The Ravenscar Dynasty

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 of a meeting at a hotel. A public rendezvous would be improper, disastrous, and she had quickly told him where she lived.

The following day, Lily had wondered about herself and her behaviour, asking herself why she had become so quickly entranced by this young man, one who was obviously so much younger than she. And she had known the answer immediately. Instant attraction. Overwhelming sexual desire. On both their parts. And so she had told her housekeeper to leave early that day, had seen her off at two o’clock; fifteen minutes later she had sent the maid home as well.

Alone, she had bathed and perfumed herself, brushed and dressed her golden hair in a loose, girlish style, put on pretty white undergarments and selected a pale-green chiffon-and-lace afternoon tea gown. The style was simple, loose and floating, tied around the waist with a broad, pale-green ribbon belt. Even though it was a cold day she had wanted something young and pretty to wear which also gave him easy access to her. She had already known instinctively what to expect when he arrived; she knew he would make a move on her very swiftly, attempt to seduce within the first half hour. His lust for her had been only too obvious and too urgent the night before.

She had been ready for an hour before he was due, and had paced the floor, prowled around the house, checking on everything, and as she did this she discovered she was hardly able to contain herself. She was trembling, excited inside, acting like a young girl without experience. These feelings had truly taken her by surprise, since she was experienced.

Edward had arrived at five minutes to four, for afternoon tea. She had served him herself, and his gaze had never left her. Lily had been fully aware that the absence of staff and her flushed face signalled to him that her aim and intentions were indeed the same as his. But then he had already known that before he had come here today.

He had taken a sip of tea, and so had she; he had talked to her for a short while about Oxford, his close friendship with Will, and how much he liked Vicky Forth, her friend.

Lily had listened attentively, loving the timbre of his voice, as she had the night before, a voice which was deeply masculine, mellifluous and cultivated.

And then, unexpectedly, Edward had stopped abruptly, risen and walked over to her chair. Bending over her, he had said in the softest of voices, ‘Won’t you come and sit with me on the sofa? You seem so far away.’

Before she could even answer he had taken her hand, brought her to her feet and led her to the sofa positioned near the fireplace.

‘You’re trembling, Mrs Overton,’ he had said, sounding surprised, as he had pressed her down onto the sofa, seated himself next to her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Perfectly,’ had been all she could manage to say.

‘I’m afraid I’m not,’ he had murmured and immediately drew closer. ‘I’ve been extremely agitated since last night. You see, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.’ When she did not respond he asked, ‘Dare I hope that you’ve given a little thought to me?’

She nodded.

He leaned into her then, put his arm around her shoulders and brought his mouth to her cheek. She had not flinched, had remained quite still as he had kissed her cheek again and found her mouth with his. She had kissed him back. Why pretend, she had thought, why pretend to be overly virtuous when he knows how much I want him. Within the space of a few seconds his hand had been on her breast; he had pulled her closer to him, holding her tightly in his arms and with one dexterous hand he had unbuttoned the front of the gown and slipped his hand inside, lightly touching her nipple. When she had not shown any resistance to these advances, he had grown infinitely bolder, had slid his hand down her leg, lifted the loose flowing skirt of her dress, slipping his fingers along her inner thigh and between her legs. It was at this moment that she had stopped him, exclaiming softly, ‘Please, we must stop. This is most unseemly.’

He had pulled away from her gently, staring into her face, an amused look on his, and he had laughed. ‘Oh, Mrs Overton, really.’ He had laughed again, and so had she, and then he had shaken his head and asked, ‘Could we perhaps go upstairs, Mrs Overton? I do believe it has become quite pressing for us to find a bed.’

‘Only if you stop calling me Mrs Overton and call me Lily instead, Edward,’ she had answered with a light laugh.

‘And you must call me Ned.’

Together they had climbed the stairs and she had not been at all self-conscious; she had led him into her bedroom, then had suddenly turned her head and given him a most cryptic look.

His response had been to immediately take her in his arms, press her close to his body, his hand sliding down onto her buttocks. She had felt so small, feminine and defenceless because he was so tall, broad and masculine, the most masculine man she had ever met.

When he had pressed her even closer, moulding her to him, she had felt his erection against her body, and she had begun to tremble.

As if he understood her instant trepidation he had not made another move, had simply stood perfectly still, looking down at her, his expression suddenly loving. Very slowly, he had begun to remove her clothes, untying the ribbon belt around her waist, letting it drop to the floor, unfastening the rest of the buttons on the front of her dress. Slipping it over her shoulders, it had fallen to the floor, a pool of pale green lace at her feet. A moment after he had started to loosen her undergarments, he stopped and led her over to the bed. Without a word, he had taken off everything else until she was completely naked.

