The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth

‘Oh, get along with yer, sir. It’s a real flatterer yer are.’ This was said with a hint of pride at his compliment. Straightening her back, she added, ‘I knows yer all like the Cornish pasties, and Master George is ever so fond of my sausage rolls. I’ll get a tray ready for yer, sir, and send young Polly with it in a tick, once I’ve made the pot of tea. Does that suit, Master Edward?’

‘It does indeed, Cook. I can’t wait to sample some of this fare, it smells delicious. Thank you so much, I do appreciate it.’

‘My pleasure,’ she called after him, watching him walk over to the door.

Swinging his head, he grinned at her, waved and was gone.

Mrs Latham stared at the door for a moment, her eyes filled with admiration for him. Edward Deravenel was blessed with the most pleasant nature as well as those staggering good looks. She couldn’t help wondering how many hearts he would break in his lifetime. Scores, no doubt. At eighteen he already had women falling at his feet. Spoil him, that they will, she thought, clucking to herself, turning to the ovens. Aye, they’ll all spoil him rotten, give him whatever he wants, and that’s not always a good thing for a man. No, it’s not. I’ve seen many a toff like him ruined by women, more’s the pity.

She swung around as the door opened again and muttered, ‘There yer are, young Polly. I was just wondering where yer’d got to—’ Cook broke off and clucked again. ‘Bump in ter Master Edward, did yer, lass?’

The parlour maid nodded and blushed. ‘He’s ever so nice ter me, Cook.’

Mrs Latham shook her head and sighed, but made no further reference to Edward. Instead she continued, ‘Set a large tray, please Polly. I’m preparing a mornin’ snack for Master Edward and his brothers. When it’s ready yer can take it ter the Morning Room.’

‘Yes, Cook.’

After crossing the Long Hall, Edward made his way back to the Morning Room where he had left his brothers. He was lost in thought, contemplating his return to university. Today was Tuesday, January the fifth; in two days he would travel to London and go up to Oxford that weekend. He was looking forward to returning and especially pleased that he would be reunited with his best friend and boon companion of many years, Will Hasling, who was also an undergraduate.

His attention suddenly became focused on the end of the corridor. He had just caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark skirt and jacket, a froth of white at the neck, a well-coiffed blonde head. And then there had been the click of a door closing.

He hurried forward, passing the Morning Room, not stopping until he reached the last room at the end of the corridor. Pausing at the door which had just closed, he listened intently. There were no voices, only the sound of someone moving around, the rustle of papers. Tapping lightly on the door, he did not wait to be summoned inside. He simply walked in.

The woman in the room stared at him, obviously startled.

Edward closed the door, leaned against it. ‘Hello, Alice.’

The woman took a deep breath, then exhaled. After a moment she inclined her head, stared at him, but said not one word.

Stepping forward he took hold of her arm just as she started to move around the desk, wanting to put it between them.

Holding her arm, pulling her closer, he leaned forward and murmured, ‘Alice, my dear, you didn’t come to see me last night. I was devastated…’

‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘let go of me. Your mother might walk in at any moment. Please, Master Edward.’

‘Not Master Edward. Surely you mean Ned…that’s what you whispered to me in the dark last week.’

She looked up into the handsome face, was momentarily blinded by the vivid blue eyes, and closed her own.

Edward was instantly alarmed. ‘What is it, Alice?’ he asked in concern. ‘Are you ill?’

She opened her eyes, shook her head. ‘No, no, I am not ill. But I can’t see you anymore. I’m afraid of…what might happen to me if we were to continue our…intimacy.’

‘Oh, Alice, darling, don’t be frightened—’

‘And then there’s your mother to consider,’ she cut in peremptorily, her eyes darting to the door. ‘She would be furious if she found out about our liaison. You know she would dismiss me at once. And I do need this position…’ Her voice trailed off and she swallowed hard.

Looking down into her pretty face, Edward saw the tears glistening in her hazel eyes, and he noticed the fear and anxiety gripping her. He nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid you’re correct, Alice.’ He studied her for a moment. If she had been from the working class, or even a woman of his own class, he would have pressed his suit, certain that there would be no serious repercussions. But Alice Morgan was from the middle class, and also very vulnerable, and because of that he knew he must show consideration to her. She was the widow of a local doctor with a small child to support, and she did indeed need this position as his mother’s secretary. And so because he was a compassionate young man and had a kind heart, he let go of her arm and stepped back.

A rueful smile touched his lips and he let out a small sigh. ‘I won’t trouble you any further, Alice,’ he said in a very low voice. ‘You are perfectly right, everything you have said is true. And I don’t wish to be a nuisance to you or cause you any difficulties.’

Leaning forward, she touched his cheek with one finger, and then she swiftly edged around the end of the desk, where she stood looking at him.

‘Thank you,’ she said in a voice as low as his had been. ‘Thank you for being such a gentleman.’

He left without glancing at her again, and as he closed the door behind him he did not hear her say, ‘It’s not because I don’t want you…I do. But I know you’re the kind of man who can’t help but break a woman’s heart.’

TWO (#u02ba055c-10FF-11e9-9e03-0cc47a520474)

Cecily Deravenel, matriarch of the family, was aware that Edward had followed Alice into the office. She had been walking along the minstrel’s gallery above the Long Hall when she had seen first one and then the other enter the room.

Neither Alice nor Edward had noticed her, and she had continued on her way, heading for the wide, curving staircase which led to the ground floor. As she was descending Edward had suddenly come out into the corridor in a great hurry and rushed into the Morning Room, closing the door sharply behind him.

Once again, Cecily’s presence had gone unnoticed, and this pleased her. She had no wish to confront her eldest son about his interest in the young widow whom she employed.

