Chapter Six
'Good morning, Major. Your morning coffee.'
Lucas yawned and blinked as his man opened the shutters and threw back the curtains around the bed.
'Damn you, George, take it away again. I'll get up in an hour!'
George Stebbing took no notice of his master's angry mutter. During their time in the army they had seen many rough times together and the bond between the two men was stronger than just that of master and servant. Now he stood by the bed, the coffee in his hand.
'I thought you'd want to get to the manor early today, sir, seeing as how you are engaged to attend the assembly this evening.'
Lucas groaned. 'Did I really agree to go?'
George chuckled. 'Aye, sir. You said it would be useful to do the pretty with the local bigwigs.'
'I must have been foxed.'
'Very likely,' agreed George with distressing candour. 'But best to stay on good terms with your neighbours, get them on your side for when-'
'Yes, George, that will do!' Abruptly Lucas sat up and his man held out the coffee cup.
'I've ordered hot water for when you return from the manor, so you can bathe before you get ready for the assembly.'
Bowing to the inevitable, Lucas drank his coffee and thought of all he had to do today. There was a meeting with his builder at the manor, then he had to instruct the gardener he had engaged. Most of the grounds close to the house would be unusable until the building work was finished, but the fellow could make a start by repairing the walls around the kitchen garden and replacing the cold frames. He would also need to make himself familiar with the woodland, where there was a deal of work to be done. Perhaps he would take the man with him to start thinning out the trees in the park. Lucas knew there was no need for him to do any of the work himself, but he liked the physical effort, and he was determined to involve himself in the resurrection of Morwood Manor. It had been his dream for the past five-and-twenty years.
Lucas returned much later in the day, hot, dirty and tired. He was not looking forward to the evening assembly at the Red Lion, but it was almost an obligation, especially since he was staying at the inn. There could be no excuse for his staying away. Besides, George was right, he needed to be on good terms with these people if he was going to live at Morwood, and when the truth came out, there would be some who would take Havenham's part. Better to have as many allies at his back as he could before that time.
His thoughts went back to Annabelle. She would most probably be there tonight. It would be the first time they had met for three weeks. Lucas could not deny he had been avoiding her. The lady had shown herself willing to be friends and it would have been very easy to accept Samuel's invitation to take pot luck at Oakenroyd and pay court to her-after all, that was his plan, was it not? But the deception irked him, it pricked at his conscience. He was no Lothario and it was Samuel Havenham he intended to punish, not his daughter.
Even that was proving difficult enough. Over the years he had envisaged Samuel as a hard, ruthless man, not the gentle scholar who had welcomed him so warmly to Oakenroyd, and Lucas had to harden his heart against any sympathy. He must not weaken. Justice must be done and he would exact his revenge. Annabelle would suffer as a consequence of that. She would be a casualty of war. Harsh, but it could not be helped. And once he had brought Samuel Havenham to his knees, it would be in Annabelle's power to save her father from complete ruin. That, surely, must be some comfort to her.
Lucas thrust aside the unpleasant suspicion that it would be no comfort at all.
The Assembly Rooms were already crowded when Annabelle and her father arrived. She had half-expected Mr Keighley to offer his carriage again, but in the end it was Sir John and Lady Rishworth who collected them and promised to see them safely home again afterwards. Belle was wearing her new green muslin embroidered with tiny yellow flowers. She knew the pale colour suited her and brought out a greenish hue in her eyes. She was also pleased at the effect of the yellow ribbon threaded through her curls. She could not compete with Celia and Lizzie when it came to beauty, but she thought she was looking her best and experienced a little thrill of anticipation for the evening ahead.
Sir John carried her father off to the card room where old Dr Bennett was waiting for them. Belle watched him go without a qualm. Despite the debts he had run up in Harrogate she knew the stakes agreed between the gentlemen of Stanton would be negligible and she could relax as she accompanied Lady Rishworth and Celia into the ballroom, where the country dances were already in progress.
