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?’
She stopped. ‘We were caught in a heavy shower of rain that day, on the way home. Edwin became ill. Inflammation of the lungs. He never recovered.’
‘I see. How old was he?’
‘Just eleven years old.’
He watched as she looked into the past, such desolation about her that he wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, but that was impossible. He of all people could not give her sympathy.
‘I am very sorry,’ he said at last.
‘It was such a time ago, but I still feel his loss, greatly.’
‘I know. The pain never goes away.’
‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘About your parents.’ She stood for a moment, looking out over the water. Then with a sigh she tucked her arm in his. ‘We have become very maudlin, Mr Monserrat. Let us move on now. There is still a great deal to see, including the hermitage.’
He recognised her attempt to distract him and responded in kind. ‘A hermitage? That is something I did not know about. That will put me in the very kick of fashion!’
She chuckled. ‘Unfortunately, it is not a grotto but a natural formation of the rocks, but Edwin and I thought it would be the perfect habitat for a hermit.’
‘Then take me to it, Miss Havenham!’
He helped her back across the bridge and this time she did not pull her hand away, but allowed him to draw it onto his arm as they strolled back to where Clegg was waiting with the horses.
‘Let me help you to mount.’
Belle met his eyes for a fleeting moment, remembering the first time he had thrown her into the saddle. Did he recall it, too? How differently she had felt then. It would not be wise to mention it in front of Clegg, however. He was already looking disapproving about her being alone and out of sight with Lucas for so long, and if he knew of that first encounter he would most likely deliver a long homily upon the consequences of a young lady’s venturing forth without her groom. So she allowed Lucas to assist her and tried to look unconcerned while a storm of conflicting thoughts and feelings raged inside her. His touch, his nearness, both frightened and excited her. Instinct told her to beware this man, yet some power beyond her control drew her to him. He seemed to understand her love for this place and she wanted to share with him her memories, the happy days she had enjoyed running free in the woods and glades. She tried to explain it as they
