Married: The Virgin Widow

by Deborah Hale

  Standing at the altar of St Botolph’s, Ford pretended to ignore the escalating chorus of whispers from the pews as he consulted the gold pocket watch that had once belonged to his grandfather. In two more minutes the guests should be all assembled. He wanted to be certain everyone was there to hear his announcement. The last thing he wanted was to be obliged to repeat it.

  Anger thundered through him, demanding all his self-control to hold it in. All his plans had been thwarted. Laura had eluded him once again, but only after deepening her hold upon him.

  How far would he have to go and how long would he have to wait for those memories to fade? His longing for her had already pursued him to the other side of the world and held him in bondage for more than seven years. At this rate, he would never be free.

  Though he was not in danger of losing his fortune, title or estate, he felt even worse than the first time Laura had jilted him. Then, he’d been able to slip quickly out of the country without facing anyone who knew what had happened. And he’d had the comfort of his unshaken belief that he’d been wronged. This time, Ford could not escape the bitter knowledge that he had only himself to blame.

  There now. His two minutes were up. The pews were full and the guests were growing restless, casting frequent, expectant glances toward the back of the sanctuary. Watching for the bride who would not come.

  Ford mustered his composure, determined that no one should suspect his true feelings. He would speak with brisk detachment, as if the loss of his bride were a trifling inconvenience and he could find a suitable substitute at a moment’s notice if he wished to bother.

  But before he could get the words out, he heard soft footsteps and faint rustling from the back of the church. Surely it could not be…

  Ford’s heart began to pound so hard that he feared it would tear a hole in the breast of his coat.

  Belinda and Susannah appeared at the head of the aisle, clutching nosegays of early summer flowers. The organ wheezed to life with the opening chords of a stirring processional. The wedding guests rose and a moment later Laura swept toward the altar on the arm of Sidney Crawford.

  Her beauty staggered Ford anew. For her second wedding she had forgone a white gown in favor of a warm apricot color. Her hair was gathered up in a mass of loose golden curls, crowned with a halo of orange blossoms.

  What in heaven had brought her here this morning, after he’d lost the means to compel her and after the way he’d treated her?

  Upon reaching the foot of the altar, Laura suddenly raised her downcast eyes to meet his. Her captivating blue gaze held a glow of vulnerable hope clouded by wary uncertainty.

  The organ fell silent and the guests resumed their seats.

  “Dearly beloved,” intoned the vicar, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony, which is an honourable estate, instituted of God…and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God.”

  The vicar’s warning stung Ford, for that was precisely the type of marriage he had offered Laura. One to satisfy his carnal lusts without any bothersome complications such as love.

  “Therefore,” continued the vicar, “if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.”

  Ford braced for Sidney Crawford to raise an objection, but the awkward pause passed without a word from anyone.

  Ford had no time to savour a sense of relief, for the vicar now looked from him to Laura. “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it.”

  A mad compulsion seized him to confess his true reason for wedding Laura, but he clenched his teeth tight, imprisoning the words. Noticing her lower lip tremble, he wondered what secret motive quivered, unspoken, on her tongue.

  Once again the perilous moment passed.

  “Anthony Ford,” said the vicar, “wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  When Ford tried to answer, he found his jaw still clamped tight. After a self-conscious hesitation, he managed to make the proper response.

  The vicar turned to Laura with a reassuring smile, “Laura Eleanor, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  The vicar’s solemn question evoked a memory of Laura, sodden but defiant, challenging Ford’s treatment of his tenants…and her. “It is not pleasant to be tyrannised—having no power over anything that happens to you, always dancing to someone else’s tune. Perhaps you do not know what that feels like, but I do.”

  After all that had happened, feeling as she did, would Laura dare place herself in his power with vows to serve and obey him?

  “I will.” Her tremulous whisper told Ford she had asked herself the same question.

  “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” asked the vicar.

  After a brief hesitation, Sidney Crawford answered, “I do.”

  The vicar placed Laura’s right hand in Ford’s, bidding Ford to speak his wedding vows. Despite his most strenuous efforts, Ford stumbled over his promise to love and to cherish. A moment later, Laura’s voice caught on her vow to love, cherish, and to obey.

  The vicar did not seem to notice. Perhaps he mistook their faltering for ordinary wedding nerves. Beaming benignly, he signalled Ford to place the wedding ring upon the open pages of his prayer book. After he had blessed it, he returned it to Ford to place on Laura’s finger, then led him in the final portion of his vows. Kneeling beside Laura on the steps of the chancel, Ford scarcely heard the hopeful prayers spoken over them.

  The next thing he knew, the vicar had clasped their right hands together, saying, “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

  Several emotions warred inside him as the vicar pronounced them man and wife. Elation was one of the strongest. After all, the moment he had yearned for so long had finally arrived. His flesh hummed with anticipation of their wedding night. Yet he could not escape the haunting suspicion that he had just made a terrible mistake.

