by Deborah Hale
“Splendid!” Laura’s sister squealed. “I can hardly wait to meet him!“
By now they had reached their box. Belinda and Susannah were about to settle into the two back seats, but Ford waved them forwards. He wished to speak with their sister while their attention was focus elsewhere.
The minute they were seated, she forestalled his questions with one of her own. “Did you find young Mr Northmore very much like his brother?”
Ford shook his head. “About as much as you and Susannah. They both still have a trace of the Durham dales in their speech and there is a certain resemblance of feature. The brother is a fine-looking fellow, but there’s something bland about his looks. Hadrian Northmore is anything but bland.”
“And in character?” said Laura. “That is where Susannah and I differ more than in our looks.”
“It is the same with the Northmores.” Ford had thought so often as he talked with Hadrian’s brother. “The young fellow seems to think of nothing but his own amusement. He would not let me in until I told him his brother had sent me with money. Then he could not have been more cordial. Hadrian makes him a liberal allowance, yet he has managed to run up debts—gambling, drinking and wenching. I’d wager ten guineas he hasn’t read a brief or attended a session of court in months. It disgusted me, to think of him squandering the opportunities his brother has worked so hard to provide him. The young whelp isn’t even grateful. He went on and on about Hadrian controlling his life.”
“He does not sound like the sort of fellow I would want courting Susannah.” Laura glanced toward her sisters, who were busy peering around at the rest of the audience. “Why did you invite him down to Hawkesbourne for the ball?”
“Because I promised his brother I would do my best to help him get on. I will not go back on my word just because the task is more difficult than I expected.” The way her father’s death had made Laura break her promise to wed him. “Besides, people can change. I did and perhaps Julian Northmore will, too, with proper encouragement.”
He hoped the young man would not need to lose everything that mattered to him before he reformed his habits. And what had happened to Laura to bring about such an alteration in her?
More to himself than to Laura, he murmured, “I don’t know why Hadrian is so set on making his brother into a great man when he has already achieved such success himself. But it is all he thinks about and works for. I would hate to see him thwarted because young Julian prefers to waste his life in dissipation.”
His voice trailed off as the curtain opened and the first play of the evening began.
“They sound like interesting men, these partners of yours,” said Laura. “You must tell me more about them some day.”
Loath to admit he did not know a great deal more about his partners, Ford gave a vague nod. Hadrian and Simon had seldom talked about their pasts, and were always quick to deflect any questions. Of course, they might say the same about him.
For so many years, he had brooded over his past, sharing his feelings with no one, not even those closest to him. Now an irresistible urge compelled him to broach the subject with Laura.
Leaning toward her, he whispered, “Julian Northmore is not much like his brother, but he reminds me of someone else I used to know.”
She turned toward him, her dainty brows raised in a mute question. Who?
“On his own in London,” said Ford. “Answerable to nobody. Blessed with unlimited credit and the society of questionable companions. Julian Northmore is far too much like I was at that age.” It was not an easy thing to admit with her unsettling gaze upon him.
But he had an even more difficult admission to make. “I know why you did not turn to me for help when your father died and your family was forced from their home.”
“You do?” A glint of alarm flashed in her eyes and there was an edge of bewilderment in her whisper.
“You thought I was too feckless to be of any assistance and perhaps too selfish to care.” Ford struggled to maintain control of his features and his voice, so that nothing would betray the bitter sting that realisation inflicted.
Laura wrenched her gaze away from his, to stare down at the stage as if entranced by the ridiculous capering of the actors. That confirmed his belief more clearly than any words. He should let the matter rest, discretion warned Ford. His emotions were running too high. If he persisted, they might flare out of his control, revealing the depth of his bitterness. But he could not let it go, any more than he had been able to let go of her all these years, even when the memory of what he’d lost had driven him to the brink of despair.
Ford leaned close to whisper in her ear, “You were wrong, you know. I could have borrowed more money or taken work. I would have found some way to help your family if I’d known.”
“Would you?” Laura kept her eyes fixed ahead and her voice pitched so low, Ford could barely make out her words above the dialogue of the play and the laughter of the audience. “How was I to believe that when I heard you’d gone off to gamble at Spa? Should I have pinned my family’s survival on the hope that you’d won a great deal at the tables? Besides, I was afraid if I saddled you with all my family’s problems you would soon grow to hate me.”
“I was not at Spa to gamble!” Ford protested in a fierce whisper. “I promised you I would stop and I did. You should have believed that.”
As his lips puckered and parted to pronounce the word believed, they grazed Laura’s ear. That featherlight brush made her flinch as if stung by a bee.
She did not hesitate to sting back. “Perhaps I should. But you should not have been so quick to assume I wed your cousin to enrich myself. If you had sought me out to ask for an explanation seven years ago, you would have learned the truth. Instead, you sailed away to the Indies without a word.”
Again, she swung about to fix him with her accusing gaze. “Admit it, you were relieved to be free of me.”
