Bought for Revenge(3)

She gave a start at her father's gentle admonition. 'I beg your pardon, Papa, I was daydreaming.'

'I said Keighley has offered to take us up in his carriage when we go to dine with the Rishworths next week.'

'How kind of him. I confess I had hoped he would offer to bring us home, even if we had to walk to Rishworth Lodge.'

Her father tutted. 'But it should not be necessary to call upon anyone to drive us.'

'Now, Papa, you know we agreed it is an expense we can well do without.'  She sank down beside him. 'The cost of the coachman, plus the horses  eating their heads off in the stable, was far too much, especially when  we rarely go farther than Stanton these days.'                       
       
           



       

'But to have no carriage-'

'We have the gig, Papa, and that is more than sufficient. Now,' she said  brightly, determined to turn his thoughts, 'I will put off my riding  habit and then perhaps you will give me your arm for a stroll around the  gardens. We need to be thinking about the summer planting.'

She hurried away to change her gown. There was no doubt that her father  was finding it difficult to come to terms with the economies they were  forced to make, but she had every confidence that in a year or two they  would be able to resume their previous mode of living, and possibly even  use their own carriage again. Of course, if she married James Keighley  their fortunes would alter overnight. But was that sufficient incentive  to marry a man for whom she felt only a mild liking? It was a vexing  question.

'But not one you need to answer yet,' she said, frowning at her  reflection as she tidied her hair. 'Time to make a decision if and when  he asks you, my girl.'





Chapter Two


'So, Mr Monserrat has arrived,' said Mr Havenham.

They were at breakfast. Annabelle was buttering a freshly baked muffin and did not look up.

'Has he, Papa?' She kept her tone decidedly cool.

'Yes, Telford mentioned he was the new owner of Burnt Acres, did he not?  Although I suppose we shall have to call it Morwood Manor again now. He  has written me a very civil letter and I have invited him to call  today.'

'Oh, that is unfortunate. I have arranged to visit old Mrs Hall in Stanton and shall not be able to meet him.'

'But I have not yet told you the time, my dear.'

'I know, dear Papa, but I am engaged to go on to Mrs Ford's for a  fitting for my new gown.' She gave him her sweetest smile. 'If I'd had  more notice I should of course cry off from both these appointments, but  as it is … '

'No, no, you must go, especially to visit Mrs Hall, I would not have you  backward in your attentions to such an old friend. Very well, my dear,  off you go. I will give our new neighbour your apologies.'

'Mr Monserrat, sir.'

A very correct butler showed Lucas into the sunny drawing room at  Oakenroyd, and as the door closed quietly behind him Lucas took the  opportunity to study the man waiting for him.

He suffered something of a shock. In his mind he saw a tall, upright man  with brown hair and grey eyes, very like his daughter, but his host was  an elderly gentleman, his shoulders slightly stooped and his hair  silver white. He came forwards now to greet his guest. His grey eyes  were smiling, but Lucas had the impression of a pervading air of gentle  sadness about the man.

No sympathy, Lucas reminded himself. Havenham is your enemy. Smile, play his game of friendliness, but keep your distance.

Lucas listened to his words of welcome. They seemed sincere, uttered in a  quiet voice that matched his mild demeanour. There was no hint that  Miss Havenham had told him of their meeting. Surely if she had done so  his welcome would have been less cordial?

Lucas took a seat, accepted a glass of wine. After all, that was the  civilised thing to do. It did not imply that they must therefore be upon  good terms. In the past he had shown equal courtesy to a captured  French officer, knowing that if they met on the battlefield they would  neither of them have the slightest hesitation in killing the other.

But this is underhand. Havenham doesn't know you are his enemy.

The thought was unwelcome, but Lucas pushed it aside. Havenham's  conscience should tell him that retribution would come, one day. He  dragged his attention back to what his host was saying.

'I regret my daughter is not here to greet you. She is gone on a visit of duty that could not be put off.'

'That, sir, is my loss,' murmured Lucas. So she was avoiding him? Well,  there was plenty of time to renew that particular acquaintance.

