Drawn to Lord Ravenscar

‘The duke might easily have found another aide to organise his work or his balls,’ Lucy replied scornfully. Her mouth was hard at that moment, for in the past months since Mark’s death, she had learned to hide her true feelings and to shield her heart. She had cried too many tears, both for herself and for her lost fiancé and sometimes she felt that there were none left inside her—though she had felt like weeping when she saw how fragile Lord Ravenscar had become. ‘Paul is thoughtless.’

‘Now, dearest, I do not like that in you,’ her mother said in some distress. ‘You were always such a caring girl. Not that I mean you have changed towards your father or me—but you are harsh to Paul. You must remember that he was devastated by...’ Lady Dawlish faltered. ‘I know you, too, suffered grievously, my dearest...’

‘Yes, but some of my grief was guilt because I did not love Mark in the way I ought as his wife-to-be. He was my hero and my friend, Mama—but I was not in love with him. He swept me off my feet when he returned a hero from the wars and asked me. Had I married him we might both have been unhappy, for I do not think he was in love with me either. There were times when I sensed he wished to tell me something—but he was killed too soon.’

‘Oh, Lucy dearest...’ Her mother looked even more upset. ‘If that is true, why are you still so affected by what happened? I hoped that you might meet someone in Italy or in Paris. There were several gentlemen who showed interest, but you gave them no encouragement. Even that charming count who paid you so many compliments. I am sure he would have asked had you given him the least encouragement.’

‘I did not wish to marry any of them, Mama.’

‘Your father was asking me only last evening... He worries about you, Lucy. He wants to see you married and to know you are settled. We should both like grandchildren.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Lucy said and there was a catch in her voice. She turned her face aside, as she said, ‘I must be a sad disappointment to you, Mama. I did try to like the count and the Marquis de Sancerre was very pleasant...but I could not face the idea of being his wife. You would not wish me to marry simply for the sake of it?’

‘No, certainly not, Lucy,’ Lady Dawlish replied. ‘I am sad and disappointed, as you say, but only for your sake. I pray that you will find someone who can make you put the past behind you and think of a new life. I should not like to think of you wasting your youth.’

‘If I do meet someone who makes me feel that way, I shall tell you, Mama,’ Lucy promised. ‘For the moment I would prefer to live with you and Papa.’

‘Very well, I shall not lecture you. You know your own mind best, Lucy—but it would make Papa and I happy to see you the way you used to be. You were always laughing, talking so fast that I could hardly keep up with you. Now you seem so serious...’

Lucy smiled, but made no further reply. She went up to her room, to change her gown and tidy her hair. Catching sight of herself in the pretty oval-shaped mirror in its frame of satinwood with painted decoration, she saw a face slightly too pale beneath the tan, which would soon wear off now that she was back in England, her eyes were large and dark, her mouth set in a hard line. Had she changed very much? As a girl she had always been ready to laugh and tease her friends—but she had carried so much pain inside her for too long.

She was concerned that her manner was causing her parents distress, but she had not been aware that they sensed the change in her. Had she become hard or uncaring? Lucy did not think so...the only person she felt anger against was Paul Ravenscar.

He had stayed away so long. Before he went away to Italy, he’d spoken of visiting her when she arrived in that country; she’d believed that once his grief had abated he would do so, but long before she set foot in Rome, he had gone back to Vienna and joined Wellington’s staff. In all the long months since he had not once written to her.

He cared nothing for her! Lucy’s heart and her pride had felt the blow of his indifference. Had he loved her, he would surely have made an effort to visit her. Even if he believed it was too soon for them to marry, he could have told her of his feelings...asked her to wait until he was ready. Instead, he’d ignored her and Lucy’s grief over Mark’s death and her feelings for Paul had turned to anger.

Why had he looked at her that way when they danced? Why touch her hair with his lips? Why hold her and look into her eyes when he helped her dismount from her horse? Why, oh, why had he engaged her feelings if he cared nothing for her? She had been a fool to care for him. Mark was worth ten of him...and yet she had not truly loved him in the way that a wife should. She believed that, had they married, neither would have been truly happy.

Perhaps she was incapable of loving anyone with all her heart. Lucy dragged a brush through her tangled hair, her throat tight with distress. If she could not fall in love, then she must look for a man who could keep her in comfort and would be kind to her.

It was not the marriage she had hoped for, because she was a romantic girl, but perhaps it would be less painful—to love someone was to suffer. Lucy had learned that lesson well these long months.

She owed it to her parents to marry, so she must put away this foolish grief. She had grieved long enough for her friend Mark, and Paul was not worth her tears. She would not continue to think of him and make herself miserable.

She would forget the past and be happy. Somehow, she would make a new life...and if a gentleman she liked asked her to wed him, she would say yes.

* * *

‘How is he?’ Paul asked of the butler, as he handed over his hat, gloves and riding whip. His grey eyes were anxious, his dark-brown hair ruffled as he ran his fingers through it nervously. ‘Please tell me he isn’t dead.’

‘Lord Ravenscar is very weak,’ the man replied sadly. ‘However, he still lives—and will be glad to see you, sir.’