Cecily Deravenel had always been a good judge of character and she knew Alice Morgan very well. She trusted her to handle the situation with practicality, decorum and the utmost discretion, since she was well brought up, a proper young woman. Fully understanding that it was a passing fancy on Edward’s part, if it was anything at all, Cecily was nonetheless relieved that he would be going to London on Thursday, and then back to Oxford at the weekend. She knew how much Edward loved university life, and his studies would absorb him completely, as they always had. Also, his absence would bring the matter of Alice to a close, if it had not already died a natural death, or been terminated by one of them a few minutes before. Even if it had been non-existent, she was glad he was going. At Oxford he was safe.

She sighed under her breath. He could be wild, even reckless at times, acting impulsively, without considered thought. And, women of all ages found him utterly irresistible.

It had long ago occurred to Cecily that temptation was always under his feet and in his way; in fact, poor Edward was forever stumbling over temptation, more so than the average man.

It would take a saint to resist everything thrown in his face, she muttered to herself, as she stepped into the Long Hall, still thinking about her son.

Cecily was a tall and regal woman in her mid-forties, handsome, graceful and elegant. She was usually dressed in fashionable clothes even when she was here at Ravenscar, the family’s country seat.

This morning she was wearing a navy-blue wool day suit with a long skirt slightly flared from the calf, and a matching tailored jacket over a white cambric blouse with a high neck and frilled jabot. The jacket was short, ended at her narrow waist; it was cut in the style of the moment, with puffed sleeves which became narrow and tight from elbow to wrist.

Cecily’s hair was one of her loveliest features, a glossy chestnut which she wore upswept on top of her head; arranged in a mass of curls, these moved forward to the front, just above her smooth, wide brow. This was the latest and most fashionable style, as every woman in England, from every station in life, was copying Queen Alexandra. Ever since Queen Victoria’s son, Albert Edward, had ascended to the throne as Edward VII, his queen had become the arbiter of fashion, style and taste. Edward’s wife, a Danish princess by birth, was much admired by the public as well as those in the top echelons of society.

When Cecily was living at Ravenscar she wore little or no jewellery, unless there were house guests in residence or she and her husband were entertaining members of the local gentry. Today was no exception. Her choices were simple: small pearl earrings, her gold wedding ring and a fob watch on the lapel of her jacket.

Now Cecily looked at the watch and smiled. The small hand was just moving onto eleven. Her husband forever teased her, insisted that he could set his pocket watch by her, and in this assertion he was absolutely correct. She was the most punctual of women, and every morning at precisely this hour she set out on her tour of the downstairs rooms at Ravenscar.

What had begun when she was a young bride had, over the years, turned into a daily ritual when she was in residence here. She needed to be certain that all the rooms in this grand old house were warm and comfortable, that everything was in order with not one thing out of place. She was fastidious about this, as in most things.

Over twenty-six years ago, when she had come to Ravenscar as Richard Deravenel’s wife and the new mistress of the manor, she had at first been startled, then terribly saddened to find this Tudor jewel, glorious in its overall architecture and design, to be so utterly unwelcoming, so uninviting. The sight of it had filled her with dismay and she had baulked, momentarily.

The rooms themselves were of fine proportions, with many windows that flooded the interiors with that lovely crystalline Northern light. But unfortunately these rooms were icy cold and impossible to occupy for long without freezing to death. Even in summer the cold penetrated the thick stone walls, and because of the nearness of the North Sea there was a feeling of dampness, especially in the wet weather.

Richard had explained to her that the house was basically only suffering from neglect, that its bones were good, as was its structure. In effect, his widowed mother had grown parsimonious in her old age. She had closed off most of the house, since her children lived in London, and had occupied a suite of rooms which were easy and cheap to keep heated. The remainder of the house had been ignored, and for some years.

When walking through it, that day long ago, Cecily had quickly discovered that the warmest place to be was the huge kitchen, along with the small rooms which adjoined. It was in these rooms that the cook and staff lived, because of the warmth that emanated from the kitchen fire and ovens. All the other rooms were covered in dustsheets, closed off to the world.

Richard, trusting Cecily’s judgement, had told his young wife to do what she wanted. Within a week of her arrival she made sweeping changes. Every room was thoroughly cleaned as was every window; the walls were repainted, the wood floors polished. Fires were soon blazing in every hearth, and great quantities of wood were chopped, the logs stored in the cellars, so that fires could burn throughout the year if necessary.

In London, Cecily purchased beautiful Turkey carpets and the finest Persian and Oriental rugs from the most reputable importers, as well as beautiful velvets, brocades and other luxuriant fabrics in rich jewel colours. The rugs went down on the hardwood floors, the fabrics were cut and sewn into handsome draperies for the many windows, furniture was polished and reupholstered if necessary. Because she had fine taste, a sense of style and a good eye, within a few months Ravenscar had been transformed, brought back to vibrant life through Cecily’s tireless and loving ministrations.

In a certain sense, none of this happened by accident. Cecily Watkins Deravenel was accustomed to homes of great splendour, as the daughter of a titan of industry who had made an immense fortune in the industrial revolution of the Victorian age. She had grown up in a world of stunning beauty, amidst priceless objects of art, sculpture, great paintings, and fine furniture, as well as tremendous, almost overwhelming, luxury. And so it was these particular elements which Cecily sought to introduce at Ravenscar, because she herself loved them and was comfortable with them. She succeeded, although only in part in the beginning, because it took a great deal of effort and time to collect unique and beautiful artifacts. Only now, after twenty-five years of painstaking work, had she finally accomplished what she had set out to do so long ago.