Bought for Revenge (9 page)

‘I know you are teasing me, Mr Monserrat. You may return them tomorrow, if you wish. To Oakenroyd.’

‘And may we talk there, privately?’

‘If you wish.’

To disguise her shaking hand she finished her wine and put the glass down on the window sill. With a slight shock she realised the dancing had ended and the musicians were packing away their instruments. ‘It—it is late. I must find my father.’

‘I will take you to him.’

She allowed him to pull her hand on to his arm. No one was in any hurry to leave and they had to thread their way between the chattering guests to reach her father, who was still sitting with Dr Bennett. Elias Greenwood stood nearby with his pregnant wife, the Scanlons and the Rishworths were in a little group with Mr Keighley, while Mrs Kensley was gossiping with one of her cronies a short distance away. To Belle’s overstretched nerves it seemed that they were all looking at her. Would they know from her heightened colour, her glowing cheeks how much she enjoyed Lucas’s company? Would they know he had kissed her?

‘Ah, my dear, I was about to send a man to find you.’ Her father beamed as she came up, while Dr Bennett merely acknowledged them with a sleepy nod.

‘I am here now, Father, as you see. I have been t-talking with Mr Monserrat.’

‘Ah yes.’ Her father looked up, his bright eyes twinkling. ‘You still here, sir? I thought you might have taken to your bed hours ago, for young Greenwood over there tells me you are spending every waking hour at Burnt Acres.’

Dr Bennett shot up in his chair. ‘Burnt Acres!’ he cried. ‘That’s it.’

‘No, no, Bennett, that is
not
it,’ Samuel said gently. ‘I should have called it Morwood, to give it its proper title.’

‘No, no, but your calling it Burnt Acres reminded me!’ Dr Bennett waved his stick towards Lucas. ‘I know now where I have seen you before, sirrah!’

Lucas froze.

Not now
, he thought desperately.
Not now, not here
.

‘I was doctor to Mrs Blackstone, the poor lady who perished in the fire at Morwood. And it has come to me now, sir.’ The old doctor was chuckling, his hand on Havenham’s arm. Lucas could not move. He felt as if he was on the edge of a cliff and it was crumbling away beneath
his feet. The truth would out now. There was no going back. He remained impassive as the doctor’s twinkling eyes came back to him.

‘You are Maria Blackstone’s son. You have the very look of her, my boy!’

His quavering voice, made shrill with age, carried around that part of the room and everyone stopped talking. All eyes turned towards Lucas.

He could deny it, of course, but even as the thought crossed his mind he could see recognition dawning in Havenham’s eyes. The old man was remembering the ten-year-old boy he had known and finding a resemblance in the man now standing before him. And from the tail of his eye Lucas could see Annabelle. She was still beside him, but regarding him with bewilderment.

As well she might. There was no way he could save her pain now, but perhaps it was for the best. He had been in danger of becoming too entangled with the lady. He straightened his shoulders.

‘Yes, Doctor,’ he said coolly. ‘I believe I do look like my mother. I am Lucas Monserrat Blackstone.’

S
ilence followed his announcement. Lucas observed the reactions of those around him. Some had not even been born when Morwood had burned to the ground twenty-five years ago and for the rest it was only a distant memory. Not for them the terrifying nightmares that still haunted his sleep, the guilt that he had survived while his mother had perished in the inferno. He watched Samuel Havenham, alert for any sign of unease or guilt, but although the old man looked shocked at first, the next moment he was smiling, as if genuinely pleased with the news.

‘My boy, this is delightful, quite delightful! How did I not know you? I of all people should have seen the resemblance to your poor, dear mother. But I said to Belle that you looked familiar, did I not, my love?’ She nodded silently while
her father continued to shake his head in wonder. ‘So you have come back to Morwood, sir. That is very good, very good. But why change your name—did you think your old friends would not want to know you? Why, my boy, nothing could be further from The truth.’

