by Deborah Hale
“It was no bother, my lady.” Mrs Cooper hefted her brimming clothes basket and headed into the cottage. “Only sharing what I do for my own. Come in, rest your feet and wet your throat with a drop of cider.”
A few moments later, Laura was seated in the Coopers’ snug parlour sipping cider while the farmer’s wife exclaimed over her parcel of sugar, tea and spices.
“Come see, Richard!” she called to her husband when he entered the cottage. “Isn’t this a boon? These things cost so dear at the shops in Horsham.”
When Mrs Cooper protested that the gift was far more than she deserved in exchange for a few home remedies, Laura shook her head. “I assure you, your assistance was priceless. Lord Kingsfold brought a whole shipload of such goods from the Indies. He says they are quite cheap there.”
Mr Cooper gave a gruff chuckle. “I wish some of the ideas his lordship brought home with him were as sweet to swallow as this lot.”
“Now, Richard—” Mrs Cooper shot her husband a warning look “—I’m sure Lord Kingsfold means well with all his plans for improvements.”
The farmer looked doubtful. “No respect for the old ways. I run this place the way my father did and his father before him. We’ve always managed.”
“I’m sure you have, Mr Cooper,” said Laura. “I must admit I have been resistant to some of the changes his lordship has made up at the house. It is not always easy to accept a little well-meant interference when we have become accustomed to neglect.”
Mrs Cooper nodded. “Remember, Richard, how you used to grumble about old Lord Kingsfold letting everything slide.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Begging your pardon, my lady. I meant no offence to your late husband.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Laura assured her, “and I took none. Please, Mr Cooper, will you try some of his lordship’s new ideas? I know he can be rather…forceful at times. But I truly believe he wants to help his tenants prosper, as he has done.”
What had come over her, Laura wondered, defending Ford and making excuses for his overbearing ways? Whatever their differences, she could not deny he was a better master and landlord than Cyrus had ever been. Since returning to Hawkesbourne, he’d worked tirelessly to reverse the damage done by years of his cousin’s neglect.
But did he have the necessary qualities to be a better husband than her first? Laura was far less certain about that.
The farmer mulled over her words. “When you put it that way, ma’am, I reckon it never hurts to try. I’ll say one thing for his lordship, the man has more energy than a steam-engine. Not much wonder he made such a success abroad. I’d be daft not to want a bit of that to rub off on my farm.”
Seven years ago Ford had been full of energy and high spirits. Looking back, Laura had to admit that energy had not been well harnessed, but dissipated in idle amusement, like the young man he’d visited in London. Now it was channelled in productive ways that would benefit others.
After chatting a few more minutes with the Coopers, she glanced toward the window. “I wish I could visit longer, but I must be on my way if I am to reach home before it rains.”
“My husband can harness the cart and drive you back to Hawkesbourne,” Mrs Cooper offered.
“That won’t be necessary.” Laura tucked her basket back under her arm. “The way by road is much longer and I would not want Mr Cooper to be caught in the rain on his return. Good day to you.”
Before she had walked a mile from Appleshaw Farm, Laura regretted refusing Mrs Cooper’s offer. The angry clouds began to hurl fat drops of rain at the ground—a few at first, then faster and harder, until she was caught in a drenching downpour. It was no use going back, for her clothes were already soaked through. She would just have to press on and make the best of it, the way she’d done with so many other unpleasant experiences life had dealt her.
“A pox on all poets who wax lyrical about springtime in England!” she muttered, trudging over the soggy turf as rain dripped from the brim of her bonnet.
She had even more cause for dismay when she reached the drove road. The sunken track had now become a swift-flowing stream that cut across her path, far too wide to jump. The rain showed no sign of easing, but pelted down with a force that made Laura’s flesh sting where it hit her.
Vexed with herself for not staying at the Coopers, she shrieked a curse that would have shocked her mother speechless. Having eased her feelings with that outburst, she decided to wade across the muddy torrent, though it would ruin her old walking shoes.