'The usual complaint, not enough single gentlemen,' remarked Celia, looking about her. 'At least, not enough single gentlemen in want of a wife.' She brightened. 'But Mr Keighley is here, dancing with Lizzie Scanlon, so you at least will have a partner tonight, Belle!'
Annabelle blushed and disclaimed, but she did hope that Mr Keighley would ask her to be his partner for the next dance. She prayed her smile did not look too forced when he carried Celia off instead, and she was obliged to sit on the benches, her foot tapping to the lively music.
'So you are here, Belle.' Lizzie Scanlon flopped down in the seat Celia had vacated and fanned herself vigorously. 'Mama wondered if you might not come tonight, in the circumstances-'
'What circumstances?'
'Should I not have said anything?' Lizzie frowned slightly. 'It is all over Stanton that you have had to retrench.'
'Well, that is no secret,' said Annabelle. 'And I see nothing to be ashamed of in the fact that we are living within our means.'
'Oh, no, no, of course not,' replied Lizzie hastily. 'But it has somehow got out that your father is on the verge of ruin and you are going to sell Oakenroyd.'
'Good heavens, it is not as bad as that!' exclaimed Annabelle, shocked.
'Oh.' Lizzie managed to look relieved and embarrassed at the same time. 'Well, I am very glad to hear that it is no more than malicious gossip, Annabelle. I beg your pardon, I did not mean to offend.'
Annabelle smiled at her old friend.
'You did not, Lizzie, and it explains some of the comments I have heard in the town recently.' And Mrs Ford's behaviour in presenting her bill so promptly, but Annabelle kept that to herself. 'I wonder who could have started such a rumour?'
'I have no idea, but you know how these things spread,' Lizzie continued with alarming frankness. 'It could be why Mr Keighley is not so attentive to you this evening. You weren't engaged to him, were you, Belle?'
'No, no, of course not.'
Nor likely to be, now, she thought, watching him stand up for a second dance with Celia Rishworth. Well, she could bear the loss. And it saved her making the decision about whether to accept him.
As the evening progressed there was no shortage of dancing partners for Annabelle. Mr Scanlon led her out for her first dance and he was followed by several other gentlemen, husbands or fathers of her many acquaintances. After a particularly lively jig she was glad to sit out for a while to recover her breath.
Her eyes moved around the room and almost immediately fell upon Lucas Monserrat. He had just come in and was standing by the door, surveying the company. Her heart gave a little flutter. His height was above the average, but it was the width of those powerful shoulders that drew one's attention. He looked quite magnificent in the dark coat and snowy waistcoat with his black hair brushed back from his brow and gleaming like ebony. With his harsh features and those dark eyes beneath fierce black brows he could not be considered handsome but he was … Stunning, she thought. He quite took her breath away.
His gaze swept the room and she looked down, not wanting him to know she had been watching him. How different she felt now from that first, unfortunate meeting. Then he had seemed cruel, bent upon humiliating her, but his behaviour since that time had been unexceptional. Lucas. She realised she had been thinking of him as Lucas since he had escorted her home from Stanton three weeks ago. A tremor of self-doubt shook her. That was the last time they had met and she wondered if he, too, was deterred by the rumours of her father's financial trouble. However, when she looked up again he was crossing the room towards her. Annabelle's heart lifted.
A bow, a few words and Lucas was leading her on to the dance floor. She forced her hand to rest lightly upon his, but even so she could feel the knotted muscle beneath the sleeve, the coiled strength of the man. She risked a glance at him, noted the contracted brows that gave his face such a harsh look. Could he be nervous attending his first assembly? She felt it her duty to try to put him at his ease.
'I am so glad you decided to come, Mr Monserrat. These monthly gatherings are the highlight of our social life in Stanton.'
'It is certainly popular,' he replied, expertly guiding her through the crowd to take their places.