Well, Tabitha had enticed him into her arms when he was thirteen, although, in fairness, Cecily believed Tabitha James had not known his true age. He was a strapping young man, very tall even then, and he had looked so much older. To impregnate a woman at fourteen, to become a father at fifteen, simply stunned her.
Cecily started to chuckle quietly all of a sudden, shaking her head, thinking what a product of the Victorian Age she must be…Centuries ago, young women had given birth at twelve, and boys of fourteen and fifteen had been fathers. But we don’t live in medieval times anymore, she told herself reprovingly.
No matter what, Grace Rose was always going to be loved and looked after, and protected. Vicky and Stephen would not fail to do that, and Ned would always be there for his daughter. He was already there for her. Just as she was herself. Grace Rose had suffered; however, the child would never suffer again, if she had anything to do with it.
Cecily turned her face to the window, once more looked down into the gardens, continuing to think of Ned. Observing him surreptitiously tonight, at moments when he was occupied with family and friends, she noticed that he appeared troubled. Despite the gaiety, the frivolity, the bonhomie that flowed from him, his bright blue eyes had been shadowed, dulled. She suspected that there was something wrong, something amiss in his life.
Trouble with women, she decided. That had to be what it was. She left the windowseat and climbed into the four-poster bed. On the other hand, he usually threw off trouble with women; they were just part of his everyday life. What occupied Ned the most, and engaged him totally, was Deravenels. And the running of the company he had inherited. Was there a problem with Neville? Ned had made a few curious remarks earlier this evening which had seemed oddly sarcastic, now that she focused on them.
She lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, thinking of her father Philip Watkins. He had been one of the greatest industrialists of the Victorian Age, a man who had made an immense fortune before he was twenty-five. Everything he touched had turned to gold. Tonight Ned had made mention of this, remarking to her that the Watkins family would have been nothing without her father and grandfather, Edgar, who had spun gold from the grim Northern pits, mills and factories of Victorian England.
Had her son meant that her brother Rick and his son Neville would not have been successful on their own? That their background and the family money they had inherited had eased their way. Of course it had, no doubt about that. And yet the implication, somehow, was that Rick and Neville owed everything to their forebears and nothing to their own abilities. No, that’s not true. My brother was brilliant, and so is Neville.
Neville…Did he pull the strings? Was her son just a puppet? No, that could not be possible. Ned was made of stronger stuff than that. He had a backbone of steel. An iron will. And most importantly of all, perhaps, total concentration. That was the key to Edward Deravenel. His concentration, and his determination to win at all costs, no matter who stood in his way.
I mustn’t worry about Ned, Cecily told herself, turning on her side, closing her eyes. My son knows what he is doing; he will be all right.
FIFTY-ONE
Edward sat in the Red Library, nursing a balloon of Napoleon brandy, staring into the dying embers of the fire. Even in June the nights were cool in Yorkshire, and the fires were always burning at Thorpe Manor just as they were at Ravenscar.
He had spent half an hour in here with Neville, after everyone had left, going over the details of the French deal. He’d had to muster up great enthusiasm, which he didn’t truly feel, in order to delude Neville into thinking that he did indeed care. Fortunately, it hadn’t been too difficult a task, and Neville had been very receptive.
Edward knew it was going to be rather strange at Deravenels for the next week or so. Alfredo Oliveri and Rob Aspen were still in Persia with the geologists, and they were now much closer to staking a claim for oil. Only the other day he had sent them a telegram giving them the authority to make a deal with the Shah of Persia for rights to a parcel of land that looked highly promising.
Will would also be away, on his honeymoon, touring the South of France, visiting Cannes, Nice and Monte Carlo. And Neville’s plans were taking him off to Paris. Even Johnny was to remain in the north this coming week, checking on their various holdings.
And so he would be all alone at Deravenels, minding the business by himself. He would miss Will Hasling, since they were enormously close, and the absence of his other colleagues would also leave a gap.