  Had she made a huge mistake by marrying Ford?

  Laura toyed with the helping of creamed oysters on her plate as she swept a glance down the dining table, crowded with guests for the wedding breakfast. Everyone looked so happy and festive, tucking into an ample repast washed down with cups of tea or chocolate. The air bubbled with spirited gossip and laughter.

  A host of toothsome smells wafted up and down the table: roast quail, grilled trout, veal pie. Two months ago, any of them would have set Laura’s mouth watering. Today, they made her queasy. Or was that the prospect of her wedding night? How shocked her bridegroom and their guests would be to know a widow of her age was as nervous as any maiden bride of eighteen.

  In fact, she had far more reason to be anxious than an innocent girl, for whom the event held only fear of the unknown. Her first marriage had given her enough disagreeable experience to justify her qualms. Ford’s recent behaviour gave her further cause for alarm. What on earth had induced her to go ahead with the wedding when necessity no longer dictated it and caution urged strongly against it?

  Guilt? Hope? Madness?

  Of one thing she was quite certain. Love
had not prompted her decision. If anything, she shrank from the possibility that she might grow to love her husband. Such feelings would only provide Ford with more power over her—a kind of power with which she dared not trust him.

  “Where you are going for your bridal tour?” asked Lady Daphne. “Up to London, perhaps? Or to the Continent? Paris? Italy?” Her voice lingered longingly over the names of foreign destinations.

  “Er…actually…” Laura searched for a way to avoid the embarrassing admission that she had no idea where they were going.

  Ford came to her rescue, “I meant to surprise my bride, Lady Daphne. But since you ask, we will only be venturing as far as Brighton. Perhaps some day I will make it up to her with a voyage to a tropical island.”

  “Brighton would be exotic enough for me.” Lady Daphne sighed. “I’ve never been anywhere.”

  In Laura’s opinion, Brighton was a most satisfactory destination for their wedding tour. It was only twenty miles from Hawkesbourne, by good road, in case Mama’s health should take a bad turn in their absence.

  Had Ford considered that when making his choice? Laura wished she could believe he had. She dreaded the prospect of spending three hours alone in a carriage with him almost as much as the approaching ordeal of their wedding night.

  The wedding breakfast had passed far too quickly for Laura’s liking. She soon found herself back in her bedchamber, changing into a travelling gown and pelisse. When she had finished dressing, she dismissed her maid. Then she sat for a few minutes, struggling to compose herself so she could bid her mother a cheerful farewell. But her fears beset her worse than ever.

  Would her aversion quench Ford’s desire as it had done with Cyrus? If so, would he lash out at her as his cousin had, with harsh hands or cruel words?

  That thought sent Laura rummaging in the drawer of her night table for her Bible. It occurred to her that she might seek comfort or strength in the stories of women like Ruth or Queen Esther, though Ford might think she had more in common with Delilah or Jezebel. It was not the scriptures from which she sought to shore up her courage, but something she had hidden in the pages of her Bible seven years ago.

  She leafed through them—Genesis…Deuteronomy…Samuel…Psalms…The Gospels. Where was it?

  A folded piece of paper fell out into her lap. Laura’s hand trembled as she picked up the marriage certificate and examined it. This was the instrument of destruction, with which she’d threatened Ford. She had kept it all these years as a kind of insurance, a bargaining tool she’d hoped never to use. She wished to heaven she had never mentioned the beastly thing the other night. But how was she to know he would let her alone simply because she asked him to?

  There was one small mercy for which she felt vastly grateful. At least Ford’s irrational suspicion of Sidney Crawford had made him jump to the wrong conclusion about her threat. If he ever guessed otherwise, Laura feared he would not rest until he discovered the scandalous secret buried in his past. Knowing how badly she had hurt him seven years ago, her conscience shrank from the harm it would inflict upon him.

  Her fingers itched to tear the paper into a thousand pieces and release them on a gusting east wind. But she could not afford to…yet. Perhaps when Belinda was safely married to Sidney Crawford. Then she might be able to tear up this paper or burn it to ashes and try to forget she had ever laid eyes on it.

  But for today, it must go back in her Bible in case of future need.

  Chapter Eleven

  Her signature was on the marriage certificate beneath his. Laura belonged to him at last.

  As their carriage rolled away from Hawkesbourne on its way to Brighton, Ford leaned back in his seat and contemplated his bride. She looked exquisite in a dark green pelisse and a wide-brimmed straw bonnet trimmed with matching green ribbons—the kind of woman any man would be proud to squire around the fashionable seaside resort of Brighton. Yet somehow she looked younger than her years—inexperienced and uncertain.

  Peering out the carriage window toward Hawkesbourne, Laura waved to her sisters long after they must be out of sight. No doubt it was an excuse to keep her attention directed away from him. Ford could have understood her aversion if she’d been compelled to wed him as he’d planned. But she’d had a choice, damn it, and she’d chosen to see the thing through.

