Bought for Revenge (4 page)

‘A great deal,’ she retorted.

‘But you will allow me to try?’

‘That implies good behaviour does not come naturally to you.’

‘Of course not. I was in the army for fifteen years and they teach one discipline, but not society manners. Pray allow this boorish soldier a chance to redeem himself.’

He smiled, softening the harsh features. The dangerous look in his eyes disappeared, replaced by something warmer, an invitation to share his amusement. Annabelle was shaken by the transformation and had a great desire to smile back. Instead she looked away, not ready to capitulate. She pointed to a nearby lane.

‘If we turn in here, we can go across the moors and gallop the fidgets out of these horses.’

The exertion, the sensation of flying over the ground, did much to ease the tension Annabelle was experiencing. They raced neck and neck along the track that cut through the rough moorland. The gorse was coming into bloom; in a few more weeks there would be huge splashes
of brilliant yellow dotted over the moors, contrasting sharply with the black, almost lifeless heather that would turn first dark green, then purple as the summer progressed. She felt at home here, free to roam, but the approaching woods reminded her that her freedom was now curtailed. That wall of trees was her boundary. The land surrounding Morwood Manor was no longer hers to ride over as she wished. She tried not to be downhearted. Her father still owned sufficient land for her to enjoy a daily gallop. She must not be greedy.

They pulled up in the shadow of the trees and waited for Clegg to catch up before joining the track that wound its way down through the woods to Morwood. Annabelle saw immediately that changes were in progress. The encroaching undergrowth had been cut back to make the path through the woods once again wide enough for a carriage.

A laugh escaped her. ‘It is like “Sleeping Beauty.”’

‘I beg your pardon?’

She had been so engrossed in her thoughts she had forgotten her companion. A self-conscious flush touched her cheeks.

‘When the prince arrives and wakes the princess. The forest has been growing around the
castle for a hundred years and he has to hack his way through the brambles.’

He looked around. ‘Just five-and-twenty years has been enough to change the woods out of all recognition.’

They continued towards the house. Even before it was in sight, the sound of hammering could be heard ringing on the breeze, along with snatches of song from the workmen.

‘Your coming is timely, Mr Monserrat,’ she conceded. ‘You have brought a great deal of work to Stanton at a time when it is much needed.’

‘I have heard the harvests were bad last year.’

‘Dreadful. They called it the year without a summer, the crops rotted in the fields. The farmers had nothing to harvest, so the labourers had no work and no money was spent, thus the tradesmen suffered too.’ She shook her head, remembering the sad, strained faces in the town. ‘My father did what he could, set men on to renew the road from Oakenroyd to Stanton and rebuild the stone walls.’

‘And he borrowed money to do it.’

‘Yes.’ She looked across, frowning slightly. ‘How did you know that?’

‘A guess, merely. Ah, here we are.’

They emerged from the trees and the house now stood before them. It was just over two
weeks since Annabelle had ridden here last—and been so rudely accosted, but she must try to forget that. She was astonished by the transformation. A forest of scaffolding was growing up around the old walls, the sweeping drive was covered with wagons and much of the ground between the house and the woods had been cleared of weeds and saplings.

‘I shall lay new lawns, of course, but not until the builders and stonemasons have finished their work.’ He pointed to one side of the house. ‘I propose to plant a rose garden there, on the west front.’

‘In the painting the roses are on the other side of the house.’

‘Yes, but they never prospered there.’

‘You were fortunate to find anyone to remember such a detail.’ She gazed at the busy scene with mixed feelings. Of course it was a good thing for the manor to be restored, but the abandoned ruin of the old house had been so peaceful, a tranquil haven that she had come to look upon as hers alone. That was all gone now.

Lucas watched the play of emotion on her face. She had grown up here, she considered it hers. He quickly stamped down the tiny flicker of sympathy. Annabelle Havenham was merely losing her playground: twenty-five years ago he had lost his home and his parents, everything
he held dear destroyed in one terrible night. He was obliged to push the memories aside so that he could continue.

