by Deborah Hale
“I reckon I have no alternative,” he continued, “but to bring the three of you along to London when I go there on business this week. While I look for suitable premises and hunt up the brother of my partner, you ladies can shop for ball gowns, wedding wear and my bride’s trousseau.”
There he went again, arranging her life without the slightest regard for her wishes.
“We cannot all go away and leave Mama,” Laura protested. “And how are we to pay for all these new clothes?”
Perhaps with the three thousand pounds he refused to believe she no longer had?
“I have already discussed the idea with your mother,” replied Ford with vexing good humour. “She thinks it will do you all good to get up to London for a few frivolous days. As for the bills, have them sent to Hawkesbourne. By the time they arrive, we will be married and I will pay them gladly.”
He had discussed it with her mother, but not mentioned it to her? Laura wished she could believe Belinda’s explanation, that Ford had planned the ball and the trip to London as surprises he hoped would please her. But it felt more like he was forcing her every move. Wasn’t it enough that he was compelling her to wed him? How much worse would it be when he gained a husband’s power over her?
Before she could raise any further objections, their carriage came to a halt in front of the old parish church, St Botolph’s. The solid sanctuary of ivy-covered Horsham stone dated from Norman times.
Laura sensed many eyes upon her and Ford as they took their seats in the right-hand front pew, which generations of Barretts had occupied before them. Across the aisle sat the other noble family of the parish, the Dearings. The young Marquis of Bramber was not in attendance, but his great-uncles, Lord Edward and Lord Henry, were there along with his sisters, Lady Artemis and Lady Daphne. The latter, a vivacious little beauty with wide blue eyes and golden curls was a particular friend of Susannah’s.
Laura had never managed to strike up a close acquaintance with the proud, reserved Lady Artemis. Though the two sisters shared a certain similarity in their fine features, their overall looks were as opposite as a glittering ray of sunshine and a cool, shimmering moonbeam. Lady Artemis was tall and slender, with raven hair, alabaster skin and striking violet eyes.
This morning she looked across the aisle and acknowledged Laura with a polite nod. Or had that been meant for Ford?
Susannah’s warning echoed in Laura’s mind. I’m sure either of Lord Bramber’s sisters would have him before you could bat an eye. Despite her conflicting feelings about Ford and her reservations about marrying him, jealousy wrung Laura in its tight, possessive grip.
Following the Second Lesson, the curate mounted the lectern and spoke in a loud voice. “I publish the Banns of Marriage between Ford, Lord Kingsfold of Hawkesbourne, and Laura, Dowager Lady Kingsfold of Hawkesbourne. If any of you know cause, or just impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.”
A furtive murmur stole through the sanctuary after the banns were read. Though Laura pretended not to hear, her ears tingled furiously. She could imagine what was being said. Censorious whispers had dogged her ever since she’d come to Hawkesbourne, as Cyrus Barrett’s hastily wed young bride, with her dependent family in tow. She’d hoped her decorous conduct over the years might improve their neighbours’ opinion of her. Now she wondered if that had been wishful thinking.
Once the service concluded, a throng of neighbours surrounded Ford at the church door to welcome him home and offer congratulations on his betrothal. Shunted aside by the crush of people jostling to speak to him, Laura drifted into the churchyard where she found Sidney Crawford standing off by himself.
She could not help notice the longing looks he cast in Belinda’s direction as her sisters engaged in animated conversation with Lady Daphne. “I think my sister looks especially pretty this morning, don’t you?”
“I have never seen her anything less than beautiful.” The words seemed to burst out before he could stop them. “I beg your pardon, my lady! I meant no offense.”
“None was taken, I assure you.” Laura edged a little closer to him, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard. “I am certain Belinda would be delighted to hear of your admiration.”
Before he had a chance to respond, Ford’s voice rumbled behind them. “Congratulating my fiancée, are you, Crawford?”
