Bought for Revenge

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.’

Chapter Two

‘So, 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.’