‘I have a stonemason inspecting the old walls of the house,’ he said. ‘To see which of them can be made sound. Much of the house will have to be rebuilt. Strange thing is that where the walls have collapsed much of the stone has gone. Robbed for other buildings, perhaps.’

‘There is an abundance of stone on the far side of the rise.’ She pointed with her crop to a tree-covered hill behind the house.

‘Will you show me?’ Lucas turned his horse. ‘We could go there now.’

She led the way. The old path around the base of the small hill was just passable, but although the trees were still bare of leaves she had to push the grey through the undergrowth, where the brambles were so high they snagged at her skirts. Eventually they reached a very uneven area of ground. The trees were much thinner here, growing between haphazard grassy mounds. Annabelle walked Apollo beside one particularly large mound and reached down to push aside some of the vegetation with the end of her crop.

‘This whole area is made up of piles of cut stone. It is very overgrown and the stones themselves are covered in lichen, but you will see that they are all dressed, ready to use.’

‘And use them we will. Thank you, Miss Havenham. I wonder why it was brought here?’

‘I think my father had some idea of building a house on this spot.’

‘Surely it would have been better to rebuild the old manor? The views are much better from that side of the hill.’

‘I am sure he had his reasons.’

He did not press her to explain, saying instead, ‘Tomorrow I will set men on to clear a path for the wagons. There is sufficient material here to rebuild the west wall and it should keep the builders supplied with stone until I can open up the delph again.’

‘You know about the old quarry? I suppose someone in the town told you, I did not think any of them would remember it.’

‘Clearly you were wrong.’

The frank grey eyes met his for a moment, a faint twinkle in their depths. ‘Then they have stolen my thunder, sir. I meant to amaze you with my local knowledge.’

It was the first crack in the wall of ice she had put around herself.

Lucas was heartened.

‘I am sure there is plenty more for you to show me.’

He smiled at her, but the defences were up
again. She replied coldly, as if to make up for her momentary lapse in hostilities.

‘My father instructed me to show you everything that might be of interest, Mr Monserrat.’

She turned the big grey and rode on. He followed her to the valley where the natural springs welled up from the ground and she pointed out the damaged and dry culvert that had once carried water to the house. Moving into the surrounding woods, she showed him the heavily overgrown tracks that cut across the Morwood land.

‘Odd that they should have been allowed to fall into disuse.’

‘Not really. They lead only to the old house. Once that was abandoned there was no need for them.’

‘But all this woodland, untended. Do the local people not come here to gather firewood, or snare rabbits?’

‘I have never seen any sign of that. Perhaps they are afraid of the ghosts.’

Lucas looked around. In every direction the trees grew tall and thick, cutting out all sound from the rest of the world. At night it would be a very different place, dark and sinister, a place for hiding secrets.

Lucas, your father, he has the black temper
this morning. You had best go away and play
,
my love. Keep out of his sight
.

He shivered and his horse sidled as his hands clenched on the rein. Annabelle glanced at him, brows raised.

‘Have I unnerved you, with the talk of ghosts?’

‘There are no ghosts,’ he said shortly. ‘Only memories. Let us move on.’

They made their way to a sunlit valley where the warmth of the spring sunshine dispelled his melancholy and he was able to concentrate on winning over his companion.

He went carefully, showing an interest in the land, asking questions, drawing her out to tell him what she knew of the estate’s history, encouraging her to share her memories. He might tease her gently, but he maintained a rigid propriety and gradually, as the day went on, the ice maiden thawed a little.

The tour took much longer than Annabelle had anticipated, partly because the overgrown paths meant their progress was slow. They had to take long detours to reach the points of interest she wanted to show the new owner of Morwood. He was eager to see everything and she was surprised at how much she enjoyed acquainting him with the land where she had spent so many happy hours. It was impossible to stay aloof, although she caught herself up at times,
refusing to respond with more than a tight smile to his pleasantries. She was still unsure of Mr Lucas Monserrat.