It was a perfectly civil question, but the tone held a sharp edge of menace. Drat the man! Did he have to discourage the one neighbour willing to offer her a kind word?
Mr Crawford turned pale. “J-just so, my lord. I must congratulate you, as well, on your fine choice of a wife.”
Bobbing a hasty bow, he fled.
Ford gave a most infuriating chuckle. “A nervous fellow, your Mr Crawford. I get the feeling he doesn’t much like my company.”
He offered Laura his arm, but she ignored it, marching back toward the carriage. Not caring whether Ford heard her, she muttered, “He is not the only one.”
So Laura did not care for his company? Ford fumed as his carriage rolled north over the High Weald toward London. She flattered herself if she thought it mattered to him! The only reason he’d brought her along to London was to keep her away from Sidney Crawford while he was absent from Hawkesbourne.
The way the two of them had stolen off for a secretive tête-à-tête in the churchyard the moment his back was turned had put him on his guard. Crawford’s nervous behaviour and abrupt exit were clear signs of a guilty conscience. Laura’s reluctance to come to London and her undisguised irritation at having her chat with Crawford interrupted were clear evidence she was up to something.
Not that any one would suspect it, seeing her now. Ford cast a sidelong glance at his betrothed, dozing peacefully with her head lolled against his arm. Her scent made him fancy he was sitting in the midst of an orange grove on a sultry night with all the trees in bloom. She looked a picture of angelic innocence with a single golden curl tumbled over her brow. How deceiving appearances could be.
If she planned to deceive him again, as she had seven years ago, she would not find him as easy a mark as she had then. He was no longer a love-blinded young fool without influence or resources. He would get her to the altar this time and he would get her into his bed, if it meant spending a fortnight shadowing her every move.
Gradually the muffled clatter of horses’ hooves and the rolling of the carriage wheels lulled Ford to sleep.
A while later, he woke with a start, uncertain how long he’d been dozing. Quite a while, it seemed, for the view out the carriage window showed them to be on the outskirts of Southwark.
Laura was still asleep, her head resting against his shoulder, the way it never would have if she’d been awake. On the opposite seat, Susannah slept, slumped against Belinda, who stared out the window, a tear sliding down her cheek. When she heaved a muted sob, Ford realised that was what had woken him.
“What’s the matter, Belinda?” He kept his voice low so as not to rouse her sisters. “Are you ill?”
She shook her head slowly. “I just saw h-home…I mean, the house where we grew up…for the first time since we left. A cousin of Papa’s lives there now. His horrid wife could hardly wait to get her hands on it.”
Ford craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the Penrose house. He recalled a long-ago day and a sour-faced woman answering his frantic enquiries about Laura.
“I’m sure I don’t know where they’ve gone. She’s made a fine match to some rich, old lordship. Perhaps she had him take her on a bridal tour to Paris to spend all his money.” The woman had sounded frankly envious of Laura’s good fortune. Every word from her sneering lips had struck a blow to Ford’s fragile hope that Laura’s tersely worded letter breaking their engagement was some preposterous mistake.
Those wrenching memories hardened his bitterness, shoring up the weak spots Laura had begun to sap in his defences.
He continued to gaze o
ut the window as the carriage turned on to a familiar stretch of Harleyford Street. But something looked different.
“What became of your father’s place of business?” he asked Belinda. “There is a new building where it used to be.”
“It was destroyed.” Belinda wiped the tear from her cheek. “By the fire that killed Papa.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Of course, you were abroad then.” Belinda lower lip quivered. “It was a terrible time. We were afraid the shock would kill Mama. Then having to give up our house so quickly. I don’t know what would have become of us if Laura had not married Lord Kingsfold and offered us a home with them.”
Ford reeled as if she’d just struck him in the face. Before he could collect his scattered wits, the carriage hit a deep rut in the road, jarring the two sleepers awake. Laura abruptly pulled herself upright.
Susannah stretched and rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?”
