The Ravenscar Dynasty (46 page)

A few moments after the woman in black left the drawing room, Edward turned to Vicky, and asked, ‘Do you know who that was? The young woman who was seated on the banquette at the other side of the room.'

Vicky shook her head. ‘I've no idea, I really didn't pay too much attention, actually, Ned darling, I was listening to you. However, just before you arrived I did notice a lovely blonde sitting down there.' Vicky began to laugh merrily. ‘That's still your weakness, I gather. Blondes. You can't resist them, can you?'

‘He certainly can't,' her brother agreed, strolling towards them, accompanied by Johnny Watkins. ‘I noticed the lady earlier myself. Rather striking. I've no idea who she is either,' Will remarked.

‘Ask our hostess, Ned,' Johnny suggested, studying his cousin. ‘She wouldn't be here if she weren't somebody of importance…you know dear Maude, she's a terrible snob.'

Ned laughed, stood up. ‘Please excuse me, Vicky. I can see Maude over there, talking to Lord Gosford.
I think I should take your advice, Johnny, and inquire of our hostess who the lady in question is, don't you?'

His cousin grinned, rolled his eyes theatrically.

‘Come back quickly,' Vicky said. ‘You promised me the next dance, Ned.'

‘Now
that
I certainly won't miss,' Edward answered, smiling.

Elizabeth had come to Maude Tillotson's dance because the renowned hostess was her mother's best friend. She had received one of the first invitations, and naturally her mother had pressed her to accept, and to accompany them, along with her brother Anthony and their cousin Arthur Forrester.

She hadn't really wanted to attend, in the first place; now she was frantically wondering how to escape, so she could go home. The dance held no meaning for her, and she could not bear to be here. Edward Deravenel had unsettled her, unnerved her. I must leave, she decided, and right now…

‘I hope I'm not intruding on your privacy, or any important reflections,' a mellifluous masculine voice said.

Elizabeth knew at once that it was
him
before she even looked behind her. The curious thing was, she hadn't heard him approaching. She finally turned around, found herself standing face-to-face with Edward Deravenel. Her throat went dry, and she swallowed. He was larger than life, stood there in front of her, very
close, so tall and distinguished. He was overwhelming. His presence, his charisma and masculinity seemed to radiate from him.

She discovered she couldn't speak for a moment, and gratefully leaned against the balustrade, relieved that it was there; her legs were suddenly weak and she was shaking inside.

Finally, growing conscious of the stillness surrounding them, her lack of response to him, she said hurriedly, ‘Oh no, you're not intruding at all. I simply came out…for a little air.'

‘It
was
warm inside.' He paused, stared at her intently.

To Edward she was extraordinarily beautiful. Her face was a perfect oval, with high cheekbones and a broad brow. Her eyes, large and set wide apart, were a light blue, sky blue; she had wonderfully arched blonde brows and a sensual mouth. Like most women of today who were fashionable, her hair was worn swept up on top of her head, piled high with a mass of curls at the front. But it was the colour of her hair that captivated. Pure silver gilt, he thought. She wasn't very tall, of medium height, but a quick, glance told him she had a lovely figure and high, firm breasts. Her dress, simple yet elegant, was made of black chiffon and lace, with a square neckline and slashed sleeves. The skirt floated around her, swirling in the light breeze. The gown was in the new style, long, flowing and full, and without the once-popular semi-bustle.

She cleared her throat softly.

He said swiftly, ‘I beg your pardon, how rude I'm
being, staring at you. Please forgive me. Actually, I have a feeling we've met before. We have, haven't we?' He knew they hadn't; he would not have forgotten this beauty. But he needed words to bridge the silence.

She was shaking her head. ‘No, we've never met, not ever. I would have remembered,' she said, echoing his own thoughts without knowing that she did, and without any artifice.

‘I am Edward Deravenel.' He thrust out his hand.

She took it. For a moment he held it tightly in his—too long, in fact—and then he let go of it very quickly. Her skin felt scorched.

She noticed, unexpectedly, the open cuff again.

‘And you are?' he asked, raising a brow questioningly, his eyes searching.

‘Elizabeth Wyland.'

‘I'm very pleased to meet you, very pleased indeed.' He bowed slightly, and as he did he noticed the gold wedding ring on her finger. Straightening, he asked, ‘And you are no doubt here with…Mr Wyland?'

‘Yes, my brother. That was whom I was talking to earlier.'

Edward frowned, looked slightly perplexed.

She said quietly, ‘I'm a widow, Mr Deravenel. I was married to Colonel Simon Gratton. He was in the British army.'

‘Oh. I see.' He seemed even more perplexed. ‘But you did say Wyland?'

‘Yes, I did, my maiden name.' She shrugged lightly, dismissing this point. ‘My husband was wounded in the
Boer War, and when he came home to England from Africa in 1900 he was not the same man at all. The war killed his spirit, Mr Deravenel. He was a different person altogether, and he suffered from the after-effects of his wounds. Sadly for me, he died several years ago, in 1904. My mother said death was a relief for him, that his suffering was over…'

‘I am so very sorry. My condolences.'

