Married: The Virgin Widow

Chapter Two

So Ford thought she’d been living in luxury on his cousin’s fortune. Had he cultivated that belief to assuage any bothersome twinges of conscience over his past behaviour toward her?

Even from several feet away, Laura marked the sudden jump of his dark brows and the brief slackening of his tight-clenched jaw. This was not precisely the way she’d meant to surprise him. But it would do. Anything to jar him out of his frosty composure.

Perhaps then she might not feel quite so vulnerable in her own unsettled feelings. Her first glimpse of Ford Barrett after seven long years had flustered her even more than she’d expected. Not that he was the same ardent, charming young man she remembered. Time had changed him in many ways.

The pitiless Indian sun had darkened his skin to the color of a Barbary pirate’s. The wild black curls she had once loved to twine around her fingers had been cropped to short, severe stubble. His mouth, once so mobile, was now set in an unyielding line. The years had chiselled his features into a visage of stark, savage beauty. Eyes, once the warm, soft green of new moss, were now hard and cool as jade.

Had all those changes been wrought by the passing years and his experiences in the Orient? Or had he always been such a forceful, ruthless man, while she’d been too naïve to see it?

“My cousin’s fortune all gone?” Ford spoke in a bemused murmur. “How is that possible?”

His tone of disbelief galled her. Did he suppose she would continue to live in this decaying old mansion, crammed to the rafters with painful memories, if she’d possessed the means to go elsewhere? Did he imagine she would have stayed to be subjected to his mocking condescension?

Staring at him over the hump of a dustdraped chaise-longue, she refused to be cowed. “Losing money is a great deal easier than gaining it. Rising expenses. Bad investments. The years since the war have brought hardship to many in this country. Perhaps you were not aware of it, being so far away, in lands where luxuries are cheap and fortunes easily made.”

Harsh laughter burst from Ford. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

His scathing tone reminded Laura so much of his cousin’s, it made the flesh on the back of her neck prickle. The deep timbre of his voice, once a mellow caress upon her ears, now had a hoarse, raspy edge.

“Those items you consider luxuries may be cheap in the East, on account of being so plentiful. If cinnamon came from the bark of elm trees or cloves from the buds of myrtle bushes, no one in England would think them such rare extravagances. In the Indies, items you might hold of little value—iron cooking pots, glassware, printed cotton—are the costly luxuries.”

Every word struck Laura like a stinging blow, driven by contempt and sharpened with ridicule. That Ford was correct in everything he said did not lessen the insult. That his handsome, arrogant presence overwhelmed her with such intense awareness made it ten times worse! She did not dare reply for fear of saying something so offensive he might take out his anger on her mother and sisters. She’d been relieved to discover he was wealthy, only because it meant he might not grudge her family houseroom.

Ford emerged from behind the draped chaise-longue and approached her with deliberate, intimidating steps. “As for my fortune being easily gained, you could not be more mistaken. There are opportunities in the East, but for a man to take full advantage of them, he must work hard, take risks and be ruthless when necessary.”

As each word brought him closer, Laura stood her ground against his steady, menacing approach. On no account must she let Ford see how his nearness affected her. And how was that, exactly?

It filled her with alarm, of course—a sensation no less distressing for being so familiar. Though her husband had been dead for more than two years, her throat still tightened and her insides knotted whenever a man came too close to her. The faint whiff of spices that hung about him made her mouth water, while his air of tightleashed power made her light-headed. When his glittering green gaze roved over her from head to toe, Laura’s flesh prickled as if responding to a feathery touch.

She managed to stand firm. But that owed less to her resolve than to being caught between two contrary inclinations. Part of her itched to turn and flee from this formidable man while another part felt irresistibly drawn toward him.

Willing her voice not to tremble, she replied, “No wonder you made such a success of your ventures. Two of the three necessary qualities come so naturally to you.”

Once he came toe to toe with her, Ford stopped, unable to advance further without knocking her down. As Laura glared up at him, he loomed over her, his gaze fixed upon her lips. Was it her imagination, or was he leaning toward her?

“Which two qualities might those be?” he demanded in a husky murmur.

Ford was leaning closer, inch by inch, forcing her to tilt her head back. If the candle in her hand had still been burning, its flame would have scorched the breast of his coat.

Her voice did not come out in the brisk snap she intended, but rather a breathless whisper. “Surely you can guess.”

As his lips bore down on hers, Laura opened her mouth to protest. But before she could speak, a volley of girlish giggles erupted from the doorway.

“Pray don’t let us interrupt!” cried her sister Belinda in a teasing voice.

“I believe we must interrupt,” chimed Susannah, the younger of the two, “for the sake of Laura’s reputation.”

As Ford jerked back from her and spun about to face her younger sisters, a wave of relief swamped Laura. But in its wake came a fleeting sting of frustration.