Then Ford’s voice rang out over the tumult of wind and rain. “If you must swear like that, you should do it in a foreign language.”
He sounded almost cheerful. Did he find her predicament amusing? She looked up to see him sitting astride his horse on the opposite bank of the drove road.
“I could teach you a few in Malay,” he offered. “Only I would be too embarrassed to tell you what they mean. Stay where you are. I’ll fetch you.”
His imperious command made Laura want to leap straight into the rushing water, but she managed to restrain herself. “What are you doing out here? Paying calls to antagonise your tenants?“
Ford did not heed her question as he urged his horse down the slippery bank and through the swirling muddy water, which came up past its fetlocks.
“Climb on.” Ford held out his arm to her. “Quick, now, before the water gets any deeper!”
Bristling at his peremptory tone, Laura seized his hand and hurled herself into his waiting arms. As Ford caught her and swung her up in front of him, his left hand brushed against the bodice of her spencer. Beneath the light fabric, her nipples were puckered from the chill of the rain, keenly sensitive to his touch. Suddenly aware of how her light muslin dress clung to her body, nearly transparent, she tensed and focused her gaze straight ahead.
Once she was securely seated in front of him, Ford swept up the reins in his right hand, using his left to circle Laura’s waist. With a jog and a tug, he urged the horse back up the opposite bank to higher ground. For an instant, the animal lost its footing, its hooves slithering on the slippery mud. Ford tightened his hold on Laura, pulling her firmly against his chest. The sudden forced nearness made her tremble.
“You’re cold,” said Ford as the horse regained its balance and scrambled on to solid ground. Before Laura could protest, he removed his coat and wrapped it around her.
Then he pointed his mount back toward Hawkesbourne and urged it to a brisk canter. “Belinda told me you’d gone out to pay a call. I thought you might be caught in the rain. Tell me, what did you mean about antagonising my tenants?”
Though his coat was wet through in places, Laura found it surprisingly warm. The smell of damp wool mingled with the aroma of sandalwood and the distinctive masculine scent of Ford himself. With every hastening breath, Laura drew his essence deeper and deeper inside her.
To distract herself from his vital, enveloping presence, she concentrated on answering his question. “All your new ideas for improvements are as good as telling them they and their ancestors have been doing it wrong for hundreds of years. How would you like it if they told you a better way to run your trading company? Especially if they had the power to enforce their plans.”
She felt Ford’s muscles tense. “All I want is for this estate to prosper. That will not happen if everyone ambles along, doing everything the way their grandfathers did. People must embrace change if they mean to succeed.”
Was he talking about his tenants, Laura wondered, or himself? He had changed and prospered, but at what cost?
“Not all change brings improvement,” she muttered.
“What would you have me do then?” demanded Ford. “Neglect the estate, like Cyrus did?”
“Of course not. And I told Mr Cooper so. But you might use a bit of your old charm. I know you haven’t lost it entirely for you lavish it upon my mother and sisters. Try asking your tenants what sorts of changes they would like to make. Find out what you can do to help them instead o
f barking orders and putting plans into effect without consulting them.”
“I don’t bark orders,” Ford protested.
“You do.” Laura parroted his earlier words back at him. “Stay where you are. Climb on. Quick now.”
“I didn’t say them like that. Well, perhaps I did, but what does that matter? Would you rather I’d left you there to get soaked…more soaked? Or fall down wading through that wretched ditch? You might have been swept away.”
Was that a note of concern she detected in his voice? Or was her maddening awareness of him confusing her hearing as much as her other senses?
“It was good of you to ride out in the rain to fetch me home.” Though the admission did not come easily, Laura meant it. “And take Mama out for walks in that garden chair. And bring my sisters and me to London. And host a ball to celebrate our engagement. I do not mean to be ungrateful, but it is not pleasant to be tyran-nised—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 and so do your tenants. It may be that young Mr Northmore feels the same way about his brother.”