It was only then that he had spoken, saying in an awed voice, ‘Oh, Lily, Lily, you are very, very beautiful.’

She had remained silent, simply staring up at him through eyes filled with longing for him, desire written all over her face.

Everything had gone very swiftly after that. He had risen, shed his own clothes quickly, stretched out next to her on the bed. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he had leaned over her, kissed her deeply, passionately, his tongue sliding into her mouth for a moment of true intimacy. All of his movements were slow, gentle, tender, and soon one hand roamed over her, stroking and caressing every part of her until she cried out in pleasure.

Soon after this he had taken her hand and placed it on his groin, and she had been startled by the size of him. But when he entered her he had done so with immense gentleness, and she had found herself opening up to him, thrilled by his virility, knowledge and experience. Their coupling had been rapturous, ecstatic, as they had both known it would be from their first moment of meeting.

Edward had stayed with her for the rest of the day and into the early evening. She had made supper for him, and he had stayed on and on, in the end not taking his leave of her until the early hours of the morning. He had been insatiable and so had she, and she had realized that night that he was the best lover she had known.

And so had begun the most extraordinary relationship Lily had had with any man, one that over the months had given her unusual happiness.

Ned saw her whenever he came up to London, and occasionally, giving in to his pleading, she visited him in Oxford. With the passing of time she had grown to love him, whilst understanding that the gap in their ages was far too enormous to bridge. Nonetheless, she resolved to remain his mistress for as long as he wanted and needed her.

There was very little she did not know about him, and she understood him completely. He was a highly-sexed, sensual and extremely romantic man; she found him mature for his age and extremely intelligent; he had a brilliant, analytical mind that would sometimes stun her. These attributes aside, his looks were heart-stopping, and yet there was no personal vanity in him about his appearance, and he was kind, compassionate. Perhaps the most unique thing about Ned was his charisma. He possessed a special kind of natural charm that was so captivating it ensnared everyone. This characteristic, plus his amiability and friendliness, immediately put people at ease. All gravitated to him, wanted to be part of his circle.

Yet Lily was very much aware that behind that charming, polished façade there was a wholly different kind of man, one of dogged determination, who harboured great ambition, was full of resourcefulness and had a will of iron that was formidable. Very quickly in their relationship she had come to accept that he could also be absolutely ruthless when he deemed it necessary.

Few people recognized any of these characteristics, because they took him at face value, and also because he did not permit them to know him intimately. Inevitably they underestimated him, much to her amusement and frequent irritation. They tended to characterize him as lazy, indolent and a pretty boy, and therefore dismissed him as a man of no consequence. How wrong they were.

Lily rose from the chair when she heard the front door bang, and her ponderings about Ned and their first meeting were pushed to one side. He was on the staircase, coming back to her, and her look was questioning as he entered the small sitting room. ‘Was the cabbie willing to wait?’

‘For as long as I wish,’ he answered, giving her a faint smile. Striding over to the fireplace he seated himself on the sofa and stretched out his long legs.

‘Do you want me to give you a shoulder massage?’ she began, and instantly stopped as she saw him shaking his head.

‘I just wish to sit here with you, Lily, for a while, and relax, if I can. I’m so filled with grief I feel that anything I did which gave me an ounce of pleasure tonight would be completely wrong.’

Looking across at him, Lily merely inclined her head. A silence fell between them, but it was a compatible silence, and for a while the only sounds were the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the crackling of the logs on the fire.

Eventually, Lily ventured, ‘I felt the same way as you do now when my first husband died…that I shouldn’t enjoy anything, that it was somehow disrespectful. But that’s not the case, you know. And having a woman love you, and loving a woman in return, is actually a wonderful affirmation of life.’ When he made no response, Lily pushed herself to her feet and went to sit next to him on the sofa.

Resting one hand on his leg, she said with great care, ‘Do you think that making love to me when you are in mourning would be unseemly? Or something like that, Ned?’

‘I suppose so…’ He left his sentence unfinished, leaned back against the sofa and stared at her, his expression both worried and perplexed.

‘I fully understand, and as I said, I have been where you are at this moment in time, so full of sorrow,’ Lily murmured. ‘It’s sorrow mixed with anger, and a sense of helplessness. It’s only natural to feel like that, and perhaps worse for you, because you have lost your closest and dearest family.’

He took her hand in his, held it tightly. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘you’re correct.’

‘I learned long ago that it is important to put death to one side, and get on with everyday things. Life is for the living, Ned, and understanding that does help to ease the sadness.’

