Drawn to Lord Ravenscar. Anne Herries
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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 is hard when your loved ones are far away...’ There was such pain and grief in his voice that Lucy was angry with Paul Ravenscar. How could he abandon his father this way? A month or two to come to terms with his grief would have been understandable, but no loving son could have stayed away this long, knowing that his elderly father was grieving.
Lucy had once thought that she might be in love with Paul. Already promised to his brother, whom she’d hero-worshipped for years, it had come to her suddenly when dancing with Paul at a ball in London that she might have preferred to marry him. She had been anxious in her mind and considered whether she should tell Mark when he was murdered. The shock had thrown them all, for how could someone as glorious be lost so easily to a murderer’s spite?
Guilt had swamped her and, for a time, she had wondered if Paul might have shot his brother in a jealous fit, but she had not truly believed it—and later, when Adam and Hallam trapped the real villain, Lucy had hoped... A little sigh rose to her lips, but she smothered it and smiled at Lord Ravenscar.
‘I am sure Captain Ravenscar will return soon, sir. Hallam wrote to tell him that you were unwell.’
‘He should not have done so,’ the old man said testily. ‘Paul was engaged on work for his country—one of Wellington’s aides. Why should he come rushing home just because—?’ He broke off and shook his head. ‘Though I shall admit that I have missed him sorely. I think I was unfair to him, Miss Dawlish. I do not believe I ever told him...’ He closed his eyes and a single tear trickled down his cheek. ‘Mark was the eldest and Paul...Paul stood in his shadow. That was unfair, Miss Dawlish...damnably unfair.’
‘Pray do not distress yourself, sir,’ Lucy said, feelings of pity tugging at her heart. ‘I am sure you will see him soon and then you may tell him yourself.’ She turned as the door opened and Jenny