'No, no, she is eager to meet you.' The old man smiled. 'She will want  to see the new owner of Morwood. The house has been empty since before  she was born and she has grown up running free in the grounds.'

'Really? I am surprised you allowed her to wander so far from home.'

'It is safe enough. She was always accompanied by a servant, or her  brother, when he was alive.' A hesitation, a flicker of pain, quickly  brushed aside and Havenham continued. 'Now she is grown, of course, she  does ride unaccompanied, but I do not worry about her going there. The  locals never venture on to the estate. They believe it is haunted.' The  old man fell silent, looking dreamily into the fire.

'And is that what you believe too, sir?' Lucas prompted him. 'Is that why you have never done anything with it?'                       
       
           



       

'No, but it holds painful memories for me.' Lucas saw another shadow of  pure anguish cross the lined face, then Samuel seemed to shake himself  out of his reverie and said brightly, 'But that is all in the past now.  You are about to bring Morwood alive again and I am very glad of it.'

Lucas stayed for no more than the required half hour, fending off  questions he did not wish to answer and making enquiries of his own  about Morwood. All the time part of him was marvelling that he could sit  so calmly exchanging pleasantries with a man whom he had hated for so  many years. A man he planned to destroy.

Annabelle had been thankful to escape from the house and from a meeting  with Mr Monserrat. She would have to meet him sometime and part of her  was a little ashamed that she was putting it off, but she stifled the  quiet voice that was her conscience and went in sunny spirits to call  upon the elderly Mrs Hall. However, when she sat down to dinner that  night she could not forbear asking her father about his visitor.

'I am sorry you missed him,' said Samuel as he took his seat opposite  her. 'He has great plans for the manor, and I am glad of it. I should  have done more with the house … '

'And is this Mr Monserrat a gentleman, sir?' Annabelle prompted him in an attempt to dispel his wistfulness.

'Oh, I think so, my dear, although he is very dark. He was a soldier,  you know, at Waterloo and before that in the Peninsula. I have no doubt  the hot sun is responsible for his complexion, he is almost swarthy.'

She was about to say that could not account for his black eyes and hair,  but she remembered, just in time, that her father did not know she had  met their neighbour.

'In fact, he reminds me of someone.' Her father leaned forwards, a  slight crease in his brow as if he were trying to catch some fleeting  thought. He smiled and shook his head. 'No, it will not come and is  probably a nonsense. But you shall see for yourself when you meet him.'

'I will indeed.' Annabelle turned her attention to her food, hoping that  it would be some time before she was obliged to see Mr Monserrat.

Samuel had been looking forward to dinner with the Rishworths, but when  Annabelle had helped him into Mr Keighley's carriage, she knew he would  be comparing it unfavourably with their own well-padded barouche, which  was now stored away at the back of the coach house.

'Mr Havenham, welcome, sir, and Miss Havenham.' Lady Rishworth greeted  them with her usual jolly smile before turning to welcome Mr Keighley,  who followed them into the drawing room. A number of guests had already  arrived, all of them known to Annabelle. She considered it a misfortune  that the closest was Mrs Kensley, a widow as colourless as her grey garb  but with a waspish tongue. She gave Annabelle a false smile as she  expressed her surprise at seeing them there so early.

'I had thought you would be walking here tonight, Mr Havenham, and did not expect you for a good half hour yet.'

'No, no, ma'am, Mr Keighley was good enough to call for us.'

Annabelle admired her father's calm and good-natured response.

'But it must be such a blow to lose your own horses,' the widow  continued. 'Times are very hard indeed when Oakenroyd must close its  stables.'

'They are not closed, ma'am,' Annabelle corrected her. 'It is only the  carriage horses that have been sold. Old Simmons the coachman gave  notice that he wanted to retire and we decided that we would not replace  him for a while.'

'My dear, you do not need to explain to me.' The widow patted her arm  and it was all Annabelle could do not to pull away from the  condescending gesture. 'So many Stanton families are struggling at  present. No doubt you are regretting spending all that money on your  presentation … '