Housework had the charm of novelty, but Annabelle knew it would not last. Of all the tasks that fell to her lot, she most enjoyed the shopping. Each day she would take her basket and sally forth to the market to buy their food. She was gratified and a little surprised to find everyone so friendly. There were exceptions, of course, but she ignored them where she could and refused to be cast down by the occasional snub. After all, it was no more than they had expected.
She often saw the servants from Oakenroyd in Stanton. At first they were a little embarrassed to talk to her, but when they realised she was genuinely happy to meet them they relaxed and told her what was going on at the house. With mixed feelings she discovered that Lucas was proving a good master, exacting but fair. He had only brought in two servants of his own, both of whom had been with him since his army days. His one-armed valet, Stebbing, who was generally considered an easy-going fellow and the other was Rudd, his groom. She learned that Clegg had been reluctant to share the stables at first, but Mr Blackstone had purchased a couple
of first-class hunters and he was also intending to set up his own carriage, so in the end Clegg was grateful for The extra hands.
And Mr Blackstone was making improvements to the house, too. The draughty windows in Mrs Wicklow’s rooms were being replaced and Cook was to have a new range in the kitchen, which pleased him mightily. Belle was glad, for their sake, that everything was going well at Oakenroyd, although she was a little rueful that the staff could change their allegiance so readily. But she refused to be bitter. She would follow her father’s example and be thankful for the life she had, rather than regret the one she had lost.
There was little time to repine. In fact, there was very little leisure time at all, but occasionally she managed to get away and enjoy a walk in the lanes surrounding the town. She avoided the paths leading to Morwood or Oakenroyd, but enjoyed exploring the countryside on the other side of Stanton. One of her favourite walks was to Oldroyd Farm, where she would buy her eggs, cheese and milk. With the new toll road around Dyke’s Ridge to take the traffic, the old road was hardly used now, save for the weekly visit of the teamster with his string of packhorses bringing goods to Stanton market. She enjoyed the solitude, but wished she could persuade her father to walk with her occasionally. Since moving to
Croft Cottage he rarely went out, save to church on a Sunday. It was true he had plenty of visitors and the tutoring of two young scholars filled some of his days, but she feared his inactivity was not beneficial to his health.
She considered this as she returned from Oldroyd Farm one morning. It was a bright autumn day with a fresh breeze tugging at her skirts. The sun was shining on the rocky outcrop above Dyke’s Ridge and there was an orangey-gold tint to the grass in the high pastures. It was just such a day as her father would enjoy, but her entreaties could not coax him out of the house. She suspected that for all his cheerful demeanour he was missing his life at Oakenroyd and that hurt her more than all her own deprivations.
A movement on the highway caught her eye. A rider on a grey horse. As she watched he left the road and came galloping down across the fields towards her. At first she thought nothing of it. It was just someone enjoying the fine weather. Then she stopped. There was something familiar about the gait of that horse. She strained her eyes to see and as the rider drew closer her breath caught in her throat. Lucas Blackstone. And she recognised his horse.
All the careful control and meek submission to her fate that she had been practising for the past weeks disappeared, replaced by a burning
resentment. As soon as he was close enough she addressed him in a voice shaking with anger. ‘Where did you get Apollo?’
He touched his hat to her. ‘Good day to you, Miss Havenham.’ He stressed the greeting, reminding her of her own lack, but she was beyond courtesy.
‘I sold him.’ She ground out the words. ‘I left you the money for him.’
‘I know.’ He dismounted. ‘It was the devil of a job to get Clegg to tell me who had bought him and it cost me something to get him back.’ He patted the grey’s neck. ‘I think he is glad to be home, though.’
Apollo recognised her and came closer. She could not help but put up her hand to stroke the velvet muzzle. All at once she was overcome with homesickness.
‘I saw you from the toll road,’ Lucas continued. ‘Since I now own your father’s subscription I thought I should show some interest in it.’ She kept her attention on stroking Apollo’s head. He pushed against her, gently lipping her shawl, searching for titbits. ‘I have not had the opportunity to take that road since I drove you there. Do you remember?’ She did not reply and after a few moments he said, ‘Perhaps you would allow me to drive you again.’
‘I think not.’
Turning away, she resumed her walk. Lucas fell into step beside her, the big grey clip-clopping behind them.
