Married: The Virgin Widow. Deborah Hale

Cyrus had used almost those exact words seven years ago, when he’d insisted his cousin had no deeper feelings for her. For the longest time, in spite of mounting evidence, a stubborn corner of her heart had refused to believe it. Now she felt as if Ford had reached into her chest and ripped out that last sliver of dogged faith.

      “I am surprised,” he added, with callous disregard for her feelings, “that a woman of your admirable prudence should not perceive the merits of arranged marriages.”

      “My dear Ford,” Mrs Penrose chided him with gently, “you sound so severe one might believe you were in earnest. You men take such delight in teasing your sweethearts. Laura’s father was just the same when we were courting.”

      Ford gave a rich, rustling chuckle that seemed to confirm her mother’s charge. Laura thought it more likely he was mocking Mama’s naïveté. “If I must not tease my sweetheart, what should I talk about, ma’am?”

      “Why not tell us about your plans for improving the estate. I’m certain my daughter will be as interested in hearing about them as I am.”

      Ford glanced toward Laura. “Would you?”

      By now she had regained sufficient composure to look him in the eye. But she still did not trust her voice. Instead she replied with a curt nod.

      “Very well then.” Ford launched into a discourse on animal pasturage, fruit cultivation and drainage, which Laura hated to admit she found fascinating.

      From the time she’d come to Hawkesbourne, the tenants had always treated her with respect and kindness. She’d watched with helpless dismay as Cyrus had neglected the estate. If Ford’s ideas helped put more acreage under cultivation, or increased crop yields, those hardworking people she’d come to know and admire would prosper.

      Several questions slipped out before she could contain them. To her surprise, Ford answered readily, with no hint of condescension.

      “How did you come to know all this?” she asked at last, grudgingly impressed by the breadth of his information.

      He shrugged. “I had to do something with my time on the long voyage home. I bought every book I could find on the subject of agriculture and studied them. When I found out one of the other passengers had been the overseer of a plantation in India, I quizzed the poor fellow until he was heartily tired of my company.”

      For the first time since his return, Laura compared the new Ford to the old and conceded an improvement. The old Ford would have rather spent the long voyage playing cards or drinking with his fellow passengers than pouring over books about agriculture. But what would his tenants make of Ford’s innovations?

      She was about to observe that Mama had been outdoors long enough when Ford suddenly turned the garden chair down a side path that led back to the house. “Time to take you back inside, Mrs Penrose. I do not wish to exhaust you on your first excursion, or your daughter might forbid us going out again.”

      A sharp retort rose to Laura’s lips, but she bit it back, not wanting to upset her mother or to give Ford the satisfaction of baiting her again.

      When they reached the house, Ford scooped Mrs Penrose out of the chair and carried her to her room while Laura ran ahead to open doors. Hard as she tried, she could not deny her intense awareness of his strength and vitality. Neither could she ignore the unexpected gentleness with which he treated her mother.

      “There.” Ford set Mrs Penrose on her bed. “Your face has a bit more color. The next fine day, I shall take you out again. In fact, I believe we should move you to rooms on the ground floor to make it easier for you to get out. I shall arrange it at once.”

      When he had gone, Laura removed her mother’s bonnet and shawls and tucked her in. “I hope the outing did not weary you.”

      “Only a trifle, dearest.” Mrs Penrose seemed to wilt once Ford had gone. “But what does that signify? I would rather spend my strength enjoying a pleasant time once in a while than let it ebb away doing nothing.”

      That was the closest her mother had ever come to voicing a complaint or admitting the gravity of her condition. It sank Laura’s spirits. Could Ford be right about what was best for Mama?

      She drew the window curtains closed. “I will leave you to rest, then.”

      “In a moment.” Mrs Penrose patted the bed beside her. “First come and sit with me. Have you made up your mind about Ford’s proposal?“

      “I still have a few more hours to decide.” A feeling of futility welled up in Laura, as if she were being pushed toward the edge of a high cliff. The harder she struggled to escape, the more pressure Ford brought to bear upon her.

      “What is there to decide, dearest? It sounds like the answer to a prayer.”

      Answer to a prayer? Of course her mother would see it that way. But then, she had said the same thing about Laura’s marriage to Cyrus. Instead it had proven to be a devil’s bargain.

      There was no help for it, though. She had no choice but to accept Ford’s offer. That did not mean she would tolerate the kind of abuse from him that she’d endured from his cousin. Cyrus knew things that had given him a terrible power over her. But she knew something about Ford that would give her a weapon to resist him if he ever tried to hurt her. She only hoped he would never force her to use it.

      Laura was about to cut him down to size—Ford sensed it as surely as an impending summer storm.

      She lingered at the dining-room door after her sisters had excused themselves and the servants cleared the last few dishes. No doubt she intended to tell him all the things her mother’s presence had prevented her from saying that afternoon. Well, let her! He did not care how she insulted or raged at him. It amused him to bait her into losing control of her emotions while maintaining a firm hold on his.