Bought for Revenge (2 page)

Annabelle stabled her horse and went indoors. She decided not to tell her father of her meeting
with their new neighbour. Papa was not yet sixty, but a serious illness a few years ago had aged him considerably and she felt very protective towards him. He had always been so much more than just a father to her. Annabelle had never known Mama, who had died giving birth to her, and the loss of her only brother ten years ago had brought her much closer to her one remaining relative. Papa was the very kindest of men and had always been both her mentor and confidant. She could not lie to him and details of her encounter with Mr Monserrat would grieve him deeply, so it was best not to speak of it at all. Besides, the man had acknowledged that he had acted improperly, had he not? So she would not dwell upon it, although she would make sure he never had the opportunity to repeat his outlandish behaviour.

Annabelle found her father in the morning room, reading beside the crackling fire.

‘Ah, Belle, my love.’ He put down his book. ‘You have been a long time, I was beginning to worry.’

She glanced at the clock as she crossed the room, stripping off her gloves.

‘I beg your pardon, Papa. But it has not been so very long, certainly no longer than usual.’

‘I wish you would take Clegg with you, my
dear. I am always afraid you might meet with some accident.’

Annabelle’s thoughts flew back to her encounter with Mr Monserrat. Could her groom have prevented that outrageous kiss?

‘Mayhap I will then, in future.’ Her eyes fell upon the little table beside his chair. ‘I see you have been playing chess. Have you had a visitor?’

‘Yes, Mr Keighley called and stayed to play a game.’ He chuckled. ‘I think his real purpose was to see you, but he bore your absence very well.’

‘And so he might, since it gave him the opportunity to play with one of the finest chess players in the county,’ she returned, smiling.

James Keighley was a widower and good friend to her father. Lately he had shown more of an interest in Annabelle and she suspected that he might be thinking of making her an offer. She was not sure how she felt about this, since he was on the shady side of forty and she had not yet reached one-and-twenty.

However, she knew the match would make her father happy. Mr Keighley’s fortune was not inconsiderable and he owned a substantial property some five miles away from Oakenroyd. As his wife she would have every comfort. Except one.

Annabelle might despise the lachrymose heroines
of romantic novels, but she had not set herself against the idea of marrying for love. She knew it was unlikely that a strong, handsome hero would appear to sweep her off her feet or save her from some hideous fate, but she still cherished the hope that she would meet a man for whom she could feel more than a tepid affection.

Unbidden, the image of their new neighbour rose up in her mind. There was no doubt of his strength. She recalled quite clearly the powerful thighs encased in buckskins, and the wide shoulders made even broader by the billowing shirt sleeves, but in no way could she think of him as handsome. His rugged features, raven hair and coal-black eyes belonged more to a villain.

‘…my dear, you are not listening to me.’

She gave a start at her father’s gentle admonition. ‘I beg your pardon, Papa, I was daydreaming.’

‘I said Keighley has offered to take us up in his carriage when we go to dine with the Rishworths next week.’

‘How kind of him. I confess I had hoped he would offer to bring us home, even if we had to walk to Rishworth Lodge.’

Her father tutted. ‘But it should not be necessary to call upon anyone to drive us.’

‘Now, Papa, you know we agreed it is an expense we can well do without.’ She sank down
beside him. ‘The cost of the coachman, plus the horses eating their heads off in the stable, was far too much, especially when we rarely go farther than Stanton these days.’

‘But to have no carriage—’

‘We have the gig, Papa, and that is more than sufficient. Now,’ she said brightly, determined to turn his thoughts, ‘I will put off my riding habit and then perhaps you will give me your arm for a stroll around the gardens. We need to be thinking about the summer planting.’

She hurried away to change her gown. There was no doubt that her father was finding it difficult to come to terms with the economies they were forced to make, but she had every confidence that in a year or two they would be able to resume their previous mode of living, and possibly even use their own carriage again. Of course, if she married James Keighley their fortunes would alter overnight. But was that sufficient incentive to marry a man for whom she felt only a mild liking? It was a vexing question.

‘But not one you need to answer yet,’ she said, frowning at her reflection as she tidied her hair. ‘Time to make a decision if and when he asks you, my girl.’