‘Or we could ride out together. I will lend Apollo to you.’
She bit her lip. ‘Thank you, but no. I do not ride any more.’
‘Ah, your riding habit is at Oakenroyd, is it not? Your room there is still as you left it.’
‘You would do better to clear it out. I have no use for any of it now.’
‘No, it shall stay. I still hope that one day you will return.’
‘Never.’
He halted and caught her arm. ‘Never is a long time, Belle.’
His touch, the use of her pet name, cut through the last vestige of her control. She flung away from him, dropping her basket. The eggs and milk spilled unheeded over the path.
‘Why will you not leave me alone?’ she cried. ‘Why do you persist in punishing me?’
‘I do not want to punish you. You are not responsible for your father’s actions.’
‘And no more are you for yours!’ she flashed back at him.
‘What do you mean by that?’
She was beyond anger now. She would no longer
put up with his taunts. No matter what her father said, Lucas should know the truth.
‘Jonas Blackstone was a drunkard and jealous of anyone who came near your mother. She was going to leave him, to run away with my father—but you would know that if you had read my father’s letter. But what he did
not
put in his letter was that Jonas understood their intentions that night and he raged about it, declared he would never let Maria leave him. You told us your window was open that night, did you not hear him say that?’
‘He was angry. If,
if
he said that, he did not mean it.’
‘And it is not true that no one listened to you,’ she continued angrily. ‘The magistrate came to see my father, to question him.
His
opinion was that if the fire was started by anyone it was your father. Everyone knew his violent temper, many had suffered from it, but since he was dead they decided to say nothing, to save
you
from disgrace and embarrassment.’
He stared at her, his face grey, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. ‘They are lying.’
‘Are they?’ she flung at him. ‘Why should everyone be lying save you? If you had read my father’s letter you would have seen that all the facts were there, such as they are. The old magistrate
is dead now, so it is merely the memory of one ten-year-old boy against my father’s word. How
dare
you expect me to believe you rather than him!’ She put her hands against his chest and pushed him away from her. ‘Go away,’ she screamed. ‘Go away and leave me in peace!’
Unsettled by this outburst, Apollo snorted nervously and backed away. Annabelle dashed a hand across her eyes.
‘You had best look to your horse,’ she muttered, her anger spent. ‘It is a long walk back to Oakenroyd from here and I do not want you anywhere near me.’
She turned, blinking away the tears so that she could see to collect up the cheese and the now-empty milk jug. The eggs were beyond redemption. The wind whipped at her shawl and she pulled it tight about her, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground until she heard him mount up and ride away.
‘Please, Belle, you must come! With Lizzie away on her honeymoon you are my only friend. I shall not enjoy the assembly half as much if you are not there.’
Annabelle found herself subjected to Celia’s pleading gaze. ‘I have no ticket…’
‘I asked Papa to buy one for you,’ said Celia. ‘And if you say you have nothing to wear I shall
bring you one of my gowns. And,’ concluded her friend triumphantly, ‘Papa saw Dr Bennett earlier today and he is coming here to play chess with Mr Havenham tonight, so you see, there is really no excuse for you not to come with me.’
‘It would appear not,’ said Annabelle with a reluctant smile. ‘Save that I do not want to go.’
‘That is nonsense, when you love dancing so much!’
She shook her head, thinking of her meeting with Lucas on the old road yesterday.
‘Mr Blackstone might be there.’
‘I can understand why you might not want to see him,’ said Celia, who really understood nothing, since Annabelle had told her nothing. ‘But he is not coming. He told Papa as much last night. There was a meeting of the toll-road subscribers, you see, and Mama charged Papa
particularly
with a message for Mr Blackstone.’ She laughed. ‘I think they would like me to form an alliance there, but for my part I would rather not. Although his fortune may be very handsome, the same cannot be said for his countenance, can it? Far too craggy, and so
brown
, from all those years fighting in Spain. And his manner, too, he is always very abrupt when he speaks to one, and he looks so severe.’ She reached out and took Annabelle’s hands. ‘But let us not think of him. There will be so many of your old friends who
want to see you. Do say you will come, Belle. Mama says we will collect you in the carriage, so you do not have to enter the Red Lion on your own—I know there is a separate entrance and stairs for the assembly rooms but still, the taproom is the haunt for some rather rough persons and Mama knows your father will be happier if you are escorted.’
