Belle frowned at the impropriety of such a disclosure and even Sir John's good-natured smile disappeared momentarily.
For Annabelle the evening was not a success. She enjoyed talking to Mrs Scanlon, who was eager to share news of Lizzie, whose letters home from her honeymoon were reassuringly full of her 'dearest Keighley' and the delightful time they were having in the capitals of Europe, but she found Captain Duggan's constant geniality very wearing. He was determined to be on good terms with everyone, gently flirting with the ladies and treating the gentlemen with a boisterous bonhomie that occasionally made her father wince. By eleven o'clock she had a headache, and was not at all displeased when her father indicated that he would like to go home.
Alert for his elderly friend's comfort, Sir John immediately sent for the gig and the party began to break up. As Samuel was being helped into his greatcoat, Captain Duggan came up and offered to escort them to Stanton.
'That is very kind of you, Captain,' said Samuel, 'but we would not want to take you so far out of your way.'
'Not at all, sir. As a matter of fact, that is my way tonight. There is a card party going forwards at the Red Lion this evening and I am invited to look in.' He grinned. 'I have booked a room there for tonight, too. I would rather not be at Oakenroyd with Blackstone so sunk in gloom. Takes after his father, you see. When we were boys we would always make ourselves scarce when Jonas was in one of his black rages.'
An uncomfortable little silence followed these unguarded revelations, but the captain did not appear to notice and cheerfully prepared to escort Annabelle and her father into Stanton. The journey was not a long one and Annabelle elected to drive, knowing that she would rather give her attention to controlling the pony than try to make small talk with Captain Duggan. When they reached the Red Lion Samuel assured him that they could manage the rest of the short journey quite safely, and with a flourish of his hat the captain took his leave of them.
'A genial enough fellow,' said Samuel as their escort disappeared through the arch and into the inn's yard. 'A little indiscreet, though. I cannot think it was quite the thing to talk about his cousin so.'
'I am sure it was not,' agreed Annabelle. 'If Mr Blackstone is not well, his cousin should be giving him his support, keeping him company.'
'Perhaps the young man does not want company. And if he has drunk a little too much-' He spread his hands. 'Strange, though. I had not thought Blackstone a man to succumb to the bottle.'
Annabelle bit her lip, remembering Lucas's gaunt face that morning. 'Perhaps he has had some bad news.'
'Perhaps. I do hope it is nothing too serious.'
They had reached the cottage and as Belle pulled up she turned to smile fondly at her father.
'Dear Papa, you can wish him well, after all he has done to us?'
'Of course,' he said simply. 'To lose his parents at such a young age and to believe they suffered an injustice-that is a grave burden for anyone to carry. I believe Lucas Blackstone is a very troubled young man, despite his fortune.' He threw the rug from his legs. 'Ah, good. Abel has seen our arrival. He will be able to take the gig back to the livery-'
'No.' Annabelle was thinking quickly. 'No, I will take it, Papa.'
'But, my dear, it is midnight!'
'And everything is quiet in Stanton, Papa. It is but a step to the stables and this section of the street is well lit. You are very tired, Papa, let Abel put you to bed and I shall be back shortly.' She looked up and addressed the manservant, who was waiting at the open door. 'Pray look after my father, Abel. And there is no need to wait up for me, I will let myself in when I return.'
The old retainer shook his head. 'You can let yerself in, miss, but I shall sit up and wait for 'ee once I've seen the master to his bed.'
Belle could see he would not be swayed and did not waste time on further argument. She set the little pony in motion again and glanced over her shoulder. The door of Croft Cottage was closed. With a deft flick of the reins she set the pony to a trot, past the entrance to the livery stable and out of the town.
Oakenroyd was quiet. The servants had all gone to bed and the house had settled into darkness and silence. Except in the study, where Lucas was sitting in twilight with only the sullen embers of the fire and a single burning candle to lift the gloom. He had discarded his coat and neckcloth, his waistcoat was undone and he was sprawled in his chair, his long legs stretched out towards the hearth, one ankle crossed over the other. On a small table at his elbow was his empty glass and a decanter of brandy.
He knew he should go to bed, but he was not ready to face the demons waiting there for him. Thank God Hugh had taken himself off. He might not approve of Hugh's predilection for gambling and keeping low company, but he was relieved now that Hugh had elected to stay out for the night. He almost wished he had not unburdened himself to his cousin. Hugh was trying to help, but his constant reminders of little incidents that had occurred in the past, evidence of his father's temper and violent moods, only added to Lucas's misery.
Black despair pervaded everything, it added to the guilt that gnawed at him. For over twenty years he had blamed the wrong man. Bad enough that he should have done so when he was a child, but when he returned to Stanton and met Samuel Havenham again he should have recognised the goodness in him. Even before reading Samuel's letter the evidence was there. The man was too kind, too gentle. He was incapable of such a gross act of violence.
As a boy Lucas had convinced himself that Samuel had coveted Morwood, that his whole aim had been to gain possession of the land. Coming back at five-and-thirty he should have realised that nothing was further from the truth. Samuel had done nothing to Morwood. He could not even bear to visit it because of the memories it evoked. His only crime was to allow a good house to go to ruin.
And to love Maria Blackstone. Knowing his own heart, Lucas could even forgive that, now, and if his mother had returned that love it was because she had not found it with Jonas. The memories he had denied for so long loomed large to taunt Lucas. His father had rarely raised a hand to his son, but when the black rage was upon him he would take it out upon Maria. Looking back, he recalled that his mother had always been at her happiest when Jonas was away.
All day he had wrestled with the problem. The beliefs, the certainties of the past five-and-twenty years had been overturned and he had to face the idea that Jonas had started the fire at Morwood. It was a bitter blow, and the wrong he had done to the Havenhams gnawed away at his conscience.
The thought of seeing Samuel and Annabelle at Rishworth Lodge, making polite conversation with them-it was not to be borne, so he had sent Hugh with his apologies. Lucas doubted he would be missed. Annabelle at least would be relieved. He refilled his glass. One more drink and he would seek his bed. Perhaps things would look better in the morning. He dropped his head in his hands. How could things ever look better? The implication, the guilt, the stain on his family name could never be erased.
He heard the faint scrape of the door handle. George, perhaps, come to shepherd him off to bed. He looked up.
'What the devil-!' He jumped out of his chair. 'What in hell's name are you doing here?'
Chapter Thirteen
Annabelle stood in the doorway. The last person he expected, but the one he most wanted to see. He glanced down at the decanter, beginning to question just how much he had drunk. She had closed the door now and was standing with her back against it, watching him. She was wrapped head to toe in a voluminous cloak, but even in the gloom there was no mistaking that dear face, nor the eyes that looked at him so fearlessly.
'I was anxious for you. I came to see if you were all right.'
He laughed bitterly. 'Came to gloat, more like!'
She pushed back her hood. 'I would not do that.'
'No, you would not.' He shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain. 'No. You cannot be here.'
'But I am.'
She moved into the light, dispelling the lingering suspicion that she was a dream, conjured up by his imagination.
'You must go.' He tried to think of the reasons why she had to leave, but his whole being wanted her to stay. At last he said, lamely, 'My cousin will be returning soon.'
'No, he won't. Captain Duggan told us he is staying at the Red Lion tonight.'
He pushed his hand through his hair. 'I must be foxed or I would not let you remain here.' He peered towards the shuttered windows, frowning. 'The house is locked up for the night. The servants are all abed. How the deuce did you get in?'