Lucas looked away, uncomfortable with the memories that surfaced. The Samuel of his early childhood had been a big, genial man who had always treated Lucas kindly when they met, but no amount of words could absolve him of the one heinous act that Lucas was bent on avenging. However, for now he must answer coolly.

‘Monserrat was my mother’s family name.’

‘Ah…’ Samuel had a faraway look in his eye. ‘She would never talk of her Spanish family. That is why I did not recognise the name, but I still rebuke myself for not recognising you, Lucas—may I call you that?’

It was intolerable. The daughter had already breached his defences, he could not let the old man become too familiar. He must focus on his goal, keep his distance.

‘I shall of course be reverting to the name Blackstone now,’ he said curtly.

That, at least, would be a relief. He had every right to use his mother’s name and it had served to remind him of the task he had set himself, but he was glad to be done with the deceit.

With a bow he excused himself and left the room. Behind him the chatter was beginning again and he had no doubt of the subject. Let them conjecture. They would all know soon enough why he was here.

‘Well, who would have thought it?’ Lady Rishworth settled herself in the corner of her carriage and pulled her skirts close, making room for her daughter and her husband to sit beside her. ‘I suppose we must all get used to calling him Mr Blackstone now. What say you, Mr Havenham?’

‘I am sure we will grow accustomed in time, as we will grow accustomed to having Morwood occupied again.’

Annabelle heard the wistful note in her father’s voice and put it down to fatigue. The evening had been a long one.

‘But how is it that no one recognised him?’ asked Celia. ‘Is he changed so very much, Mama?’

‘Goodness, yes,’ said her mama. ‘He was only a child when he left here. But now I think of it he was always a very dark little boy, rather on the thin side. Mr Havenham may remember him better, being close neighbours.’

‘The pity of it is that I don’t,’ Samuel confessed. ‘I wish he had made himself known to
us at the start. I really cannot see why he should come here under another name.’

‘Perhaps he did not want to be the object of pity,’ suggested Annabelle.

‘Aye, that is very likely,’ agreed Sir John, squashed into the far corner of the carriage. ‘He wouldn’t want to be gawped at by all and sundry and reminded of his past.’

‘Was it so bad then, Papa?’ Celia asked her father.

‘Yes, a very bad business. Mrs Blackstone perished in the fire. There was some talk that she had locked the door to her rooms. Her husband was severely burned trying to rescue her. He died a few days later and their son was taken off to live with relatives somewhere in the south.’

‘He must have done well for himself if he can afford to buy back Morwood,’ remarked Lady Rishworth.

‘And he is spending a fortune on rebuilding it,’ added Sir John. ‘The family sold the place to pay off the creditors, and from what I remember there was not that much left for the boy’s inheritance.’

‘I wouldn’t want to live at Morwood,’ said Celia, shuddering. ‘They say it is haunted.’

Annabelle felt obliged to respond to this. ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘The ruins are—were—a sad place, to be sure, but I have never seen
any sign of a ghost. I hope Mr Mon—I mean Mr Blackstone will make a very comfortable home there.’

‘And there is another good thing to come out of this,’ chuckled her father, squeezing her arm. ‘This revelation is just what is needed to take everyone’s attention away from our attempts to economise!’

The assembly gave Annabelle a great deal to think about when she retired to her bed that night, but although she frowned a little over the disclosure of Lucas’s real identity her thoughts kept returning to the moment he had taken her in his arms and kissed her. In the whole course of her life no other man had ever done more than press a chaste salute upon her fingers, yet Lucas had kissed her at their very first meeting, and now he had done so again. Just thinking about it set her body on fire and brought on that strange ache deep inside. Her head was full of him. Even during the short journey home, when she had been talking with the Rishworths, her mind had been reliving their meetings, remembering the shock of his touch, the warmth in his eyes. She feared she was besotted.