‘You leave me no option,’ Annabelle capitulated. ‘And since I now live so close I can always slip away before the end if I wish to do so.’
That made Celia laugh out loud. ‘You, leave a dance early, Belle? You are always the one who wants to stay to the very end!’
H
aving decided to attend the assembly, Annabelle pulled out the newest of the few evening gowns she had brought with her. It was the green muslin she had worn to the last assembly and immediately it brought back memories of Lucas. She resolutely pushed them aside, but when she looked for a pair of gloves to wear the only ones suitable were the lemon satin, and she could not bring herself to wear them again. The past weeks at Croft Cottage had taken their toll of her hands, which were not quite so soft and white as they had been, but that could not be helped. It was honest toil and, since the assemblies were for everyone in and around Stanton, many of those dancing tonight would have hands even more chapped and rough than hers.
Annabelle had been obliged to let her maid go
when they had moved to Croft Cottage, but she was becoming quite adept at putting up her own hair. When she regarded herself in the little mirror on her dressing table she was quite pleased with the result and liked the way the soft brown curls danced about her head when she moved. She might no longer be mistress of Oakenroyd, but she was still passably pretty and hopefully would not lack for partners tonight.
Annabelle entered the assembly rooms as part of the Rishworths’ party, prepared to remain firmly in the background, but she was greeted warmly by those already gathered in the rooms, several people going out of their way to enquire after her health and that of her father.
‘And why should you not be so well received?’ demanded Lady Rishworth, when Annabelle remarked upon it. ‘You and Mr Havenham have always been highly respected. That has not changed, not amongst your true friends, and you have many of those.’
Reassured, Belle linked arms with Celia and they went off to join their young friends. As they passed Mrs Kensley, the widow stepped in their path.
‘Miss Rishworth, good evening—and Miss Havenham, how good to see you have not allowed
your reverses to stop you from enjoying yourself.’
‘As you see, ma’am,’ said Annabelle, coolly.
‘And your friend Miss Scanlon—Mrs Keighley, I
should
say—is away on her honeymoon now,’ continued the widow, the smile she gave them not quite reaching her eyes. ‘And we all thought Keighley had you in mind for his life partner, Miss Havenham.’ She patted Belle’s hand, saying as she walked away, ‘How sad that the loss of a fortune should mean the loss of one’s suitors, too.’
‘Yes, but your husband had to die to get away from you!’ muttered Celia, rigid with fury.
Annabelle shushed her, but the widow was already out of earshot.
‘Odious woman, how dare she say such things to you?’
‘It is no more than the truth, after all,’ said Belle quietly. ‘And it is not as if I was ever enamoured of Mr Keighley, so I have lost nothing.’
‘No, and as Mama said, your true friends will not desert you.’
That certainly seemed to be the case. Many gentlemen of her acquaintance were happy to partner her on the dance floor, as well as several of Oakenroyd’s tenants, who had previously been too diffident to ask their landlord’s daughter to stand up with them. One of these was Elias
Greenwood, whose wife was so near her confinement that she would only watch the dancers from the benches at the side of the room.
Once Annabelle had enquired after his family, she could not resist asking Elias how work was progressing at Morwood.
‘Coming on a treat, miss. T’would do your heart good to see the place. ’Tis going to be a grand house when it’s finished and no mistake. I am sorry that you cannot ride over and see it for yourself, although I am sure Mr Blackstone would fetch you. Perhaps I could ask him for you…’
Hastily Annabelle declined the offer and was glad that the energetic dance made further conversation impossible.
The mood in the assembly was very merry. The hard work of the harvest was over and everyone was determined to enjoy themselves. As the evening went on and glasses of wine and punch were imbibed, the atmosphere became even more boisterous.
‘Are you glad you came, Belle?’ asked Celia when they were sitting down together during a break in the dancing.
‘Very much,’ replied Annabelle, fanning herself.
It was true. For a while she had been able to
forget the constraints of her new life and lose herself in the dancing, but her friend’s next words brought back all her anxieties.
‘Good heavens, Mr Blackstone has arrived and he has a friend with him.’ Celia sat up, her eyes shining with speculation. ‘A military gentleman, too. How handsome he looks in his regimentals.’
Through the shifting crowd Annabelle could just see Lucas’s black form and, beside him, a fair-haired man in a red coat.