Ford did not reply. Had he even listened to a word she’d said?
As the rain began to ease, Laura could see the turrets of Hawkesbourne Hall rearing above the trees ahead. When they reached the stables, Ford lowered her to the ground. Then he swiftly dismounted and offered her his arm. Water dripped off the wide brim of his hat and his shirt was drenched—plastered to his chest in a way that made him appear naked from the waist up.
Laura struggled to catch her breath. A man with such a powerful physique could do her far worse harm than his ageing cousin ever had. Why had she risked antagonising him just now? Yet, mixed with her alarm came an ache of something like hunger…only it gnawed much lower than her stomach.
Ford seemed unaware of her reaction. Or was he? It was always so hard to tell with him. “We must get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill.”
He did not mean it in a wanton way. At least Laura did not think so, judging by his brusque movements and curt tone of voice. Yet her fevered imagination conjured visions of falling into a swoon while Ford swept her off to her bedchamber where he proceeded to undress her. Much as she hated to admit it, there was a strangely arousing aspect to his masterful nature
Ford’s voice crashed in on her wicked thoughts, sending them flying to hide in shame. “That was a suggestion, by the way, not an order. If you wish to catch a chill and drip water all over the house, be my guest.”
His quip was so unexpected and her agitated emotions so urgently in need of release, Laura could not suppress a sputter of laughter. “No, indeed. It is a sound suggestion, which I mean to follow at once.”
Suddenly aware that she was still wearing his coat, she removed it with a puzzling tug of reluctance. “I would be even wetter and colder without this. Thank you.”
She held the sodden garment out to Ford, who looked rather thoughtful as he took it. “I do not mean to tyrannize over anyone, you know. I only want to do what is best and do it quickly, without wasting time over by your leave and if you don’t mind. I never would have made my fortune if I had not learned to act decisively.”
“There is a time for decisive action.” Laura removed her bonnet and pushed a damp lock of hair off her forehead. “But surely there are other times when the exercise of a little consideration would not be wasted. People work harder and faster when they understand and agree with the reasons for what they are doing. You might find people have helpful suggestions, if you are willing to ask them and listen to their ideas.”
“Like yours about finding a wharf outside London?”
Ford might not have asked for her idea, but he had listened and acted on it. Perhaps there was hope for him, after all. “I have one about how you could help your tenants and perhaps win their co-operation with your improvement plans.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ford replied, “Very well, what is it?”
Before he had a chance to change his mind, Laura ploughed ahead, repeating what Mrs Cooper had said about the expense of goods from the Indies. “I thought, since your company imports such items, perhaps you could provide them directly to your tenants at a reduced price.”
She braced for him to reject her idea, perhaps ridicule it. Instead he gave a cautious nod. “There might be something to that. I will consider it. But for the moment, we had both better get into dry clothes.”
As he strode away, Laura followed him with her eyes, admiring the lithe grace of his gait. Then, abruptly, he stopped and spun about. She gave a guilty start as if he’d caught her doing something shameful.
But Ford seemed too much occupied with his own thoughts to notice she’d been staring after him. “I do know how it feels, to be at the mercy of someone else’s actions and powerless to prevent it.” His voice had a forced quality, as if the words were being pulled out of him against his will. “That is why I have worked so hard to make certain it never happens to me again.”
Chapter Eight
What in blazes had come over him?
After a night spent tossing and turning, Ford still had no satisfactory answer. For a man who hated to reveal his feelings, he’d been appallingly quick and candid about disclosing some of his deepest to Laura. So deep, in fact, that he had scarcely been aware of them before the words burst out of his mouth.
It was true, though, he admitted to himself as he sat alone in the dining room absently munching toast. For most of his life he’d been at the mercy of Fate and the actions of others, which had often seemed equally cruel and arbitrary. From his mother’s death to Helena’s schemes and his father’s downfall—all lost beyond recovery and nothing he could do to prevent them.
