Helen Dickson (3 page)

Stung by the contempt in his voice, Laura stiffened. ‘You are in error, Edward. I swear he did not touch me. You will have to be content with that. At least we have come away from the incident unharmed—if a little poorer. For that we must be thankful.’

Edward leaned into his corner, quietly fuming. ‘That man will regret this night’s work. I will not rest until I find him and see him hanged.’

Seated across from him, Laura shuddered. She had never seen such hatred in a human gaze. Turning her head, she looked into the darkness beyond the window, and as they travelled on she felt as if she’d imagined the whole encounter with her husband. The sense of unreality stayed with her all the way to Roslyn. The man who had suddenly reappeared in her life commandeered all her thoughts, and she found her mind drifting back to the circumstances of their first meeting.

She had been living in London then, with her father, Sir James Russell, who was attached to the Admiralty in Whitehall. Her mother had been dead several years. Aunt Josaphine, her mother’s sister, who had always taken a kindly interest in her young niece, frequently invited her and her father to join small, diverting parties at her town house, where her guests were chosen for their charm and gaiety.

It was at one of these parties that she first saw Lucas. He appeared with a friend of his, a Frenchman—the Comte de Mournier, she recalled, an extremely amiable young man, both lively and unreserved, and whose manners were very much admired. Lucas, on the other hand, was quite withdrawn, and had seemed curiously out of place. His tall, broad-shouldered, restless figure and bronzed features seemed to belong to a world of outdoor activities, rather than among the frills and flounces of her aunt’s drawing room. He did not partake in any of the diversions, which
he obviously found tedious, and would stand apart and observe the gathering with his proud and brooding silver gaze.

A vivacious friend of Laura’s, Lydia Sheridan, who knew all the latest gossip, whispered to her that she should beware of Lucas Mawgan, for his blatant virility and dark good looks impelled women to his side. It was rumoured that over the years he’d had an assortment of mistresses, and that he seemed in no particular hurry to marry. Lydia also told her that he was a gentleman who lived in Cornwall, who often journeyed to London to conduct his business affairs.

Laura saw Lucas on several occasions after that, and even began looking for him, hoping to see him. He was always accompanied by his friend, the Frenchman, and they were often to be seen in the company of the much sought-after Weston sisters, Daisy and Caroline, two extremely beautiful blonde-haired girls—frivolous and the focal point of every event they attended.

Unfortunately for them and the gentlemen who tried to get close, they were constantly watched over by their matriarchal mother, who never let her precious daughters out of her sight, but it did not escape Laura’s notice that Lucas was often to be seen in conversation with Caroline. Lydia remarked that Caroline had her eye on him, and that she had confided to her that she would do anything to get him, and Laura didn’t doubt that for a moment. Caroline, pink-cheeked, those dark eyes of hers wide and positively gleaming with anticipation, lapped up everything Lucas said and did like a kitten at the cream.

When Laura was introduced to Lucas by her aunt, he appeared brusque and quite formidable to her, and with a sense of foolish dismay she realised that her head hardly came up to his shoulder. His eyes passed over the plain young girl quickly and with little interest, looking at her but not seeing her. When he moved on she realised how
immature she must seem to him, but from that moment her heart was lost to her.

It was as if a candle had been lit within her, which burned with an unquenchable flame, and the more she tried not to think of him the flame seemed to burn all the stronger. She told herself it was foolish to think like this, and that, since he seemed unaware of her existence, to save herself heartache she ought to forgo her visits to the places where he would be present. But instead she seized on their meetings and hugged them to her like a comfort blanket. She thrilled at each one of the occasions that she saw him, and looked forward to the next with passionate anticipation, marking her calendar with red crosses so she wouldn’t forget those few treasured days.

The misunderstanding that was to change her life occurred when she was leaving a party with her father late one night. Rain was coming down in torrents and it was blowing a gale. There were so many people and such confusion in the street as everyone tried to hold onto their elaborate hair adornments and find their carriages. Somehow Laura became separated from her father and found herself alone in a carriage that was suddenly driven off at breakneck speed, drawing terrified screeches from all those it almost ran down.

