by Deborah Hale
“Ford has been as kind to Mama in death as in life.” Laura murmured, more to herself than to her sisters.
“Not only to Mama.” Belinda reached for Laura’s hand. “I cannot thank you enough for sending him to bring me word in Brighton, when you most needed him to console you. No one could have been more sympathetic or considerate. I don’t know how I would have borne it otherwise.”
Laura squeezed her sister’s fingers. Beneath the pall of her grief, a sense of sweet, long-denied fulfilment uplifted her. Hard as she found it to believe, Ford’s actions convinced her of the love he had professed. Now with that assurance, she could take the frightening but wondrous step of allowing herself to return his feelings without reserve.
The time had come to destroy the weapon she’d kept for her defence. A weapon that now threatened her newfound happiness.
As Ford stared at the portrait of his cousin on the dining-room wall, he wished Cyrus was standing there alive and he had a weapon in his hand. All the anger he’d once felt for Laura now found its rightful target. Unfortunately, Cyrus was beyond the power of human judgement.
Pryce had just filled Ford’s cup with coffee. Now he asked, “Is there anything else you require, my lord.”
“There is.” Ford pointed toward his cousin’s portrait. “I want that taken down at once and burned. Find something else to put up in its place. Where is the portrait of my grandmother that used to hang there?”
“In the west attic, I believe, sir.” Pryce did not appear surprised at Ford’s order or reluctant to carry it out. “I will have it brought out at once and restored to its rightful place…with pleasure.”
The almost bloodthirsty relish in the butler’s voice prompted Ford to ask, “Did you have any idea how my cousin was treating her ladyship?”
“Mistreating, I believe you mean, my lord?” Pryce stared up at the portrait of his former master. “I swear I never saw him raise his hand or voice to her, but then he always kept very private. And her ladyship was good at concealing any sign of trouble. I suppose she didn’t want to worry her family. All the same, I felt there was something not right.”
Somehow, the butler’s subtle intimation of trouble made the truth even more real to Ford.
“I’ve often regretted not saying something to him…or to her ladyship.” Abruptly Pryce met Ford’s gaze. “I did not keep silent because I was afraid of losing my place—at least not on my own account. I feared it would only make things worse for the mistress and for Mrs Penrose, God rest her soul.”
“Do not reproach yourself.” Ford drained his coffee. It was not half as bitter as his regrets. “You acted with the best of motives in an intolerable situation. Her ladyship told me what sterling service you rendered her family after my cousin’s death.”
Pryce did not seem convinced. “If that will be all, my lord, I shall see about removing that painting.”
After the butler had gone, Ford found his eyes drawn back to his cousin’s portrait, almost against his will. Those stony features and guarded eyes seemed to ask if he was so much better a husband to Laura. Perhaps he’d never struck her, but that did not mean he hadn’t hurt her.
In spite of the love he’d once professed for her, he’d been despicably quick to brand her a heartless fortune hunter and spend seven years blaming her for every ill that had befallen him. When his opportunity had finally come to learn the truth and seek some reconciliation, what had he done? Stormed into her life with veiled accusations, predatory advances and threats to evict her family.
An empty threat! Ford sprang from his chair and strode to the window, turning his back on the painting. he’d never had any intention of removing the Penrose family from Hawkesbourne. It had been leverage to induce Laura to accept his proposal. That kind of thing was common practice in business.
Though he could no longer see his cousin’s face, Ford could hear Cyrus’s voice in his thoughts. This had not been business, it reminded him. And it did not matter that Ford knew his threat was hollow. Laura had believed her family was in as much danger as they’d been seven years ago. She had felt forced into marriage once again by another domineering, suspicious and potentially dangerous man.
So many incidents from the past months rose to reproach Ford as he interpreted his words and actions from Laura’s point of view. She must have thought him no better than his cousin. Now he began to suspect she was right.
Laura seemed to have found it in her wounded heart to forgive him. But Ford feared the day might come when he would have to answer for his actions.
The soft tap on her bedroom door sent a jolt of alarm through Laura. She knew it must be Ford, of whom she no longer had the slightest fear. What she feared was the brittle, yellowed slip of paper in her hands—the one she’d attempted to destroy several times since her mother’s funeral. There was a small tear on one side, where she had tried to rip it to pieces. The opposite corner was charred where she had held it over a candle flame. Each time, her conscience had intervened at the last instant.
“Is that you, Ford?” she called, not because she had any doubt, but to give her time to return the paper to its hiding place.
Lifting her Bible from the bed beside her, Laura let its pages fall open. Her gaze fell on a familiar verse of scripture. And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.
That had certainly been true for her and Ford, she reflected as she slipped the marriage certificate back between the pages. Only by sharing painful truths about the past had their hearts been set free from prisons of secrecy and mistrust to rediscover love.
But this secret was different. Laura slammed the Bible shut and stuffed it into the drawer of her bedside table. It would shame Ford and rob him for ever of the title and estate that mattered so much to him. If all that was not bad enough, it would poison the few happy memories he had of his early life and perhaps destroy his newfound willingness to trust any woman.
