The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth. Barbara Taylor Bradford

private abode at Ravenscar, there were numerous silver-framed photographs of himself, his siblings, plus several of his mother. And that was the extent of it, except for a silver cigarette box and, over on the long side table, a humidor for his father’s favourite Cuban cigars.

      It was his room now. At least it was his if he wished to make use of it, courtesy of his mother. The townhouse belonged to her; it had never been his father’s property, but had come to his mother from her father, Philip Watkins, the industrialist. Until his grandfather’s death they had lived in a much, much smaller house in Chelsea, one which had been passed down from his other grandfather, Charles Deravenel, to his father. It was a nice house, and relatively comfortable, but extremely modest in comparison to this one. And, of course, it was his mother’s inheritance that paid for its upkeep and for the maintenance of Ravenscar as well. He wasn’t sure why his father had always been short of money, always endeavouring to make ends meet, and obviously embarrassed by the impecunious situation he found himself in. But no doubt he would find out soon enough, now that he was going to be working at the Deravenel Company.

      On the train to London, Neville had suggested they both go there tomorrow to question Aubrey Masters, and to have a look around in general. ‘It won’t do any harm,’ Neville had said to him. ‘And it’s only natural that we would want to go over there together, since our fathers and brothers died together.’

      Ned had immediately seen the sense in this, and Neville had offered to pick him up at ten o’clock the next day. The Deravenel Company had large offices in the Strand, ‘Which,’ Neville had pointed out, ‘is the place you’ll have to occupy for the rest of your life. But at the top of the heap, if I have anything to do with it.’

      Edward knew that Neville was a brilliant strategist, an incomparable businessman, one with money to burn, if needs be. Whatever else happened, he was secure in the knowledge that Neville Watkins, cousin, friend and mentor, would get to the bottom of the tragedy which had taken place in Italy. But he had no idea how Neville proposed to put him at the top of the heap in the Deravenel Company. That would take a miracle, wouldn’t it?

      Once again, sleep eluded Edward. At eleven o’clock he got out of bed, went into the adjoining bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He stood for a moment, staring at himself in the looking glass. He appeared tired, with faint dark shadows under his eyes, but other than that there were no real signs of the pain and grief he had suffered since learning of the family tragedy. In fact, he looked like himself…a strapping young man in the bloom of youth, broad-chested with wide shoulders, a slender waist and narrow hips. And he was tall, taller than most men he knew. Moving away from the looking glass, he returned to his bedroom, dressed in fresh linen, took a dark suit from his wardrobe, put it on, then filled his pockets with small change, keys, his money wallet, and the gold watch his grandfather Watkins had left him in his will.

      Ten minutes later, bundled up in a dark overcoat and scarf, he went to the butler’s pantry, where he found Swinton. ‘I’m afraid I must go out on an errand,’ Edward said to the butler, adding, ‘And please don’t wait up for me, Swinton, there is no need for that.’

      ‘Whatever you wish, sir,’ Swinton replied, his face unreadable.

      Edward inclined his head politely and returned to the front hall. Within seconds he was outside on the pavement hailing a hansom cab that was rumbling down Charles Street. He climbed in as the driver was saying, ‘Evenin’, Guv, where can I be taking you?’

      Edward gave an address in Belsize Park, told the driver he was required to wait, then sat back against the carriage seat. The cab began to move forward and Edward asked himself why he was going to see Lily Overton, tonight of all nights? He had only just learned of his father’s death, his brother’s death, and that of close relatives. Four of the family gone, and here he was going to see a woman, a woman he knew would give him a certain kind of solace. But it was not her sexual solace he sought or required tonight. It was solace of another kind he craved. He needed to be comforted and soothed; hopefully she would be able to help him out, ease his heartache. One thing he knew for certain was that she would be alone; Lily was not a prostitute. She was yet another widow he knew, older than Alice at Ravenscar, and also well provided for, having been married to a solicitor who had been successful.

      He had acquired a liking for older women ever since he had been seduced at the age of thirteen by the wife of the choirmaster at a Scarborough church: a woman who had instructed him in the pleasurable art of sex in a cave on the beach at Ravenscar, just below the ruined stronghold built by his ancestor, Guy de Ravenel. She had been twenty-five and a beautiful blonde with silver-grey eyes. Lily Overton was thirty-two and just as beautiful as Tabitha had been, another blonde-haired temptress who had truly captivated him and held him in her sexual thrall. He closed his eyes and thought of both women; they intermingled in his mind and he suddenly felt the thrill of unexpected sexual arousal.

      A short time later, the hansom cab jolting to a sudden stop made Edward sit up with a start; glancing out of the window he saw that they had arrived at the small house where Lily Overton lived.

      Opening the door, he jumped out, and looking up at the driver, he said, ‘Wait a moment, please.’

      ‘I understands, Guv,’ the cabbie said.

      The house was in darkness, but Edward noticed the glimmer of a candle flame in an upstairs window. Lifting the brass knocker, he banged hard on the door.

      Lily did not appear. Once more he lifted the knocker, but before he used it again her voice said, from behind the door, ‘Who’s there?’ She sounded alarmed and he knew he must reassure her at once, using a code they had devised together.

      ‘Lily? It’s me, Ned. Your brother-in-law. I’ve come to see my brother. Is he at home?’

      ‘Come to the window,’ she replied in a low voice, ‘so that I can see you, be certain it is my brother-in-law outside at this hour.’

      Stepping over to the window, Edward waited for her to peep through the lace curtains. Once she had done so, he moved back to the front door and waited; within a second Lily was unlocking it. Before he stepped into the house, he called over his shoulder to the driver of the hansom cab, ‘Please wait for me. I won’t be too long.’

      ‘Righto, Guv’nor,’ came the reply, followed by a quiet chuckle.

      Once he was inside the house, Lily locked the front door and then turned to Edward, looking up at him, her light green eyes questioning, her expression puzzled.

      In the past he had always sent notes to her by messenger, asking if he could visit her, and she had responded by return using the same messenger, either declining or acquiescing to his request to see her. It was usually the latter. His arrival tonight was unannounced, and unexpected, and she was quite obviously surprised, he realized that. He said quickly, ‘Excuse me, Lily, for coming to see you without prior warning, and at this very late hour. I hope I have not inconvenienced you.’

      ‘No, not at all. Perhaps I misunderstood the letter you posted from Yorkshire…I was expecting you on Friday…before you went back to Oxford the next day.’

      ‘I did plan that. But I returned to London earlier than I expected—this evening, in fact, and I had such a need to see you, to be in your company, if only for a short while, I just had to come here.’

      He had spoken softly, in a low tone, and there was a seriousness about him tonight which was unusual. She suddenly wondered what was wrong, for surely something was amiss. Lily Overton was not a stupid woman by anybody’s standards, and she detected a strange and unfamiliar sadness in Edward; it seemed to her that sorrow shadowed his brilliant blue eyes, dulling them, and his demeanour was quiet, reflective almost, which was unlike him.

      Since their first meeting last year she had found him irresistible, and readily succumbed to his charms whenever he wanted to be with her, whatever the circumstances. Even though he