Horrified, she tried shouting for the driver to stop, that there had been some mistake, but he couldn’t hear her over the noise of the storm. The carriage continued to travel like this for some time, causing Laura extreme concern for her safety. She had no idea what was happening to her or where she was being taken, only that they had crossed the river and were heading in the direction of Richmond.

After an hour or so of being bounced about, when the driver finally brought the carriage to a halt in Richmond Park, he jumped down from his perch and flung the door open. Laura was astonished to find herself face to face with Lucas Mawgan. He stared at her with a look of enormous
surprise, which was quickly followed by anger and frustration. That was the moment she realised that the carriage she was in belonged to the Weston family—it was very similar to her father’s—and she looked back at him with a dawning of understanding and deep regret.

Lucas Mawgan had abducted the wrong woman, and he knew there would be all hell to pay when he took her back.

He was right. Her father and brother were furious. To prevent a dreadful scandal that would ruin her reputation beyond recall, her father and Philip insisted Lucas do the honourable thing and marry her. There was no one more astonished than she was when he made no attempt to defend himself and agreed without argument. Laura tried telling him that she knew of the mix-up and he didn’t have to marry her, but she was too humiliated and intimidated by him to say so. He did not disclose to anyone what his intentions had been when he had abducted her that night—but she knew.

When they were together Lucas was always courteous to her, but she could detect the underlying currents in his tone and body. He was seething with anger. He hadn’t wanted to marry her. He was simply being chivalrous. But Laura was supremely grateful for the way he had leaped to the defence of her reputation to save her from disgrace, which proved how noble he was. She would repay him for his kindness, she vowed. She would be a good wife to him. They were not much alike, yet despite their differences they might deal well together. However, they only had three short days together as man and wife before Lucas had to go to France—and was lost to her.

On Lucas’s demise, at eighteen years old she found herself with the burden of managing servants and trades people, and striving to keep the small estate intact. She found it difficult to understand Cornish people and their way of life, and there were plenty of men and women in and around Roslyn who didn’t like strangers. At first she felt
like an interloper, who had invaded a world where she was not welcome. But, being a natural born survivor, she soon found her feet and learned to stand on them.

Fortunately money wasn’t a problem, since Lucas had left her a very wealthy young widow. Upon paying his lawyers in London a visit shortly after his death, she listened with a sense of unreality as she was told of the extent of his wealth. As well as the income from the estate, he had a large fortune invested in stocks and bonds that would take good care of her in the years ahead.

Neither Laura nor Edward spoke until the dark outline of Roslyn Manor came into view. The great house was in harmony with the massive rocks, flanking the sea, on which it stood, proud and defiant, gazing sightlessly over the Channel as it had done for centuries.

The coach stopped at the bottom of a narrow flight of steps leading up to the solid, double oak doors, and when Edward would have got out Laura halted him. Although she was quaking inside, she looked at him with outward calm. She must delay no longer in telling him she would not marry him, and now that the moment of confrontation was at hand she was strangely relieved.

‘Edward, wait. There is something I have to say to you.’

He looked at her sharply, his mind still preoccupied with what had just transpired. ‘What is it?’

Taking a firm grip of herself, she very carefully steadied her voice in an attempt to soften the blow. ‘I cannot marry you,’ she told him quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

He looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Laura. What nonsense is this? Of course we’ll be married, and with respect we should proceed with the arrangements without delay. You’re hysterical and overwrought by what’s happened, that’s all. You’ll feel better in the morning.’

‘I mean it, Edward. It was wrong of me to say I would—
and to let the party go ahead tonight. I had misgivings from the start and should have spoken out. I should never have let it go this far.’

‘Then why did you?’

‘I—I don’t know. I was afraid, I suppose.’

‘Afraid, Laura?’ he said harshly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Afraid of what? Me?’

‘No, of course not. I don’t know why. But I feel I have to put a stop to this, to end it now while there is still time. Our betrothal was a mistake.’