‘He is limping slightly,’ observed Celia. ‘A wounded war hero, perhaps.’
‘That makes him even more interesting,’ agreed Annabelle, a laugh in her voice.
Her amusement fled, however, when the two gentlemen came towards them. She made to leave, but Celia clamped her hand on her arm, forcing her to remain in her place and muttering a command to her to smile. She tried to comply, but with Lucas towering over her and the memory of their last encounter still fresh in her mind, it was all she could do not to run away.
‘Miss Rishworth, Miss Havenham. Allow me to present my cousin to you, Captain Hugh Duggan.’
Lucas stood back as soon as he had made the introduction, allowing his cousin to do all
the talking. Hugh was good at that. He was five years older than Lucas and was always a great favourite at parties. His charming manners and ready smiles might grate upon Lucas, but the ladies seemed to like it. Even now Miss Rishworth was engaging Hugh in conversation, and Annabelle had her eyes fixed upon Hugh’s handsome face as if she was captivated by his every word. Damn him.
‘So you are staying at Oakenroyd, Captain Duggan,’ said Celia, making great play with her fan.
‘I am indeed.’ Hugh cast a laughing glance at Lucas. ‘I decided to visit my cousin and arrived in Stanton today, expecting to put up here at the Red Lion, only to find that Lucas has bought Oakenroyd!’
‘Yes, it was Miss Havenham’s home until very recently,’ put in Celia, in case their new acquaintance should say anything untoward.
‘Indeed?’ Hugh turned his charming smile upon Annabelle. ‘Of course. Havenham. I should have remembered the name. I was used to visit Lucas’s family when they lived at Morwood, you see. That is why I came to Stanton. I heard my cousin had bought the old place and was curious to see what he is doing to it. Then to find he owns Oakenroyd as well. It is a charming house,
Miss Havenham. You must be sad to leave it. But you are still living locally?’
‘Yes, we live in Stanton now. At Croft Cottage.’
‘A cottage?’ Hugh laughed. ‘How romantic. I hope I may be allowed to visit you there.’
Lucas waited to hear no more; he excused himself and walked away. His cousin no longer needed him, he had the sort of easy-going nature that allowed him to fit in anywhere.
Hugh had arrived earlier that day while Lucas was at Morwood, and had already established himself in a guest room by the time Lucas returned to Oakenroyd. Lucas could hardly blame Gibson. The butler had understood from George Stebbing that Hugh was his cousin and had raised no demur about his staying. And of course there
was
no problem about it. If Lucas had been there to meet him he would have been obliged to put him up, even though he had never felt less like company in his life.
Yesterday he had ridden back from Oldroyd Farm, barely able to see for the blind rage that had overtaken him. Annabelle was wrong. She had made the most outrageous allegations against his father in an attempt to protect her own. How dared she accuse Jonas of setting fire to his own house! If she had seen him, when he lay dying from the burns he had suffered trying
to save his wife, she would know it was ridiculous to suggest any such thing.
Lucas had stormed back to Oakenroyd and spent the rest of the day in a black mood, unable to settle to anything. That night his sleep was disturbed by dreams, nightmares that took him back to that awful night twenty-five years ago, the shouts, the screams, the awful roar of the flames and the smell of burning. The memory had followed him into wakefulness today, as had Annabelle’s accusations.
Samuel’s letter was still in the side drawer of his travelling writing box. As soon as he was dressed Lucas went to the study and took it out. It was pristine, since he had done little more than break the seal before shutting it away. He read it through from beginning to end. The tone was measured, scholarly, like its author and Lucas quickly dismissed it as Samuel’s attempt to justify himself. But he forced himself to re-read it, to calmly consider the arguments.
It was then that the doubts had begun. Memories he had suppressed for so many years, the arguments, his mother’s tears, locked doors, blows. The voices arguing beneath his window on the night of the fire.
Damn you, Havenham, she’s my wife! No one shall have her if I cannot…
No! It could not be true. Lucas had taken himself
off to Morwood after breakfast, throwing himself into the work there to try and forget, but when he had arrived back at Oakenroyd he was confronted by another reminder of the past. His cousin Hugh Duggan, urbane, smiling, confident of his welcome. It had been an effort to be hospitable and Lucas had decided that coming to the assembly was preferable to sitting alone with his cousin all night.
