house is merely a shell.’
‘It is. I am staying at the Red Lion.’
Rishworth chuckled. ‘Ah, then let me warn you to watch out for the ladies, sir. The Red Lion holds the monthly assembly, and with you living there, they will expect you to attend.’
‘Aye,’ laughed another who had reached the roistering stage and was banging the table. ‘They’ll have you marked down as a dance partner and maybe more, if they have daughters to marry, eh, Sir John?’
Their host laughed. ‘I ain’t looking for a husband for Celia yet, but her mother is no different from the rest, looks upon every single man as a possible catch. Sorry to put it so bluntly, Monserrat, but there it is…’
Lucas smiled and shrugged and the conversation moved on, growing louder and more boisterous as the brandy and port flowed freely. By the time Sir John led them back to the drawing room to join the ladies, many of the gentlemen were decidedly rosy-cheeked. Lucas had drunk comparatively little and as the gentlemen ambled their way out of the dining room he hung back to wait for Samuel Havenham. Slowly they crossed the hall together.
‘I hope my neighbours’ little jests did not offend you,’ said Havenham in his mild way. ‘They are as good a set of gentlemen as one could hope to find, but the wine and the brandy, you know…’
‘I understand,’ said Lucas. ‘I am pleased at the warm welcome I have received since I came here.’
They were entering the drawing room and Lucas observed that Annabelle was watching him from across the room. A wry smile tugged at his mouth. There was one person whose welcome had been anything but warm. Havenham was still talking and making his way slowly but surely towards his daughter. Lucas wondered if he should excuse himself and move off, but an inner demon kept him beside the older man.
‘We have not done much entertaining of late at Oakenroyd,’ said Samuel. ‘My health, you know. I keep very much to the house during the winter months, but your coming puts me in mind of my obligations. Annabelle, my love, I was just saying to Mr Monserrat that we should hold a dinner. What do you say?’
‘Of course, Papa. Perhaps at the end of May. The weather will be more settled then and that will give me time to arrange everything. I do hope you will be able to join us, Mr Monserrat.’
She was clearly accustomed to playing hostess for her father. Her response was cool and collected, although Lucas noted how she avoided his eyes.
‘May? We cannot wait nearly two months to invite our new neighbour to dinner,’ objected Havenham.
‘Papa, I cannot possibly organise something in any less time. Invitations will need to go out and guests must have time to reply, then Mrs Wicklow must open up the guest rooms, and Cook, you know, will need notice to prepare.’
‘Yes, yes, I quite see that is the case if we are going to have a grand dinner, but in the meantime Mr Monserrat must take pot luck with us. Next week. A man cannot dine every night at the Red Lion!’ He touched Lucas’s arm. ‘Come as soon as you wish, sir. Name your day. You will find Belle keeps a very good table, you will not go hungry. And if truth be told her efforts deserve more appreciation than I can give them.’
‘You are very good, sir, and I will take you up on your invitation, gladly.’ He felt rather than saw the lady’s grey eyes upon him and turned to meet her frosty look with a blank one of his own. ‘Thursday next week would suit me very well, sir, but I would not want to inconvenience Miss Havenham.’
He could almost see the thoughts whirling through her head. She wanted to refuse, to make some excuse to put him off, but in view of her father’s invitation that was not possible. The devilish imp prompted him to say with false deference, ‘Perhaps Thursday is not her best day for cooking…’
‘Heavens, Mr Monserrat, I would not cook for you myself.’ The honeyed tone was as insincere as his own. ‘However, I can assure you that our cook is equal to feeding guests on any day of the week.’
‘Thursday it is, then,’ cried Mr Havenham, oblivious of the tension around him. ‘Splendid, splendid.’
He wandered off, but Lucas remained with Annabelle. ‘I look forward to improving our acquaintance, Miss Havenham.’ Silently she turned to walk away, but he kept beside her. ‘Ah,’ he murmured. ‘You are speechless with anticipation.’
‘I am speechless at your effrontery, first at Morwood—’
‘And now I only want to make amends.’
He could smell her perfume, not too sweet, and with a hint of citrus. He found himself leaning closer to breathe it in.
‘Let it be enough that I do not cut your acquaintance,’ she hissed.
‘But then everyone would want to know why.’
‘And you would delight in telling them, I suppose.’
‘No, no, I would not delight in it, Miss Havenham.’
She bit her lip and glared at him. He thought that if they had not been in Lady Rishworth’s drawing room she would have stamped her foot. He laughed suddenly and held out his hand to her. ‘Come, madam, your father likes me. For his sake, cry friends.’
She hesitated. Slowly, her hand crept up and into his. ‘Not friends, sir,’ she said quietly, ‘but for my father’s sake, not enemies.’
They did not speak again and later, when he lay down on his bed at the Red Lion, Lucas went over the events of the evening. He had enjoyed himself. Moreover, he had enjoyed the verbal sparring with Annabelle Havenham, so much so that when she had at last given him her hand he had felt a surge of pleasure.
He shifted uneasily. Havenham was a gentle, scholarly soul. In other circumstances he would have liked him, but it was not part of his plan to grow too fond of Samuel Havenham. Or his daughter. Lucas turned over and prepared for sleep, seeing again in his mind’s eye Annabelle’s clear eyes, the slight blush tinting her cheek during their last encounter.
On the other hand, it would do no harm at all if Annabelle Havenham grew too fond of him. Perhaps he should revise his plans. To force her to marry him to save her father would, of course, have its merit, but how much sweeter would his revenge be upon Samuel Havenham if Annabelle was to fall in love with him?
Chapter Three
Mr Havenham was sanguine about the invitation he had issued to Mr Monserrat to dine at Oakenroyd, but Annabelle could not rest. She knew her father would enjoy the evening, so she stifled her own misgivings and set about preparing a sumptuous dinner to show their new neighbour that Oakenroyd was a household of some standing in the neighbourhood. She made several journeys to the housekeeper’s room to change her mind about the dishes they should offer their guest, until at last the housekeeper, Mrs Wicklow, gently but firmly refused to discuss it any further.
‘Cook has been in charge of the kitchens for the past twenty years, Miss Belle, as you very well know, and if I tell him that you have changed your mind again he is likely to pack his bags and go off in high dudgeon, and then where should we be?’ She ushered Annabelle to the door. ‘Now, miss, I suggest you take yourself for a nice walk around the gardens while the sun is shining. The roast beef and cod loin will do very well, then we have a fine ham and apple dumplings, and I am sure we will find a few dainty sweets for when the covers are removed. Don’t you worry, my dear, your guest will not be disappointed.’
A similar indecisiveness struck Annabelle over what to wear.
‘I am mistress of this house,’ she muttered to herself as she pulled out and discarded various gowns. In the end she chose a high-waisted robe of pale-green silk, cut low across the bosom and with tight-fitting sleeves to offset the chill of a March evening. One of her many cream-muslin gowns would have been more suited to a young unmarried lady who had not yet attained her majority, but following their previous meetings she wanted Lucas Monserrat to see her as mistress of her father’s house, composed and