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

out, instinctively understanding he needed comforting for some reason, she put a hand on his arm and said gently, ‘Hang up your coat and scarf and let us go to the sitting room upstairs where we can talk for a while. I was reading there when you arrived on my doorstep, and there’s a lovely fire. It’s cosy.’

      Edward nodded, put his coat in the closet and followed her up the staircase into her private haven. He liked this small but charming room with its dark-rose coloured walls, rose-damask covered sofa and chairs and moss-green carpet. Rose-coloured velvet draperies covered the window, banished the foggy winter’s night from sight, and the room was warm and inviting as he remembered.

      ‘May I turn down the gas lights?’ Edward asked. ‘It’s rather bright in here.’

      ‘Of course,’ Lily answered, added, ‘And could you please throw another log on the fire while I pour you a glass of brandy.’

      He smiled at her, added logs to the grate and, reaching up, he lowered the gas lights on either side of the mirror above the mantelpiece; instantly the sitting room was shadowy and more restful, intimate.

      Walking over to the sofa Edward sat down. He leaned back against the needlepoint pillows hoping he could relax here with Lily; his nerves were taut and he had developed a raging headache. But she was always calm, warm and affectionate with him, and she had never failed to have a soothing effect on him.

      Within the space of a few minutes she was handing him the balloon of brandy, and seating herself next to him on the sofa.

      Looking at him intently, studying him through narrowed green eyes, Lily said finally, ‘I know there’s something wrong. You are troubled, I can tell that.’ When he was silent, she asked, ‘Would you care to talk to me about it, Edward?’

      For a moment he did not answer, and then he said in a subdued voice, ‘There has been a terrible tragedy in my family. We are all devastated, Lily, grief stricken—’ He broke off, shook his head, as if he still disbelieved the veracity of what he was about to say. And then slowly, still speaking in that same low monotone, he told her about his father and brother, uncle and cousin, and their sudden and unexpected deaths in the fire at Carrara.

      Lily was so aghast she was stunned into total silence. She found it hard to take it in, to comprehend what he was telling her…to lose four close family members in one stroke was something quite unimaginable. She sat staring at him through tearful eyes, and it took her a moment or two to recover her composure, to find the right words. But at last she said, ‘Oh, Ned, Ned darling, I’m so very sorry. It is heartbreaking for you and your family, I understand that…a great tragedy, catastrophic. Words are such cold comfort at a time like this, words are just…hopeless.’ She blinked back her tears, and went on in a quavering voice, ‘What can I do? How can I help you? Is there anything I can do to comfort you?’

      Ned sighed, shook his head. ‘Not really…just being here with you is enough. You have always been so kind and loving—’ His voice trailed off, and he took a swallow of the brandy, put the glass back on the side table. When he turned his face to hers, he looked at her carefully. ‘Thank you for being…well, for being here. So understanding, so compassionate.’

      Lily took his hand in hers, brought it to her lips and pressed it against her mouth, moved closer to him. Placing his hand in her lap, she stroked it. After a few minutes of mutual silence, she murmured, ‘Do you want to be with me? To stay here tonight?’

      ‘I really can’t,’ he answered swiftly, frowning. ‘I am meeting my cousin very early tomorrow morning, so I must leave here soon. I haven’t slept at all since we received the news.’

      ‘I understand…’ She paused, hesitated, then remarked quietly, leaning into him, ‘You are so tense, overwrought really, Ned. At least let me give you a massage before you go, you know how much my massages help you to relax, to feel better.’

      Now it was his turn to hesitate before speaking. After a moment of thought, he said, ‘I’ll stay for an hour, Lily, if that’s all right with you.’

      ‘Whatever you want, my darling.’

       SEVEN

      At thirty-two Lily Overton was a wise woman, and over the years she had acquired a degree of sophistication and worldliness. She had been married and widowed twice. Her first husband had been a surgeon and her second a solicitor who was head of his own law firm, and both men had left her their considerable wealth. She was a widow well placed.

      During her marriage to Oscar Overton, the solicitor, she had met all manner of people from all walks of life, and she had benefitted enormously from this. It was because of her wisdom, insight and bright intelligence that she had rapidly come to understand Edward Deravenel, from the first moment they had met.

      Their initial encounter had been a year ago, and she found herself thinking about that evening now, reliving it, as she waited for him to return to the upstairs sitting room after going down to talk to the hansom cab driver.

      Last January she had been invited to a small dinner party at the Kensington home of her dear friend Vicky Forth, the newly-married sister of Will Hasling. Will had arrived with his best friend Edward Deravenel, and it had been patently obvious to Lily that Edward was instantly drawn to her the moment he set eyes on her. He had gravitated to her at once, making a beeline across the long stretch of drawing room, and had remained glued to her side until they had gone in for dinner, not saying much but focused on her to the exclusion of all else.

      Much to her surprise, she had been filled with genuine disappointment when she had found herself seated between Will and a middle-aged banker with a walrus moustache and a slight lisp in his speech; a moment later, she had smiled with delight as Edward was shown to the chair opposite her.

      His brilliant blue eyes had barely left her face throughout dinner; they had greedily devoured her as he had left his food untouched. His interest in his female dinner partners on either side had been vague, brief, only just meeting the usual standards of courtesy. His concentration had again been focused entirely on her, and she had understood exactly what he wanted from her. It was reflected in the expression in those mesmerizing eyes which left little to the imagination.

      After dinner the women had retired to the drawing room whilst the men had remained alone to enjoy their port and cigars. She had been restless, impatient, and on a knife’s edge until he had appeared in the doorway of the drawing room half an hour later. Relief had flooded through her as he walked towards her, holding her with his eyes, not caring what anyone thought. Neither had she, much to her amazement. Lily had been somewhat surprised that she had remained taut inside, excited and anxious to have him closer to her.

      Once he had come to a stop, he had said, ‘I need to speak to you alone, Mrs Overton.’

      She had simply nodded and he had put his hand under her arm and carefully ushered her to a distant corner near a potted palm.

      ‘I must see you again, and as soon as possible,’ he had muttered in a low voice once they were by themselves, his eyes on hers. ‘And I do believe you would like that, too.’ As he had spoken he had inched closer and increased the pressure of his hand on her arm, and there was such naked desire written across his face she had found her mouth suddenly turning dry.

      For a moment she had not been able to speak, had simply gazed up at him, totally entranced, under his spell.

      ‘Please,’ he begged.

      Bright colour had flooded her face and she had felt extremely hot, flushed.

      ‘Tomorrow,’ he murmured hoarsely. ‘Better still, tonight. Later tonight. Oh, please say yes.’

      Finally finding her voice, she had whispered, ‘Tomorrow. In the afternoon. At four.’

      ‘Shall I come to your home? Or do you want to—’

      ‘My home,’ she had cut in, dreading the thought