However, he would be busy. He did have a series of reports to read, written by a young oil-speculator from Texas. Jarvis Merson was a wildcatter, and had been introduced to Ned several weeks ago. Merson could teach him a great deal about oil. According to Merson. Maybe this was true, and he did need to know more, that was why he was gathering as much information as he could. Oil. He aimed to make it a big part of the future, the future of Deravenels.
He moved on in his head, suddenly starting to think of personal problems.
Elinor. She is my problem really. What to do about her? She isn’t well, I know that. That’s why she hasn’t been up to town for several weeks. She did seem listless, somewhat withdrawn, when I went to Devon, and I begged her to tell me what was ailing her. She wouldn’t. The problem is I’ve lost interest in her, at least as a lover. Can she sense that? Women are very intuitive. I’m not a cruel man, and I must let her down lightly, try not to hurt her too much. But I know myself, and I’m not very clever at faking interest when it has fled.
Then there is Elizabeth, the most beautiful woman I have ever come across. Well, not quite. Lily was very beautiful.
He closed his eyes, thinking of his darling Lily, and then he fell down into his innermost thoughts once more.
There will never be a woman like Lily. I know that. I must put her out of my mind. But she lingers there, I’m afraid. Lily was not just beautiful, she was a good woman. And how often do you find that? Not very frequently, I’m certain.
Elizabeth is a cracking beauty, but I think her character is different, and her personality as well. She’s not like Lily at all; I have a feeling she can be tough, determined to get her way. I think it’s best I leave her to her own devices at the moment. Nothing to be gained by seeing her. Anyway, she’s not in London; she has gone to Gloucestershire for a holiday.
I’m glad Will tipped me off about Neville’s feelings about the Wylands. They have always been chummy with the Grants, but that doesn’t mean they are beyond the pale. Anyway, the matter won’t arise.
Neville has something up his sleeve. I just know it. He is hugging a secret, one which brings a smile to his face now and then. Perhaps he believes he is getting the better of Charpentier in the deal. But I doubt that he could. Louis is known to be a wily fox.
Elinor. Elizabeth. Neither can hold a candle to Lily. Poor Elinor. She had had such hopes for our relationship …wanting it to continue forever. But I’m no longer fascinated by her. Sadly. When she was married to Angus Talbot I eyed her with lust, coveting her; as a widow she has grown quickly stale…I mustn’t be unkind. I will send a letter and flowers next week. I must try to cheer her up.
He went to the console, lifted the bottle of Napoleon, poured it into the balloon, returned to the fireside.
Women. They are the bane of my existence. I couldn’t do without them, though. I suppose they are my weakness, my drug. What a strong woman my mother is, quite remarkable. I’m pleased she has taken the advent of Grace Rose in our lives so well. I had a feeling all this would happen, that I would have to tell her the truth. I was certain she would spot Grace’s resemblance to me.
I think about Tabitha a lot, wonder about her fate. She was a sweet and lovely young woman and there were times when I was convinced she was an aristocrat, and I was right in that. I also wonder about the rotter Cedric Crawford, the guards officer. An officer and a gentleman, so they say. He is certainly not a gentleman. Is he still alive? Did he simply do a moonlight flit? If I ever come across
him I shall give him the thrashing of his life.
The other day Will said that Grace Rose being on the streets may have saved her from a terrible fate. Who knows what Crawford might have done with her if she had remained with him. Poor Tabitha…what a life of tragedy hers was. At least the child has been saved. My little Grace Rose. My daughter.
I can do a lot for her. Apart from the money I earn at Deravenels, there is the money I inherited from Lily, all of it now well invested. Yes, I can and will use some of that money for Grace Rose …
‘Ned, could I talk to you for a moment? Please.’
His brother so startled him, Edward almost dropped his brandy. Sitting up in the chair, glancing over his shoulder, he muttered, ‘Yes, of course you can, Little Fish. But don’t creep up on me like that in future. You gave me quite a start.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ Richard muttered, walking over to the other chair in front of the dying fire. ‘It’s just that I’m a bit troubled by several things, and I thought I could discuss them with you.’
