Married: The Virgin Widow by Deborah Hale Page A

of your father’s place of business?” he asked Belinda. “There is a new building where it used to be.”
    “It was destroyed.” Belinda wiped the tear from her cheek. “By the fire that killed Papa.”
    “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
    “Of course, you were abroad then.” Belinda lower lip quivered. “It was a terrible time. We were afraid the shock would kill Mama. Then having to give up our house so quickly. I don’t know what would have become of us if Laura had not married Lord Kingsfold and offered us a home with them.”
    Ford reeled as if she’d just struck him in the face. Before he could collect his scattered wits, the carriage hit a deep rut in the road, jarring the two sleepers awake. Laura abruptly pulled herself upright.
    Susannah stretched and rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?”
    “Newington,” said Belinda. “Near Elephant and Castle.”
    “I can’t wait to see the city again!” Susannah peered out the carriage window at one of the busiest intersections south of the Thames. “I can scarcely remember the last time I was here. Is anyone else hungry? I hope they give us a good supper at Osborne’s.”
    Ford scarcely heard her; his mind was spinning withquestions that his brief conversation with Belinda had raised. He watched Laura out of the corner of his eye as the carriage made its way up London Road, past the obelisk in the middle of St George’s Circus, then across the Thames over Waterloo Bridge.
    By the time they reached Osborne’s Hotel, nestled in the elegant Adelphi Terraces, Ford’s curiosity had intensified to a burning itch.
    Scarcely able to master his impatience, he secured accommodation for their party, then turned from the front desk, offering Laura his arm. “I could do with a breath of air and a chance to stretch my legs. While our luggage is being unloaded, let us take a stroll along the promenade in front of Royal Terrace. It has a fine view of the river.”
    Susannah eagerly endorsed the idea and Belinda pronounced herself willing to go along with whatever the rest decided. They were soon walking along the wrought-iron-fenced terrace overlooking the Thames.
    It was a fine spring day with a fresh breeze blowing from the west. The great river bustled with watercraft of every size and kind. Susannah flitted about the promenade, towing Belinda by the hand, first pointing east toward the great dome of St Paul’s, then west toward the austere dignity of Whitehall, exclaiming over them as if she had never seen either before. Ford suspected her show of vivacity might be for the benefit of two swaggering young bucks who were also enjoying the view.
    Ford and Laura stood at the eastern end of the promenade, peering out over the line of slender, spiked railings that enclosed the Adelphi’s lofty terrace. Down on the river, spritsail barges ferried bumpers of coal andbarrels of wine to the wharf below for storage in the great arched vaults. The bustle reminded Ford of Singapore when the great junk fleet arrived from Amoy. It made him unaccountably nostalgic for the place.
    Though he had not appreciated it at the time, he now realised his life there had been enviably straightforward with nothing to do but work hard and make his fortune. He’d been fired with such righteous certainty then, not nagged by doubts and taunted by conflicting needs, as he’d been from the moment he arrived back at Hawkesbourne and seen Laura again.
    He stared across the Thames at the Southwark bankside. “Why did you not send word to me of your family’s plight when your father died?”
    That was almost as much a betrayal of him as her hasty marriage to his cousin. He wanted answers from her. He deserved them and he would get them.
    “Who told you about that?” Laura’s arm fell slack in Ford’s, as if all the bones had melted out of it. “And what makes you bring it up now?”
    “I noticed a new building where your father once had his office. Belinda told me he died in a fire there. Why