She stopped. 'You know nothing of the kind.'
'How can you be sure? You were not even born.'
'I know my father. Have you still not read his letter?'
'No.'
'His manservant vouches for him. He was at Oakenroyd when the fire was started.'
'Servants can be bought.'
'You are determined to believe him guilty. Excuse me-'
'Belle!' He caught her arm as she went to walk away. 'I do not want this for you.' He ground out the words, his jaw clenched. 'I have not been able to get you out of my mind. Poverty will destroy you, but it is not too late. Marry me.'
She looked up and met his burning gaze steadily. 'That would destroy me even more surely.'
Annabelle and her father moved into Croft Cottage the next day. It was indeed small, but Annabelle cheerfully asserted that with a little work it would be very comfortable. The little room overlooking the street would make a cosy sitting room, and the small dining parlour beside it could also be used as a study for her father. They had brought very little from Oakenroyd, a few trunks of private possessions, but they were sanguine. After all there was no room for more.
The Rishworths were the first to visit them and Sir John made a point of taking Annabelle to one side and saying quietly, 'I know, my dear, that you and your father will feel this change of circumstance keenly, but it does not alter the respect in which you are held in Stanton. I would like you to know that if ever you or your father feel in need of support or protection, you can call upon me.'
Annabelle was touched by his kindness and by that of the numerous friends who called upon them over the next few weeks, many bringing small gifts, useful things such as food or candles. The sort of items Annabelle would have included in the baskets she gave to the poor and needy at Oakenroyd. She thought wryly how much more difficult it was to receive charity than to give it.
She was kept busy with all the little tasks she had previously left to her servants. Abel proved himself very useful and between them they shared all the household tasks, leaving her father free to sit in his study and receive callers, read from the few books he had brought with him and to tutor the occasional student sent to him by the vicar.
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.'