‘Come on, Dick lad, come and sit with me,’ Ned said, smiling at the boy. ‘Would you like a drop of Napoleon?’
Richard began to laugh. ‘Mother would be furious with you if she knew you’d offered me brandy! Alcohol.’
Ned grinned at his favourite. ‘I didn’t mean it, actually,’ he admitted. ‘It was a slip of the tongue, I’m afraid. You sounded like such a young gentleman. However, I do hope you know I would not have poured even one drop for you.’
‘I do.’ Richard now leaned forward and said, ‘I need to talk to you…about Anne Watkins.’
Nodding, Ned took a swallow of the brandy, and looked across at his brother with interest. ‘Go on, then, Dick, what about Anne?’
‘When I marry her will the marriage take place here or at Ravenscar?’
It took Edward a moment to answer this question. He tried hard to swallow the laughter rising in his throat, to disguise his amusement. Finally, keeping a straight face, he responded, ‘It isn’t really very pressing at this moment, is it? Surely not? After all, you are only eleven, Richard. Let’s talk about this nearer the wedding, in about ten years’ time, shall we say?’
‘I actually need the matter settled now, Ned. Please. I shall worry about it, and quite a lot otherwise.’ Richard sounded taut, and his voice was insistent. ‘George says he won’t allow me to marry Anne here at Thorpe Manor. When I told him it was the tradition that a bride was married from her home, he laughed in my face. I said it wasn’t his house, it didn’t belong to him, and he said that it would be his one day. He was adamant that we couldn’t have the reception here either.’ Richard stared at his adored brother, waiting.
Sudden annoyance rushed through Edward. George was becoming a persistent troublemaker these days, and his behaviour was worrying.
Keeping his irritation in check, Edward smiled, almost languidly, and then he laughed. ‘Oh Richard, my boy, don’t pay any attention to George. I do believe he is suffering from delusions…empty dreams of glory. His own. Naturally you will marry Anne here at Thorpe Manor—her father does own this house, you know. Actually, it’s been in their family for hundreds of years. It will never belong to George. However, as I said, you won’t be marrying Anne for a very long time, and perhaps you might even change your mind about her when you’re older.’
Richard shook his head; those grey-blue eyes turned the colour of slate, and his narrow mouth tightened. ‘I will only ever marry Anne. And she will only ever marry me. If we don’t marry each other, we won’t marry at all.’
Edward smiled indulgently. ‘Do you want some lemonade? There is some in a jug over there.’
‘No, thank you, Ned, and thank you for telling me the truth. May I have your permission to relay your words to George?’
‘If you want to,’ Ned answered, smiling at Richard’s attempts to sound very grown up. ‘You said you had several matters to discuss.’
‘Oh yes, the other one is rather…well, it’s not nice. I mean, what George said…about you, Ned.’
Edward rose, walked to the fireplace, stood with his back to it, regarding the youngster. Before Richard said another word he knew what scurrilous things George had probably passed around today. Ned had much insight into people, and particularly his brother George. For years he had acknowledged George’s jealousy and envy. George wanted it all.
‘I’m waiting,’ Edward said, his cornflower blue eyes resting on Richard.
‘When George saw Grace Rose at the wedding he said she was your illegitimate daughter, and that this was obvious because she looked so much like you. It was Meg who reminded him that Grace was the child of Vicky and Stephen Forth. He answered her by saying you had had an affair with her, I mean with Mrs Forth, but I know that’s not true. And I said so to George. It isn’t, is it?’
‘You are absolutely correct, Little Fish. I have never had an affair with Will’s sister, Vicky Forth. That was a wretched thing for George to say, and it was very wrong of him to impugn the reputation of a respectable woman. I shall certainly have to reprimand him.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I will think of something appropriate.’
‘When, Ned?’
