Married: The Virgin Widow. Deborah Hale

questions about our neighbour, Crawford.” Ford made it sound like a trifling matter. “Does he call here often?”

      “Not in a formal way, my lord. He does stop by now and then to pay his respects to Mrs Penrose.”

      Using the ailing mother as an excuse to get closer to the daughter. Ford’s lip began to curl. “Have you any idea of his fortune? Does his family still own that brewery in Southwark?”

      “Mr Crawford takes no active part in running it, but I believe the family maintains a share of the profits.” Pryce mentioned a figure he’d heard bandied about in connection with Crawford’s income.

      Ford’s brows shot up. No wonder Laura liked the fellow so well.

      “What do you make of his temperament?” Ford thought the young fellow rather insipid. Not the type of man capable of making his fortune in distant, forbidding lands.

      “Mr Crawford has been very kind to Mrs Penrose and the young ladies since the master died,” replied the butler. “He often sends presents of game or fish. Sometimes fruit from his hothouse.”

      No question the fellow knew how to ingratiate himself. Him and his miserable fish! Laura had gone on as if they were the greatest delicacy in the world, procured by the most extraordinary effort. Meanwhile, Ford’s offerings of spices, silks and all the treasures of the Orient had scarcely merited an acknowledgement.

      Pryce seemed to sense that his praise of their neighbor did not please Ford. “I have observed the young gentleman is rather backward in the social graces. Her ladyship is one of the few people with whom he converses freely.”

      Ford lowered his voice so the other servants would not hear over the scrape of scrub brushes and the slosh of water. “Do you reckon Crawford has any interest in her ladyship? Interest of a romantic nature, I mean.”

      “Oh, no, my lord,” the butler answered, swiftly and emphatically.

      But before the tension in Ford’s body could ease, Pryce added, “Though now that you mention it, I often see them talking together. Her ladyship speaks highly of him and he goes out of his way to make himself agreeable to her.”

      The butler’s observation prodded Ford’s conscience. Since returning to Hawkesbourne, he had been rather severe with Laura. No more severe than she deserved, his embittered heart protested. Besides, she provoked him at every turn with her quiet defiance, her flagrant lies and her damned icy allure! His mouth tingled with the memory of their kiss, as if he’d just eaten a highly spiced curry.

      Reviewing Crawford’s attractions as a prospective husband, Ford found the list weighted far too heavily in the young man’s favor. He feared if Laura told their neighbour that she was being forced into marriage, it might spur the young fool to make her a better offer.

      He must give her no opportunity to go running to Crawford. And, much as it irked him, he must put aside his gnawing resentment and make an effort to be more agreeable.

      The person most likely to prevent her from accepting Ford’s proposal was…Ford, himself. Laura pondered that bit of irony as she hurried to check on her mother. She was determined never to endure another marriage as wretched as her first, and Ford’s manner toward her suggested she would be no less miserable as his wife than she had as his cousin’s.

      But what choice did she have if she wanted to protect her family? No more than when she’d been forced to accept Cyrus’s proposal. She doubted Ford would turn them out of Hawkesbourne, if he were convinced they had no other resources. But it was obvious he did not believe that nothing remained of her marriage settlement. She might have persuaded him if she could have told him where the money had gone, but he was the last person she would dare trust with that terrible secret.

      Long-suppressed memories stirred, threatening to torment her. When she eased open the door to her mother’s room and discovered Mama’s bed empty for the first time in years, her emotions overwhelmed her.

      “Mama!” Laura rushed toward the bed, darting glances around the deserted room. Her stomach churned with panic and her heart raced like a runaway horse.

      The muted sound of voices wafting up from the garden outside sent her flying to the window. She sank against it, faint with relief at the sight of her mother sitting in a wheeled garden chair, swathed in shawls and blankets. Ford was pushing it down a gravel path between the flowerbeds.

      What was he trying to do—kill poor Mama? Laura marched out of the room and down the back staircase. Wrenching open a side door, she stormed out into the garden. Her footsteps crunched over the gravel path as she followed the indented tracks left by the wheels of the garden chair. Up ahead, she heard her mother cough.

      Breaking into a run, she rounded the hedge so quickly she barrelled into Ford. The sudden, violent contact between them assaulted her with intense, unwelcome sensations. All her churning anger burst forth.

      “What do you think you are doing?” She leapt back from him like a cat tossed into a water trough. “Bring my mother back inside at once! You had no right to drag her out here where she might catch a chill.”

      “A chill? Rubbish!” A glint of venom flashed in Ford’s green eyes. “It is a mild day and I made certain your mother was well wrapped. Sunshine, fresh air and a change of scene will do her far more good than wasting away in that dark, stuffy room.”

      After all she had suffered to secure her mother’s comfort, this arrogant man had the gall to imply that Mama was ill cared for? “How dare you say such a thing? What makes you think you know what my mother needs after being here less than a week?”

      “Don’t be cross with Ford, dearest.” Her mother’s frail protest halted the bitter torrent of words Laura had been about to unleash. “He asked me if I felt…strong enough for a walk in the garden. I thought how pleasant…it would be to smell things growing.”

      Laura’s insides twisted in a knot of shame. No matter how much Ford vexed her, it was no excuse to distress her mother. The fact that he had provoked her outburst made her resent him more. The possibility that he might be in the right was simply intolerable.

      “Forgive me, Mama!” She flew to her mother’s side, giving Ford as wide a berth as possible on the narrow path. “I was so alarmed to find you gone from your room that I lost my head. Of course you should come out and enjoy the flowers if you feel up to it. I only wish I’d been told so I would not have worried. Are you quite certain you’re warm enough and not too tired?”

      Before Mrs Penrose could answer, Ford did. “We have not been out more than ten minutes. I told your mother to let me know the moment she feels chilled or fatigued and I will take her back inside at once.”

      Though he spoke in a calm tone, Laura sensed answering hostility behind his composed features. In his level gaze she detected a hint of something unexpected. If she hadn’t known better, she might have fancied his feeling slighted.

      Refusing to acknowledge his words, she fixed her attention on her mother. “If you are quite comfortable, then I will leave you to your walk.”

      Mrs Penrose laid one delicate hand upon Laura’s. “I should enjoy my outing so much more…if you accompanied us. I’m certain Ford would, too.” She twisted about in the chair to offer him a wan smile. “He tells me you are considering a rather special request he made of you.”

      “Did he?” For her mother’s sake, Laura strove to mask her exasperation. “I thought it was customary to keep such matters private until a decision had been reached. Perhaps Ford is used to different customs from the Indies.”

      “I am.” Ford began to push the garden chair forwards at a leisurely pace. “In the East, a girl’s parents negotiate all the details of her marriage before she is informed of it.”

      “And the bride has no say in the matter?” Almost against her will, Laura began to walk along beside. “Infamous!”

      She caught Ford in a fleeting grin. He enjoyed goading her, the beast!

      “Do