Heirs of Ravenscar (30 page)

She said not one word, made no sound.

They sat there for a long time, until dusk began to fall. And then, when the sky turned colour, he took hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet. Together they walked up to the house in total silence.

She had not given him an answer, but Edward was certain she would do as he suggested. What choice did she have? There was no other way to put things right.

I
t was a cool evening, even though it was August, but then it was normal weather for the northern coastline. A full moon rose high above Ravenscar, casting its silver glow across the ancient stone house, the trees and the path that led up to the chapel. This stood at the corner of a copse of tall trees, a little way from the main house, and it was just as ancient, had been built at the same time.

Edward caught hold of Elizabeth's hand, guided her into the chapel. It was here that he, his brothers and sisters had been christened, and where the memorial service for his father and brother Edmund had been held … so long ago now, seventeen years ago. How time moves along so quickly, he thought. Glancing around, he remembered how much Edmund had loved this little chapel built of pale Yorkshire stone; it had stained glass windows, carved-oak pews, and a beautiful altar.

Father Michael O'Connor, the family priest, was waiting for them, and he hurried forward as they walked down the main aisle.

He was a cheery, convivial man, and there was a warm smile on his face as he greeted them enthusiastically. He said to Elizabeth, ‘It's a lovely thing you're doing tonight, Mrs Deravenel, a lovely thing indeed.'

She smiled back, said in a low voice, ‘I thought it would be rather nice to renew our vows, Father. Thank you so much for coming to the chapel at this hour.'

‘It's not a problem, no, no, not at all. I am happy to do it, to perform the ceremony,' the priest answered. He drew them to the front of the church and the altar.

They stood before him, and Father O'Connor, in the light of many candles, spoke the marriage vows, and they repeated those vows, and he pronounced them man and wife. ‘For a second time,' he added in his lilting Irish voice, when it was done. After blessing them he sent them on their way, watching them from the steps of the chapel.

Edward took Elizabeth down through the hanging gardens to the ruined stronghold, and for a few minutes they stood together in silence, gazing out across the North Sea. It glittered like chainmail in the moonlight, and they both felt a sense of peacefulness here in this ancient spot. They did not speak for along time, simply stood there thinking their own thoughts; both were relieved that they had been married so easily, so swiftly.

Eventually, Edward murmured, ‘Now we are truly
legally
married. You are my one true wife, I am your one true husband. From now unto eternity. And our children are our children.'

For the longest moment she remained silent, unable to utter a word. She was still pushing down the anger and resentment which had lingered for days after the dreadful scene at the house in Kent. It was a scene she would never forget. Later, he had tried to cement their relationship again, by trying to make love with her that ghastly Saturday night.

But she had declined, had not allowed him into her bed. To give him credit, he had understood, and had behaved like the gentleman he was. He had simply gone away, left her alone in her room.

A small sigh escaped her lips, and at last she admitted that he had won. He had won because she had no alternative. She had no choice but to marry him. By doing so she had saved the family; she had saved Ned from the catastrophe he had always dreaded.

If she was honest part of her was glad they were still together, that this marriage had taken place. She did love him; there were few men like him. Apart from his looks and his athletic body, which he was so proud of, and his enormous sexuality, he was also a very kind man. He was generous to a fault, and an extraordinary father. Unfortunately, there was Jane Shaw somewhere in the background of his life; on the other hand, the woman did not create any problems.

And now she took a deep breath, leaned against him. Conscious of this sudden relaxation on her part, he tilted her face, kissed her on the cheek.

She knew he would not make another move, not after last Saturday night, after her rejection of him, and so she put her arms around him, gazed up into his handsome face.

Fully understanding that she had now put their problems away, he bent his head and kissed her on the mouth. She responded with her usual ardour, pressed her body against his, and they stood entwined for a long time, kissing each other with a soaring passion.

After several moments, Edward drew away. ‘It will be all right.'

‘Do you promise me?'

‘I do promise you.'

It was Elizabeth's turn to stand back, and as she looked deeply up into his eyes she shivered with desire. He was such
a beautiful man. Tonight his eyes were a very deep blue, almost navy, and full of the desire she herself was feeling.

He said softly, ‘Let's go in, let's go to bed.'

She nodded. They moved out of the stronghold, and suddenly she took hold of his arm, and said, ‘Ned, there is George. What are you going to do about him? He's a danger to us, you know that.'

