Free A Mother's Love by Maggie Ford Page B

him!’
    ‘Why not him?’ A sense of protective love caught at her heart, surprising her, and she returned her sister’s incredulous gaze in an unfaltering challenge. Clara blinked, yielded.
    ‘Well, I’m amazed. You
are
a dark horse, Harriet. So how long’s that been going on?’
    ‘Nothing’s been
going on.
’
    ‘But …’ Clara had grown cautious. She dropped her voice. ‘You haven’t
been
with him, have you?’
    ‘No, I haven’t
been
with him. Mr Craig’s a perfect gentleman. He wouldn’t dream of … that.’
    ‘What about Will?’ Clara’s voice dropped even lower, leaving a chill to run through Harriet’s veins. Again, it was as though the man lived. Why did he persist in haunting her? She forced herself to speak his name.
    ‘What about Will?’
    ‘He’s hardly been gone eight months.’
    ‘I’m not marrying tomorrow. There’ll be a respectful period before anything like that happens. Just that Matthew – Mr Craig – offered to take me in marriage. For the sake of the baby.’
    ‘Well, if he means it, that’s really generous.’
    ‘Of course he means it. He had to ask me several times before I said I would.’
    ‘So you said yes? My goodness! You’re a quick worker, Harriet, and no mistake. Hey – listen, everyone! Harriet’s got some news!’
    Clara was on her feet before Harriet could stop her, clapping her hands above the buzz of happy conversation. Slowly the babble died as the handclap continued to demand their attention. Clara stood like an orator before a mass meeting. ‘Guess what – our Harriet’s had a proposal of marriage.’
    There was a brief, startled silence as the family took in the news, uncertain how to react, followed by a sigh of indrawn breath like a wind soughing through tree tops. ‘Oh my …’
    This was from most of the aunts and uncles, significant looks passing from one to another, fingers held to mouths in some sort of deference – to the dead was Harriet’s interpretation. Her own family reacted rather more frankly – a gasp from her parents, knowing snorts from both her brothers, a clearing of the throat from her brothers-in-law. Annie’s sniff was audible, to say the least.
    Harriet sat very still, not knowing quite how to cope with this reception. Some sort of explanation was obviously called for.
    ‘I wasn’t sure …’
    Her voice, small and wary and still croaky from her recent cold, died away, but then grew in strength as she realised there was nothing for it but to brazen out this awkward moment.
    ‘The proposal came from Mr Craig, who took over the printer’s shop downstairs. He asked me about two months ago, but I refused. It was too soon after … Well, he’s asked me again. And I began to think that Sara did need … does need … someone …’ This was getting far too complicated for comfort.
    As her faltering voice broke and tears began to cloud her eyes, her mother, galvanised into action, came across the room to catch her to her small bosom.
    ‘Oh, my dear, it’s been a terrible time for you. I’m so happy for you, Harriet.’
    Tension eased. Suddenly everyone was crowding round congratulating her, expressing amazement, pleasure, saying how large-hearted this Mr Craig must be.
    Annie, she noticed in all this, hadn’t moved.
    Only when her husband, Robert, touched her arm, prompting her, did she get up and bother to join the cluster of relatives, although even then didn’t seem eager to offer her congratulations.
    Even as Harriet smiled appreciation of all the good wishes, having half expected condemnation instead, she felt the hurt of Annie’s odd behaviour. True, she hadn’t seen much of her since Will’s death – as if Annie had made a point of avoiding her.
    Aunt Sarah, too, was being somewhat withholding of her good wishes, standing near the fireplace, still clutching her little namesake to her, although she at least was looking relatively relieved. But then Aunt Sarah had always been a little bit difficult to