was said to have been a poor landlord. That was well before Annabelle had been born, however. Her father had bought the manor lands soon after the fire, but although he had looked after the tenant farmers, he had never done anything with the house and grounds. Morwood had remained unused and untended, and Annabelle had grown up roaming freely through the woods and the ruins. They had been her playground, but that of course was ended now. She would avoid the manor and its odious owner in future.
Annabelle stabled her horse and went indoors. She decided not to tell her father of her meeting with their new neighbour. Papa was not yet sixty, but a serious illness a few years ago had aged him considerably and she felt very protective towards him. He had always been so much more than just a father to her. Annabelle had never known Mama, who had died giving birth to her, and the loss of her only brother ten years ago had brought her much closer to her one remaining relative. Papa was the very kindest of men and had always been both her mentor and confidant. She could not lie to him and details of her encounter with Mr Monserrat would grieve him deeply, so it was best not to speak of it at all. Besides, the man had acknowledged that he had acted improperly, had he not? So she would not dwell upon it, although she would make sure he never had the opportunity to repeat his outlandish behaviour.
Annabelle found her father in the morning room, reading beside the crackling fire.
‘Ah, Belle, my love.’ He put down his book. ‘You have been a long time, I was beginning to worry.’
She glanced at the clock as she crossed the room, stripping off her gloves.
‘I beg your pardon, Papa. But it has not been so very long, certainly no longer than usual.’
‘I wish you would take Clegg with you, my dear. I am always afraid you might meet with some accident.’
Annabelle’s thoughts flew back to her encounter with Mr Monserrat. Could her groom have prevented that outrageous kiss?
‘Mayhap I will then, in future.’ Her eyes fell upon the little table beside his chair. ‘I see you have been playing chess. Have you had a visitor?’
‘Yes, Mr Keighley called and stayed to play a game.’ He chuckled. ‘I think his real purpose was to see you, but he bore your absence very well.’
‘And so he might, since it gave him the opportunity to play with one of the finest chess players in the county,’ she returned, smiling.
James Keighley was a widower and good friend to her father. Lately he had shown more of an interest in Annabelle and she suspected that he might be thinking of making her an offer. She was not sure how she felt about this, since he was on the shady side of forty and she had not yet reached one-and-twenty.
However, she knew the match would make her father happy. Mr Keighley’s fortune was not inconsiderable and he owned a substantial property some five miles away from Oakenroyd. As his wife she would have every comfort. Except one.
Annabelle might despise the lachrymose heroines of romantic novels, but she had not set herself against the idea of marrying for love. She knew it was unlikely that a strong, handsome hero would appear to sweep her off her feet or save her from some hideous fate, but she still cherished the hope that she would meet a man for whom she could feel more than a tepid affection.
Unbidden, the image of their new neighbour rose up in her mind. There was no doubt of his strength. She recalled quite clearly the powerful thighs encased in buckskins, and the wide shoulders made even broader by the billowing shirt sleeves, but in no way could she think of him as handsome. His rugged features, raven hair and coal-black eyes belonged more to a villain.
‘…my dear, you are not listening to me.’
She gave a start at her father’s gentle admonition. ‘I beg your pardon, Papa, I was daydreaming.’
‘I said Keighley has offered to take us up in his carriage when we go to dine with the Rishworths next week.’
‘How kind of him. I confess I had hoped he would offer to bring us home, even if we had to walk to Rishworth Lodge.’
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,