He ran his hand through his red-gold hair and sighed heavily. ‘You’re wise, Lily, and I agree with you on an intellectual level, but it’s very difficult to accept that emotionally.’ He sighed again and offered her a rueful smile. ‘Anyway, I don’t think I would be able to make love tonight, I really don’t.’

But he was. And he did. With Lily’s loving help. Life was for the living. And tomorrow was for revenge.

EIGHT

‘I don’t think there is anything untoward about my coming with you to Deravenels this morning, Ned,’ Neville Watkins said, walking across to the fireplace as he spoke, standing with his back to it. ‘I consider it quite normal that I accompany you. After all, my father and brother were killed along with yours in Carrara.’

‘Oh, I totally agree with you,’ Edward was swift to answer, staring at his cousin, perplexed, and then continuing, ‘And it was you whom Aubrey Masters decided to telephone, once he had received the tragic news. However, why do you bring it up?’ Ned frowned. ‘Do you envision some sort of problem? By that I mean about us arriving together?’

‘Not at all. I was just running everything through my mind. Normally, some pernickety member of the staff might wonder out loud about a cousin who has nothing to do with the company arriving on their doorstep with you, that’s all. It was always my understanding that several of Henry Grant’s employees were a trifle touchy about your father’s relatives.’

Edward chuckled. ‘Correct, they were, and most especially the French whore, as Father used to call her. She was the most vociferous.’

Neville raised a brow, giving Edward a swift look. ‘The French whore,’ he repeated, and suddenly began to laugh. ‘I remember now, your father did occasionally mutter something or other about the true paternity of her son Edouard. I do believe he wondered aloud about the ability of Henry to perform—well, that was the way he put it.’

‘My father was convinced that Henry was impotent, and possibly sterile as well, and he made no bones about it at home. He was truly convinced that their son was fathered by one of Grant’s colleagues.’

‘Making Edouard a bastard, of course, and therefore not of his blood, and therefore not entitled to take over Deravenels one day.’

Edward nodded. ‘Anyway, I have not been in touch with Aubrey Masters. Have you?’

‘No. I purposefully chose not to announce our arrival. I thought it would be more interesting to walk in unexpectedly, out of the blue, so to speak.’

‘Jolly good idea. And by the way, last night Will volunteered to come with us to Italy. He asked me to ask you if he could. He feels he can be helpful.’ Giving Neville a long, questioning glance, he now asked, ‘So, what do you say, Neville?’

‘It’s rather a good idea, actually, Ned. Who knows what we’re going to find, and another clever brain and pair of sharp eyes can be most useful. I have decided to have the Thomas Cook agency make all of the travel arrangements, they’re very good at that, and I shall merely add Will’s name.’

At this moment there was a tap on the Morning Room door, and Swinton walked in, carrying a coffee pot and various accoutrements on a tray, followed by Gertrude, the parlour maid, also with a tray in her hands.

‘Coffee and toast as you requested, Mr Edward,’ Swinton said as he hurried over to the circular walnut table positioned near the windows. ‘And can I bring something for you, Mr Watkins?’ he asked, turning to look at Neville, who still stood in front of the fireplace.

‘I think not, Swinton, thank you. I’ve already had breakfast. But I would enjoy a cup of coffee, if that’s possible.’

‘Not a problem, sir.’ Swinton inclined his head and at once turned his attention to the table. After emptying their trays, the butler and the parlour maid then hurried out.

Edward said, ‘Do you plan for us to go to Italy via Paris, as you suggested on the train yesterday?’

‘Yes, I do. We can take the boat train to Paris, via Le Havre, spend the night in Paris, and then go on to Carrara from there. Do you have any preferences regarding a hotel in Paris, Ned? I thought we should stay at the Ritz in the Place Vendôme if that’s all right with you.’

Edward nodded his agreement, and walked over to the table; Neville came to join him, and a moment later Swinton was back with another cup and saucer.

Once they were alone again, Edward took a piece of toast, and spread butter and marmalade on it. As he did, he said, ‘At what time should we arrive at Deravenels, do you think?’

‘Around eleven o’clock. Any later they’ll all be trotting off to their private clubs or fancy restaurants for lunch.’

‘Do you have any kind of strategy in mind?’ Edward asked, looking across the table at Neville, cocking his head to one side questioningly.

‘I’m not all that sure that strategy is really necessary at this stage of the game,’ Neville responded, taking a sip of coffee. ‘I do believe it would be right and proper for you to take the lead, since your father was on company business when he died. I can then step in with my own comments or questions about my father and Thomas. Basically we need to know how the fire started, how much damage was done, so that we understand what state our fathers’ and brothers’ bodies were in when they were discovered. Also, we need to know how Deravenels plans to send their bodies back to England for burial.’

