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Bought for Revenge(23)

By:Sarah Mallory


'Dinner is ready for you, Major, when you are. And this arrived.' He  handed Lucas a sealed letter. 'Came just after you left this morning,  sir.'

Lucas turned it over. He did not recognise the handwriting or the seal.  Quickly he broke it open. It was from Oakenroyd. His eyes travelled over  the first few lines but no further. His mouth twisted as he refolded  the letter and threw it into his writing box, which stood open on a side  table.

'It can wait,' he said shortly. 'It is not important.'





Chapter Nine


Annabelle waited each morning for the post, hoping there would be a  letter from Mr Telford with some good news. Summer dragged on and the  lawyer's infrequent correspondence brought only disappointment. She  ventured into Stanton only when it was necessary. As soon as Mr Telford  had started making local enquiries, trying to find someone to loan them  the money they needed, the word had spread that Mr Havenham was indeed  in dire financial straits and was selling Oakenroyd. Annabelle saw to it  that every outstanding bill was paid and refused to take any further  credit, even where it was offered, but she found the sympathy very hard  to bear. Most was genuine, like the Rishworths, the Scanlons and old Mrs  Hall. Even the dressmaker, Mrs Ford, offered to help her in any way  possible. One or two, like Mrs Kensley, smiled and uttered sympathetic  noises, but there was no mistaking the cruel gleam of satisfaction in  their eyes at her father's misfortune.

Belle rode Apollo over the estate, taking a keen interest in the harvest  this year, but in her heart she knew that even if it was the best ever  it would still not be enough to pay the debts they owed. Samuel's letter  to Lucas had received no reply. She wondered if he had even read it and  concluded sadly that he had not.

Worst of all was the fact that despite all Lucas had done she missed  him. She kept busy, tried not to think of him, but in unguarded moments  the memory would return of those precious moments at the assembly, of  being cradled in his arms and being kissed by him. Every detail was  etched into her mind, the butterfly touch of that kiss, the gentle  caresses that had aroused in her such desire that just the thought of it  made her shiver.

She had been in a fair way to losing her heart to him and still found it  hard to relate that loving man to the cruel monster who was determined  to ruin her father. Even now she remembered his words as he held her  hand.

'Do not think too badly of me.'

And the truth was, she did not think badly of him. Even that painful  meeting at the boathouse, when he had taunted her so cruelly, had not  left her totally despondent. He had told her that he had merely bought  up her father's debts; he had had no hand in creating them. She could  understand his quest for vengeance, even if it was unjust, and deep in  her heart burned a little flame of hope that he would change his mind,  that he would prove himself to be the honest, honourable man she  believed him to be.

At the end of August Annabelle received two pieces of news. The first  was that the wheat harvest had been a good one, the second that Lucas  Blackstone was back.

Her steward told her about the harvest, but it was Celia Rishworth who  brought Annabelle the news of Lucas's return. She had come to Oakenroyd  to take tea and celebrate Annabelle's birthday and was happy to regale  her friend with all the latest gossip from Stanton.

'Mama and I were in Mrs Ford's yesterday, collecting our gowns ready for  Lizzie's wedding to Mr Keighley and we saw Mr Blackstone's curricle  outside the Red Lion.' Celia took another small bite of the rich fruit  cake Cook had made for the occasion. 'His groom was following on with  that big black hunter of his and he had a baggage waggon, too. Such a  to-do as there was, with servants running here, there and everywhere. He  had any number of corded trunks carried into the Lion.'

'So it would appear he is staying for a while.'

'Oh, yes, Papa spoke to him only this morning and he declared he is  going to remain in Stanton now until Morwood is finished. Strange,  though, I cannot think that he will want to remain at an inn for all  those months, can you?'

Annabelle gave an evasive answer and distracted her friend by asking about the arrangements for Lizzie's wedding.                       
       
