cared nothing for her! Lucy’s heart and her pride had felt the blow of his indifference. Had he loved her, he would surely have made an effort to visit her. Even if he believed it was too soon for them to marry, he could have told her of his feelings...asked her to wait until he was ready. Instead, he’d ignored her and Lucy’s grief over Mark’s death and her feelings for Paul had turned to anger.
Why had he looked at her that way when they danced? Why touch her hair with his lips? Why hold her and look into her eyes when he helped her dismount from her horse? Why, oh, why had he engaged her feelings if he cared nothing for her? She had been a fool to care for him. Mark was worth ten of him...and yet she had not truly loved him in the way that a wife should. She believed that, had they married, neither would have been truly happy.
Perhaps she was incapable of loving anyone with all her heart. Lucy dragged a brush through her tangled hair, her throat tight with distress. If she could not fall in love, then she must look for a man who could keep her in comfort and would be kind to her.
It was not the marriage she had hoped for, because she was a romantic girl, but perhaps it would be less painful—to love someone was to suffer. Lucy had learned that lesson well these long months.
She owed it to her parents to marry, so she must put away this foolish grief. She had grieved long enough for her friend Mark, and Paul was not worth her tears. She would not continue to think of him and make herself miserable.
She would forget the past and be happy. Somehow, she would make a new life...and if a gentleman she liked asked her to wed him, she would say yes.
* * *
‘How is he?’ Paul asked of the butler, as he handed over his hat, gloves and riding whip. His grey eyes were anxious, his dark-brown hair ruffled as he ran his fingers through it nervously. ‘Please tell me he isn’t dead.’
‘Lord Ravenscar is very weak,’ the man replied sadly. ‘However, he still lives—and will be glad to see you, sir.’
‘Thank you, John. I shall go up to him at once.’
‘Mrs Miller is with him, sir. She sits with him as much as she can, but he still has a few visitors. Miss Dawlish came this morning. She left no more than an hour since—’
‘Indeed? That was kind of her,’ Paul said stiffly. He took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to shake off the dust of the roads in his anxiety. He knocked softly at the door of his father’s bedchamber and then went in. His gaze went immediately to the bed and the shock took his breath. Lord Ravenscar had been unwell when he left home, but still a strong man—the man in the bed looked thin and fragile, close to death. Guilt raged through him, making his chest tighten. By the looks of it he was almost too late.
‘Father...’ he said and went forward, his throat catching with emotion. ‘Forgive me for not returning sooner.’
‘Paul, my boy.’ The old man’s hand trembled as he offered it and Paul clasped it between both his hands. Jenny smiled at him and moved away from the bed.
‘I shall leave you together,’ she said. ‘Stay and talk to your father, Paul. We are all glad to have you back.’
‘Thank you... We shall talk later.’
Jenny nodded, going out of the sickroom. Paul sat on the edge of the large double bed, looking into his father’s face. ‘Forgive me, sir. I should not have stayed away so long.’
‘We both know why you went,’ Lord Ravenscar said and his voice was stronger as he held his son’s hand. ‘Your brother was dear to us both. Do you think I did not know how you loved him? We were both in awe of him, Paul—yes, I, too, for he enchanted us all, did he not?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Paul’s lean face tightened with pain. Bronzed by the sun, he had a craggy, weathered look that made him seem older than his years. ‘He was all that you could ever have wished for in a son or I in a brother. I longed to be like him, but I fear I failed...’
‘You did not fail in my eyes,’ his father said. ‘I have wanted to tell you, Paul. You were always as much my son...but you were different. I saw your mother in you, Paul. She had your hair and your eyes—Mark took after my father; he, too, was a man much larger than life and I was in awe of him.’
‘I could never live up to his standards. You deserved a son who could make you proud, sir. I would willingly have exchanged my life for his.’
‘No,’ his father said, shaking his head. ‘You make me proud, Paul. You might have gone off the rails, drinking and gambling—God knows, many would in your shoes. Instead, you buckled down to work and I know you have done well, for your commander wrote to me. He valued you, my son—and so do I.’
‘Father...’ Paul choked on the words, overwhelmed. ‘I wish it had been me... Mark should have been here to care for you and the estate.’
‘I would have given my life for him—for either of you. Mark was all that you say. But...if I speak only the truth, I believe you may be better placed to take care of the estate and our people. I have neglected them, Paul. In my grief, first for your mother and then for Mark. Oh, your cousin has done all that needed to be done, as far as it goes, but to be the lord of such an estate means more. The people need someone who cares for their welfare... I fear Mark was made for larger things.’
‘I do not understand you, Father?’
‘Mark would never have been happy to live here for long. He would have sought something more...politics or the London scene. He might have been a great general or a leader of men. I do not say he would have neglected the estate, but he spoke to me the day before he died...told me that he intended to ask you to help run the estate. I believe he had some idea of importing tea or some such thing. He was too restless a spirit to stay tamely at home.’
‘Mark wanted me to be his agent?’
‘Yes, I believe he had it in mind. He told me that he preferred an army life and would find it hard to settle in the country. I am not sure what he meant to do, for I think he was still considering his career. I know something troubled him, though he would not speak of it.’
‘I had no idea,’ Paul said and frowned. ‘Are you certain of this, Father?’
‘Yes. I always knew he would find it hard—this house, this land, they were not large enough for him, Paul. There was something in him that needed more and I think he might have grown discontent had he been forced to devote his life to the estate.’
Paul was bewildered, for he had always loved his home and liked nothing more than to ride its fields, to talk with the tenants and entertain his neighbours. This surely was a place of beauty and content, enough to make any man feel his life well spent in caring for the land and the people who worked it.
‘I am not sure what to think, sir. He said nothing of this to me—though I knew there was something on his mind. I...believed there was another woman, someone he loved, but could not marry for some reason.’
‘I dare say there may have been. He spoke vaguely of being uncertain of his own mind. I do not know what might have happened had he lived, for I think... I fear he may have discovered that he had made a mistake.’
‘A mistake? What can you mean?’
‘I believe he asked Miss Dawlish
