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

from him, Victoria! How could you think such a thing, for Heaven’s sake? My goodness, I have plenty of money from my late husbands…money to burn, in fact. So why would I burden Ned with something like that? Especially since he never has any money of his own. Well, hardly any. He did tell me once that his father had been as poor as a church mouse. The money in the family comes from his late grandfather, Philip Watkins.’

      ‘Yes, I’m aware of that.’ Vicky sat quite still, ruminating for a few seconds, and then she nodded to herself and gave Lily a loving smile, her expression one of affection and warmth. ‘I must say, you’re a most unusual woman, Lily Overton, quite remarkable, in fact.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Lily rose, walked over to the window, stood looking out towards Romney Marsh, yet seeing only Ned in her mind’s eye. She did love him to distraction, but there was no future for them, not in the long run. She would remain his mistress for as long as he wanted her, she had always known that about herself. She was utterly devoted to him. He was, in a way, a great gift to her, one she had never expected in this life. She had never known such passion or ecstasy before Ned. He had brought her to the height of fulfilment, pleasured her and loved her, introduced passion and sexual excitement to her life. And she knew that in his own way he truly cared about her. And that in itself was enough. Her two marriages had been affectionate, and, of course, she had fulfilled her marital duties. However, lovemaking with her late husbands had been tepid, lacklustre. She was grateful to them in many ways, grateful for the comfort and protection they had provided. Ultimately, they had made her a very wealthy woman, and in so doing had given her total independence.

      Swinging around, she said slowly, ‘I can well afford to raise a child, Vicky, and that’s what I am going to do. Bring up Ned’s child. In the country. That would be the easiest and the most comfortable place to be. Perhaps here in Kent. Somewhere near here, near you. What do you think?’

      ‘I agree with you, of course I do. Far better to be down here than up in town, where everyone tittle-tattles and pries. And you know I am here, my dear, I’ll do anything I can to help.’

      Lily walked over to Vicky, gave her a quick embrace and sat down at the table. ‘Thank you, Vicky, I’m lucky to have you as a friend. But I might not be pregnant at all, you know.’

      Vicky merely smiled, and thought: I’m certain you are. There’s a bloom on you and you look wonderful. And Edward Deravenel, almost nineteen, is undoubtedly as virile as any man could ever be.

      Vicky awakened with a start. She had slept so deeply she was totally disoriented, at a loss, befuddled, wondering where she was, what time of day it was. As she glanced around, shaking off that deep, almost drugged sleep she realized she was in front of the fire in her bedroom, stretched out on the small sofa. The carriage clock on the mantelshelf told her that it was almost noon.

      Pushing herself up, she swung her legs to the floor and waited for a moment until her head cleared. She had come up here just before eleven and fallen asleep as she had been reading The Times. There it was on the floor at her feet. She must have been extremely tired to have slept like that, and for almost an hour. But the truth was she had had a restless night.

      Leaning back against the cut-velvet cushions, she thought of Lily. She, too, had retreated to her bedroom. Vicky wondered if she was feeling all right, and knew at once she need not worry about her friend, or feel guilty and responsible as she had earlier. Yes, she had been the one to introduce Lily to Edward Deravenel, but she hadn’t forced them into bed with each other. That had been their choice and theirs alone.

      It was an old story…a story as old as time itself.

      A woman meets a man. They are irresistibly drawn to each other, unable to turn away because the attraction is so strong, overpowering. The woman becomes the man’s mistress and inevitably it is she who ends up mired in problems. Never the man. He retains his wife, or if he is not married, has other mistresses, and in a sense he is free as a bird, and does as he wishes.

      Well, perhaps that wasn’t really fair. And men were not always to blame. In fact, as her brother Will had once said, it takes two. Dear Will. He was so kind and loving. Was there a new woman in his life? She wasn’t sure but hoped that there was.

      She sometimes wondered if his genuine devotion to Ned was too all-consuming, took up too much of his time. But then he was a grown man and he had to lead his own life. A couple of her friends had once hinted, rather meanly, at a more complex relationship between her brother and Ned, but there was nothing strange or queer about it. They were not homosexuals, though they did spend all their free time together. And they did indeed love each other—like brothers and best friends.

      Now she asked herself how Ned would react when he found out that Lily was carrying his child. If, in fact, this was the case. He would care, of course he would, and he would be devoted to Lily. Until the child was born. And then he would walk away, if he hadn’t already done so before the birth. She had known Edward Deravenel for a very long time and she understood him. He did not wish to be encumbered; freedom was his choice.

      Did men always have to have a mistress? She was absolutely certain her first husband Miles had been true to her. Certainly it had been a marriage of enormous passion, sexual attraction and commitment. When he had died of a heart attack so unexpectedly she had been devastated, believed her life had been shattered forever. Some years later Stephen had come along. They had fallen madly in love, something she had never anticipated. This, too, was a strong marriage, much like her first, especially when it came to the bedroom and the sexual side of their life together. She would be glad when he returned from New York. She missed him, missed his sense of humour, his loving attention, his brilliant mind.

      Leaning down, Vicky picked up The Times, turning to the inside pages…to the Court Circular. There were mentions of royal engagements during the week. Queen Alexandra had gone there…the king had been here…all of their weekly public appearances carefully chronicled.

      King Edward VII. Son of Queen Victoria, a middle-aged man before he reached the throne. A man who was now seemingly giving his name to the new era, a man who loved the high life, food and drink, and dancing the night away, a man who perhaps preferred his mistress Mrs Keppel to his wife, Queen Alexandra.

      Well, kings were notorious when it came to their mistresses, weren’t they? Diane de Poitiers sprang into her mind…now there was a clever woman, a mistress who had reigned supreme. Her influence over Henry II of France had lasted to the end of his life. Diane had somehow managed to maintain friendly relations with the Queen, Catherine de’Medici, whilst totally eclipsing her. A clever manipulator when it came to politics and politicians, Diane had been a true survivor.

      Her thoughts about royal mistresses fled, when she saw the photograph of Madame Marie Curie at her small laboratory in Paris. There she was with her husband, Pierre. They had isolated radium in 1902, and last year this brilliant couple had shared the Nobel Prize in Physics with Henri Becquerel. The caption said she was being considered for a university post. Marie Curie was a woman Vicky admired…she admired all those women who went out into the world and did impressive things. The women warriors she called them.

      Glancing at the carriage clock again, Vicky jumped up. She must go downstairs to the kitchen and see how Cook was progressing with lunch. No time for daydreaming.

      When Vicky went into the kitchen a few minutes later she saw that Cook had everything under control and rolling along in her usual efficient way. Florry, the young woman who came up from the village to help, was beating eggs in a bowl, and she glanced up, smiled cheerily at the sight of Vicky.

      Vicky smiled back, nodding, and then said, ‘I see all is very much in order in here, as usual, Mrs Bloom, so I’ll just leave you to it.’

      ‘That’s right, Mum, I’m on schedule, right on time, that I am. The cheese soufflé will be ready at one-thirty,