‘You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re committed to me.’

‘No, I’m not. I don’t love you, and I know you don’t love me. A betrothal can be broken more easily than a marriage.’

Edward noticed that she was measuring her words, and he began to realise she was not hysterical but perfectly sane, and that she meant what she was saying. His face darkening with anger, his fists so tightly clenched that the knuckles became bloodless, he looked at her hard, resenting her rejection as a personal insult. ‘Have you forgotten that it is what your brother wants—what he expects of you?’

‘My brother will be the first to understand,’ she returned with cool civility. ‘Of course, I will write to your mother and explain.’

‘Now, Laura, be sensible,’ Edward said, trying to gentle his tone to coax her out of this madness. ‘You know the situation.’

‘Yes, I think I do,’ she replied quietly, meeting his gaze squarely. ‘I can understand how disappointed you must be that you won’t be getting the land you have always coveted. In fact, of late, I have come to realise that the land—particularly that adjoining Roslyn Cove—means more to you than I do. I also know why. But you needn’t worry. I shall continue to turn a blind eye to your nocturnal activities, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

His gaze pinned hers. ‘It’s not.’

‘No, I didn’t think so,’ Laura replied, feeling an atmosphere of menace creep into the coach.

‘I do not merely want the land,’ Edward went on impatiently, his wrath growing by the second. ‘Of course I want you, too. You have so much common sense, which is something I have always admired about you. What we have cannot be dismissed in a moment—or, perhaps I should say, by a foolish fancy in a very attractive head. You won’t get a better offer than mine—certainly not here in Cornwall.’

‘I have no wish to marry anyone else.’

Realising he was losing the battle of persuasion, Edward glared across at her. Without warning his attitude changed and he seized her wrist in a painful grasp. He was like a man possessed, simmering with an inner rage he could barely contain, refusing to even contemplate relinquishing the prize he believed he had won. ‘I will not give up,’ he remarked fiercely. ‘I will not be made a fool of by you. I will not be made a laughing stock. You hadn’t even the courage to confess your doubts before tonight. The whole evening was farcical—a pretence.’

‘Please, try to understand, Edward. I have said all I have to say. Our engagement is at an end, and that is my final word,’ she said, wrenching her wrist from his grip, wanting only one thing now and that was to leave him. Removing the betrothal ring from her finger, she gave it to him. ‘I won’t change my mind.’

‘It will not end here, Laura. I will not let it. I am not so easy to be got rid of, as you will find out.’

Laura climbed out of the coach, and Edward took his leave of her in bitter silence, curtly ordering Amos to drive on, with neither a backward glance nor a word of farewell.

As he decided how best to deal with this new turn of events Edward’s senses were heightened sharply by his growing awareness of this menace to his future plans. He cursed Laura Mawgan and every one of her late husband’s
ancestors. His hatred of that family was deep-rooted, with festering memories of what he considered to be the stealing of valuable land from the Carlyles by the Mawgans that called aloud for vengeance upon the perpetrators. He would not be swayed from murder if necessary—were it family or friend. He would never allow such compunction or allow any such weakness to deflect him from his purpose.

Shattered by the night’s events, Laura felt an inexplicable heaviness weigh on her heart as she entered Roslyn Manor. When would she see Lucas again? she wondered. Where had he been for the past two years? What had he been doing, and why was it so important that no one should know he was alive and in Cornwall? And why had he taken to the road as a highwayman? She sighed wearily. It was all very confusing. None of it made sense.

The door was opened for her by John Treneer, an aged manservant who had worked for the Mawgans for most of his life. His wife, who was a quiet woman with an air of authority, who made her own rules and to whom Laura had grown close, was the housekeeper at Roslyn Manor and would have been in bed long since.

John was sixty years old, always solemn, inscrutable and silent, and he was finding it increasingly difficult doing his work. But Laura had become extremely fond of him. He had become her friend, a man she could trust implicitly, and she would no more have thought of dispensing with him than she would have thought of burning the house down. When she had lost the man dear to her heart, John had made sure that heart did not turn to stone.