by Anne Herries
‘I did not wish to marry any of them, Mama.’
‘Your father was asking me only last evening... He worries about you, Lucy. He wants to see you married and to know you are settled. We should both like grandchildren.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Lucy said and there was a catch in her voice. She turned her face aside, as she said, ‘I must be a sad disappointment to you, Mama. I did try to like the count and the Marquis de Sancerre was very pleasant...but I could not face the idea of being his wife. You would not wish me to marry simply for the sake of it?’
‘No, certainly not, Lucy,’ Lady Dawlish replied. ‘I am sad and disappointed, as you say, but only for your sake. I pray that you will find someone who can make you put the past behind you and think of a new life. I should not like to think of you wasting your youth.’
‘If I do meet someone who makes me feel that way, I shall tell you, Mama,’ Lucy promised. ‘For the moment I would prefer to live with you and Papa.’
‘Very well, I shall not lecture you. You know your own mind best, Lucy—but it would make Papa and I happy to see you the way you used to be. You were always laughing, talking so fast that I could hardly keep up with you. Now you seem so serious...’
Lucy smiled, but made no further reply. She went up to her room, to change her gown and tidy her hair. Catching sight of herself in the pretty oval-shaped mirror in its frame of satinwood with painted decoration, she saw a face slightly too pale beneath the tan, which would soon wear off now that she was back in England, her eyes were large and dark, her mouth set in a hard line. Had she changed very much? As a girl she had always been ready to laugh and tease her friends—but she had carried so much pain inside her for too long.
She was concerned that her manner was causing her parents distress, but she had not been aware that they sensed the change in her. Had she become hard or uncaring? Lucy did not think so...the only person she felt anger against was Paul Ravenscar.
He had stayed away so long. Before he went away to Italy, he’d spoken of visiting her when she arrived in that country; she’d believed that once his grief had abated he would do so, but long before she set foot in Rome, he had gone back to Vienna and joined Wellington’s staff. In all the long months since he had not once written to her.
He 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 su
ch 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 to marry him on the spur of the moment and then realised he did not truly wish to wed her. Naturally, he could not jilt her for he was above all a gentleman—but I think he was troubled. Had he lived...’
As his father sighed, Paul’s mind struggled to take in all that he had been told. It seemed that there were aspects of his brother that he had not suspected. If Mark did not particularly want to be the master of Ravenscar...if he had not truly loved Lucy...but, no, his father was mistaken. Any man fortunate to know Lucy, as Mark had, must love her.
‘I can hardly credit it,’ he said to his father. ‘I am sorry for it, if it is true—but Mark appeared to be so pleased with the world. He spoke of the wedding and of making the estate stronger, more prosperous.’
‘It was his intention to improve things, especially for our tenants,’ Lord Ravenscar said. ‘He spoke of pulling old cottages down and building new...and, as I said, I believe he hoped to make the money for these improvements by a venture into trade.’
‘As Adam and Hallam have with their wine importing,’ Paul said. ‘I do not think I have such bold ideas in my head, Father. I cannot see myself investing in cargoes or selling wine or tea. I think an improvement may be made to the land by new methods of farming—and I should like to breed horses if I can afford it.’
‘You are a countryman after my own heart,’ his father said and smiled. ‘It was my ambition to breed fine horses at one time, but I was too lazy. If you have your mother’s blood in you, you may achieve more, for she was always busy.’
‘You have never gambled your fortune away, sir, as many gentlemen do. I shall have no debts to settle, as my cousins did.’
‘I would have loaned them money, you know, but they were too proud to ask and in the end solved their own problems. I wish that I could have had more time with you, Paul—time to teach you things you should know, but Anders is a good man. He will help you...and Hallam knows the estate well.’
‘Hallam has done his share,’ Paul said. ‘I shall do well enough—and I still have you to guide me, sir.’
His father’s hand trembled a little on the bed. ‘I fear not for much longer, my son—but I shall die in peace now that I have seen you again. All I want is for you to be happy.’
‘I shall do my best to oblige you, sir. I shall make you proud of me and the estate will not suffer if I can prevent it.’
‘I know you will do all I could ask, my boy,’ his father said and smiled at him. ‘But it is not just the estate...you must find a wife to make you comfortable and you will need at least one son—more is always better.’ They were both silent, for they had ample cause to know what might happen to the rightful heir.
‘Yes, Father,’ Paul said, feeling a lump in his throat as his father lay back and closed his eyes. ‘I shall remember. I will look about for a comfortable wife...’