“Why?” Ford called back in a bantering tone. “Were you expecting someone else? May I come in?”
Destroying that paper would not change what had happened, Laura reminded herself as she flew to her dressing table and picked up her hairbrush. Nor would it remove all evidence. For the rest of her life, she would be dogged by the fear that someone else might discover and expose the truth.
And what about the rightful heirs to Hawkesbourne? A distant relative, perhaps, living in need while Ford had a comfortable fortune of his own? It had been so much easier to justify keeping this secret when her family’s welfare depended upon it and when she was only concealing evidence, not destroying it.
“Of course.” She strove to keep her voice from betraying the tension quivering inside her. “I am almost ready. You can help me choose which dress to wear.”
They had been invited for a quiet family dinner with the Crawfords at Lyndhurst, one of the few social events condoned during mourning.
“How much difference can there be between one black gown and another?” Ford stole up behind her, lifting her hair off her shoulders to bestow a warm kiss upon each. “I am certain your mother would not wish you and your sisters to go about in black for months on end on her account.”
“Neither do I.” Laura nuzzled her cheek against his hair. “But we would not want the neighbours to think we have ceased to grieve for her so soon.”
“Indeed.” Ford tilted his head to cast a doting gaze at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. “Still I vow that once you are out of mourning I will buy you a new gown in every color of the rainbow and half a dozen in as many shades of pink as can be found.”
“Half a dozen pink gowns? You will spoil me.” Catching hold of his hand, Laura pressed it to her cheek. “As long as I have you, I would be content with one old black dress and a single gold ring.”
Ford gently pressed his finger to the tip of her nose. “That would be a crime against beauty. And what is wrong with a man spoiling his wife a little, pray? You are long overdue, by my reckoning. But, come, put on your
black gown and pin up your hair before I lose all self-control and whisk you off to bed instead of to Lyndhurst.”
With a chuckle, Laura bounced up from her chair, trying as hard as she could to forget about the ominous slip of paper concealed between the pages of her Bible.
After she had dressed and done her hair, they drove over to Lyndhurst. There they enjoyed a pleasant dinner with Belinda, Sidney and Susannah, who had been visiting with the Crawfords since their mother’s funeral.
“Have you had word from your mother and sister?” Laura asked Sidney. “Do they find Bath to their liking?”
He had been clever to suggest the trip so that Mrs Crawford and her daughter would not have their social lives curtailed while Lyndhurst was in mourning.
“Very much.” Sidney looked vastly pleased with himself. “We’ve had several letters from Mama. She writes that they have made a number of new acquaintances, including one or two gentlemen she thinks might do very well for Arabella.”
“Reading between the lines,” added Belinda, “I believe Mrs Crawford may have an admirer, too.”
“Excellent news all around!” Laura raised her glass. “Romance seems to be contagious lately.”
“I wish I could catch a fevered case of it.” Susannah sighed. “If I could find a beau half as agreeable as my new brothers, I should be very well satisfied.”
Ford struck a pose like some handsome actors did to let audiences admire their looks. “I suppose there might be a few fellows around who are half as agreeable as Sidney and me. But to find any of those who are half as handsome would be a rare stroke of luck indeed.”
Susannah made a face at him. “If I thought for a moment you were serious, I would say marriage has made you abominably vain. Does Laura spend all her time telling you how wonderful you are?”
“Not all my time!” Laura entered into the spirit of their banter. “Never more than six or seven hours a day.”
“Is that all?” Sidney winked at Belinda. “My darling wife spends at least ten singing my praises.”
Belinda smiled back at him. “I could very easily and not stretch the truth a jot.”
Ford set down his wine glass after taking a deep draught. “I am pleased to hear it. That must mean none of your wedding day worries amounted to anything.”
“What worries might those be?” asked Sidney. “Is there anything I should know?”
Laura shook her head. “Before the ceremony, we had a little chat about the joys of marriage. Belinda was worried she might not be able to make you happy. I assured her there was no danger of that unless she called off the wedding.”
“Quite right. She has made me as happy as a man can be and more so every day.” Sidney managed to tear his eyes off his wife long enough to shift a glance at Ford and Laura. “Speaking of which, part of the reason we invited you here this evening is to share some news that has redoubled our happiness.”
“Oh, Binny!” Laura glanced from the dinner her sister had scarcely touched to Belinda’s radiant face. “You have a baby on the way? This is happy news indeed!”
Decorum brushed aside, she and Susannah scrambled from their seats to envelop their sister in joyful embraces. Meanwhile, Ford offered Sidney hearty congratulations and the two men drank a toast to the happy news.
The rest of the evening flew by in an excited buzz of conversation about how Belinda was feeling, when the birth was expected, what preparations would be needed and what names were being considered.
Later, when they drove home to Hawkesbourne, a subdued silence settled over Ford and Laura. Tempted as she was to bear her private worries in stoic silence, Laura knew this was not her concern alone. Besides, she had learned the relief and comfort to be found confiding in Ford.
“Belinda and Sidney certainly seem pleased to be starting their family so quickly.”
Ford nodded. “If they keep going as they’ve begun, Lyndhurst will soon be filled to the rafters with small Crawfords.”