‘I do. And I'll handle the situation, you mustn't worry. It will be dealt with. He will be dealt with.'

‘Even though we're now properly married, you've got to stop him talking about you and the children. About us.'

‘I will.'

‘When?'

‘I'll deal with George the moment we get back to London. Now let's go to bed. It's your wedding night, Mrs Deravenel, and we're starting our lives together all over again.'

The house was silent.

Cook had retired long ago, and when they had left earlier for the chapel Edward had told Jessup they were going for a walk and would be back in half an hour.

Now, as they crossed the entrance hall, the butler appeared from his pantry and inclined his head. ‘Do you need anything, Mrs Deravenel?' He glanced at Edward. ‘Do you, sir?'

‘No, but thank you anyway, Jessup. You can lock up. Goodnight.'

‘Goodnight, sir, and goodnight to you, Mrs Deravenel.'

‘Goodnight, Jessup.'

Once they were in her bedroom, Edward turned her to him, touched her cheek gently with one finger. ‘Thank you, Elizabeth, thank you for helping to put things … in order.' There was a short pause, and he smiled. ‘Can I share your bed tonight?'

‘Yes.' There was a moment's hesitation, before she added, in a low voice, ‘You know very well you've won, Ned.'

‘I know that you put aside our problems finally, when you relaxed down in the stronghold. But I'm not an arrogant man, and you above anyone must know that by now. Kissing me passionately, holding me close to you doesn't necessarily mean you will allow me to make love to you. Or sleep in this bed with you tonight. Which is what I actually meant.'

‘You can share my bed,' she answered, her voice lighter, and with sudden nonchalance she walked across the room. She took off her pale-blue chiffon frock, stepped out of her shoes, and slowly removed all of her underclothes. Then she reached for the white satin robe already laid out on a chair.

He watched her avidly, rapidly growing hard, hot with desire for her as she disrobed. He turned on his heels, went into his own room, and came back swiftly, clad in a navy-blue silk dressing gown.

Elizabeth was standing at the window looking out at the inky sea and the dark sky littered with a mere scattering of stars tonight. He went and stood behind her, put his arms around her, nuzzled the back of her neck. She twisted around in his arms, turned to face him, and murmured, ‘I capitulated because I had no choice, Ned.'

He made no response. Catching hold of her hand he led her to the bed, where they lay down together, facing each other. After a little while, he said, ‘Nonetheless, I think we should consummate our union, don't you? That way we really will be man and wife.' His irresistible smile flashed across his mouth; his eyes were very blue.

Looking into his face, smiling at him, she untied the belt of his dressing gown, then opened her own robe, moved closer to him, reaching for him.

He bent over her, kissed her deeply, stroked her breasts, brought his mouth to one of her nipples. The other hand slid
down her thighs, to rest between her legs. After a moment or two, she sighed a long, rapturous sigh, let her hand enfold his erection. Within seconds, he pushed himself up on one elbow, stared down at her very intently. ‘But you also capitulated for this … for me, for us, for this marvellous sex we have together, and which we have shared for fourteen years. I know I can't do without you … for this. And admit it, you can't do without me, for
this
either.'

‘No, I can't.' Her eyes spilled her desire. ‘It's true.'

He fell quiet, said nothing more, began to stroke her again, touching her everywhere, thinking how lovely she was. And she thought of his enormous potency and masculinity. And eventually they were as they had always been with each other.

‘Ah yes,' he breathed softly, as he entered her, drawn by the heat of her body, and her raging desire for him. ‘Oh, yes, Elizabeth,' he moaned. ‘My wife …'

He moved against her and she responded instantly, her body arching up to his. They clung together, moved together, as always in perfect harmony until they came together as one. He lay on top of her and did not move. Nor did she. And they stayed like that for a long time.

He knew at this moment that he would never leave her, and asked himself why he had even contemplated divorce. The mere idea of it was ridiculous. She held him in her sexual thrall. And in her own special way she
did
make him happy.

As if reading his thoughts, she asked a moment later, ‘Do I make you happy, Ned?'

His answer was to start kissing her again, and then he lifted his head and looked down to her. ‘Ecstatic, that's how I feel when we're together like this. And so are you, aren't you?'

‘I am Ned, I am,' she answered, and she meant it.