The sound of high, twittering laughter broke over Ford like a cold sea wave upon scorching sand. Jolted back to his senses, he shook off the bewitchment Laura had cast upon him. He turned toward her sisters with a vexing mixture of gratitude and annoyance.

“Who are you two snooping chits?” he demanded in a bantering tone. “And what have you done with the sweet little Penrose girls?”

His question was not altogether in jest. The sight of Belinda and Susannah drove home the reality of how long he’d been away and how much had changed. He remembered a coltish girl of barely fifteen and a child of twelve with oversized front teeth that had made her look like a little brown rabbit. In his absence, they had blossomed into a pair of lovely young women who had not yet lost their childish impudence.

“The Penrose girls?” A hint of turquoise mischief flickered in Susannah’s eyes. “Those silly green gooses? We locked them in the west attic until they learn to flirt properly with young gentlemen.”

Ford felt his mouth stretch upwards in an unfamiliar way while a strange sound rumbled up from his chest, stiff and hoarse from disuse. He marvelled at the effortless way Laura’s sisters lightened his mood. While he bantered with them, the past seven years seemed to retreat like a bad dream from which he’d been relieved to waken. “I thought flirts were the ones who got locked away until they learned proper decorum.”

Belinda shook her head, making her chestnut curls waggle. “I fear you are sadly behind the times, sir.”

Both girls laughed, wrinkling up their pert little noses as their sister once had. It was a mannerism Ford had found particularly endearing. Now, as she brushed past him to stand behind her sisters, Laura looked as grim as any strait-laced spinster.

“Mind your manners, you two,” she chided them with only the flimsiest veneer of jest, “or Lord Kingsfold may turn us out of his house. Is that not so, my lord?”

Behind her pretence of wit, Ford sensed fear and desperation. But the proud tilt of her chin issued a challenge. He was not certain how to respond. Nothing at Hawkesbourne Hall was what he’d expected.

“I said no such thing,” he replied. “Your sisters are welcome to visit for as long as they wish.”

“Visit?” cried Susannah as she and Belinda swooped toward Ford, each taking hold of one of his arms. “You’re joking again, aren’t you? We live here, of course, and so does Mama. How pleased she will be to see you again.”

Belinda let out another infectious giggle. “I hope you won’t turn us out before we’ve had a chance to hear about your adventures in the Indies. Did you ever see an elephant? Or a tiger? Did you eat lots of curry?”

“Too much.” Ford strove to conceal his surprise at Susannah’s off-hand announcement. How long had the girls and their mother been living at Hawkesbourne and why? “But just now, I could eat a whole tiger or a haunch of roast elephant. Join me for dinner and I promise to fill your ears with tales of the Far East.”

“Dinner?” Laura looked as if he had demanded her head on a platter. “Of course, you must be famished after your journey.”

Casting a glance at her sisters, she nodded toward the drawing-room door. “Susannah go help Mr Pryce fetch in the master’s baggage. Belinda, come with me to help Cook prepare dinner. We have the rest of those trout dear Mr Crawford brought. I hope fish will suit you, Ford, since we are fresh out of elephant?”

Her question made Ford grin before he could stop himself. It surprised him to discover she still possessed a spark of wit beneath her mask of cool restraint. A great number of things about her surprised or mystified him.

One minor mystery provoked him to inquire. “Who is this Mr Crawford who furnishes food for my table?”

“Only a kind neighbour,” Laura replied as her sisters released Ford’s arms and headed away with obvious reluctance. “Without his generosity, we would have had a poor meal to welcome you home.”

Now that he thought of it, Ford recalled a Crawford family who occupied one of the neighbouring estates. They had made quite a fortune in the brewing business. “I suppose I should be grateful to him, then.”

He did not feel grateful, no matter if the fellow filled his whole larder. He did not care for the fond way Laura spoke of their kind neighbour. Might his cousin’s fortune-hunting widow have her eye on a fresh matrimonial victim?

That would never do.

What a disturbing encounter!

Laura’s fingers fumbled as she tied on her apron. Prior to Ford’s return, a stubborn corner of her heart had nursed the foolish hope that she would find him still the same eager, amiable man she’d once known.

But the cold, severe creature who’d confronted her seemed quite capable of turning his back on anyone who became an encumbrance or an obstacle. At first she’d questioned the flashes of hostility she glimpsed behind his mask of aloof restraint. After all, she’d never done anything but free him from an inconvenient obligation to her. Was he angry with her for marrying his cousin? What choice had he left her?

And why on earth had he tried to kiss her?

Laura wished she had some private time to puzzle it out, but at present she had her hands full trying to prevent Cook from having hysterics.

The poor woman was well on her way. “Lackaday! How am I to put a fit meal on the table for the new master with the larder so bare? Why did he not send word he was coming so we could have prepared things decent?”