  Seeking to break the tense silence between them, he remarked, “That was a fine wedding breakfast. Cook outdid herself.”

  Laura started at the sound of his voice, but quickly regained her composure. “I hope you told her so. She has been in her glory all week, preparing refreshments for the ball and then the wedding breakfast. She was eager to prove her skills were still equal to such grand occasions.”

  “Was that why you went through with the wedding?” The words flew out of his mouth before Ford could stop them. “So Cook would not have prepared all that food for nothing?”

  Why? That question had burned inside him from the moment Laura glided down the aisle at St Botolph’s. Now that they were married, he was in a position to obtain some answers.

  Her wavering gaze betrayed her uneasiness with his question, but she managed a poised reply. “I must confess I did not give Cook’s wedding breakfast a thought. Why do you ask? Did you truly expect me to leave you standing at the altar this morning?”

  Vexed that she had so deftly put him on the defensive, Ford shrugged. “It would not be the first time you jilted me.”

  Laura flinched.

  Not long ago, that might have brought Ford a sense of grim satisfaction. Now it stung him with shame, forcing a regretful admission from his lips. “Besides, I gave you ample cause this time. Though I swear I would never have behaved as I did had I known my…advances would be so…repugnant to you.”

  His confession brought Ford a disarming sense of relief, even as male pride chided him for exposing such treacherous weakness. He braced for Laura to exploit it.

  Her reply caught him off guard. “Not repugnant. Unexpected. Rather…alarming in their intensity.”

  The provocative dance of her gaze—catching his for a tantalising instant, then flitting away—rekindled Ford’s desire.

  He stretched out his legs just enough to bring the foot of his boot in glancing contact with her slipper. Then he grazed her delicate kidskin with his sturdy dark leather, and was rewarded by her sudden, soft intake of breath.

  “Does that mean,” he asked in a low, caressing voice, “if you were better prepared and I exercised greater restraint, my attentions might not be unwelcome?”

  The flesh of her throat rippled as she swallowed before answering. But she met and held his gaze. “I would not have wed you if I were not prepared to undertake my marital duty.”

  It rankled, hearing her refer to the experience of passion and pleasure he anticipated as an irksome obligation. “Which brings us back to my original question—what made you go through with the wedding, if not for Cook’s sake?”

  “Is it so hard to believe I did it for your sake?” Laura’s defiant challenge sounded strangely wistful, too. “Whatever you may have thought at the time, I did not want to jilt you seven years ago. I had no choice. Today I did and I chose to keep my promise.”

  “So you married me out of pity?” Ford cursed himself for revealing she’d once broken his heart. He wanted to reclaim her, but not on such mortifying terms.

  “No! Well…perhaps a little. Not for the man you are now, but for the one you once were and for what he suffered on my account. But mostly so I could reclaim a little of my self-respect.”

  To Ford’s surprise, her answer soothed an old corrupted wound.

  But before he had a chance to fully savour the unexpected relief, Laura turned the tables on him again. “I have given you an honest answer, now you owe me one. If, all these years, you believed I was a heartless fortune hunter who’d wronged you so badly, and if you thought I was capable of scheming to jilt you for Sidney Crawford, why on earth did you wed me?”

  His motives were not nearl
y as admirable as hers, and he dared not confess them. “I thought I explained my reasons quite clearly when I proposed.”

  “Because you are cured of such nonsense as love?” Her eyes seemed to search inside him far deeper than he could bear. “Because you want a practical wife who will be content with your fortune and not long for your heart?”

  Those words sounded blasphemous coming from Laura’s lips. Ford wanted to renounce them, for he sensed they might no longer be true…if they ever had been. But if he denied those reasons, what others could he give her? Definitely not the truth—that he’d wanted to possess her long enough to break her hold upon him once and for all.

  Laura seemed to take his silence for agreement. “Perhaps you are right. After all that happened to us, we have both been stripped of our romantic delusions. Better for you to be married to me and know where we stand than risk hurting others who might want more than we can give.”

  It seemed perfectly sensible, as it should, for Laura had only parroted his own arguments back at him. Yet something about it sounded wrong to Ford.

  “There is a difference in what happened to us, seven years ago, remember.” He did not hurl his words as an enraged accusation, but put them forth calmly, as a judicious statement of fact. “I was not responsible for whatever harm came to you. I was not aware of your father’s death or the consequences it would have for your family. I could not possibly foresee those misfortunes occurring while I was abroad. Whatever we suffered was a result of events beyond our control and the decisions you made. I will grant that you did not mean me any harm. But, intended or not, I did suffer as a consequence of your actions.”

  A weight lifted from Ford’s chest as he spoke. What a blessed relief to get such thoughts out in the open, rather than keeping them trapped inside him, smouldering and ready to explode at unguarded moments into hostile recriminations.

  Laura’s face paled and her luscious lips compressed into a stubborn line. “How magnanimous to concede that I might not be a heartless jade who intentionally abused your trust and tried to rob you of your inheritance.”