She inclined her head. ‘Thank you,' was all she said.

‘So here you are Elizabeth!' Anthony exclaimed, walking out onto the terrace, joining them. ‘I've been looking all over for you. Mother would like to have a word with you, my dear.'

Elizabeth merely nodded, then said, ‘This is Mr Edward Deravenel.' Glancing at Edward she added, ‘This is my brother, Anthony Wyland.'

The two men shook hands, and Edward said, ‘I'm not certain, but I do believe we have met before, Wyland. Am I not correct?'

‘We have indeed met before, Deravenel. With my father.'

Edward nodded politely, then turned to Elizabeth, said, ‘Thank you for your courtesy.' He flashed her a brilliant smile. ‘With your permission, I would like to call on you in the near future, if I may?'

‘That would be acceptable,' she answered, then couldn't resist saying, ‘Your right cuff is undone, did you know?'

He glanced down at it, smiled wryly. ‘Could you fasten it for me?' He reached into his pocket, brought out a lapis lazuli cufflink that matched his shirt studs. ‘Here you are,' he added, offering it to her.

She hesitated fractionally, and then took it.

He shot his sleeve down so that she could insert the link in the cuff. Without looking at him, her eyes on his sleeve, she murmured, ‘I receive friends at four every afternoon.'

When Edward returned to the drawing room a few minutes later, Vicky was waiting for him. The orchestra was playing a waltz, and as he led her onto the floor Vicky looked up at him, and asked, ‘So who
was
the beautiful blonde?'

‘I never found out,' he lied, although he did not know why he did this. ‘Maude was leading Gosford off into the other drawing room, so I abandoned the quest.' He laughed. ‘Got caught up with an old friend for a few minutes,' he improvised, in order to explain his absence.

Vicky wasn't sure if she believed him, but she let the matter drop. There was no point pressing it, and it wasn't any of her business. She knew that Edward had not had a permanent relationship since Lily's death, just lots of women hanging around him.

Her brother Will called them ‘Ned's carnal relationships', and would laugh and say blithely, ‘Women are crazy about him. So much so, some chaps say he never has his trousers on. But I know differently, I'm with him at work every day, and he works like a galley slave, believe you me.'

She knew this was true. Ned was a lot like his cousin Neville Watkins, another man who spent most of his
time at his office. Defying demons and driven by ambition, the two of them, she thought. She liked Neville, he was a man of his word and considerate. As for Edward, she loved him dearly like another brother, but sometimes she had problems understanding certain aspects of him. Ned was a hard taskmaster with himself, and yet he had, somehow, managed to acquire a reputation for being very much the ladies' man. But why not?

At almost twenty-three, Ned was determined to live the big life. And he was entitled; after all, he was young and single, and he had the world in his hands. Edward Deravenel had money, position and background, therefore he was in demand at all the dances, cotillions and balls, dinner parties and every other kind of high-profile social event in London. Because of his wealth, success and power, and that awesome charm of his, Ned was the most eligible young man in London these days. Since he was also stunning looking and known to be a great lover, every woman wanted him; even older married women played up to him. No wonder he was just a little bit spoilt by women…women of all ages.

‘Penny for your thoughts, sweet Vicky,' Ned said, looking down at her. She had always been a favourite of his, and he went on gently, ‘You seem miles away. In New York, I've no doubt, with Stephen?' His bright blue eyes were searching, questioning.

‘That's right.' She smiled up at him. ‘I miss Stephen so much Ned, and so does little Grace Rose.'

‘When does he get back to London?'

‘In about ten days, two weeks at the latest. Talking
about that, I'm giving a party for Grace, when he returns. I'd love you to come, Ned. With Fenella.'

‘Thank you, I will, and who else are you going to invite?'

‘Amos, of course. Grace loves him.'

‘Good old Finnister, he's the salt of the earth. Splendid chap. I suppose my boon companion is coming, too.'

‘I haven't asked Will yet, but I'll mention it tonight. The only person other than you I actually did invite so far is Fenella. She's always shown such an interest in Grace.'

‘And done a great deal of detective work on her behalf,' Ned pointed out, laughing. ‘Amazing how persistent Fenella was.'

A little smile played around Vicky's mouth. ‘Yes, she was, and I for one am very glad.'

They finished the waltz in silence.

A short while later Edward found Will standing at the bar alone, drinking a glass of champagne. As he reached his closest friend, Edward said, ‘You're looking glum. What's wrong?'

‘I miss Kathleen rather more than I thought I would,' Will said in a low voice. ‘I think I'm finally going to have to take that
fatal
step. Get married.'

‘I think you should,' Edward answered swiftly, fully approving of Will's involvement with his cousin, Kathleen Watkins, sister of Neville and Johnny. ‘She adores you, you know.'