He enfolded her, brought her close, and they slept in each other's arms all night.

‘I
have a strong feeling that Fate is playing right into our hands,' Will Hasling said, walking into Edward's office which adjoined his own and gave them easy access to each other.

Edward looked up swiftly, his expression quickening. ‘In what way?'

‘I have just received a long letter from Vincent Martell, and seemingly he's ready to retire, wants to do so, in fact. He has volunteered to work for us as a consultant, but he no longer wants to run the Mâcon vineyards anymore.'

‘That's a surprise, I always thought he would die in the vineyards. After all, he's worked in them for most of his life.'

‘Let's not forget he's over sixty. I have a feeling he's tired, Ned.'

Edward looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, ‘Did he recommend anybody to take his place?'

‘Yes, he did. Marcel Arnaud, who's been at the vineyards for about ten years or so. I think we should take Vincent's
advice, and use him as a consultant. But I do see an opportunity here, and one we should take advantage of immediately.'

‘
George
. You want me to send George to Mâcon, to get him out of my hair, and also because in Burgundy it doesn't matter what claptrap he utters about us because nobody actually cares. Nor do they understand.'

‘That's right.'

‘What makes you think he'll go?' Edward asked. His expression was sceptical for a moment, and then he laughed quietly. ‘Why would he object? He speaks quite good French, he won't have a lot to do, since he knows nothing about wine-growing and making. It'll be an easy, cushy life, and with Vincent retiring we should not have any problems, such as clashes, rows. In fact I think he'll get on quite well with Marcel. And there is the added attraction of sister Meg, not too far away in Dijon. You know she's always adored him.'

‘Exactly what I thought. It also occurred to me that it would be a good idea for me to take him down to Burgundy, show him around, show him the château. The last time I was there it looked beautiful, in perfect condition. George could live there and be comfortable. No, I can't think of a reason why he wouldn't jump at the chance,' Will finished.

‘He might object, just to be contrary.'

‘That's a point,' Will muttered. ‘Anyway, do you agree? Agree that it's an opportunity not to be missed?'

‘I certainly do! Is he in today?'

‘I believe so.'

‘Then I'll take him to lunch at the Savoy. I'd like you to join us. After all, you oversee the running of all of our vineyards and you know more about them than anyone.'

‘Delighted to oblige. What time?'

‘Is one o'clock all right?'

‘It's good for me, Ned. Shall I ask Oliveri to come along?'

‘Good idea.'

Will nodded, swung around and walked towards the door opening into his office.

Alfredo Oliveri watched George Deravenel walking towards them through the Grill Room of the Savoy Hotel. Once again he was struck by the young man's appearance. Although not as tall or quite as handsome as his brother Edward, George was, nonetheless, very good looking. He had Edward's fair colouring, although his hair was pure blond, rather than red-gold, and his eyes were a peculiar blue-green. Almost turquoise, Alfredo thought, staring at George as he came to a stop at the table.

‘Hello, George, thanks for joining us,' Edward said in a cheerful voice.

‘Thanks for inviting me,' George answered in a cold tone and sat down opposite his brother.

‘What would you like?' Edward asked. ‘Champagne?'

‘That'll be fine, thanks.' He looked first at Oliveri and then at Will, and inclined his head to both. ‘So, what's this pow-wow about?' As he spoke he brushed his blond hair back from his forehead, and stared at Edward. ‘You said something about good news, implied that it was good news for
me
. So come on, tell me, Ned.'

‘It
is
good news, at least I think so,' Edward answered evenly, keeping tight control of himself. George sounded petulant as usual, and Ned detected that same hostility he'd been displaying recently. It was there, beneath the surface, and it was a hostility towards
him
. Will George never learn, Edward asked himself, then said to his brother, ‘Vincent Martell is about to retire. Will heard from him just today. Whilst Marcel Arnaud will be running the Mâcon vineyards, I thought it
might be a good opportunity for you. To go to France, to learn as much as you can about the vineyards. Vincent's going to be available as a consultant to us, and you could certainly benefit from being with him. He knows more about wine than anyone else around. I'm sorry he's retiring, but I do understand his reasons. He's tired.'

Although he rather fancied the idea of going to live at the château, and of being in France, George had no intention of letting Edward know this, and he said in a somewhat truculent voice, ‘What makes you think I want to go to France? To live there? Actually, I don't.' He made a face just to make a point.

