by Deborah Hale
He had almost reached the door when she called his name.
Her tone had a ring of winsome sweetness he had not heard in seven empty, arid years.
He stopped in mid-stride and swung about. “Yes?”
Laura turned to look at him. Her lips were spread in a luminous smile that sent golden sunbeams shimmering through him. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For asking my help. For giving me some say about what happens in this house.”
It had brought him a measure of mordant amusement to bait Laura, a perverse satisfaction to vex and thwart her. But they were pale, sour sensations compared to the heady gratification of pleasing her.
Caution warned him it could be addictive. “It was nothing, I assure you.”
Her smile faltered a little. “To you, perhaps, but not to me. I will do my best to make this ball a memorable one.”
“I have every confidence in you.” With a hasty bow, Ford took his leave. He managed to get safely out the door before he broke into a damned idiotic grin.
Perhaps it had meant nothing to Ford, letting her make arrangements for the ball, Laura reflected as she supervised the final preparations. But to her it was a tangible sign that he might be a better husband than his cousin had been. While their marriage would not be the kind of romantic idyll of which she once dreamed, it might be bearable—if Ford could learn to curb his arrogance and not treat her like a possession with no will or feelings to consider.
She glanced up from a floral arrangement she’d been admiring to spot Mr Pryce crossing the ballroom toward her. “Do the arrangements meet with your approval, my lady?”
“Indeed they do.” Laura rewarded the butler with a grateful smile. “I hardly recognise the place.”
From the time she’d first come to Hawkesbourne, the ballroom had been a vast, dark cavern she’d avoided. Now, glass, marble and fine wood gleamed in the soft radiance cast by scores of wax candles. Lighter paint and wallpaper gave the room an open, airy quality. New curtains and more modern furnishings helped, too, as did the garlands of greenery and flowers draped over the mantelpieces.
“You wanted it to look like an indoor garden, my lady.” Pryce glanced around the room, his face glowing with satisfaction. “And I believe we have granted your wish.”
“I hope his lordship and our guests will like it as much as I do.” That thought gave Laura qualms. What if this was some kind of test Ford had set to decide whether he could depend upon her? Would their neighbours be the judges? She could think of several who might be eager to find fault.
If that were the case, there was nothing she could do about it now. Laura inhaled a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She must concentrate on making this an entertaining evening for those who came with open minds. “What is still left to do? I see the musicians have arrived. Do they have everything they need?”
Pryce grimaced at the screech of discordant notes coming from the platform where the quartet was tuning up their fiddles and pipes. “So they tell me, my lady. Cook reports that preparations for supper are going well. I was about to begin compounding the punch unless you need me for something else.”
“Not at the moment.” Laura’s confidence rose. She might be a novice at entertaining on this scale, but Mr Pryce had had plenty of experience. If he assured her everything was well in hand, then it must be. “But could I prevail upon you to fetch my mother once the guests have arrived?”
Pryce bowed. “Consider it done, my lady.”
“I’m not certain how long Mama will feel well enough to stay,” Laura continued. “But she is so eager to see everyone and watch the dancing. Perhaps if you could watch over her and persuade her to return to her room before she tires herself out. She is more likely to listen to you than to me or my sister.”
“You may rely on me, my lady.” The butler seemed moved by her trust in him. “I will make certain Mrs Penrose does not overtax herself.”
“Of course, I rely on you. We all do and have ever since we came to Hawkesbourne. I cannot imagine what we would have done without you.”
“Hawkesbourne without Mr Pryce?” Susannah’s merry voice rang out behind them. “It doesn’t bear thinking of!”
“No, it does not,” echoed Belinda, her tone not as lively as her sister’s, but no less sincere.
Laura cast a critical glance over them both, relieved to see how lovely they looked. Susannah sparkled in a gown of buttercup yellow while Belinda’s lace-trimmed lavender silk flattered her gentle beauty. They might grace even the most exalted company.
The butler regarded them with almost paternal pride. Perhaps he was remembering them when they had first come to Hawkesbourne, little more than children.