Laura wondered that herself. Did Ford enjoy setting the household in an uproar and her life in turmoil?

“Don’t fret.” She patted Cook on the arm and tried to reassure them both. “His lordship has been away for seven years and finally come to the end of a long journey. Little wonder he wanted to get home without delay. Besides, he says he’s very hungry, so he isn’t likely to care what we put in front of him as long as it fills his belly.”

“He complained about spicy food, too,” Belinda piped up from the hearth, where she was adding a few scraps of coal to the fire. “So I doubt he’ll mind plain fare.”

Cook fanned her ruddy face with her hands, but seemed to be recovering her composure. “We do have the rest of Mr Crawford’s trout and there’s plenty of sprouts and carrots in the cellar. That still isn’t much of a meal.”

“I promised his lordship dinner within the hour,” Laura muttered. “We have lots of eggs, haven’t we? What about a batter pudding? I’ll have Mr Pryce open the wine cellar. If we ply his lordship with enough to drink, he may not notice what he’s eating.”

“Have Mr Pryce fetch me a bottle of brandy while he’s at it.” Cook grabbed a copper mixing bowl and a long wooden spoon. “If I hurry, I can poach some pears for the sweet course.”

Having finished stoking the fire, Belinda snatched a basket from its peg by the cellar door. “I’ll go fetch the pears and vegetables.”

For the better part of an hour, they chopped, stirred, filleted and fried. Meanwhile, Mr Pryce fetched bottles from the wine cellar, unlocked the silver chest and supervised Susannah as she set the dining table.

With only ten minutes to spare before the meal, Laura herded her sisters up the servants’ stairs for a quick change of clothes.

“This is so loose in the bust,” complained Belinda as she donned a gown that had once been Laura’s. “If we must dress for dinner from now on, I’ll have to take it in.”

Susannah brushed one red-brown curl around her fingers. “Now that Ford has come back, perhaps we can all have new gowns that won’t need to be let out or hemmed up or mended.”

Her sister’s delight at Ford’s return made Laura’s tightly suppressed feelings boil over. “Why should Lord Kingsfold spend money on new gowns for us?”

Susannah set down the hairbrush, then turned to fasten the buttons on the back of Belinda’s gown. “Perhaps so his new sisters-in-law won’t look shamefully shabby at your wedding. You are going to marry him, aren’t you? When Binny and I caught the two of you in the drawing room, I thought he must have proposed.”

“Proposed? What nonsense!” Laura turned away from her sisters, to hide her foolish blushes. “That would be the last thing on his mind, I’m sure. He hasn’t set eyes on me in seven years and he didn’t want to marry me then. Nothing about me has improved in the meantime.”

Back then theirs had been a fairly equal match. She’d been a young lady of good family, though limited prospects. he’d been a young man with nothing but his expectations. Now she was a penniless widow with a family to support, well past whatever beauty she’d possessed in her youth. By contrast, Ford was more attractive than ever, in a dark, dangerous way, with a fortune and a title. He could have his choice of women.

Susannah gave a defiant sniff. “Are you certain Ford didn’t want to marry you? As I recall, you were the one who broke the engagement to marry his cousin.”

“You were a child then,” snapped Laura. “How could you know anything about it? I only broke our engagement because he could not.”

A gentleman was legally bound to stand by his offer of marriage, while a woman had the prerogative to change her mind. Laura wondered how any woman could insist upon wedding a fiancé whose feelings toward her had changed.

“Let’s not spoil such a happy occasion by quarrelling,” Belinda entreated the other two. This was not the first time she’d played peacemaker between her responsible elder sister and her rebellious younger one. “Ford is home at last and scarcely seems changed from how I remember him. No matter what his feelings for Laura, I’m certain he’ll be hospitable.”

Laura wished she could be so sure.

One thing she could not dispute—Ford’s manner toward her sisters was altogether different from the way he’d treated her. When he’d bantered with them, she caught a bittersweet glimpse of the man she’d once loved. That had shaken her more than his earlier severity, which she’d been better prepared to confront. The last thing she needed were any of her old feelings for Ford complicating her life more than it was already.

Halfway through the main course and after three glasses of wine, Ford continued to ponder the situation he’d found at Hawkesbourne. Nothing was as he’d expected. His uncle’s fortune appeared to be gone. Rather than revelling in the lap of luxury, as he’d imagined her, Laura was living under strictest economy with her sisters and widowed mother in a corner of his house.

Though this presented him with an unforeseen opportunity to compel Laura to wed him, marrying her would not restore the fortune he should have inherited. Perhaps he should cut his losses and forget the whole thing.

The hell he should! Seeing Laura again, more alluring than he had left her, Ford knew the debt she owed him was far greater than money.