Part of Ford yearned to bellow an adamant denial of that ludicrous charge at the top of his lungs, for the whole theater to hear. But that would be as good as admitting how deep her actions had wounded him. And he could not do that.
So he averted his face before she could catch a traitorous glimmer of the truth in his eyes.
Chapter Seven
An awkward chill still hung between Laura and Ford two nights later when she and her sisters dined with him at the hotel. Much as their whispered confrontation at the theater had stirred unwelcome memories and bewildering feelings, it had also brought Laura a vital sense of release and a hope of peace. Now that Ford knew she’d had a compelling, unselfish reason to marry his cousin and since he’d as good as admitted his secret relief at being rid of her, perhaps he would let the matter rest.
“Any luck today, finding premises for your company?” Belinda asked Ford as the waiter arrived with their dinner plates. “Or shall you have to come back another time to look again?”
Susannah greeted that possibility with an eager grin, which Ford’s answer quenched. “I found something I believe will suit Vindicara. Two things, actually. Laura’s suggestions about shipping into some other port gave me an idea. I was able to secure a fine wharf and large warehouse downriver at a very good price. Then I found a smaller warehouse with office space just a little way down the Strand. East Indies ships can offload cargo downriver, then goods can be brought to the West End by barge in smaller quantities.”
Ford had acted on a suggestion of hers? Laura could scarcely believe it.
“Not a moment too soon.” Susannah paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “We’ve been drumming up business for you…at least Laura has.”
“You have?” Ford appeared as surprised by her behaviour as she was by his.
“It was nothing.” Laura concentrated on cutting her chine of beef to keep from meeting his gaze. “The mantua-maker went on and on about the silks we brought to have made up, what fine quality they were and how bright the colors. She asked if we’d bought it from any of the local mercers.
Finally, to keep her quiet more than anything, I told her they were East Indian, imported by the Vindicara Company.”
“That’s not all,” said Susannah. “She told the lady Vindicara would soon be opening for business in London and she would hear much more about the company then.”
“Nothing like a bit of shopkeepers’ tattle to attract customers.” Ford reached for his wine glass and took a deep draft.
“You haven’t heard the best part yet, Ford,” said Belinda.
“There’s more?”
Susannah gave a vigorous nod. “While we were talking about you to the mantua-maker, one of the other customers overheard and introduced herself. You’ll never guess who it was.”
One corner of Ford’s mouth arched upwards. “I have no intention of trying, since you are clearly bursting to tell me.”
“Mrs Paget!” cried Susannah. “At least I think that’s the name she gave.”
Ford shook his head. “The lady must be mistaken. I never heard of—”
“Your stepmother!” Susannah fairly glowed with satisfaction at revealing the surprise.
Ford looked as if he’d just had a heavy dinner plate broken over his head. Mrs Paget’s announcement had staggered Laura, too. She knew Ford’s mother had died when he was quite young, but never once had he mentioned his father’s second marriage. She felt cheated out of information she had a right to know. Could that be how Ford felt, not knowing about her father’s death?
Belinda hastened to fill the gaping silence that greeted Susannah’s announcement. “Mrs Paget told us the two of you lost touch after your father died. But she remembered you very fondly and was so pleased to hear what a success you’d made in the Indies.”
“I’m sure she was,” replied Ford.
Laura thought she detected an edge of hostility in his tone. Clearly he had not cared for his stepmother. Mrs Paget spoke as if she’d doted on him even though he’d done nothing to assist her after his father’s death. He had cut her out of his life, leaving the poor woman to fend for herself. Why, Laura wondered, should she believe Ford would have done any more for her family if she had appealed to him?
“Mrs Paget bade us give you her warmest regards,” said Susannah. “She said if you would care to call on her, she’d be delighted to receive you. She gave us her address in Mayfair.”
When Ford did not reply, Belinda added, “When we told her you and Laura were engaged, Mrs Paget said she would be honoured to attend your wedding to such a charming bride.”
“Your stepmother seemed very cordial,” said Susannah. “Are you going to invite her to the wedding, Ford?”
While the girls were speaking, Ford rose from the table, though he’d hardly touched his supper. Now he threw down his napkin. “Invite her to the wedding? Only if we lock up all the silver first!”
As he strode away from the table, Laura sat with her mouth half-open, exchanging bewildered glances with her sisters. It amazed her to discover there was someone Ford detested even more than her.
“Why do you hate your stepmother?” Laura’s softly murmured query seemed to roll through the carriage box like a clap of thunder.
Ford half-expected it to rouse her sisters, but they continued to doze on the opposite seat. How he envied them! His fingers clutched a sheaf of lease documents so tightly, he feared they might never unclench again. He stared at the top paper, pretending to read, pretending he had not heard Laura.
“I am at a loss to guess the reason,” she continued, undeterred by his silence. “Mrs Paget seemed pleasant, though rather…excessively cordial. She certainly seemed devoted to you, in spite of everything.”
“That woman can seem any number of things,” Ford growled before he could stop himself. “And what do you mean in spite of everything? What rubbish did that woman tell you about me?”
