The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter eighteen - Lifting the veil

When Anabelle heard another knock at her chamber door, she was in half a mind to feign sleep and ignore it. While she had not expected her father to be satisfied with her answer, she had hoped his general apathy for household matters might allow her a longer respite before the girl returned to try again.

However, it was not the maid who entered at her call, but Mr. Latimer himself, leaning upon his crutches. "You see before you the hill, presenting itself before Mahomet. I hope you are not insensible of the compliment."

Anabelle sprang from her place upon the bed and helped her father to sit. "Dear sir! Had I known your reason was so pressing, I would have come to you sooner."

She felt her father's grey eyes upon her as he lowered himself into the chair, and knew what he saw. After her meeting with Mr. Fielding she had lost interest in everything: dinner had turned to ash in her mouth, the wine was like pump water, and the concerns of her family failed to divert her thoughts. This morning she had dressed with no care to her appearance; there was no one to impress and she felt too spiritless to care.

Having glanced only briefly in the mirror, she knew the dullness of her eyes and skin spoke of the long night following Mr. Fielding's proposal, when sleep had all but evaded her.

"Belle," said her father, his voice tinged with exasperation. "What in heaven's name compelled you to refuse Mr. Fielding's offer? I was under the impression you liked the man. Was I mistaken?''

Shocked by his question, it took a moment for her to form a reply. If her father already knew that much, she could do no more harm by revealing the rest. "No! I...I do like him."

"Then why would you not marry him? It is a popular pastime amongst the young, I believe."

She was in no mood to be the source of her father's entertainment. "You jest, but this is not a light-hearted matter. You know I cannot wed Mr. Fielding."

"I am afraid I know nothing of the sort. Pray, enlighten me with your reasoning."

"His position...his income; you would never allow me to be the wife of a steward."

Her father frowned, and then shook his head. "How is it possible you still imagine him to be Sir Henry's steward? You told me you had realised your error."

Anabelle heard the censure in his tone. "Yes, I was mistaken in thinking he would remain at Blackwood, but he said he was returning to his own position in the north."

The smile that now grew on her father's face was familiar to her, as was the twinkle in his eyes. "Have you any further objections, other than your belief of our disapproval? Do you imagine him to be unworthy?"

"No, not at all, but I hope I know better than to welcome an unequal connection. Mrs Latimer would despair if I made such a mésalliance; particularly now, when she has such high hopes of attracting the notice of a wealthy man like Sir Henry."

"A most humble self-sacrifice on your part, my dear, but there was never any need to deny yourself. Mr. Fielding is not a steward. He has never been a steward—not in this county nor any other."

Anabelle's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared at her father, the heat rising in her cheeks. "I do not comprehend you. Why, then, was he working for Sir Henry and what are the responsibilities he spoke of in Yorkshire?"

They were interrupted by Diana, bursting into Belle's room. She stopped dead when she saw its occupants. "Lord, Papa! What are you doing here?"

"More to the point," said Mr. Latimer in his sternest tone, "what are you doing barging in here without so much as a knock?"