Bought for Revenge(31)

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?'