It took him a moment to summon his voice, which came out a trifle husky. “It has been an honour to serve such excellent ladies. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to the punch before your guests arrive.”
“The dear man,” Belinda whispered when Mr Pryce was out of earshot. “He is so happy to have Ford home. Now he has the resources to run the house properly.”
With a bubbly giggle, Susannah nudged her sisters. “Speaking of Ford, there he is now. How handsome he looks—even better than Lord Bramber, and you know I partial I am to him!”
Laura’s gaze flew to the doorway where Ford stood, framed like one of the many fine portraits of his ancestors that hung throughout the house. But none of them had been nearly as attractive. His dress clothes fit so well on his tall, straight frame. He had let his hair grow out from the harsh cropped stubble to crisp dark curls. The stark contours of his face gave it a striking intensity that made commonplace words like handsome quite inadequate.
A deep, insistent hum began to pulse beneath Laura’s skin, as if she were a taut string on the musicians’ bass fiddle.
“He’s seen us!” cried Susannah.
Laura did not need to be told. Ford’s gaze ran over her like the gliding caress of a skilled bow stroke.
“We should all curtsy to him,” suggested Belinda. “After he was kind enough to take us all the way to London to get these gowns made up.”
“Yes, let’s!” Susannah prodded Laura. “Come on. You as well.”
Roused from her admiring contemplation, Laura took her sisters’ cue and sank into a deep curtsy.
Susannah was the first to bounce up again, brimming with high spirits. “What do you think of our fine feathers, Ford? Precious little fear of us putting you to shame tonight.”
“Not in appearance, perhaps.” Laura tried to sound severe, but it was not easy when an unaccustomed froth of elation bubbled inside her. “But you should curb your spirits a little so you do not expose yourself to ridicule. That would reflect worse on Ford than a shabby gown.”
“I swear I shall be on my best behaviour.” Susannah placed her hand over her heart. “Only don’t expect me to be all prim and pruney at my first proper ball.”
Ford laughed. And for the first time since his return, it did not sound forced or mocking. “I don’t believe you could if you tried. And I for one would not want you to—especially not tonight. This is meant to be a festive occasion.”
He offered Laura his arm. For a change, his smile did not disappear when he turned his attention to her. “You have done a marvellous job. This old barn of a ballroom has never looked so fine. And all the preparations seem to be running like clockwork.”
A rush of tingling warmth suffused Laura’s cheeks. She was not certain what provoked it—Ford’s unexpected praise or the intensity of his nearness. She cautioned herself not to set too much store by his kind words. He was only surprised by how well she’d managed the challenge he had set her. Perhaps he thought she might be an asset in his future business dealings.
She raised her fan and fluttered up a little breeze to cool her face. “The proof of the pudding will be in the eating. I hope our guests will enjoy themselves this evening.”
“Of course they will.” Ford’s hearty tone dared them not to. �
�And speaking of guests—” he gestured toward her sisters “—will you ladies join us in receiving them? You know our neighbours better than I do.”
“We’d be glad to help,” replied Belinda. “Wouldn’t we, Sukie?”
“Very well, only please don’t call me that once the guests arrive—especially the handsome, young gentleman guests. You have invited a few of those, I hope, Ford.”
“Every one we could recruit for miles around,” he assured her. “Along with Julian Northmore, who is coming all the way from London.”
“Your partner’s brother, of course!” Susannah clapped her hands. “I’d almost forgotten.”
The musicians had finished their strident tuning and now began to play a sweet, lively melody. Ford’s reassurance quieted the discord within Laura, replacing it with buoyant rhythm and delightful harmonies. It had been so very long since she’d experienced such pleasant feelings, they threatened to intoxicate her more than the most potent punch.
Music seemed to vibrate under Ford’s skin and in his chest. He savoured the subtle warmth of Laura’s hand on his arm. Pretty as her sisters looked in their new gowns, she outshone them in a soft, warm shade of pink that put him in mind of a tropical flower. His nostrils flared to inhale the sweet tang of her scent. Nectarstarved desire swarmed his loins.