‘S
o, Mr Monserrat has arrived,’ said Mr Havenham.

They were at breakfast. Annabelle was buttering a freshly baked muffin and did not look up.

‘Has he, Papa?’ She kept her tone decidedly cool.

‘Yes, Telford mentioned he was the new owner of Burnt Acres, did he not? Although I suppose we shall have to call it Morwood Manor again now. He has written me a very civil letter and I have invited him to call today.’

‘Oh, that is unfortunate. I have arranged to visit old Mrs Hall in Stanton and shall not be able to meet him.’

‘But I have not yet told you the time, my dear.’

‘I know, dear Papa, but I am engaged to go on to Mrs Ford’s for a fitting for my new gown.’
She gave him her sweetest smile. ‘If I’d had more notice I should of course cry off from both these appointments, but as it is…’

‘No, no, you must go, especially to visit Mrs Hall, I would not have you backward in your attentions to such an old friend. Very well, my dear, off you go. I will give our new neighbour your apologies.’

‘Mr Monserrat, sir.’

A very correct butler showed Lucas into the sunny drawing room at Oakenroyd, and as the door closed quietly behind him Lucas took the opportunity to study the man waiting for him.

He suffered something of a shock. In his mind he saw a tall, upright man with brown hair and grey eyes, very like his daughter, but his host was an elderly gentleman, his shoulders slightly stooped and his hair silver white. He came forwards now to greet his guest. His grey eyes were smiling, but Lucas had the impression of a pervading air of gentle sadness about the man.

No sympathy
, Lucas reminded himself.
Havenham is your enemy. Smile, play his game of friendliness, but keep your distance
.

Lucas listened to his words of welcome. They seemed sincere, uttered in a quiet voice that matched his mild demeanour. There was no hint that Miss Havenham had told him of their
meeting. Surely if she had done so his welcome would have been less cordial?

Lucas took a seat, accepted a glass of wine. After all, that was the civilised thing to do. It did not imply that they must therefore be upon good terms. In the past he had shown equal courtesy to a captured French officer, knowing that if they met on the battlefield they would neither of them have the slightest hesitation in killing the other.

But this is underhand. Havenham doesn’t know you are his enemy
.

The thought was unwelcome, but Lucas pushed it aside. Havenham’s conscience should tell him that retribution would come, one day. He dragged his attention back to what his host was saying.

‘I regret my daughter is not here to greet you. She is gone on a visit of duty that could not be put off.’

‘That, sir, is my loss,’ murmured Lucas. So she was avoiding him? Well, there was plenty of time to renew that particular acquaintance.

‘No, no, she is eager to meet you.’ The old man smiled. ‘She will want to see the new owner of Morwood. The house has been empty since before she was born and she has grown up running free in the grounds.’

‘Really? I am surprised you allowed her to wander so far from home.’

‘It is safe enough. She was always accompanied by a servant, or her brother, when he was alive.’ A hesitation, a flicker of pain, quickly brushed aside and Havenham continued. ‘Now she is grown, of course, she does ride unaccompanied, but I do not worry about her going there. The locals never venture on to the estate. They believe it is haunted.’ The old man fell silent, looking dreamily into the fire.

‘And is that what you believe too, sir?’ Lucas prompted him. ‘Is that why you have never done anything with it?’

‘No, but it holds painful memories for me.’ Lucas saw another shadow of pure anguish cross the lined face, then Samuel seemed to shake himself out of his reverie and said brightly, ‘But that is all in the past now. You are about to bring Morwood alive again and I am very glad of it.’

Lucas stayed for no more than the required half hour, fending off questions he did not wish to answer and making enquiries of his own about Morwood. All the time part of him was marvelling that he could sit so calmly exchanging pleasantries with a man whom he had hated for so many years. A man he planned to destroy.

Annabelle had been thankful to escape from the house and from a meeting with Mr Monserrat.
She would have to meet him sometime and part of her was a little ashamed that she was putting it off, but she stifled the quiet voice that was her conscience and went in sunny spirits to call upon the elderly Mrs Hall. However, when she sat down to dinner that night she could not forbear asking her father about his visitor.

