by Deborah Hale
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.
Whe
n 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.
There was no help for it, though. She had no choice but to accept Ford’s offer. That did not mean she would tolerate the kind of abuse from him that she’d endured from his cousin. Cyrus knew things that had given him a terrible power over her. But she knew something about Ford that would give her a weapon to resist him if he ever tried to hurt her. She only hoped he would never force her to use it.
Laura was about to cut him down to size—Ford sensed it as surely as an impending summer storm.
She lingered at the dining-room door after her sisters had excused themselves and the servants cleared the last few dishes. No doubt she intended to tell him all the things her mother’s presence had prevented her from saying that afternoon. Well, let her! He did not care how she insulted or raged at him. It amused him to bait her into losing control of her emotions while maintaining a firm hold on his.
Though, truth to tell, he had not meant to provoke her by taking her mother for a walk in the garden. He pitied poor Mrs Penrose, being slowly suffocated by her daughters’ concern.
Steeling himself against Laura’s hostility, he raised his brandy. “Have you decided to join me in a drink?”
“No. I have two things to tell you.” Laura pushed the door shut and stood with her back to it. “I want to beg your pardon for the way I spoke to you this afternoon. Mama enjoyed her outing, which seems to have done her no harm. Her color is better than I have seen it in a great while.”
Prepared for criticism, Ford found it hard to hide his surprise at Laura’s frank, sincere apology. “I…never meant to alarm you.”
He could not bring himself to say he was sorry. That would be an admission he’d done something wrong, which he had not. Neither would he promise to consult her in future. That would seem to be asking her permission. Unlike Cousin Cyrus, who might have indulged his young wife, Ford was determined to be master of his house.
“What is the other thing you wish to tell me?” The moment the words left his lips, he knew. Laura was about to give him her answer. His gut tightened. What if she refused?
Inhaling a deep breath, Laura tilted her chin to a resolute angle. “After considering your proposal, I have decided to accept. As you say, it will be a most…convenient arrangement.”
“Very good.” A gust of elation swelled Ford’s chest. “I shall set out tomorrow for Lambeth to procure a special licence. We can be wed before the week is out.”
“No!” Laura’s hand flew to her bosom, fingers spread protectively. “That is, I see no need for such a rush. My first wedding was a rather…hasty event. This time I want banns read and our neighbours invited to the wedding.”
Banns? That would require the vicar to announce their impending marriage on each of the next three Sundays. “Do you think it appropriate to make such a public fuss over a marriage of convenience?”
“Why not? You said we should get married for the sake of propriety. What could be more proper than having banns read in the local church and all the neighbours witnessing our nuptials?”
She had him there. Ford acknowledged it with a rueful nod. He had waited seven years already. What would a few more weeks matter? It would give him time to anticipate and savour his approaching victory.
Rising from his chair, he walked slowly toward Laura. “Shall we seal our betrothal with a kiss?”
A flicker of alarm leapt in her eyes. For an instant Ford thought she might turn and flee. But why? In every other situation, she had stood up to him, refusing to be intimidated. Why did the prospect of physical contact between them unsettle her so? Did she find him repulsive? She hadn’t used to.
“A kiss?” she repeated in a tremulous whisper. Then in a firmer voice she added, “Of course…if you wish.”
“If I desire,” Ford murmured. “And I do.”
An arm’s length away from her, he stopped. “Since our last kiss was a rather hasty event, I believe we deserve a proper one this time.”
Their kiss in the bluebell wood had taken him unawares—shaken him out of his accustomed restraint. This time he was determined to maintain control no matter how powerful the provocation.
His gaze riveted on Laura’s lips, he reached up to cradle her chin with his fingers. Then he moved closer and lowered his face to hers, tilting her head to meet his approach. She resisted the firm pressure of his touch just enough to stoke the heat of his desire. And when his lips hovered over hers, ready to claim them, the rapid gust of her breath whispered against his skin. He raised his other hand to stroke her neck, relishing the mad flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips.
With a sigh of anticipation, he played his lips across hers, barely making contact, savouring the silky friction when he did. Half a dozen times he brushed her mouth, increasing the pressure of each one by a minute degree. On the final pass, he felt her lips part slightly. A bolt of searing satisfaction ripped through him, igniting a fire in his loins.
His control threatened to slip away, but he clung to it with grim determination. Extending his tongue, he eased the hot, wet tip into the narrow fissure between her lips and slowly pried them open. When at last he gained entry to the sultry cavern of her mouth, he explored, caressed and tasted Laura to her delicious depths.
The wicked hum of lust in his veins urged him to tug up her skirts, fumble open the buttons of his breeches and take her there, up against the door. All that stopped him was his fierce resolve not to lose control and a troublesome remnant of tenderness he had thought long since purged from his heart.
An even more troubling thought slithered into Ford’s mind, piercing his triumph with sharp fangs and injecting noxious venom. Laura might have promised to marry him, but that was no guarantee she would. Perhaps she only wanted this month-long betrothal to give her time to secure a husband more to her liking. And what if her true motive for wanting such a public wedding was so she could humiliate him before all his neighbours?
Breaking abruptly from their kiss, he wrenched open the door behind her and growled, “Away with you. Go!”
Chapter Six
Did Ford want her or not? Laura asked herself as they drove to church on Sunday morning with her sisters. A few days after their bewildering betrothal kiss, the only question that perplexed her mor
e was whether she wanted him. After the other night, it seemed the answer might be…yes.
Buried beneath stifling ashes of fear and mistrust, nearly quenched by shame, an ember of desire smouldered within her. Whenever she remembered Ford’s deep, brandied kiss or the restrained intensity of his touch, that ember threatened to set her on fire.
How had Ford felt about their kiss? She stole a sidelong glance at him as her sisters chattered on about some harmless bit of local gossip. As usual, his harshly handsome features betrayed nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling.
What had made him push her away when his passion had reached at its sizzling peak? Could her reluctance have repelled him as it had Cyrus? She felt like a fool, understanding so little about men after five years of marriage.
Without any warning, Ford spoke. “I have decided to host a ball to celebrate our engagement.”
“A ball?” Susannah squealed, clapping her hands. “How splendid! Laura never breathed a hint of it to us, the sly minx.”
“That is because I knew nothing of it until this moment.” Laura tried to stifle her annoyance. Would it have been too great an inconvenience for Ford to ask her wishes in the matter?
She appreciated his kindness to her mother and admired the effort he was making to improve the estate. But when he arranged matters to suit himself without consulting her, it made her feel as controlled and powerless as she had been with Cyrus.
“I expect Ford wanted to surprise you,” suggested Belinda, putting a pleasant face on the situation, as was her habit. “I should enjoy a ball, though we haven’t any ball gowns that aren’t years out of fashion, nor proper dancing slippers. I fear our shabbiness would disgrace him.”
“That would never do.” Ford’s firm mouth tightened in a frown of mock-gravity. “I can abide anything but disgrace.”
Though Laura knew he meant nothing by the quip, his mention of disgrace still gave her a qualm. If he ever guessed the disgrace she could unleash upon him if she chose, he would treat her with far more consideration.