He hadn’t felt like himself since returning from London. Busy implementing improvements to the estate and plans for the expansion of Vindicara, he’d been too preoccupied with the present and the future to brood upon the past. Laura seemed different, too—more relaxed and talkative at mealtimes, sometimes joining in her sisters’ ready laughter. Tonight she seemed to have recaptured the sparkle of her younger years, only better.
Their time in London had forced him to realise the events of seven years ago were more complicated than he’d believed. That did not excuse the hell she’d put him through, but it did ease the crushing grip of resentment. Perhaps that was the first step toward loosening her hold upon him. Though tonight, Ford had to admit, it did not feel any looser.
Shortly after they reached the entry hall, the first of their guests began to arrive and they were swept up in a round of greetings and congratulations.
Among the first arrivals were Mr Crawford, his mother and sister.
“Lord Kingsfold, how delightful to have you back in the neighbourhood!” Mrs Crawford gushed. “You will be such excellent company for my son. He and Lord Bramber get on well, but the marquis is obliged to spend so much time in London, while Sidney prefers the country.”
The lady and her daughter were dressed in what Ford presumed must be the height of fashion, their gowns heavily trimmed and their hair tortured into towering topknots and stiff ringlets. Mrs Crawford reminded him so much of his stepmother, he felt an unexpected qualm of sympathy for her son. Little wonder the young man wanted to escape his house as often as possible to spend time with pleasant, unaffected women.
Perhaps Laura sensed his distaste for Mrs Crawford. Or perhaps she was alarmed at the speed with which the receiving line was backing up. “Lady Daphne assured us the marquis will be here tonight. If you go straight through to the ballroom, you can secure a good seat from which to spot him when he arrives.”
Without another word, Mrs Crawford seized her daughter by the wrist and charged toward the ballroom.
A chuckle of mingled amusement and relief welled up in Ford’s throat. “I have seen fillies at Newmarket slower off the start. Well done.”
He and Laura exchanged a fleeting grin of fellow conspirators. Then she gestured toward the next guests in line, two long-faced gentlemen who looked like a pair of effigies in the crypt of St Botolph’s. “I expect you remember Lord Henry and Lord Edward Dearing of Bramberley?”
“I do indeed.” Ford bowed. “My lords, it is an honour to welcome you to Hawkesbourne.”
The senior of the two men cast a critical glance around the entrance hall. “The first ball I ever attended was here, back in your grandfather’s day. There was a man who knew how to entertain. Not certain what he would have made of his grandson dabbling in trade.”
Ford was surprised how much Lord Henry’s remark offended him. As a child he had often spent holidays with his grandparents, who’d doted on him. His grandfather had been proud of the estate and his ancient title. Would he have been ashamed of Ford’s commercial activities, no matter how successful?
While he searched for a civil reply, Laura chuckled, as if Lord Henry had spoken in jest. “Lord Kingsfold has done a good deal more than dabble, sir. He has made an honest fortune, which he is using to restore this house and the estate. I cannot imagine his grandfather would object to that.”
“Lady Kingsfold has you, Uncle Henry!“ cried the cherubic girl behind him, whom Ford had seen gossiping with Susannah after church. “This is the nineteenth century, remember.”
As her uncles huffed off, Lady Daphne seized Laura in an eager embrace, bobbed Ford a quick curtsy, then fell squealing upon Susannah.
Leaning toward Laura, Ford murmured, “That is the second time you’ve come to my rescue this evening.”
She cast him a teasing glance. “Would you rather I minded my own business?”
“I think not. Your efforts so far have been most amusing.”
Laura had no opportunity to reply, for she was obliged to exchange very proper curtsies with their next guest.
“Lady Artemis.” Ford bowed. “Thank you for coming this evening. The Dearings are always welcome at Hawkesbourne.”
“My sister would have made us pay dearly if we had even considered refusing your kind invitation.” A hint of a smile crossed the lady’s face, which was as solemn as Lady Daphne’s was animated.