She had never known a man like him—his manners could be abrupt, but when he exerted himself he was a charming companion. He had
left the assembly without taking his leave of her, but he still had her gloves. He had not actually
said
he would call upon her in the morning, but as she settled down to sleep Annabelle found herself hoping very much that he would do so.

Lucas was the first thought in her head when Annabelle awoke the following morning to bright sunshine. She rang for Becky, her maid, and bade her pull out her new morning gown of sprigged muslin. As soon as breakfast was over she took her tambour frame and seated herself in the window of the morning room, which had an excellent view over the approach to the house.

The clock ticked away the hours. She exchanged her embroidery for a book, but still no visitor came. By three o’clock she decided she would wait in no longer and instead would take Apollo for a gallop on the moor.

The next day followed the same pattern, and the next. Lucas did not call. Other visitors came, though, including Lady Rishworth and Celia, to talk over the assembly.

Annabelle invited the ladies to take tea with her and she joined in their conversation as best she could, but there was such a lot to conceal that she feared she was poor company. Her only satisfaction was when Lady Rishworth announced
that Mr Keighley had offered for Lizzie Scanlon and been accepted, she could respond with unfeigned delight for her friend’s good fortune.

Annabelle might tell herself that she had no hope now of Lucas calling on her, but when the bell pealed at the front door two days later she stopped in her tracks as she crossed the hall, almost trembling with anticipation. She waited, her spirits soaring, only to sink again when she saw the visitor.

‘Mr Telford, good day to you, sir. This is not your usual day to visit Papa, so I hope there is nothing amiss.’

‘I hope so too,’ he replied soberly. ‘Your father summoned me here urgently. Perhaps you know the reason?’

‘No, he has said nothing to me.’ She frowned. ‘Papa is in the study. I will go with you to see him.’

At first her father was reluctant for her to remain, and this made Annabelle even more anxious.

‘Please, Papa, allow me to stay. Whatever is troubling you, it cannot be worse than my imaginings, should you send me away. Dear Papa, let there be no secrets between us.’

He looked undecided for a moment, but then relented and waved her to a chair.

‘Very well, sit down, my love, and you, Mr Telford, please take a seat.’ He picked up a crisp paper and held it out to the lawyer. ‘I received this letter today. It was delivered express.’

Annabelle watched with growing impatience as Mr Telford read the letter. At last he put it down and, taking out a handkerchief, he began to polish his spectacles.

‘Well?’ It was as much as she could do not to reach over and snatch the letter from the desk. ‘What does it say?’

‘It is from Messrs Powell & Son, your neighbour’s lawyers in London. First of all, Mr Monserrat wishes to be known in future as Blackstone.’ He looked over the top of his glasses at Samuel.

‘Yes, yes, we know that. He is the son of the previous owner,’ said Annabelle. ‘He told us so at the assembly. Surely that is not the only reason for the letter?’

‘No, indeed, Miss Havenham.’ He picked up the paper again. ‘They say they have been instructed to inform you—’

‘Instructed?’ Annabelle broke in. ‘Does that mean that Mr Blackstone has spoken to them in person?’

Her spirits lifted a little. If that was the case, then perhaps Lucas was in London. That could be the reason he had not called upon her.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Mr Telford cautiously. ‘As far as I am aware Mr Blackstone is still at the Red Lion. No doubt he communicated with his lawyers by letter.’ He went back to the paper in his hand. ‘They have been instructed to inform you that Mr, er, Blackstone holds the mortgage on Oakenroyd.’

‘Really?’ Annabelle’s anxiety began to lessen. ‘If that is all… .’

‘Not quite.’ The lawyer studied the letter again carefully before continuing in his driest, most impersonal tone, ‘He is giving notice that the whole amount, plus the interest, must be paid by Michaelmas.’

She frowned. ‘I don’t understand, why should he do that?’

Her father shrugged. ‘Perhaps he needs the money himself.’

‘But, Papa, even if the harvest is exceptionally good we would not be able to repay half such a sum.’