Clegg reminded her of the time and Annabelle was surprised by a tiny stab of regret as they left the old house and its neglected grounds behind them. They rode in silence until they reached the highest point of the moor. A sudden tinkle of bells was carried on the wind and she slowed, looking up to see a packhorse train trotting across the distant hills, while in the valley below Oakenroyd and its gardens basked in the weak sunshine. How she loved this place!

‘Your knowledge of Morwood is invaluable, Miss Havenham,’ said Lucas.

‘Thank you.’ Her response was cool. Not for the world would she let him know that she appreciated his praise, nor how much she had enjoyed herself. ‘You could gain as much from a map, I am sure.’

‘All the maps in the world are not as useful as someone who knows and loves the land. Perhaps you will come again? We have not yet seen everything.’

‘No, but there is only the Home Wood to explore. The rest is mainly farmland, and that has been well tended and needs no explanation from me.’

‘But I thought you might show me the lake.’

She looked at him, surprised. ‘You are particularly well informed, sir.’

‘You would not expect me to purchase an estate without making some push to find out what I was buying.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘And you will come again and be my guide?’

She bit her lip. It was tempting, but she must not succumb. ‘You do not need me.’

‘Oh, I think I do, Miss Havenham. Having seen how treacherously overgrown the paths have become, I might well lose myself in the wilderness that is now the Home Wood. Remember “Sleeping Beauty.” It could be a hundred years before anyone comes to my rescue.’

His reference to her earlier comment surprised a laugh from Annabelle. He grinned back at her.

‘So you will come. Tomorrow?’

She shook her head. ‘I have an engagement.’

‘Monday, then, if the weather is good.’ Still she hesitated and he continued, ‘I intend to be at the manor all day, so come if you can.’

It had been such a pleasurable day, why not repeat it? She was sorely tempted.

‘We have reached the edge of the Oakenroyd Park,’ he said, bringing his horse to a stand. ‘I shall leave you here and hope to see you on Monday.’

‘I—Do not look for me.’ She was suddenly unsure.

The brim of his hat shaded his face and she could read nothing from his look, although she knew those black eyes were fixed on her. Unsettled, she touched her crop to Apollo’s flank and set off at a gallop across the park. She did not look back, but it was an effort. She wondered if he was still watching her, or had he ridden away, putting all thoughts of her from his mind?

Annabelle entered the house by a side door and went to find her father. He was in his study, but he put down his book when she entered.

‘So you are back at last, my love. Did you enjoy yourself at Morwood?’

‘The time went very quickly,’ she answered him evasively. ‘We covered everything to the south and east of the house. Mr Monserrat has a lot of work to do to make Morwood habitable again.’

‘But it is time. I should have done more with it.’

‘You once had plans to build another house there, did you not, Papa?’

‘Yes. I thought I might do so.’ He sighed. ‘I was going to demolish the old manor, but when it came to it…’ He sighed again. ‘Perhaps I should
have sold Morwood then. Perhaps I should never have bought it.’

‘Too late to fret over that, sir,’ was Annabelle’s bracing response. ‘Instead let us be thankful that it is now being restored.’

‘Yes. Do you know, my love, I think Mr Monserrat’s coming will prove beneficial to the whole area. I am glad you have shown him over the grounds, Belle. I would not want him to think us anything less than good neighbours.’

She walked to the window, gazing out at the tranquil gardens, everything so neat and orderly.

‘He has asked me to ride out with him again, Papa. On Monday.’

‘And will you go, Belle?’

She raised her eyes, looking past the well-kept domesticity of Oakenroyd to the rugged moors beyond. Even in the sunshine they had a barren look to them, a wildness that attracted her. And beyond the moor lay the neglected groves of Morwood and their enigmatic owner.

‘Belle?’ Her father spoke again. ‘Will you ride out with Mr Monserrat?’

She smiled.

‘Yes, Papa. I think I shall.’

I
t was gone noon and Lucas was helping the men to winch a particularly heavy section of the pediment into place over the main door when the sound of hooves made him look around. Annabelle was approaching, cantering out of the trees.