Having introduced Hugh to several acquaintances, he now felt at liberty to take himself off to the card room where he need not make idle chit-chat with anyone.
The presence of Captain Duggan certainly brought a little buzz of excitement into the assembly rooms. His red coat stood out boldly amongst the general blacks and browns and when he announced laughingly that his intention was to dance with every young lady in the room, Annabelle was aware of a positive
frisson
of anticipation running through the ladies gathered about her. Watching him as he worked his way through the little group, she thought his constant smiles and ready charm a little disingenuous, but no one else seemed to think there was anything wanting. She concluded sadly that her nature was somewhat contrary. How else could she account for the fact that she preferred harsher features
and a rather more abrupt manner? Quickly she buried all thoughts of Lucas Blackstone. She was done with him and would not allow him to hurt her again.
Belle turned her thoughts to the entertainment on offer for the evening. Since she was here she would dance and dance and think of nothing else. The tears, the regrets would be banished for a few short hours. Surely she could allow herself that small respite? There were plenty of partners willing to oblige her, including Captain Duggan, who proved to be an excellent dancer. That particular set was followed by a short interval and she allowed him to carry her off to the refreshment table where they were soon joined by a number of young ladies.
‘Do you make a long stay in Stanton, Captain?’ asked one, rather breathlessly.
‘That depends upon how long Blackstone will have me.’
‘Surely he would not throw you out,’ declared Celia. ‘He is your cousin, is he not?’
‘He is, Miss Rishworth. His father was my mother’s brother, and after my own father died, Mother and I often stayed at Morwood. Blackstone and I were very close, as children, but after the fire he went to live with other relatives and we lost touch. Even though I am his heir I did
not see him again until a couple of years ago, in Brussels.’
‘Ah, you were at Waterloo together,’ exclaimed Celia. ‘How exciting that must have been.’
‘It was,’ he agreed. ‘But we were not
together
as such. That is, we were not in the same regiment. My cousin was in the guards, a major. I was merely a lowly captain of infantry. However, it was fortunate for me that he was there. He rescued me from the battlefield, you know, when I had been struck down. Recognised me amongst the fallen and carried me to safety. Hoisted me on his own shoulders to do it, too.’ He tapped his leg. ‘I’d taken a bullet through the thigh. Dashed lucky not to lose the whole leg, and it’s left me with a slight limp, but as you can all bear witness, it don’t affect me when I dance.’
He gave a merry laugh and the ladies gathered around him, only too willing to sympathise and admire his bravery. Belle smiled to herself. Captain Duggan positively
basked
in their attentions. She slipped away unnoticed and went off to join Lady Rishworth until the dancing commenced again.
Lucas spent a couple of hours in the card room where he lost heavily, wandering back to the ballroom in time to see Hugh dancing with Celia Rishworth. Annabelle was dancing too,
partnered by Henry Blundell, the bookseller. He wondered if Hugh had danced with her. If not, he would certainly do so before the evening was out. Hugh made a point of dancing with all the pretty girls at any party, and even though she was wearing a gown he had seen before and with her hair dressed with a simple ribbon, Lucas thought Annabelle Havenham very pretty.
Watching her, Lucas did not think she was enjoying herself. Her smile was forced and the enticing sparkle had gone from her eyes. Had he caused that change in her? He kept his distance, remembering her distress yesterday, but he could not look away as the dance ended and Blundell escorted his partner from the floor. He disliked the way the bookseller had his hand on her back, as if he owned her. And he was leaning over her, far too close. Lucas’s brows snapped together. The fellow would never have taken such liberties when she was mistress of Oakenroyd. Did he think now she was poor she deserved any less respect? Annabelle was trying to disengage herself, even as her escort was hustling her towards the door. The flush on Blundell’s cheek told its own tale. Confound it, the man was drunk.
Lucas shouldered his way through the crowd. ‘Ah, there you are, Miss Havenham. Have you forgotten that you promised me this next dance?’
He stepped into the couple’s path and they
were obliged to stop. Annabelle was biting her lip and looking as if she was caught between the devil and the deep sea. Lucas thought wryly that he could guess which one of those disasters she thought him to be. But at least he was not drunk, nor did he have lecherous intentions towards her—at least, not at that moment—so he stepped up, intimidating the bookseller with his superior height and weight.