“Only what Susannah mentioned at supper last night—that the two of you lost touch after your father died, because she was obliged to make her own way in the world.”
Outrage blazed through Ford. Despite his resolve to say nothing more on the subject, he could not hold his tongue. “That is surprisingly close to the truth, for her. We lost touch before my father died. She ran off with another man as soon as she’d spent all Father’s money. Faced with losing her on top of financial ruin, he could not go on, the poor fool.”
Ford clenched his teeth to keep from saying more. He had never spoken to anyone about all this and he had no wish to start now. Especially not with a woman he had reason to suspect of similar treachery. Though that suspicion had eroded in the past few days, memories of his stepmother threatened to revive it again, which was probably a good thing.
Laura lifted a trembling hand to her lips. “You mean your father…did away with himself?”
“No!” The denial burst out of Ford in an emphatic whisper. “Nothing that terrible, thank God. He just gave up. Began drinking more than was good for him, didn’t eat properly, stayed out all hours. When he fell ill, he didn’t even try to rally.”
“I’m so sorry.” Laura radiated a mixture of dismay and sympathy that made Ford wish he’d held his tongue, even as it invited him to unburden himself further. “How old were you?”
Though her question tempted him as powerfully as her ripe beauty, he would not yield. “Ten when my father married Helena. Fourteen when he died.”
“How hard it must have been for you having to witness all that while being too young to help. I wish I’d known.”
Laura reached for his hand, but Ford jerked away, shuffling the lease papers he was determined to resume reading. He did not want her pity! Neither did he want to give up more of his secrets to her. How dare she pry into his past while being so guarded about hers?
Yet hard as he tried to hold back, he could not. “She used me, that grasping baggage! Father never would have married her if he had not been convinced I needed a mother. So Helena proceeded to ingratiate herself with me. I was too young and stupid to see through her deluge of attention.”
That painful admission rung from him, Ford vowed it would be his last word on the subject. “There. I have answered your question. Now, I will thank you to let me get on with my reading.”
“Very well,” said Laura. “Only do not blame yourself for what happened. Your father was a grown man. He may have acted out of love for you, but you did not force him to marry Helena. Besides, it is possible that in spite of her fortune-hunting schemes, your stepmother truly cared for you.”
Harsh laughter scoured Ford’s throat. “I assure you, I have learned a thing or two since my gullible youth. Now I view all protestations of affection with a healthy dose of scepticism.”
He made the mistake of glancing over at Laura, only to find he could not look away.
“I suppose you could never forgive what she did,” Laura’s eyes searched his. “No matter what the circumstances?”
Was she asking about Helena or herself? During the past few days, Ford had been forced to consider the circumstances that had led Laura to forsake him in favor of his cousin. By times, a flicker of sympathy had kindled in his heart as he’d imagined what it must have been like for her. But this moment, with the memories of his despised stepmother so painfully fresh in his mind, was not one of those times.
Forcing himself to ignore the wistful plea in Laura’s eyes, he kept his features immobile as he shook his head. “I cannot imagine any conditions under which I would be willing to forgive her.”
Ford’s damning words ran over and over in Laura’s mind as she walked briskly along a wooded path toward one of Hawkesbourne’s tenant farms. Though he’d been speaking of his stepmother, she had no doubt his implacable resentment extended to her as well.
Ever since they’d returned from London, he had been more distant than ever. She would have given a great deal to know what he was thinking. Was he still brooding about the past? Or was he having second thoughts about marrying her? That possibility unsettled her more than she expected.
Laura slowed her pace
as she approached the spot where her path cut across a drove road that had been trampled into the ground by centuries of hogs heading to market in London. The packed earth was nice and dry as she crossed over it and scrambled up the opposite bank. But troubling thoughts dogged her footsteps.
How would she feel if Ford jilted her?
He couldn’t, of course. For a man to break an engagement was a breach of promise—a complete loss of honour and grounds for legal action. But if he had been able to change his mind and marry some other woman…? One younger and prettier, perhaps. More agreeable, less apt to take offence at everything he said or did. One without a dependent family.
She would be humiliated, of course, angry and resentful, even though she had not wanted to marry him in the first place. Even though she would be relieved to regain her freedom. Could that be how Ford had felt seven years ago, when he’d received her letter?
She asked herself that uncomfortable question as she glimpsed Appleshaw Farm through the budding orchard for which it was named. Spotting the farmer’s wife taking laundry from the line, Laura welcomed the distraction from her disquieting thoughts.
“Good afternoon, Mrs Cooper!” she called. “I hope I have not come at a bad time.”
“Never, my lady.” The neat, capable little woman shook her head emphatically. “I just wanted to fetch this lot in before it gets washed a second time.”
“Do you think it will rain?” Laura glanced up at the threatening sky with a grimace. “Then I had better keep my visit brief. I came to bring you a little token of thanks for your kindness to Mama this winter. Your chest poultice did wonders for her congestion and I fear she would still be coughing without your horehound tea.”
It had been a blessing to find someone so skilled and caring near at hand when they could no longer afford the doctor’s fees.