The rush of pleasure he felt at the sight of her surprised him. Quickly he turned his attention back to the job in hand. The stone was inching upwards amongst a complicated web of ropes, the stonemason on the scaffolding above them shouting instructions. At last the block was in place and he could release his hold and leave the others to finish the work.

Annabelle had brought Apollo to a stand well back from the bustle and disorder in front of the house. Lucas picked up his discarded jacket as he walked over to meet her. He was aware of her
watching him as he shrugged himself into his coat. How must he look to her in his workaday buckskins and simply knotted neckcloth? Did she think him beneath her?

No. That was not her way. Everyone he met told him that Miss Havenham was an angel, not at all proud or disdainful. Unless one treated her with insolence, as he had done. Then she was justly indignant, her grey eyes darkening with anger and she became a force to be reckoned with. He smiled to himself. There was steel beneath that soft exterior. It would be interesting to discover just how much.

Lucas approached her, reaching up to rub Apollo’s great head.

‘You came.’

‘Yes.’ She looked a little uncertain. ‘If you are too busy it does not matter—’

He smiled. ‘No, not too busy at all. Wait there while I collect Sultan.’

The Home Wood lay at the western edge of the Morwood estate. The road to it lay through what had once been the park, but the smooth grass had been left to grow uncropped and the elegant trees now rose up amongst a mass of weeds and brambles. Lucas looked about him, frowning.

‘Did your father tell you why he bought Morwood?’
When she shook her head he continued, ‘Much of it shares a boundary with Oakenroyd. Perhaps he thought it a good opportunity to increase his property.’

‘Perhaps, although Papa has never been ambitious in that way.’

‘So he just shut the gates and left it to rot.’

She flushed. ‘He intended to build a new house and give it to my brother—’ She broke off, biting her lip. ‘I think, when Edwin died, he lost heart.’

‘He should at least have maintained the woods and the grounds.’

He heard the defensive note in her voice when she responded. ‘My father must have had his reasons for leaving Morwood as it was.’

‘Oh, I am sure he did.’ Annabelle was looking at him, a faint crease in her brows. It was not part of his plan to antagonise her, so he threw off his black mood and smiled. ‘Let us not waste time upon conjecture, Miss Havenham. You are here to show me the Home Wood and I am eager to see it.’

They picked their way across the neglected park and Annabelle led him unerringly to the remains of a path meandering through the trees.

‘My father told me this was once a carriageway here, used by the family for pleasure trips around the grounds.’

‘It leads to the lake.’

‘Yes, you are right. How…?’

‘One of the locals told me.’

‘What good memories they have, when no one ever comes here now. It is still possible to reach the water, although I haven’t ridden this way for a while and the weeds will already be invading the path. Would you like to see it?’

Annabelle turned Apollo on to the little-used track. Lucas followed, enjoying the view of her elegant figure twisting and bending to avoid the overhanging branches. the encroaching brambles snared her skirts, but she kept the big horse moving forwards. Gradually the sounds of the building work disappeared and only creaking leather and the jingle of the harness could be heard, along with the occasional trill of birdsong high up in the trees. Sunlight filtered through the young leaves and painted a fine tracery over everything, and as the hooves disturbed the soft loamy soil the pungent scent of damp earth rose up to meet them. As he followed Annabelle through this strange, unfamiliar world, an unaccustomed peace settled over Lucas. It was the most relaxed he had felt for a long time.

The path began a gentle slope downwards and they picked their way, avoiding the tree roots and the occasional stone protruding through the
earth. Finally, through the trees ahead there was the glint of sunlight on the water.

‘We are nearly there.’

Even as she called over her shoulder the trees gave way to a grassy bank that ran down to the water’s edge. Before them stretched the lake, a large, serpentine expanse of water enclosed by trees that grew thickly over the slopes of the surrounding hills. It was a sheltered spot and the spring sunshine was surprisingly hot.

Belle stopped and waited for her companion to bring his horse up beside her. ‘There. Was that not worth pushing through the undergrowth?’

