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,