Bought for Revenge(28)

'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?'