Married: The Virgin Widow

by Deborah Hale

  “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.”

  In unison, Laura’s sisters gasped.

  “How dreadful.” She spoke in a cool, dismissive tone. “You must be weary after your long journey. We should not pester you with so many tiresome questions.”

  Before Ford could protest, she rose from her chair, beckoning to her sisters. “Let us leave his lordship to enjoy his brandy in peace.”

  Belinda scrambled to her feet at once, but Susannah gave a mutinous scowl and followed her sisters out of the room with obvious reluctance.

  After they had gone, Ford tried to convince himself he was relieved to have a bit of peace and quiet in which to reassess his plans.

  Laura had stolen his inheritance and he meant to find out what she’d done with it. If, as he suspected, she’d squandered it beyond his power to recover, he deserved compensation more than ever. He could imagine few forms of compensation more satisfactory than her presence in his bed.

  Chapter Three

  Two days after Ford’s arrival, Laura found her mother holding court from her bed. Ford and the girls sat on either side while a vigilant Mr Pryce hovered nearby.

  Feeling like an intruder, she was about to slip away when Ford suddenly glanced her way. She could not allow him to think he had the power to frighten her off.

  “Are you hosting a party, Mama?” She affected a cheerful tone as she entered the room. “I hope too much company will not tire you.”

  “Quite the contrary, dearest.” Her mother’s voice sounded stronger. “I have not felt so well in months. Come and sit with the others. Ford was telling us the most amusing story about the time a pack of monkeys got into his baggage.”

  As Laura approached, Ford rose from his chair. A fast-fading smile still lit his dark features and once again she caught a glimpse of the man she’d loved. Even as a gentle ache swelled in her heart, the moment passed and he became a stranger once again. An attractive, compelling stranger, but still a dangerous enigma.

  She wished she could keep a safe distance from him, the way she did at mealtimes with the long table and her chattering sisters between them. But there was only one chair left—the empty one beside his.

  Warily, she sank on to it. “The poor man may soon long to sail back to the Indies to escape these constant demands for stories of his adventures.”

  As Ford resumed his seat beside her, his nearness overwhelmed her senses. The dark arch of his brows and the jutting crests of his cheekbones lured her gaze. Her skin prickled whenever he made the slightest movement, anticipating an accidental nudge of his knee. Every time she inhaled, the faint, spicy tang of his scent tickled her nose. Her ears strained to drink in his low, husky voice.

  “Never fear,” he replied, a hint of frost cooling his tone, “I would far rather talk about the Indies than return there any time soon.”

  “No indeed.” Laura’s mother regarded Ford with a doting smile. “You have been gone far too long. We couldn’t bear to part with you again now that we’ve got you back.”

  The butler cleared his throat. “Since all the family is gathered here, Mrs Penrose, shall I fetch tea?”

  “An excellent suggestion! The tea Ford brought has such a delightful flavor. I feel quite invigorated when I drink it. And I caught a whiff of gingerbread when Laura opened the door. Could you bring us some of that, too?”

  “Delighted, ma’am.” Mr Pryce beamed with pleasure. Just that morning, Laura has overheard him whistling while he polished the silver.

  No doubt the poor man was happy to have a proper staff working under him again. One of Ford’s first tasks as master of Hawkesbourne had been to authorise the hiring of several new maids, footmen, gardeners and stable hands.

  “Ford,” said Belinda, “Cook is in raptures over the sugar, tea and spices you brought from the Indies.”

  Susannah nodded. “And I am in raptures over the bolts of silk and cotton. Did you mean it when you said we could have some to make up new gowns for the summer?”

  “Of course I meant it.” Though Ford kept his attention focused on her sisters, Laura sensed his words were aimed at her. “I have never been one to make promises I do not intend to keep.”

  Like her promise to wed him? She bristled at the thought. If he had not wanted her to break their engagement, why had he not lifted a finger to stop her?

  “Besides,” he continued in a lighter tone, “I don’t believe peacock-blue silk or sprigged organdy would look at all flattering on me.”

  They all laughed at that, including Laura, though it gave her heart a wrench because he sounded so much like the Ford she remembered.

  Mama’s pale blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Tell us more about this new British trading post. Sing-a-song?”

  “Singa-pore, ma’am. I must say I preferred it to India. Not nearly so hot, though often quite sultry during the monsoons. The settlement is still rather primitive at the moment. Everyone is too busy establishing their businesses and making money to worry about amenities. Besides, it is likely the Dutch will find a way to get rid of Singapore. It poses a threat to their control of the lucrative China and South Seas trade.”

  “It sounds like an exciting sort of place,” said Laura’s mother.

  Ford nodded. “It is a crossroad of the world with so many races and cultures all mixed together—English, Spanish, French, Chinese, Indian, Arab, Malay. I have learned to curse fluently in a dozen different languages.”

  Laura fought to contain her amusement. She had survived the heartbreak of losing her first love, the shock of her father’s death and the ordeal of her marriage by encasing her heart in a protective sheath of ice. Ford’s coldness only hardened her defence
s. But the warmth of his wit and kindness toward her family threatened to chip a web of tiny but perilous cracks in her frozen ramparts, making them prone to shatter.

  A few minutes later Mr Pryce returned, bearing a tray laden with tea things and a plate piled high with spicy-sweet nuggets of gingerbread. While Susannah and Belinda tucked into those with exuberant relish, Laura took a guarded sip of her tea. Pleasant as these small luxuries were after months of frugal living, they came at too high a price to suit her.

  Despite Ford’s assurance that her family was welcome to visit at Hawkesbourne, she knew he must want her gone as soon as possible. Every time they’d spoken in the past two days, she had braced for him to raise the subject. With any other gentleman, she’d have been confident he would never turn out an ailing widow and her penniless daughters. But Ford had boasted of his ruthlessness and she knew from bitter experience that he was not a man to let other people’s problems stand in the way of his plans.

  When the others had finished eating, Laura rose from her seat. “Enjoyable as this has been, we must not tire Mama.”

  “No indeed.” Ford shot to his feet so quickly his arm brushed against hers, sending bewildering sensations rippling through her. “I have an appointment with Repton to look over the accounts and review his running of the estate in my absence.”

  His sharp tone and piercing look made Laura wonder what this meeting with his man of business had to do with her.

  “Pray excuse me, ladies.” After a stiff bow, he stalked away, leaving Laura feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of her.

  As he marched toward the office of Hawkes-bourne’s estate manager, the devilish hot ache in Ford’s loins began to ease. The slightest accidental brush against Laura was all it had taken to set him on fire. Of course that had only struck a spark to the fuel, which had accumulated splinter by combustible splinter as he sat beside her. Hard as he’d tried to ignore her by focusing all his attention on her mother and sisters, he had failed.