‘Tomorrow, you can rest assured of that.’ Edward wished he could tell Richard the truth; he detested lying to anyone, most especially his youngest brother, his favourite. But he did not dare speak out, for fear of hurting Vicky and Stephen. They saw the child as their own now, and there was also Grace Rose to consider. The less she knew about her past now, the better.
After a second, Edward cleared his throat and asked, ‘Who else did he tell, other than you and Meg?’
‘I’m not sure. He sort of whispered it to me and Meg. He didn’t shout it out, the way he often does when he has something mean to say about…someone. You know he can be nasty about people.’
Ned nodded, and then he muttered, ‘Chinese whispers.’
‘What are they? Chinese whispers?’ Richard looked perplexed.
‘Little tiny whispers…whispers that go from one person to the next, tiny, tiny whispers that become a crescendo, cause mountains of trouble. For everyone. Don’t ever fall into that trap, Richard. Promise me you won’t whisper behind people’s backs, or gossip.’
‘I won’t! I do promise you, Ned. You’ll never hear Chinese whispers from me.’
‘I believe you, Little Fish.’
The two brothers continued to sit and talk for a while longer, Richard waiting for Ned to finish his brandy. They spoke of Will and Kathleen and their wedding, all the excitement and happiness of this special day. And then as the clock struck midnight Edward put down his glass, and together he and Richard left the Red Library, crossed the Great Hall and went upstairs to bed.
Later, alone in his room, Ned thought about George for some time, and he knew, without a single doubt, that he would always have to watch his back where George was concerned. Over the years he had discovered his brother was a liar, treacherous, and therefore dangerous. One day George would do him ill, if he could. Edward realized that now.
There were moments when he missed Lily so acutely there was an ache inside him, a longing so overwhelming it brought him to a sudden standstill. He had to be alone when this happened, to draw on his inner resources, to steady himself. And he had to remind himself that his beautiful, soft, feminine Lily was dead. He could not win her back. How could he? Death was the most final thing on this earth.
Immediately he thought of Elizabeth Wyland. A beautiful woman, a woman beyond belief. Everyone who had ever seen her agreed with him. The white, flawless skin, the long silver-gilt hair, the pale blue eyes. It was an imcomparable face, and yet hers was a frosty beauty.
The Ice Queen, he suddenly thought, and then smiled to himself. Outwardly frosty, yes, but he was certain there was an inner fire. He wanted to possess her completely, because of her awesome beauty. Yes, she was a challenge to him. The more she resisted his charms the more he wanted her. He had a need to break thro
ugh those icy barriers, take her to him, arrive at the core of the woman.
Perhaps he would one day. He would certainly try when he found the right opportunity. He just had to possess this untouchable beauty, whatever the cost.
He closed his eyes, drifted off to sleep thinking of Elizabeth Wyland.
FIFTY-TWO
London
‘Neville looks pleased with himself,’ Will Hasling said in a low voice, drawing closer to Edward. ‘Perhaps he has finally finished his negotiations with Louis Charpentier.’
‘I hope so. They seem to have dragged on for months. I suppose it’s not a bad idea to acquire the silk factories after all, and the vineyards, since the real estate involved is worth a lot. We can’t lose.’
‘You still don’t sound particularly excited about this deal, Ned.’ Will gave him a hard stare, frowning. ‘Does something bother you about it?’
‘I don’t know. Not sure, really, Will, why it nags at me so much. I feel uneasy about it, although don’t say anything. I’ve never expressed these feelings to Neville.’ Edward let out a long sigh, and finished, ‘Look, he’s never made a bad deal in his life. He only ever makes good deals, and I trust him. Absolutely. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.’
‘If you say so.’ Will turned, glanced around the private dining room at Deravenels.
Ever since Ned had taken over as managing director of the company, three years ago, he gave a lunch every Wednesday, inviting different executives. Will, Neville and Johnny Watkins were always invited since they were the closest to Ned.
The Ravenscar Dynasty Page 45