However, your duty is clear. Your father needs you and asks for your return; therefore, you must go.’
‘I must resign my commission,’ Captain Paul Ravenscar said regretfully. He straightened his shoulders, a tall lean wiry man with an upright bearing. ‘My cousin Hallam has been attending to estate affairs since...the death of my brother, but he has his own duties and cannot continue indefinitely, for he is married and his wife is with child. Besides, it is my duty to care for the estate. If my father dies...’
Paul’s gaze wandered about the elegant room, which was small but tastefully appointed, the doors painted cream and gold. He had become used to working here with his leader and would miss the work and the comradeship of his fellow officers.
‘You are his heir,’ Wellington said. ‘You have my permission to leave. I vow it was easier to defeat Bonaparte on the field of battle than to settle the peace, but it is almost finished. I, too, shall return to England very soon.’
‘Yes, sir. I thought it must be so... I can only thank you for giving me the chance to serve you at a time when I was near to desperation. Had I not been able to throw myself into the work...’
‘No need to thank me, Ravenscar. I was glad to have you,’ Wellington said brusquely. ‘Get off with you then...and remember a man must always do his duty by his family, as he would his country.’
Paul clicked his heels, shook the duke’s hand and walked from the office that Wellington had used these past months. So much wrangling over the peace terms and the settlement of Europe had taken place that these walls had shaken with the ferocity of the duke’s anger, but it was as he said, the peace was settled now and they could all return to England.
Paul was thoughtful as he walked swiftly towards his lodgings. With luck, he would be at Calais within two days and another two should see him back at Ravenscar. He prayed that he would be in time, for Hallam’s letter had spoken of his father as being very ill.
He was struck by guilt, because he knew that he ought to have stayed at home to relieve his father of the burden that his estate must place on him—for even though Hallam had done everything he could, Paul knew that his father might have been easier had his one remaining son been there to shoulder his everyday cares.
He would blame himself if his father died. Yet he’d had to get away.
Paul had felt the death of his elder brother Mark like a crushing load that had almost suffocated him. Mark was the golden one, the hero—the chosen one who should have inherited the estate and title that would one day now pass to Paul. Lord Ravenscar had always favoured his elder son, but Paul could never blame him...everyone had adored Mark from the moment he was born. A big man with strong shoulders and thighs, he was better at everything, outshining his younger brother at every turn. Paul should have hated him or been jealous, instead, he’d worshipped Mark. He had resented nothing that Mark had...except for Lucy Dawlish...
A swathe of pain made him gasp, for Paul had not been able to forget her. He had tried, God knew, he had tried to put her out of his mind these past months he’d spent in Vienna with Wellington. He had no right to think of her. She had belonged to Mark, would have been his wife had not Mark been foully murdered. She loved him—and for a time she’d suspected Paul of having killed his brother. The memory of that look in her eyes had never left him, for it lay like a dark shadow on his heart.
Lucy had loved Mark. She had grieved for him. The last thing that Paul had heard of her was that she had returned from Italy, where her mama had taken her to recover from her grief, still unattached. He had thought all these long months that she would find someone and marry him, but she had not.
She was clearly still grieving, unable to forget the man who had so cruelly been snatched from her a few weeks before her wedding.
Paul knew he must not think of her. It would be impossible to marry the girl that his brother had loved, wanted as his wife...even if Lucy would look at him. As children they had quarrelled more often than not for even then, Lucy had followed Mark as an adoring puppy. Only once...at a ball in London just before they all went down to the country to prepare for the wedding...Only briefly then had Paul felt that Lucy might like him, might return the hopeless feelings of love he’d had for her.
He was mistaken. He must have been mistaken, for she had meant to go ahead with her wedding... She had been devastated when Mark was killed.
It was useless to repine. Paul could never have taken her from his brother, even if Mark had lived, and now it was impossible. His memory would always be enshrined in Lucy’s heart. She would never look at his insignificant brother.
Paul must put her out of his mind. There were enough beautiful ladies in Vienna to distract him, but apart from a brief flirtation or two with married ladies, Paul had remained indifferent to the female sex. He knew that he had aroused intense interest amongst the young women who had accompanied brothers or fathers to Vienna. Because he showed no more than polite interest in any of the gently-born young ladies, he was thought of as reserved, even cold, but that did not deter their interest. He was the heir to the Ravenscar fortune, attractive if not as devastatingly handsome as his brother had been, and personable. More than one lady of quality had tried to catch him in her net, but Paul behaved with impeccable politeness while remaining aloof...unreachable.
Paul found the attempts of some young women to compromise themselves with him vaguely amusing and took care to make sure that he was not caught behind closed doors alone with any of them. He had no desire to be married for his prospects...indeed, he had no desire to marry at all.
Paul knew that one day he would need to marry to secure the line, but for the moment he could not give serious consideration to the idea. As he shouted to his batman to pack his things, all Paul could think of was whether his father would live long enough to give him his blessing...and whether he could bear to live in the house that should have been his brother’s.
Chapter One
‘It was kind of you to visit an old man,’ Lord Ravenscar said and smiled as the young girl smoothed his pillows and set the glass of cold water closer to his hand. ‘Your pretty face has made me feel the sunshine, Miss Dawlish, and my days have been grey long enough.’
‘I wanted to visit you,’ Lucy assured him, ‘and Mama said that I might, as Jenny was visiting. You may remember that Adam’s wife is a good friend of mine, though I had not seen her for many months.’
A look of pain flitted through the old man’s eyes, for the day his nephew’s wife Jenny first arrived at Ravenscar was the day his eldest and adored son Mark had been murdered, nearly eighteen months ago now. The pain was plainly still too deep and grievous to be mentioned.
‘You were a long time in Italy, Miss Dawlish?’
‘We spent almost a year there,’ Lucy replied with a smile.
Her complexion was a little coloured by the sun, for her skin had taken on a slightly golden glow, which had not yet faded. Her hair was lighter than it had used to be, a silvery blonde and fine, making her eyes seem bluer and her mouth a delicate pink.
The room smelled of the roses she’d brought for him and was clean and sweet, for Jenny and Adam had come to stay to care for him in his last days, and the servants looked after their master, as they ought.
‘We visited Paris on the way home, but Papa was feeling lonely without us and so we came home last month.’
‘Yes, I dare say your father missed you. It