“Newington,” said Belinda. “Near Elephant and Castle.”
“I can’t wait to see the city again!” Susannah peered out the carriage window at one of the busiest intersections south of the Thames. “I can scarcely remember the last time I was here. Is anyone else hungry? I hope they give us a good supper at Osborne’s.”
Ford scarcely heard her; his mind was spinning with questions that his brief conversation with Belinda had raised. He watched Laura out of the corner of his eye as the carriage made its way up London Road, past the obelisk in the middle of St George’s Circus, then across the Thames over Waterloo Bridge.
By the time they reached Osborne’s Hotel, nestled in the elegant Adelphi Terraces, Ford’s curiosity had intensified to a burning itch.
Scarcely able to master his impatience, he secured accommodation for their party, then turned from the front desk, offering Laura his arm. “I could do with a breath of air and a chance to stretch my legs. While our luggage is being unloaded, let us take a stroll along the promenade in front of Royal Terrace. It has a fine view of the river.”
Susannah eagerly endorsed the idea and Belinda pronounced herself willing to go along with whatever the rest decided. They were soon walking along the wrought-iron-fenced terrace overlooking the Thames.
It was a fine spring day with a fresh breeze blowing from the west. The great river bustled with watercraft of every size and kind. Susannah flitted about the promenade, towing Belinda by the hand, first pointing east toward the great dome of St Paul’s, then west toward the austere dignity of Whitehall, exclaiming over them as if she had never seen either before. Ford suspected her show of vivacity might be for the benefit of two swaggering young bucks who were also enjoying the view.
Ford and Laura stood at the eastern end of the promenade, peering out over the line of slender, spiked railings that enclosed the Adelphi’s lofty terrace. Down on the river, spritsail barges ferried bumpers of coal and barrels of wine to the wharf below for storage in the great arched vaults. The bustle reminded Ford of Singapore when the great junk fleet arrived from Amoy. It made him unaccountably nostalgic for the place.
Though he had not appreciated it at the time, he now realised his life there had been enviably straightforward with nothing to do but work hard and make his fortune. He’d been fired with such righteous certainty then, not nagged by doubts and taunted by conflicting needs, as he’d been from the moment he arrived back at Hawkesbourne and seen Laura again.
He stared across the Thames at the Southwark bankside. “Why did you not send word to me of your family’s plight when your father died?”
That was almost as much a betrayal of him as her hasty marriage to his cousin. He wanted answers from her. He deserved them and he would get them.
“Who told you about that?” Laura’s arm fell slack in Ford’s, as if all the bones had melted out of it. “And what makes you bring it up now?”
“I noticed a new building where your father once had his office. Belinda told me he died in a fire there. Why did I have to wait seven years to get that information from your sister?”
“I see no sense in dredging up the past.” She’d spent seven years doing her best to forget. She had no intention of exhuming those horrible memories just to satisfy Ford’s tardy curiosity. “What happened cannot be changed. The reasons no longer matter, if they ever did.”
“You are wrong.” He clung tighter to her arm. “The past lays a foundation for the present and the future. How can one hope to build anything solid and lasting without knowing what sort of groundwork it rests upon?”
“Then perhaps you should have made the effort to ask your questions seven years ago. If you start digging now, everything you have built on those foundations may come tumbling down.” She tried to walk away from him, to avoid further questions by taking refuge with her sisters.
Ford refused to release her. “Is that some kind of threat?”
“I threaten you?” Laura stared pointedly at his large, brown hand clenched around her slender, gloved wrist. “That would be a fine turnabout.”
Ford released her arm. “No threats, then, just plain answers. Tell me what happened. How did the fire start? Was your father killed trying to fight the blaze? Why was your family left with no resources?”
Laura struggled to master the turbulent feelings his questions roused. She had once longed to tell him everything he now demanded to know in such a peremptory manner, and a great deal more besides. But his questions were seven years too late.