‘We must find another lender.’ Her father sighed. ‘What do you say, Telford?’

The lawyer looked grim, the corners of his mouth turning down.

‘You know I have already been making enquiries, but so far to no avail. You will recall, Mr Havenham, that when we raised the original mortgage eighteen months ago we calculated a
sum to include the improvements you wished to make.’

‘Of course. With the harvest failing it was important that there was work for the men to do.’

‘Unfortunately there has not been sufficient time for those improvements to add to the value of your estate, sir. We agreed at the time the lender was being very generous, lending much more than the property was worth, and at such a good rate, too.’

Annabelle broke in, saying slowly, ‘Are you saying, Mr Telford, that others may not be willing to lend us the same amount?’

‘I fear that will be the case, ma’am, especially in the current climate. I will continue to enquire, but I fear there is no one in Stanton with such a sum to spare.’

Behind his desk her father was sitting silently, his face grey with worry. Annabelle turned back to the lawyer. ‘Please do so, Mr Telford,’ she told him. ‘And if that is not successful, then you must try London again.’

‘As you wish, Miss Havenham.’

Her father pushed himself up from his chair. ‘Aye, do your best for us, Telford. But I don’t need to tell you that, I know you will do so.’

‘I will, of course, sir, but interest rates are higher now, too. It will be no good raising the capital if you cannot afford to repay it.’

The lawyer took his leave and her father returned to his chair behind the desk. ‘I am very sorry, Belle. First Morwood, now this. I should have done better for you, invested more wisely…’

‘No one could foresee that the war would be followed by quite such a bad summer, Papa.’ She came around the desk to drop a kiss upon his forehead. ‘It is nearly time for dinner. Let us go and change and forget about all these worries for a little while.’

But of course they could not. Dinner was a quiet affair, both of them caught up in their own thoughts, but when they retired to the drawing room at the end of the evening Annabelle could bear it no longer.

‘I have been thinking and thinking about that letter, Papa. If it is from the lawyers, then perhaps they have not discussed it fully with Lu—Mr Blackstone. I cannot believe he knows just how difficult it will be for us to settle with him by the end of September.’

‘I admit I had not thought him an unreasonable man, my dear.’

‘Write to him, Papa. Invite him to come here to discuss the matter with you, face-to-face. I am sure once you have explained everything we can come to an amicable arrangement.’

‘Yes, perhaps I should.’ Her father brightened
perceptibly. ‘I am sure we could raise half the capital by September, perhaps that will suffice.’ He thought about it for a few moments more. ‘Yes, yes, that is what I shall do. First thing in the morning I will write to Mr Blackstone.’

Lucas sipped his coffee as he read Samuel Havenham’s carefully penned letter. This was it. This was the moment he had anticipated for so many years, the chance for revenge, and to make sure Samuel Havenham knew just why he was doing this. He sent a note back, advising Havenham that he would call upon him at four o’clock. Lucas told himself he needed time to visit Morwood first and see the progress there. If part of him wanted to put off the visit to Oakenroyd, he would not acknowledge it.

He arrived promptly, the longcase clock in the hall chiming the hour as Gibson led him across to the drawing room where Annabelle was sitting with her father.

‘Mr Blackstone.’ Samuel rose to meet him. ‘So good of you to call. Do sit down.’

Lucas hesitated. ‘I think perhaps we should go to your study, sir. We have business to discuss.’

‘There is nothing that cannot be discussed in front of my daughter, sir.’

The knot in Lucas’s gut tightened. Annabelle
was regarding him with those clear grey eyes and he had to remind himself that she was the enemy. He could not spare her.

‘Very well.’ He stripped off his gloves. ‘You have received the letter from my lawyers, I take it.’

‘I have, sir. It arrived yesterday. That is what I wish to discuss with you.’

‘I thought I had made my instructions perfectly clear to Mr Powell. The mortgage on Oakenroyd is to be terminated at Michaelmas.’