Laura gave voice to what she suspected they were both thinking. “Did you get the feeling they hoped we would take the opportunity to make a similar announcement?”
“Quite distinctly.” After a moment’s hesitation Ford added. “I don’t suppose there is any chance we might? In another few weeks, perhaps?”
“I’m afraid not.” Laura pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. The early autumn evenings were growing cooler. A sense of foreboding chilled her more. What if she was barren as Fate’s punishment for the wrongs she’d done? Or perhaps as a divine balance so the rightful heirs of Hawkesbourne would one day inherit?
“No matter,” Ford insisted in a hearty tone that struck a false note with Laura. “We are not in any hurry, after all. I am quite content to have you to myself for a while before a parcel of young Barretts come along to demand all their mama’s attention.”
“But what if they never come?” she could scarcely bear to ask. “Cyrus often hit me in places where the bruises would not show. What if I am barren on account of that? When you proposed to me, you said you wanted an heir.”
“You mustn’t fret on that account.” Ford pulled the reins into one hand, freeing the other arm to slip around her shoulders. “Did I also not say I was done with love and wanted a wife who would be content with a marriage of convenience? I hope you have discovered how little I meant that.”
She longed to believe him. But after all that had happened, it was not easy. “Are you saying you do not want a child? A son? An heir to Hawkesbourne?”
Ford thought for a moment before answering. “I must admit, it would be hard for me to contemplate not passing Hawkesbourne on to my descendents. But I would rather have you, with or without a child, than any number of heirs by another woman.”
Laura rested her head against his shoulder, savouring the warmth and strength of his embrace. His words reassured her…to a degree. But she could not forget what he’d said about wanting to pass Hawkesbourne on to his descendents.
She could only imagine how it would devastate their marriage for him to discover he had no right to the estate and title he treasured.
Chapter Seventeen
Returning from a brief business trip to London one late October evening, Ford felt a warm tug of homecoming when he rode on to Hawkesbourne lands once again. Every familiar landmark seemed to welcome him home. He inhaled a deep draft of bracing autumn air, redolent of wood smoke, curing meat and the sweet pungency of windfall apples. He would not trade those homely scents for all the perfume and spices of the East.
A satisfying sense of accomplishment filled him as he reflected on the improvements he’d made to the estate in the six months since his return. Unproductive marsh had been drained for cultivation, new breeding stock had been introduced, long overdue repairs made. He could not take credit for the good harvest, but his tenants acted as if he were personally responsible. Of all the changes around the estate in the past six months, the improved attitude of his tenants was the most unexpected and might prove the most valuable in the long run. They were more receptive to his ideas, less tied to the past, more optimistic about their future.
Much of that was due to Laura. The tenants had come to know and respect her during the past seven years. So when she endorsed Ford’s plans and told them that their prosperity was his chief concern, they listened. In turn, she’d persuaded him to listen to their ideas and concerns. That had turned out to be as useful an education in estate management as all his reading on the voyage from Singapore.
The thought of Laura made Ford urge his mount to quicken its pace. The three days he had been away from her felt like three months. It was the longest they had been apart since his return to Hawkesbourne and some invisible cord, stretched tight by their absence, seemed to pull him back to her.
Riding into the stable yard, his gaze flew toward her window. A light glowed from it, welcoming and inviting. He could not wait to answer its summons.
Striding into the house, he pulled off his hat, gloves and greatcoat, which h
e handed to Pryce. The butler greeted him warmly and inquired if he should have Cook prepare a late supper.
Ford shook his head. “I ate before I set out. Tell me, has her ladyship been back from Lyndhurst long?”
“About an hour my lord,” replied Pryce. “She retired soon after that. Can I fetch a drink to warm you after a cold ride? Brandy, perhaps, or arrack?”
The nights were growing chilly. Ford expected they would be seeing frost before long. But he could think of something much better than brandy to warm him up.
“Not tonight, thank you, Pryce.” He charged up the stairs, two at a time, and raced down the corridor. When he reached the bedroom door, he threw it open, desperately eager for a glimpse of his lovely wife.
He was well rewarded, catching sight of her clad in her nightgown. After weeks in the dull black attire of mourning, she looked achingly beautiful in white linen with a modest trimming of lace. There was nothing modest about the way the firelight from the hearth outlined her body’s enticing curves. Ford crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him.
His abrupt entrance made Laura jump. But the next instant she raised one hand to her breast and let out a breathless chuckle. “Ford, you startled me!”
“Forgive me.” It pained him to think he’d frightened her and to wonder how often he’d done it in the past. “I was so eager to see you, I forgot to knock.”
“And I am very happy to see you.” She flew toward him, slipped her arms around his neck and pressed upon him an ardent kiss of welcome. The flicker of desire Ford had felt at seeing her ignited into full fire. Yet something gnawed at the fringe of his thoughts, refusing to let him fully immerse himself in passion.
“Laura.” He gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. “There’s something I should have done long ago. I’ve never begged your pardon properly for my behavior the night of our engagement ball. It was infamous, despicable, especially after what Cyrus had put you through, damn him.”