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“It makes me understand him better, as well,” Beatrice said thoughtfully.
“At times I’ve thought I sensed a mellowing in him,” said Mrs. Gilbert. “He keeps a miniature portrait of Joyce that he had painted on the occasion of her sixteenth birthday. I’ve seen him take it out sometimes, when he thinks no one is watching.”
“He still loves you,” Ford said to his mother.
“I believe he does,” his aunt agreed. “But he’s too set in his ways and too stubborn to admit it. I think, no, I’m certain, that he knows he did wrong. But too many years have passed, and his pride keeps him from reaching out and making amends.”
“I saw no signs of softness or empathy in him during our interactions,” Ford said.
“You don’t know him as I do,” his aunt said. “I’ve always thought that if I could bring Joyce and Father into the same room, that blood would bring them together, would overcome the prejudices that keep his heart closed. It’s my fondest dream for you, Joyce and Ford, to know my daughters. And Papa should acknowledge his only grandson.”
“What if there was a way to bring Foxton and Mrs. Wright together in this very room?” asked Beatrice.
Ford’s mother startled, nearly dropping her teacup. “Is he coming here?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Beatrice asked Ford.
He shook his head. “I was waiting for you.”
“He’ll be here in a matter of hours,” Beatrice said gently.
Mrs. Kettle, who had overheard that last comment, clutched at her heart. “Mr. Foxton is coming here? What does he want?”
“He wants to steal the property,” Beatrice said. “He believes he’s found another heir to challenge my inheritance. A Mr. Leonard Castle.”
“Never heard of him,” said Mrs. Kettle. “Foxton. That ogre of a man. He’ll stop at nothing.”
Mrs. Gilbert reached for her sister’s hand. “Are you willing to give my idea a try, Joyce?”
Ford’s mother turned anguished eyes on her son. “Do you want me to try? Perhaps... perhaps we could soften him. Convince him to build his factory elsewhere.”
“I don’t think that will happen,” said Ford. “He’s too cold-blooded and heartless.”
Beatrice ate another biscuit. “Ford, you told me that you couldn’t understand how the world would ever be at peace when families are so uncivil to one another. Well, here’s my belated answer to that. I believe that love is stronger than hate. I believe that there is hope for even the hardest of hearts.” She set her teacup down. “This is a battle against enmity and bitterness, and love and compassion are our best weapons.”
Ford gazed into her eyes. “You think you can soften his heart.”
“We can try.”
“If anyone can do it, you can,” he said.
“With help from his daughters.” Beatrice smiled at Ford’s mother and aunt. “Never underestimate the power of women gathered together for a common goal.”
“And never underestimate carpenters, Lady Beatrice,” said Ford’s mother. “They always find a way to repair what’s broken.”
The shop bell tinkled and Coggins’s voice was heard. “Your Grace, an unexpected pleasure.”
WhichYour Grace? Beatrice’s and Ford’s gazes met.
“Wright,” said a loud male voice. “Where are you? We need to talk.”
“My brother,” Beatrice said. “Come and join us, Drew,” she called.
Her brother stalked into the room, glancing around at the gathering with growing confusion. “What’s going on here?”
“Drew, this is Mrs. Wright, Ford’s mother, and Mrs. Gilbert, his aunt. Now sit down and have a cup of tea.”
Mrs. Kettle offered the duke a chair. “It’s very good tea, Your Grace, if I do say so myself.”
