Bought for Revenge(30)

'So you think it possible he was so enraged he set fire to the house?'

'Yes,' agreed Hugh. 'It is very possible. Nay, it's likely. I am very sorry, old fellow, but there it is.'

Lucas closed his eyes. He did not want to believe it. Every fibre of his  being cried out against the idea of his father as a murderer.

'It does not make sense,' he said slowly. 'Why should he work so hard to  try to put out the fire? And he went back for my mother.'

'Perhaps he came to his senses once he saw the damage he had done. And  thank heavens you were awake and raised the alarm,' added Hugh, 'or we  might all have been burned in our beds.'

'If my mother had not locked herself in her apartments then we might  have been able to save her, too,' said Lucas. 'My father tried to force  the door, but he was beaten back by the flames-'

He broke off, shaking his head to dispel the memories that crowded in.

'Too late to think of that now, Cos.' Hugh rose from his chair. 'I am  going to bed and I advise you to do the same. There is no point worrying  over something that happened so long ago.' He put his glass down on the  sideboard and walked to the door. He reached for the handle, but  stopped and looked back. 'That little affair with Miss Havenham tonight,  does that have anything to do with what we have been discussing?'

Lucas paused for a heartbeat.

'How could it?' he said at last. 'She was not even born when all this occurred.'

Samuel was still playing chess with Dr Bennett when Annabelle arrived  home. She managed to smile when they quizzed her about leaving the  assembly before the final note had been played and she retired quickly  to her room, saying she was fatigued. But it was a long time before she  slept. She was angry with Lucas for tormenting her, but even more angry  with herself for lashing out. They could not agree, it was unlikely that  they ever would, so she must find some way to avoid his company.  Leaving Stanton seemed to be the only solution. Yet how could she leave?  How could she take her father even further away from his friends and  everything he held dear?

Annabelle awoke to the sound of the rain dripping from the eaves outside  her window. The dismal weather matched her mood. Heavy cloud hung low  over the town and the rain poured down steadily. She wanted only to bury  her head under the bedclothes and go back to sleep, but there was work  to be done, so she slipped out of bed, trying to throw off her  depression. When they had lived at Oakenroyd she had ridden Apollo on  many such days as this and enjoyed it, so she would not let the weather  prevent her from going out.

Having to walk everywhere was taking a toll on her shoes and she must  take at least one pair to the cobbler to be mended. Wrapped in her cloak  and armed with her umbrella, she set off for the cobbler's house. It  was market day and despite the rain Stanton was bustling. Not only was  the square filled with animals and stalls packed with local goods, but  farmers and corn merchants were making their way to the Red Lion to do  business, taking or placing orders and settling accounts. Belle hurried  through the crowds, thankful that the pouring rain made everyone  disinclined to stop and talk. Once her errand was complete she made her  way back along the main street, holding the umbrella low to keep the  worst of the rain from her head and shoulders.                       
       
           



       

'Miss Havenham.'

That deep, familiar voice broke into her thoughts and she stopped. She  was aware of a pair of muddy top boots standing in her path. As she  raised her umbrella the rest of Lucas Blackstone appeared. He was  wearing a wide-brimmed hat, from which the rain dripped on to the  shoulders of his caped driving coat. Even his sodden appearance could  not stop her heart drumming heavily against her ribs, nor prevent the  exquisitely painful yearning from enveloping her once more. In silence  she tried to turn it all against him, to summon up every ounce of anger  she should feel for him. He wasted no time on pleasantries, not that she  wanted them.

'I came to see you. Your father said you had gone out.'

He was blunt, straight to the point. Well, she could do that, too.

'As you see, sir, and I would like to get home as soon as possible.'

'I shall not detain you long. I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night. It was inexcusable.'

Annabelle said nothing. She glanced at the road. If she stepped off the  pavement she could walk around him, but the muddy water was ankle-deep  in the gutter. If he did not remove himself soon, then she would suffer  that unpleasantness rather than remain in his presence a moment longer.