‘It is every bit as beautiful as I…as I was led to believe.’

‘You can still see the line of the old path around the lake.’

‘Shall we follow it?’

She shook her head. ‘Clegg took me around the lake once, a few years ago, but even then the path was barely passable in some places and we were in danger of being tumbled into the water.’ She threw her groom an affectionate look. ‘He refused to ride that way with me again and made me promise never to do so alone.’ She pointed along the bank. ‘There is a boathouse over there, but to get to it you must cross the old wooden bridge across the inlet. It has not been maintained
and I have no doubt the timbers are rotted away by now.’

He jumped down and handed his reins to Clegg. ‘I shall go and find out.’

She watched him stride off, torn between wanting to remain aloof and curiosity. Curiosity won. Kicking her foot free from the stirrup, she slid to the ground.

‘Wait for me!’

‘Now, Miss Belle—’ The groom’s remonstrance had little effect, save to make her smile at him as she had done so many times in the past when she wanted her own way.

‘Pray, look after the horses, Clegg. We will not be long and I
will
be careful.’

Lucas waited for her to catch up with him.

‘Are you sure you will be safe?’

‘We are only going to the bridge. Clegg will always be in sight.’

‘But he will not be in earshot. I might insult you verbally.’

‘You might, of course.’

‘You do not think I will?’

‘You have shown no inclination to be so ill-mannered since that first meeting.’ She slanted a glance at him, a slight frown in those clear grey eyes. ‘Why
were
you so rude to me then? We had never met, I had done nothing to deserve such treatment.’

Nothing, save be the daughter of a man I am sworn to destroy
.

Lucas could not tell her as much, especially now he had decided her affection would prove a better weapon than her disgust.

‘Perhaps you were fatigued,’ she offered helpfully. ‘That can make one irritable.’

By heaven, she was even giving him his excuses! Looking into her eyes, he saw a faint, shy smile lurking there and he was obliged to squash a slight prickle of unease at making use of her in this way.

‘Yes, that was it.’

They were approaching the wooden bridge. Lucas could now see just how poor a state of repair it was in. The side rails had broken away and the boards looked grey and rotten. He stepped on to the bridge and tested one of the boards with his foot. It crumbled beneath his weight. He exhaled impatiently.

‘Sheer foolishness to leave it in this state. If it is so dangerous, it should have been rebuilt or removed.’

‘It should, of course, but no one ever came here to use it.’

‘
You
came.’

‘Not for years. Not since…’ She looked about her, and Lucas had the impression she had withdrawn from him. It lasted only a moment, then
she shook off her reverie and said in a robust tone, ‘If you are going to reinstate the lakeside drive, then a stone bridge would look very well here.’

He replied absently, ‘Yes, I have always thought so.’

She laughed. ‘Now I
know
you are teasing me, Mr Monserrat. You have but this minute seen this place.’

He recovered quickly. ‘But I have studied the plans, and this point faces due west, into the sunset.’

Come, Lucas, let us go down to the lake and watch the sunset from the bridge
.

‘Are you mentally landscaping the lake, sir? Perhaps you want to return it to its former glory. I am afraid that is not something I can help you with, since I have only seen it as a wilderness.’

It took Lucas some time to realise she was talking to him. ‘I beg your pardon, I was…dreaming.’

She waved aside his apology. ‘It is your home now, sir. Of course you want to take it all in.’

He looked across to the boathouse. ‘I wonder if the boats are still there.’

‘No. My brother and I looked in once. Papa said he had them broken up because they were unsafe. But the oars were on the walls then and there were some old fishing rods upstairs…’

‘There were?’ His eager response caught her attention and he was quick to explain. ‘I mean, I am surprised that they should have been left there, that no one would have taken them away.’

‘From what I understand Mr Blackstone was very severe with trespassers and the local people learned to stay away from his land. After he died they said he had left a curse over it.’

‘More ghosts, Miss Havenham?’

She gave a little shrug and a smile. He tested the bridge again.

‘What are you doing?’