But he was no longer a helpless child when Laura’s betrayal had brought his whole world crashing down around him. It had been a struggle, but he’d learned to take control of his emotions and his destiny. If it meant other people must dance to his tune for a change, was that such a bad thing?
Ford directed his unspoken question at the portrait of his cousin Cyrus that hung above the mantelpiece. The face in the painting stared down at him, its stony features devoid of expression, the eyes betraying no emotion. What sort of husband had his cousin been to Laura? The besotted fool, indulgent of a pretty young wife…or something else? The portrait taunted Ford with its secrets.
If what he’d learned in London was true, Laura had not lured Cyrus to the altar to get her hands on his fortune. She’d only turned to him for help after her father’s sudden death, desperate to secure a home for her mother and sisters. Perhaps she, too, had learned something about the tyranny of Fate that demanded wrenching choices.
His thoughts strayed back to the day before, when he’d ridden home with her in his arms. He’d only gone looking for her because he feared she might be meeting her Crawford. He had been surprised to find her out visiting his tenants and quite confounded when she took him to task over his improvement plans. Though he’d been reluctant to admit it, her suggestion about selling East Indian goods directly to his tenants had merit.
A soft gasp drew his startled gaze toward the door where Laura stood frozen in her tracks. “I beg your pardon! I did not mean to disturb your breakfast. I thought you would be away by now.”
“Don’t go!” Ford called, as she turned to rush off. “I mean…do not feel obliged to leave on my account. I was just finishing.”
Laura glanced back at him. “You looked deep in thought. I did not wish to interrupt.”
“It was nothing important,” Ford assured her, not entirely certain that was true. He did welcome the diversion of her sudden arrival. Delving too deeply into his past and the reasons for his actions was an uncomfortable occupation at best. One he was not eager to prolong. “I hope you are feeling well this morning. No ill effects from your drenching yesterday?”
She did not look ill. Indeed, she seemed to have put on a little much-needed weight since hi
s return. Her face had filled out, making her look younger. The bust of her gown fit more snugly over breasts. Remembering the feel of her in his arms the day before and way her wet skirts had clung to her legs, Ford looked forward to their wedding night with growing anticipation.
“I am feeling quite well, thank you.” Laura edged back into the room. “It would take more than a little rain to hurt me. And you?”
Ford gave a careless shrug. “Never better. I believe a bracing ride in the rain agrees with me.”
Something about the experience had brought him a heady rush of vitality. The lingering contact of her body against his, perhaps?
“I am glad to hear it.” Laura eased on to her usual chair at the opposite end of the table. “I would hate for you to suffer any harm on my account.”
Her words took him so much by surprise that Ford could barely contain a gust of harsh laughter. Had she truly managed to convince herself she’d done him no harm by marrying Cyrus? If so, he was not about to disabuse her. Those feelings of humiliation, betrayal and heartbreak were ones he guarded most heavily of all.
“Never fear. I have learned to thrive on adversity.” He rose from the table. “Now I must go check how much damage yesterday’s rain did to the drainage work over at Den Marsh. I doubt it escaped as unscathed as you and I.”
On his way to the door, something compelled him to stop a few feet from Laura. “By the way, I expect my time to be much occupied with estate business for the next few days. Pryce has been pestering me about plans for the ball—who to invite, what kind of punch to serve, how many musicians to hire? What do I know about any of that? I should like you to take charge of the arrangements…if you are willing?”
For a moment, Laura looked bewildered by his request. Then a strange warm light kindled deep in her eyes. Ford steeled himself to resist its enchantment and almost succeeded. “I would be pleased to. I have never planned a ball before, but I have attended a few. No doubt Mama and the girls would be happy to advise me.”
“I will leave it in your hands, then.” Ford headed for the door, fighting a strong urge to linger in Laura’s company. “Don’t trouble yourself about money. Spend whatever you need to make it an evening our guests will remember.”