'I also wanted to say … ' he spoke again, with obvious difficulty. 'I  wanted you to know I … I could be wrong. About the fire.' For the first  time she looked up into his face. What she could see of it beneath the  brim of his hat appeared more rugged than ever. Haggard, even, as if he  had not slept. 'I have read your father's letter and-I can see that  there may be some doubt. That is all.' He stepped back. 'I shall not  plague you further. Good day, Miss Havenham.'

With a slight nod he turned and strode away. Belle watched him, her  thoughts and feelings once more in a tumult. Just when she had decided  he was beyond forgiveness he had surprised her with an apology and an  admission that he might be mistaken.

In a daze Annabelle walked on to Croft Cottage and hung up her wet  clothes. While she bustled about the little house, her thoughts careered  around wildly, but they kept coming back to Lucas. Papa would be  pleased to think he was willing to consider that someone else might have  set fire to Morwood, but with Oakenroyd sold it would make very little  difference to their circumstances. She decided to say nothing to her  father. Lucas himself must speak to him. They were engaged to dine at  Rishworth Lodge that evening and there was every chance Lucas would be  there. If so, she would make sure he knew what was expected of him.

By late afternoon the rain had eased, but the roads were still too wet  for comfort and, having refused Sir John's offer to send the carriage  for them, Annabelle hired a gig to take them the mile or so out of  Stanton to Rishworth Lodge. The vehicle and its sturdy pony were  spattered with mud by the time Annabelle drew to a halt at the door. A  lackey hastened out to take the gig to the stables, leaving Annabelle  and her father to go indoors where their hostess was waiting.

'Just a snug little gathering,' Lady Rishworth announced, leading them  into the drawing room. 'I have invited Mr and Mrs Scanlon to join us.  They are feeling the loss of Lizzie quite desperately, but there, that  is what happens when one marries off a daughter.' She glanced at Celia.  'I have invited Mr Blackstone, of course, and his cousin Captain Duggan,  whom Celia insisted should be included.'

'Well, you could hardly leave him out, Mama,' remarked Celia, coming up.  'He is staying at Oakenroyd, after all.' She reached for Annabelle's  hand. 'You are the first to arrive, and I am going to take you away to a  corner and make you tell me just what it was Mr Blackstone said to  upset you last night.'

Samuel looked up quickly. 'Upset, Belle? What is this?'

'No, no, it was all a mistake, Papa,' Annabelle was quick to reassure  him. 'Mr Blackstone was funning, only I did not understand him.' She  managed to laugh. 'It was a silly trifle, and I am afraid one or two  people thought we had quite fallen out, but it was nothing, I assure  you.'

'Well, it certainly looked to be more than nothing,' observed Celia with  alarming frankness. 'You with your face as red as anything, and Mr  Blackstone looking positively murderous-'

Sir John held up his hand to silence his daughter. 'Celia, you are  embarrassing Miss Havenham by bringing up a subject she would much  rather forget. Let us talk of more pleasant matters. Mr Havenham, I am  so glad you are well enough to join us this evening. Come and sit by the  fire, sir, and take a glass of mulled wine to drive off the evening  chill … '                       
       
           



       

'So what was it, Belle?' Celia put her arm through Annabelle's and led  her away. 'You can tell me. Captain Duggan was sure it was a lovers'  quarrel.'

The coaxing tone in her friend's voice did not tempt Belle to confide.  She smiled and shook her head, leaving Celia to her own conjectures.  These would most likely run to some lurid romantic entanglement, but  even that was better than confessing the truth. So Belle kept her own  counsel and waited for Lucas to arrive.

Her hopes were dashed when Captain Duggan came in alone.

'My cousin sends his apologies,' he informed his host, his bluff,  cheerful voice easily carrying around the drawing room. 'He is not  feeling quite the thing this evening.' The captain turned to Sir John  with a comical grimace and mouthed the word 'foxed'.