‘Thank you, John. I shall go up to him at once.’

‘Mrs Miller is with him, sir. She sits with him as much as she can, but he still has a few visitors. Miss Dawlish came this morning. She left no more than an hour since—’

‘Indeed? That was kind of her,’ Paul said stiffly. He took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to shake off the dust of the roads in his anxiety. He knocked softly at the door of his father’s bedchamber and then went in. His gaze went immediately to the bed and the shock took his breath. Lord Ravenscar had been unwell when he left home, but still a strong man—the man in the bed looked thin and fragile, close to death. Guilt raged through him, making his chest tighten. By the looks of it he was almost too late.

‘Father...’ he said and went forward, his throat catching with emotion. ‘Forgive me for not returning sooner.’

‘Paul, my boy.’ The old man’s hand trembled as he offered it and Paul clasped it between both his hands. Jenny smiled at him and moved away from the bed.

‘I shall leave you together,’ she said. ‘Stay and talk to your father, Paul. We are all glad to have you back.’

‘Thank you... We shall talk later.’

Jenny nodded, going out of the sickroom. Paul sat on the edge of the large double bed, looking into his father’s face. ‘Forgive me, sir. I should not have stayed away so long.’

‘We both know why you went,’ Lord Ravenscar said and his voice was stronger as he held his son’s hand. ‘Your brother was dear to us both. Do you think I did not know how you loved him? We were both in awe of him, Paul—yes, I, too, for he enchanted us all, did he not?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Paul’s lean face tightened with pain. Bronzed by the sun, he had a craggy, weathered look that made him seem older than his years. ‘He was all that you could ever have wished for in a son or I in a brother. I longed to be like him, but I fear I failed...’

‘You did not fail in my eyes,’ his father said. ‘I have wanted to tell you, Paul. You were always as much my son...but you were different. I saw your mother in you, Paul. She had your hair and your eyes—Mark took after my father; he, too, was a man much larger than life and I was in awe of him.’

‘I could never live up to his standards. You deserved a son who could make you proud, sir. I would willingly have exchanged my life for his.’

‘No,’ his father said, shaking his head. ‘You make me proud, Paul. You might have gone off the rails, drinking and gambling—God knows, many would in your shoes. Instead, you buckled down to work and I know you have done well, for your commander wrote to me. He valued you, my son—and so do I.’

‘Father...’ Paul choked on the words, overwhelmed. ‘I wish it had been me... Mark should have been here to care for you and the estate.’

‘I would have given my life for him—for either of you. Mark was all that you say. But...if I speak only the truth, I believe you may be better placed to take care of the estate and our people. I have neglected them, Paul. In my grief, first for your mother and then for Mark. Oh, your cousin has done all that needed to be done, as far as it goes, but to be the lord of such an estate means more. The people need someone who cares for their welfare... I fear Mark was made for larger things.’

‘I do not understand you, Father?’

‘Mark would never have been happy to live here for long. He would have sought something more...politics or the London scene. He might have been a great general or a leader of men. I do not say he would have neglected the estate, but he spoke to me the day before he died...told me that he intended to ask you to help run the estate. I believe he had some idea of importing tea or some such thing. He was too restless a spirit to stay tamely at home.’

‘Mark wanted me to be his agent?’

‘Yes, I believe he had it in mind. He told me that he preferred an army life and would find it hard to settle in the country. I am not sure what he meant to do, for I think he was still considering his career. I know something troubled him, though he would not speak of it.’

‘I had no idea,’ Paul said and frowned. ‘Are you certain of this, Father?’

‘Yes. I always knew he would find it hard—this house, this land, they were not large enough for him, Paul. There was something in him that needed more and I think he might have grown discontent had he been forced to devote his life to the estate.’

Paul was bewildered, for he had always loved his home and liked nothing more than to ride its fields, to talk with the tenants and entertain his neighbours. This surely was a place of beauty and content, enough to make any man feel his life well spent in caring for the land and the people who worked it.

‘I am not sure what to think, sir. He said nothing of this to me—though I knew there was something on his mind. I...believed there was another woman, someone he loved, but could not marry for some reason.’

‘I dare say there may have been. He spoke vaguely of being uncertain of his own mind. I do not know what might have happened had he lived, for I think... I fear he may have discovered that he had made a mistake.’

‘A mistake? What can you mean?’

‘I believe he asked Miss Dawlish to marry him on the spur of the moment and then realised he did not truly wish to wed her. Naturally, he could not jilt her for he was above all a gentleman—but I think he was troubled. Had he lived...’

As his father sighed, Paul’s mind struggled to take in all that he had been told. It seemed that there were aspects of his brother that he had not suspected. If Mark did not particularly want to be the master of Ravenscar...if he had not truly loved Lucy...but, no, his father was mistaken. Any man fortunate to know Lucy, as Mark had, must love her.

‘I can hardly credit it,’ he said to his father. ‘I am sorry for it, if it is true—but Mark appeared to be so pleased with the world. He spoke of the wedding and of making the estate stronger, more prosperous.’