‘I am sorry you missed him,’ said Samuel as he took his seat opposite her. ‘He has great plans for the manor, and I am glad of it. I should have done more with the house…’

‘And is this Mr Monserrat a gentleman, sir?’ Annabelle prompted him in an attempt to dispel his wistfulness.

‘Oh, I think so, my dear, although he is very dark. He was a soldier, you know, at Waterloo and before that in the Peninsula. I have no doubt the hot sun is responsible for his complexion, he is almost swarthy.’

She was about to say that could not account for his black eyes and hair, but she remembered, just in time, that her father did not know she had met their neighbour.

‘In fact, he reminds me of someone.’ Her father leaned forwards, a slight crease in his brow as if he were trying to catch some fleeting thought. He smiled and shook his head. ‘No, it will not come and is probably a nonsense. But you shall see for yourself when you meet him.’

‘I will indeed.’ Annabelle turned her attention to her food, hoping that it would be some time before she was obliged to see Mr Monserrat.

Samuel had been looking forward to dinner with the Rishworths, but when Annabelle had helped him into Mr Keighley’s carriage, she knew he would be comparing it unfavourably with their own well-padded barouche, which was now stored away at the back of the coach house.

‘Mr Havenham, welcome, sir, and Miss Havenham.’ Lady Rishworth greeted them with her usual jolly smile before turning to welcome Mr Keighley, who followed them into the drawing room. A number of guests had already arrived, all of them known to Annabelle. She considered it a misfortune that the closest was Mrs Kensley, a widow as colourless as her grey garb but with a waspish tongue. She gave Annabelle a false smile as she expressed her surprise at seeing them there so early.

‘I had thought you would be walking here tonight, Mr Havenham, and did not expect you for a good half hour yet.’

‘No, no, ma’am, Mr Keighley was good enough to call for us.’

Annabelle admired her father’s calm and good-natured response.

‘But it must be such a blow to lose your own
horses,’ the widow continued. ‘Times are very hard indeed when Oakenroyd must close its stables.’

‘They are not closed, ma’am,’ Annabelle corrected her. ‘It is only the carriage horses that have been sold. Old Simmons the coachman gave notice that he wanted to retire and we decided that we would not replace him for a while.’

‘My dear, you do not need to explain to me.’ The widow patted her arm and it was all Annabelle could do not to pull away from the condescending gesture. ‘So many Stanton families are struggling at present. No doubt you are regretting spending all that money on your presentation…’

Annabelle’s ill humour disappeared and she laughed at the absurdity of the remark.

‘My dear ma’am, that was two years past. But since you mention it, I do not regret a groat spent on a London Season.’ She continued, knowing what the widow’s next comment would be, ‘Neither do I regret returning unmarried. It means I can look after my father and be mistress of Oakenroyd. What more could I ask for?’

Annabelle watched with no small measure of satisfaction as Mrs Kensley blinked and opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. She was well aware that the widow had prepared any number of sympathetic and patronising comments,
but none would be appropriate now. Her father touched her arm.

‘My dear, let me present our new neighbour to you.’ Annabelle’s head came up. ‘Mr Monserrat, my daughter, sir.’

So he was here and looking very different from their previous meeting. In The confines of the Rishworths’ commodious drawing room he looked even larger than she remembered. The superb cut of his black evening coat did nothing to lessen the width of his shoulders, and the snowy whiteness of his cravat and shirt-points accentuated the deep tan of his skin. His hair, black as jet, was brushed back from a face that was more rugged than handsome with heavy brows that gave his aquiline features a rather hawkish look. She could more readily believe him a soldier than a courtier, yet when he made his bow to her she could not fault it.

‘We have met,’ he said, not taking his eyes from her. ‘I am glad to see you are none the worse for your little tumble, Miss Havenham.’

‘Tumble?’ Samuel was immediately on the alert. ‘When was this?’

She glared at the man, but he met her furious gaze with a bland smile as he replied.

‘On Monday last, sir. Miss Havenham had the misfortune to come off her horse and I was able to assist her.’

Mrs Kensley tittered. ‘Have I not always said that big horse is no mount for a lady?’

Her remark was ignored. Mr Havenham turned a frowning look upon Annabelle.

‘My dear child, you said nothing of this to me.’