She was rather attractive, in an understated way. Compared to the Crawford women’s elaborate style, Ford preferred the austere simplicity of Lady Artemis.
As she moved on, Laura greeted the Marquis of Bramber. “Welcome, my lord. Have you come all the way from London at Lady Daphne’s behest?”
“Not entirely.” The marquis bowed over Laura’s hand. Silver flecks in his blue eyes sparkled with admiration. “I was coming as far as Epsom for the Derby, so what was another twenty miles?”
“Be on your guard,” Ford warned Lord Bramber, “I believe Mrs Crawford is anxious to get you in her sights this evening.”
“Relentless, that woman. Three years she’s been stalking me for her daughter.” The marquis leaned toward Ford. “If I don’t win at Epsom, I may have to marry the tiresome chit or watch Bramberley fall down around our ears. You are fortunate that you can afford to marry for love.”
The marquis’s words hit Ford square in the conscience. Possessing both title and a fortune, he could afford to marry for love. Unlike Lord Bramber…and unlike Laura.
Chapter Nine
For one weak, fleeting moment, Laura wished what she’d overheard Lord Bramber tell Ford could be true. If only he wanted to marry her for love rather than convenience or lust or some other inscrutable reason.
She wasn’t certain what had come over him this evening. He was not the same aloof, intimidating man who had confronted her in Hawkesbourne’s drawing room a few short weeks ago. In some ways, he seemed more like the man she’d once loved…yet better, somehow. The old Ford had been a charming, amiable boy, but looking back, Laura now realised there had been little substance behind those superficial qualities. The new Ford was a responsible, determined and generous man. When those sterling virtues were warmed with a dash of good humour, the combination was very hard to resist.
Once all their guests had been welcomed, Laura and Ford led off the first dance. Laura feared her rusty skills would provoke unfavorable comment from some of their guests. But once the music began she could not keep her mind on anything but Ford, how he moved with such dignified, manly grace. Every time he grasped her hand, the warmth of his touch set a delicious thrill coursing up her arm toward her bosom, where it made her heart beat faster and the tips of her breasts tingle.
The
intensity of his dark, brooding gaze stirred her even more. She had been its object many times before, but tonight she sensed a different intent behind it. That difference made her blush and look away, but not for long. Such was its power that she felt compelled to glance back. She had trouble keeping her mind on the dance steps.
“Why do you stare at me so?” she asked. “Am I too awkward? Do my gown and hair look too much behind the fashion?”
“You move with such grace, no one would notice if you made a misstep,” he assured her as they joined hands to dance a circle with the couple beside them. “As for the other, I was thinking how well this elegant simplicity suits you and how many gentlemen here tonight must envy me.”
The low volume of his voice, together with its usual husky timbre, made Ford’s words sound like an intimate endearment. It sent a shiver through Laura that was part-delight and part-dismay. In her experience, intimacy had a dark, disturbing side. Was he was only playing the part of an attentive fiancé for the benefit of their guests?
Those doubts tied her tongue. Fortunately, the dance concluded before her silence became too embarrassing.
If Ford noticed anything untoward, he gave no indication. “Tempted as I am to be selfish and monopolise your company, I must make some effort to be a good host by dancing with the other ladies.”
“Of course.” Laura found she could not let go of his arm. “Though I hope you will not forsake me entirely.”
Dear heaven, where had that come from? She sounded like an infatuated little chit flirting with her beau, rather than a widow with one loveless marriage in her past and another in her future.
“I can assure you, there is no fear of that.” Ford lifted her hand from his arm and raised it to his lips.
Even through the fabric of her glove, the heat of his kiss seared. A glint of something deliciously wicked flashed in his dangerous green eyes. It made her breath catch and her heart skip in a fast, erratic rhythm. A moment later he turned from her and approached one of their guests to request the honour of the next dance. Only when Laura realised his new partner was the vicar’s sister did the watchful tightness inside her ease.