The last thing she wanted now was to relive those wretched days.
“Please,” she begged him as she had once begged Cyrus for his help, “I cannot bear to talk about what happened. It is too painful.”
Besides, she could not risk letting something slip that might expose long-buried secrets. Secrets that would destroy her family. Secrets that had already cost her a high price to keep hidden.
“Was what happened so painful it made you jilt me to marry my rich cousin?” Though Ford had released her arm, his fierce gaze bored into her.
“Why does it matter to you now, if it did not then?” Laura demanded. “Were you so relieved to be rid of the burden I’d become that you did not care why I had such a sudden change of heart? If you did not want me to marry Cyrus, you might have tried to prevent it. But you didn’t. Explain that to my satisfaction and I might answer your questions.”
She stared into his face, frozen into a stern mask of chiselled dusky marble. It did not give her the slightest indication of what he might be feeling.
“You were the one who broke your promise, remember? I owe you nothing. Least of all an explanation for my behaviour, which was perfectly correct.” With that, he turned his back on her and walked away…just as he had done seven years ago.
The next evening, as Ford, Laura and her sisters walked the short distance to the Adelphi Theatre, his thoughts churned with questions and doubts. He’d scarcely slept a wink the previous night for thinking about the few things Laura had told him and the many things she hadn’t. After what she’d done to him, he was entitled to an explanation at the very least. Why would she not give him one? Were the events of seven years ago truly so painful that she could not bear to recall them? Or was she hiding something? All the instincts he had honed in the cut-throat world of Indies trading assured him she was.
But recent events had presented a possible explanation. Much as Ford wished to dismiss it, he could not.
“Were you able to find suitable premises for your business, Ford?” Belinda’s question roused him from his restless brooding.
“I…looked at quite a few.” His mind had not been on the task, though. “But none satisfied all my requirements. Some had wharf and warehouse, but no proper counting house or office. Others had office and warehouse, but no wharf to unload goods. In a busy port city, dock space is at a premium.”
“Then wouldn’t it be cheaper to unload your goods at some other port?” asked Laura. “Southampton or Portsmouth or Dover, then bring them overland to London?”
&
nbsp; Her remark caught him by surprise until he recalled the interest she’d taken in his improvements to the estate. Perhaps now that she’d agreed to wed him, she wanted to make certain he continued to prosper, unlike his cousin. “The trouble is, all those ports are a good seventy miles away from London. Cartage costs money, too.”
Thinking she might be offended by the tone of his reply, he added, “It might still be worth making enquiries. There could be more savings to using a port other than London. Labour and such.”
“Must we talk about tiresome business?” Susannah complained as they entered the theater. “Did you find that young man you were looking for, the brother of your business partner? Is he handsome? Agreeable?”
“I did locate Julian Northmore at his lodgings in the Inns of Temple.” Ford paid for the best box available and collected playbills for the ladies. “He invited me for a glass of wine at the Grecian Coffeehouse. He’s well enough looking and seems tolerably agreeable.”
“Then why didn’t you invite him to the theater with us tonight?” Susannah demanded as if his stupidity confounded her.
“Mind your manners, Sukie!” Laura snapped. “Is it not enough Ford has brought us up to London to have new gowns made and take us to the theater? Must he spend his business hours recruiting beaux for you as well?”
For once Susannah looked duly chastened. “I beg your pardon, Ford. I do appreciate all your kindness. It’s just that I don’t get to meet many young gentlemen out in the country. Lord Bramber hardly ever comes down from London and I know better than to suppose a marquis would look twice at me. Even if Mr Crawford did pay attention to anyone but Laura, he’s so backward.”
Susannah’s mention of his kindness and Sidney Crawford in the same speech stung Ford’s conscience. It was not kindness that had compelled him to bring the ladies with him, but mistrust and suspicion. “I did invite young Northmore to our engagement ball. I thought the presence of an extra gentleman might not go amiss.”