           



       

'Oh, everything is quite ready now,' exclaimed Celia. 'Lizzie is very  excited by the idea of being Mrs Keighley and they are off to Italy for  their honeymoon … '

Annabelle knew much of this already, but she nodded and allowed Celia to  chatter on, preferring it to any further talk of Lucas Blackstone.

When Celia had gone Annabelle joined her father for a quiet dinner  together and when he bemoaned the fact that it was only the two of them  she was quick to reassure him. He shook his head, looking very sad.

'To have this business of my debts hanging over us, I am afraid I am not very good company for you on your birthday, my love.'

'Nonsense, you are all the company I want,' she told him. 'Look, I am  wearing the pearl eardrops you gave me. Do they not look well? Now, let  Gibson help you to some of the chicken, Papa, for it is very good, and  afterwards you shall hear everything Celia Rishworth told me about the  improvements her father is making to the lodge … '

She was at pains to keep him entertained throughout the meal, but she  knew he was fretting over the loss of Oakenroyd, and when it was time  for her to retire he took her hand and held it tightly.

'Bless you, Belle. I do not know what I would do without you.'

'Nor I you, Papa.' She leaned over his chair to drop a kiss upon his  forehead. 'Tomorrow I plan to take some flowers to Mama's grave before  breakfast. Shall you come with me?'

He shook his head. 'I think not, my love.'

'I was going to walk into Stanton, but we could take the gig, if You prefer.'

'It is not that.' He raised his hand as if warding off some dark  thought. 'You go, my love. I shall visit her grave another day.'

She had hoped that by the morning he would have changed his mind, but it  was not the case, so she put on her chip-straw bonnet, gathered some of  the brightest blooms from the garden and set off for Stanton church.

It was a beautiful morning, only a few high clouds dotted about the blue  sky as she walked into the town. The church was in the centre of  Stanton, an ancient stone building with a square tower surrounded by a  large graveyard. She had deliberately set out early in the hope that she  would not meet anyone. Everything was quiet and peaceful, bathed in the  morning sunshine and the grass still wet with dew. Annabelle slipped  into the churchyard and made her way between the graves, thankful for  the solitude. A movement to her right startled her and she looked across  to see Lucas only yards away. Her heart was thumping wildly. She was  certain the graveyard had been empty and could only suppose that he had  been hidden by the ornate pedestal tomb that stood between them.

Annabelle hesitated. She wanted to turn and run, but that would be  cowardly. Surely he would not dare to accost her in this holy place?  Squaring her shoulders, she walked on towards her mother's grave and  pretended not to notice him. He touched his hat.

'Good day to you, Miss Havenham.'

She could not ignore him now, but she refused to be intimidated, despite  the rapid tattoo beating against her ribs. 'I did not think you a  God-fearing man, Mr Blackstone.'

'Then that shows how little you know me.'

He made no move to follow her, but to her consternation he watched her  as she bent to place her flowers at the base of the simple headstone  that marked her mother's grave. She knelt down, pulling away the weeds  that threatened to creep over the headstone, tracing her fingers over  the carved lettering as she uttered up a silent prayer for her mother.  Then she offered up a second prayer for her father and herself.

Lucas was still watching her from the side of the path when she returned. 'Your mother's grave?' He began to walk alongside her.

'Yes. She died when I was a baby. I never knew her.'

'My mother died when I was ten.'

'Yes, of course-I am so sorry, that must have been very hard for you.'

'Spare me your sympathy, madam. I have no need of it.'

'It seems you are very much in need of it, since you are so eaten up by hatred.'

'I want justice, nothing more.'

'Did you read my father's letter to you?'

'Not yet.'

'Not yet? It has been months!'

'I have no need to read it, I know the truth.'

'You were a little boy-'

He turned on her with a snarl. 'Are you saying I should not believe the evidence of my own eyes?'

'I think you are mistaken,' she replied, holding her ground. 'There were  others at Morwood that night in knee breeches and white stockings, were  there not? Well?' she challenged him.
                       
       
           



       
'Only my father and my cousin Hugh. I have discounted them.'