‘Yes,’ Edward said laconically, and sat back in the chair. Sudden sorrow swept across his face, and he was finding it difficult to continue speaking.

Neville remained quiet, sat sipping his coffee, his own face shadowed by pain, his eyes reflective, troubled.

Little else was said between the two men. They took their coffee in total silence, burdened by the knowledge that their trip to Italy was bound to be difficult, fraught with anguish.

Neville Watkins’s elegant carriage took the two men around Berkeley Square, into Piccadilly, and through Trafalgar Square, continuing in the direction of the Strand where the head offices of the Deravenel Company were located.

The splendid horse-drawn carriage finally came to a standstill outside the imposing office building of the great global trading company in the Strand.

Eyes turned as the two men alighted. Both were elegantly dressed in dark suits and black overcoats, the fabric, cut, style and impeccable tailoring proclaiming the garments to be of the finest quality and therefore undoubtedly from Savile Row.

Passers-by, hurrying about their business on this cold January morning, paused to gape at the tall distinguished men as they strode confidently towards the front doors of the Deravenel Company. Gentlemen with a bit of a dash and dazzle, toffs from the upper class, that is how they were perceived, and mostly without any resentment whatsoever. England in 1904 was a world of class distinction, and everyone knew it and accepted it.

The two men went through the ancient portals and stood for a moment in the marble-clad lobby, the ceiling of which soared upward like a great cathedral. The veined marble was in tones of black and a deep terracotta colour, and it covered the walls, the many high-flung circular pillars and the vast floor. Imposing and grand, it reeked of money and success.

A uniformed doorman, who was positioned inside at a small desk in the winter weather, hurried over to them. Immediately he recognized Edward Deravenel. Who could ever forget this tall, good-looking young man with burnished red-gold hair and brilliant blue eyes. The son of the late Richard Deravenel, and wasn’t he one of the finest gentlemen in the world, the doorman thought, and then said politely, ‘Good morning, Mr Edward, Mr Watkins. Please go right up to the first floor.’

‘Thank you, Johnson,’ Edward answered, giving the commissionnaire a warm smile. ‘And how is your son doing? The last time we spoke he was joining the Indian Army.’

Flattered that Edward had recalled their last conversation, he nodded, smiling with real pleasure. ‘Very well, sir, thank you. Good of you to remember my Jack, sir.’

Edward inclined his head slightly and he and Neville headed towards the wide, double staircase of carved mahogany that floated upward to a wide landing at the top.

The two men climbed the stairs to the first floor where the executive offices were located, aligned along a wide corridor which ended at the giant double doors leading into the company’s board room. Edward thought of that room now…As a small boy he had often wished he would one day dominate that room when he grew up. He felt a sudden, peculiar sinking feeling inside as he saw his father’s office in his mind’s eye. He was not quite certain that he could face going in there today, although perhaps he should. Putting it off was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Nonetheless, he baulked at the idea. It smacked of memories and more pain.

Halfway up the red-carpeted stairs, Neville paused, his hand resting on the mahogany banister. ‘Once the greetings are over I think it would be wise to move right in with your questions, Ned. Let us avoid procrastination. You know how Aubrey Masters can be.’

‘Long-winded, to put it mildly,’ Edward answered. ‘And you don’t have cause for concern. I’m as impatient as you are to get to the bottom of this situation. Let us hope he can supply some of the more important details, give us satisfactory answers. After all, he is the one dealing with Italy.’

Neville nodded and the two continued on up the stairs. They were both anxious, filled with apprehension; they dreaded what they would soon learn about the deaths of their loved ones, and the terrible way they had died in the fire. Although they had not discussed it with each other, both men realized it must have been a brutal and terrifying way to die.

The two staircases came to a stop at the wide landing, more like a room in size and shape. Placed in the centre of this space was a large desk and behind it sat an attractive young woman in a black, long-skirted suit and white blouse.

She glanced up as Edward and Neville approached the desk; her eyes automatically shifted, swung to Edward, whom she recognized at once.

‘Oh, Mr Edward, good morning,’ she murmured, offering him a small, half smile. She wanted to say something about his father’s death but knew it would be improper to make any kind of personal remark to him. It was not her place.

‘Good morning, Matilda. This is Mr Watkins. We’re here to see Mr Masters.’

She inclined her head in Neville’s direction, acknowledging him, and then stood up. ‘I’ll let Mr Masters know you’re here, sir.’ She hurried off down the corridor.

Edward and Neville took off their overcoats and hung them in the coat cupboard, and a moment later Matilda was back.

‘Mr Masters will see you immediately,’ she said, and led them down the corridor, ushered them into an office and closed the door behind them.