to know and admire would prosper.

Several questions slipped out before she could contain them. To her surprise, Ford answered readily, with no hint of condescension.

“How did you come to know all this?” she asked at last, grudgingly impressed by the breadth of his information.

He shrugged. “I had to do something with my time on the long voyage home. I bought every book I could find on the subject of agriculture and studied them. When I found out one of the other passengers had been the overseer of a plantation in India, I quizzed the poor fellow until he was heartily tired of my company.”

For the first time since his return, Laura compared
the
new
Ford to the old and conceded an improvement. The old Ford would have rather spent the long voyage playing cards or drinking with his fellow passengers than pouring over books about agriculture. But what would his tenants make of Ford’s innovations?

She was about to observe that Mama had been outdoors long enough when Ford suddenly turned the garden chair down a side path that led back to the house. “Time to take you back inside, Mrs Penrose. I do not wish to exhaust you on your first excursion, or your daughter might forbid us going out again.”

A sharp retort rose to Laura’s lips, but she bit it back, not wanting to upset her mother or to give Ford the satisfaction of baiting her again.

When they reached the house, Ford scooped Mrs Penrose out of the chair and carried her to her room while Laura ran ahead to open doors. Hard as she tried, she could not deny her intense awareness of his strength and vitality. Neither could she ignore the unexpected gentleness with which he treated her mother.

“There.” Ford set Mrs Penrose on her bed. “Your face has a bit more color. The next fine day, I shall take you out again. In fact, I believe we should move you to rooms on the ground floor to make it easier for you to get out. I shall arrange it at once.”

When he had gone, Laura removed her mother’s bonnet and shawls and tucked her in. “I hope the outing did not weary you.”

“Only a trifle, dearest.” Mrs Penrose seemed to wilt once Ford had gone. “But what does that signify? I would rather spend my strength enjoying a pleasant time once in a while than let it ebb away doing nothing.”

That was the closest her mother had ever come to voicing a complaint or admitting the gravity of her condition. It sank Laura’s spirits. Could Ford be right about what was best for Mama?

She drew the window curtains closed. “I will leave you to rest, then.”

“In a moment.” Mrs Penrose patted the bed beside her. “First come and sit with me. Have you made up your mind about Ford’s proposal?“

“I still have a few more hours to decide.” A feeling of futility welled up in Laura, as if she were being pushed toward the edge of a high cliff. The harder she struggled to escape, the more pressure Ford brought to bear upon her.

“What is there to decide, dearest? It sounds like the answer to a prayer.”

Answer to a prayer? Of course her mother would see it that way. But then, she had said the same thing about Laura’s marriage to Cyrus. Instead it had proven to be a devil’s bargain.