into her reasons. She feared if she did, she might discover some tiny, very foolish part of her wanted to believe it could be true.
Chapter Five
W hat was Laura playing at? Ford wondered as he watched her hurry down the wooded path away from him. Much as he hated to admit it, some part of him found perverse enjoyment in the challenge of guessing her motives and anticipating her next move. So far, she had defied his expectations at every turn.
Despite her barely concealed antagonism, he’d been certain she would seize the opportunity to secure another wealthy, titled husband. Especially when the plum landed in her lap with so little effort and an admirable excuse to accept. Yet in spite of her surprising response to his kiss, she seemed reluctant to wed him.
How could that be? Ford asked himself as he strode away through the beech coppice. After all, she’d married Cyrus—a full generation older and never a favorite with the ladies. But perhaps that did not signify. Cyrus was not his rival for Laura’s hand. Young Mr Crawford, however…
That thought sent Ford in search of information from the one person at Hawkesbourne he dared ask. He foundPryce, the butler, in the drawing room, supervising a troop of new maids and footmen as they swept, scoured, dusted and polished every visible surface.
Catching sight of Ford, the butler bowed. “May I be of service, my lord?”
“I have a few 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
Chapter Five
W hat was Laura playing at? Ford wondered as he watched her hurry down the wooded path away from him. Much as he hated to admit it, some part of him found perverse enjoyment in the challenge of guessing her motives and anticipating her next move. So far, she had defied his expectations at every turn.
Despite her barely concealed antagonism, he’d been certain she would seize the opportunity to secure another wealthy, titled husband. Especially when the plum landed in her lap with so little effort and an admirable excuse to accept. Yet in spite of her surprising response to his kiss, she seemed reluctant to wed him.
How could that be? Ford asked himself as he strode away through the beech coppice. After all, she’d married Cyrus—a full generation older and never a favorite with the ladies. But perhaps that did not signify. Cyrus was not his rival for Laura’s hand. Young Mr Crawford, however…
That thought sent Ford in search of information from the one person at Hawkesbourne he dared ask. He foundPryce, the butler, in the drawing room, supervising a troop of new maids and footmen as they swept, scoured, dusted and polished every visible surface.
Catching sight of Ford, the butler bowed. “May I be of service, my lord?”
“I have a few 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
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