‘The thick timbers spanning the inlet appear to be strong enough. I am going to have a look in the boathouse.’ He looked back to find her watching him, a wistful look in her eyes. ‘Will you come with me?’

‘The water is not deep here. I suppose the worst that can happen is we would get a ducking.’

‘Come along, then.’ He held out his hand. ‘Keep your weight over the main beams…that’s it.’

Her fingers clung to his as she carefully followed him across the bridge. He wanted to tease her, to say something about having to trust him, but he did not want her to withdraw again. She was clearly aware of their situation, for she kept her eyes lowered and a delicate flush painted her
cheeks. As soon as they reached the far bank she disengaged her hand and began to stride ahead of him.

The boathouse was built out over the lake on the southern side of the bridge. The waterside opening yawned black as they approached, but when they drew closer they could see the water lapping gently against the stone walkways inside. The sturdy walls of the building were intact and a set of stone steps ran up the outside to the upper floor.

The wooden door to the lower part of the building had long since parted from its hinges and lay almost hidden in the long grass. The double glass doors in the gable end over the boathouse entrance had fared better and were still in place.

‘I suppose that is where they would have fished from,’ remarked Belle, gazing up. ‘The iron railings across the opening would have prevented anyone from falling into the lake.’

She put her foot on the first of the stone steps, but Lucas caught her arm.

‘No, let me go first. It may be dangerous.’

She followed him. There was no handrail, but the steps were wide and caused her no problem. The old wooden door at the top of the steps was swollen and Lucas had to put his shoulder to it
to push it open. He moved inside, carefully testing the boards as he went.

‘The floor here is in better condition than the bridge,’ he remarked.

‘The roof is still intact. That has protected it.’ Belle followed him into the room. ‘I haven’t been here since Edwin was alive. It must be ten years and it is just as we left it.’

Belle looked around, remembering her excitement when they had found this miniature house with its little table and chairs, the wall sconces on the wall still bearing half-burned candles although their brass reflectors were pitted and dull with age. Now she could imagine the gentlemen—and perhaps ladies too—sitting at their ease on the chairs by the open doors, fishing rods draped out over the railings.

‘You discovered this place all those years ago, but never came back?’

‘I gave Papa my word,’ she said simply.

‘I do not think that would have prevented me.’

‘Then you have a more rebellious spirit than I,’ she replied, smiling. ‘Papa is a loving parent who rarely demands my obedience. When he does I am happy to give it.’

‘My parents died when I was ten years old.’

‘I am so sorry.’

Impulsively she put her hand on his arm and squeezed it. It was a friendly gesture, but too
intimate for their fragile acquaintance. Blushing, she drew back. Looking for distraction, she turned to the fishing rods fixed to the wall. They rested on their hooks as if they had been placed ready for another day’s fishing, which had never come. Now they were grey with age and dust. One rod was much smaller than the rest and she pointed to it.

‘That must be for a child.’

‘Yes.’ He took it down and weighed it between his hands. He looked towards the glass doors. ‘Father and son, enjoying a rare moment of peace together, fishing.’

Belle smiled at the image. ‘Is that how you see it, sir?’

‘Oh, yes. They would sit here in companionable silence…’

You and your father should spend more time together, Lucas, so I will not come with you. But be sure to bring me back a fish for my dinner!

‘I do not think my father ever enjoyed the sport. He certainly never took my brother fishing. Edwin liked that little rod. He was going to take it home and put a new line on it.’

Lucas pushed aside the memories that were crowding him and carefully put the rod back in its place on the wall.

‘So why didn’t he take it?’

‘I said we should ask Papa before we disturbed
anything here.’ Belle shivered and went back to the door. ‘We should go. Clegg will be growing anxious.’

‘And did your father object to your brother taking the rod?’ he asked the question as he followed her down the steps.

‘No.’

‘Then why is it still there? Belle?’ she began to hurry away from him, but he ran to catch up with her. He saw the tear on her cheek before she dashed it away. He said gently, ‘What happened?’