‘Because it was of so little importance, Papa.’

‘But you did not tell me you had met Mr Monserrat.’

‘We were not introduced,’ she explained, keeping her voice cool. ‘And he merely helped me back into the saddle.’

‘Oh, my love, have I not said you should take your groom when you are out riding?’

Her tormentor nodded. ‘Let me add my entreaties to your father’s, Miss Havenham. You can never be sure what dangers you might meet in the woods.’

She almost gasped at his impertinence, but contented herself with a swift, angry glance as she addressed her father. ‘You have, sir, and in future I shall make sure I am always accompanied.’

Mrs Kensley was watching the interchange closely. She gave a little cough to remind everyone of her presence.

‘Perhaps you should consider selling such a dangerous brute, Mr Havenham,’ she suggested. ‘That would save you a deal of worry.’

Annabelle felt her temper rising, but support came from a surprising quarter.

‘Oh, I doubt that,’ remarked Mr Monserrat. ‘I suspect the lady would be a most uncomfortable companion if she was obliged to give up her riding.’

‘You are very right, sir. My poor father would soon be at his wits’ end with me. No, Mrs Kensley, it will be a sad day indeed when I am forced to part with Apollo.’

With a tight little smile she led her father away, muttering under her breath, ‘Insufferable woman! She delights in our troubles.’

Her father patted her arm. ‘Hush now, Belle. People are bound to talk about our economies. We must bear it as best we can. It will soon pass, when there is more fruitful gossip to be had.’

‘You are right, Father, and I beg your pardon. I am not as forbearing as you.’

‘You are young, my love, and impatient of adversity. These little setbacks happen and there are always those who will revel in others’ misfortune. We will smile and show them it is a small matter.’

‘Always so kind, Papa, always so gentle. I will try to learn from your example.’

‘You are a good girl, Belle.’ He patted her cheek. ‘Now, let me sit by the fire with my old friends while you go and enjoy yourself with the younger set!’

The Rishworths were well known for their lively dinners, and when they sat down at the table Annabelle found herself with a group that included Celia Rishworth and Lizzie Scanlon, two young ladies who were determined to enjoy themselves. She was some distance from her father, but since he was seated comfortably between his hostess and Mrs Hall she knew he would be happily entertained during the meal. Mr Monserrat was also at that end of the table. He appeared to be at ease with his company, but throughout the meal she was aware of his dark and enigmatic presence, watching and listening.

The dinner was excellent and the company determined to be pleased. Lucas set himself to entertain the ladies on either side of him, expertly drawing them out to talk about themselves and deftly turning aside all questions about his own background. On one side was Mrs Kensley, the widow whose caustic remarks had inflamed Miss Havenham. While cleverly eluding all her attempts to learn more about him, he encouraged her to talk. Lucas had her measure and took none of her comments or opinions at face value, but from her artless chatter he gained a great deal of valuable information about the neighbourhood.

As the meal progressed he studied Samuel
Havenham, seated across the table from him. He had learned that Havenham’s health was not good, but this merely confirmed his own impression. The old man ate sparingly, just enough to avoid offending his hostess, and his wine glass rarely required topping up. However, it was easy to see that Samuel Havenham was a well-respected figure in the area, and despite being obliged to give up his carriage he was still regarded as a man of some standing. Lucas let the conversation flow around him as he continued to watch Samuel. He noticed how often his eyes strayed to his daughter, sitting at the far end of the table.

‘Miss Havenham is the belle of our local circle,’ offered Mrs Kensley, following his glance.

‘Is she?’

The widow tittered at his cool response. ‘Oh, she is not as pretty as Miss Rishworth, nor Miss Scanlon, but she
is
Miss Havenham of Oakenroyd.’

‘You mean it is only her fortune that makes her so appealing.’

Mrs Kensley gave an arch laugh. ‘Oh, Mr Monserrat, that is very wicked of you, of course I do not mean any such thing! Miss Havenham is a very good sort of girl. She has been a little spoiled perhaps, but then her papa quite dotes on her. Although that is no wonder, Miss Havenham
being his only surviving child. However, for my part, I find her manners a little too forward for one so young.’

‘And how old is she?’ he enquired, helping the widow to another slice of lemon tart.