No answer came and he knew that his father was sleeping. He had wanted to say so much in a short time and it had exhausted him.
Paul felt the sting of tears. He feared that his father could not live many days, for his strength was failing, but God had given them this short time together. Lord Ravenscar had given him hope, because he felt he had his blessing. Somehow, their talk had eased his grief in a way that the months of self-imposed exile had not. He should have stayed here with his father, got to know him better...but at least they’d had this time together.
Mark would always be his hero, but the feeling of having always been inadequate had lessened. His father had not thought him a failure—he trusted him to take care of the estate and its people. Paul would not let him down...and he would look for a lady to make his wife. It was his duty to his father and to the estate.
He thought fleetingly of Lucy, then dismissed her from his mind. She would not look at him, but there were other ladies almost as lovely...and perhaps one of them would be happy to be his wife and give him the sons the estate needed.
Chapter Two
Pausing at the top of the landing that morning, as he heard the female voices in the hall below, Paul caught his breath. Surely that was Lucy’s voice? She must have come to visit his father.
He took a deep breath and went down the wide staircase, with its beautifully carved mahogany banisters. As he reached the bottom he paused and she turned her head towards him, making him catch his breath. He was surprised as he looked into her face and saw a stranger. It was Lucy, but not as he remembered her—her face was thinner, older, yet in a way even more lovely—but there was something different. The Lucy Dawlish he’d known had been so open, a trusting, lovely, lively girl who had chattered heedlessly and laughed all the time... This woman had an air of reserve about her...as if she were encased in a crystal, her thoughts and feelings shielded from public gaze.
‘Miss Dawlish,’ he said and held out his hand in greeting. ‘How pleasant to see you.’
‘Captain Ravenscar,’ she replied and made a slight curtsy. ‘I am glad to see you home at last. Your father must be happy that you have come back, I dare say.’
He felt her censure and frowned. He knew well enough that he had neglected both his father and the estate, but he did not care to hear it from her—and it was there in her manner and her eyes.
‘Yes, he is,’ Paul said. ‘It is good of you to enquire. Yesterday, when I arrived, he was very tired, but today he seems better. I sat with him for an hour and we talked of estate matters. If you will excuse me, I shall leave you and Jenny to talk. I have something to do that Father most particularly requested.’ He inclined his head to her and then glanced at Jenny. He gave Lucy a cool look, for he had retreated into that private place within him. She looked at him with eyes that saw too much and he needed to escape. ‘I shall not be at home for luncheon, Jenny—but I shall certainly be back for tea.’
‘Yes, of course, Paul,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Adam should be home later this afternoon. I told you he had gone to London on business, but he will be so pleased to see you back where you belong.’
Paul nodded and went past them and out into the warm sunshine. It was a few moments before he felt the warmth, for he felt as if he were encased in ice. He was not sure whether he had behaved just as he ought, for it had been such a shock to see Lucy standing there looking so changed...but he hoped that he had said all that was polite to an old friend. She could never be anything more...and she was not the girl of his dreams.
What had happened to change her so? Had she grieved so deeply for his brother?
Walking swiftly towards the agent’s office, he thrust his feelings to the back of his mind. His father had asked him to ride out and speak with one of their farming tenants. The house needed a substantial repair to the roof and it was needful that it should be set in hand at once. Hallam had not made a decision on it before returning to his home, but now that Paul was back at Ravenscar, it would be his decision.
He must attend to business and forget the way his heart had hammered at the first sight of the woman he had once loved. It was his duty to think of the estate and to marry a sensible woman to provide an heir for the title. This foolish yearning must be put aside. Lucy was beyond him and so he must not think of her— besides, she was not the same.
‘Captain Ravenscar,’ Mr Anders said, looking up from his ledgers. ‘What may I do for you, sir?’
‘I have it in mind to take a look at Briars Farm,’ he said. ‘Will you ride out with me, Anders? I should like to see the work that needs to be done for myself...and then we shall set it in train. Now that I am home I intend to see that everything is as it ought to be.’
‘I shall be glad of it, sir. Major Ravenscar is a good man, but he has his own affairs and did not like to go too fast in case it was not in accordance with your wishes...and he would not trouble Lord Ravenscar more than necessary.’
‘My father has put the estate in my hands, as you know.’ Paul smiled, for he liked the honest cut of the man. ‘You shall advise me, sir—but it is my intention to improve the estate. There are many new ideas in agriculture now and we must investigate them...and our people must be properly housed.’