He sat at the head of the long dining table opposite Laura, with her sisters seated halfway down each side. The ladies made a pretty trio in spite of their ill-fitting gowns.

“Give my compliments to the kitchen, Pryce.” Ford raised his wine glass. “This dinner is far superior to shipboard food. I cannot tell you how I have longed for the taste of plain, fresh English cooking.”

All the same, it was rather humble fare for a baron’s table. Well prepared, but not much variety. From what he could tell, there were only a handful of servants looking after the place, with Laura and her sisters acting as maids of all work. Her claims of poverty seemed genuine, but where had his cousin’s money gone? Frittered away by a young bride with no thought for the future because she could always snare another rich husband? That was how Ford’s stepmother had behaved, bringing his father to ruin.

“Cook will be most relieved to hear the meal met with your approval,” replied the butler. “More wine, my lord?”

Ford shook his head. “I have already had more than I am accustomed to at meals. Perhaps for the ladies?”

Belinda and Susannah looked toward their sister, who gave a discreet nod. “Only a little, though. We are not used to taking wine with our meals.”

Since Pryce must know that, Ford assumed the comment was meant to enlighten him. All through dinner, Laura had addressed her conversation exclusively to her sisters and the butler.

Not that she had much need to speak. Belinda and Susannah kept him busy answering questions about his experiences in the Far East. At first, he hadn’t known quite what to say. He had never thought of his years away from England as anything but a sweltering perdition of work and festering bitterness. Yet the young ladies seemed fascinated by the most commonplace customs of those far-off lands.

“Do they drink wine in the Indies?” Susannah savoured a sip from her glass.

“Only the Europeans,” Ford replied. “When I was in India, the local people drank sweet coffee or tea brewed in a mixture of milk and water. In Singapore, where I’ve been lately, many of the traders drink arrack instead of wine.”

“Tell us more about how they dine in India,” begged Belinda.

“Dinner is usually served around midday,” said Ford. “After that, most people retire to sleep for an hour or two. Supper is served late in the evening.”

“Sleep?” Laura sounded if she thought he was having a jest at their expense. “In the middle of the day?”

“In the heat of the day.” Ford relished a flicker of satisfaction for having compelled her to address him. “I assure you, it is impossible to accomplish any useful work, then. The only thing you want to do is lie naked under your bed netting and hope you may escape to some cool place in your dreams.”

A sudden vision of Laura lying bare beneath a flimsy drape of netting sent the sultry heat of the first monsoons sweltering through his flesh. What had possessed him to say such a thing, in the presence of her innocent sisters? He should never have let Pryce ply him with so much wine.

“Naked!” Susannah clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a burst of giggles.

Laura stared down at her plate as if she had not heard Ford’s provocative remark. But even from the far end of the table, he detected a blush blazing in her cheeks.

“Bed netting?” Belinda shot her giggling younger sister a fierce glare. “Is that like bed curtains?”

“Rather like.” Ford seized upon Belinda’s helpful diversion. “But instead of the thick cloth we use to keep draughts out, they use very fine netting to let the air in but keep the insects at bay.”

“Fancy!” Susannah stopped giggling as abruptly as she’d begun. “Now what about the elephants? You said you’d seen some.”

“Mostly in festival parades. Then they are decked out in bright, colored silks and paint, with plates of gold hanging over their foreheads and howdas on their backs.” In reply to their puzzled looks Ford added, “A howda is a sort of saddle for riding on an elephant. They can be quite elaborate, lacquered and gilded, with canopies to protect the rider from the sun.”

That description invited more questions, which provoked more stories. The ladies seemed to hang upon his every word, including Laura. For the first time in seven years, he found himself making an effort to be sociable. To his surprise, it brought him an all-but-for-gotten sense of enjoyment. Was it possible his experiences in the Far East had enriched him in more than material ways?

“India sounds so much more exciting than cold, dull Sussex.” Susannah turned toward Laura. “Don’t you wish you could have gone to India with Ford?”

“No indeed.” Laura fumbled her spoon. “It may sound fine in stories, but I expect the discomforts and dangers far outweigh the pleasures.”

Her sharp retort pierced Ford’s high spirits and sent them plummeting to the ground. During his first years of exile, whenever he’d beheld a scene of exotic beauty, his first unguarded impulse had been to wish Laura could be there to share it with him. Her disdain for those brief, yearning moments was an insult to every tenderness he’d ever felt for her.

“Your sister is fortunate not to have lived in India.” Though he addressed his words to Susannah, Ford directed a contemptuous sneer at Laura.

“Why is that?” She lifted her napkin and swiped it across her mouth. “Do you suppose I am a frail flower who cannot withstand harsh conditions?”

“No.” He dismissed her suggestion with a thrust of his lower lip. “Because it is the custom in some areas to burn a widow upon the funeral pyre of her dead husband.”