‘Please don't dismiss this out of hand,' Edward murmured softly, his voice placating. He wanted George out of England, and he was prepared to be conciliatory, persuasive, in order to achieve his purpose.

‘I'm not dismissing it. I just want to know what's in it for me?' George now managed to sound both petulant and grasping, which was typical of him.

Edward contemplated his brother for a long moment. ‘There's a lot in it for you, George. A beautiful home, a new start at Deravenels, and close proximity to the woman who has nothing but unconditional love for you – our sister, Margaret. Frankly, I expected you to jump at it.'

‘It might very well work for me,' George responded after a few minutes. ‘I'm interested in wine, and I do know quite a lot about it. And I would like to know more, in fact. Also, I'm assuming there will be an increase in salary, and that there'll be some good bonuses as well along the way.'

‘Oh, yes, George.' Edward was quick to reassure him of this. The money didn't matter, just so long as it did the trick. But he couldn't help thinking how avaricious George was.

George decided not to say anything: he just picked up his
wine glass and raised it to Edward. ‘Here's to you, brother mine. May you prosper, and Deravenels as well.'

‘And here's to you,' Edward answered, lifting his own glass. ‘I know you will prosper, George. Certainly I've every intention of making that happen.'

The four men clinked glasses, and it was Will who asked, ‘And so what's your answer, George?'

‘I'll think about it,' was his quick response, and he offered them a bland smile.

‘What's all this about you sending George to run the vineyards in Mâcon?' Richard asked the following afternoon, sitting down in the chair opposite Edward's desk.

‘I'm not sending him, Richard. I asked him if he'd like to go and he hasn't answered me yet. He's thinking about it.'

‘I don't think he should go,' Richard answered.

‘Why not?'

‘It's dangerous for him. He'll drink himself to death, you'll see.'

‘No, he won't, he's not that stupid. And as I just told you, Dick, it's his choice.'

Richard stared at Edward, shaking his head. ‘I can't believe this.' He let out a long sigh. ‘Its not like you to be so … so
obtuse
. Surely you can see the dangers?'

‘You might be right. But I can't worry about that. I need to get him out of my hair. He's saying the most terrible things about our mother, saying I'm a bastard. You
know
this. You've surely heard the gossip he's been spreading. And he's been saying my children are bastards as well. I've excused him, forgiven him for so many things, so many transgressions, and so many times, Dick. You know this. He never learns any lessons, and my patience has now worn thin.'

‘I know, and I sympathize. George was very disloyal when Neville was plotting against you, and his betrayals have been quite … well,
staggering
, Ned. On the other hand, offering him a vineyard to play in is like putting a gun in his hand.' Richard grimaced. ‘He won't be able to resist tippling.'

‘He might drink, yes. On the other hand, I think he's wise enough not to over-indulge. Anyway, he may very well refuse to go. After all, I
offered
it to him, I'm not
insisting
that he moves to France.'

Richard stood up. ‘I understand,' he murmured in a low voice and walked over to the door. ‘Let me know what happens, what George says finally. I'm going to Yorkshire this afternoon. Francis Lowell needs me at the mills in Bradford. We've got a problem.'

‘Presumably not too serious?' Edward asked, looking at Richard intently.

‘No. And we'll deal with it.'

‘You've done well with the northern companies, Dick. I'm proud of you. I want you to know this.'

‘Thanks, Ned. Let's face it though, I do have some good men who work with me. Francis Lowell, Robert Clayton, and Alan Ramsey. I'm lucky.'

After Richard had left Edward swivelled his desk chair and sat staring at the large map on the wall behind his desk. His father's map.

At this moment, Edward's gaze was directed at France, and in particular at Burgundy. The Deravenel vineyards produced some great Mâconnaise wines, including a marvellous Pouilly Fuissé, one of their best whites, and some good Beaujolais which was extremely popular. These vineyards
had always been profit able, as were their vineyards in Provence.

He wondered suddenly if they had selected the wrong place to send George, and instantly dismissed this thought. Provence would be the worst, dangerous; it was too close to Marseilles and the Riviera. There was no question that Burgundy was the proper spot.

Margaret and Charles were not too far away at their château just outside Dijon. Charles's family had produced Nuits-St-Georges and some other great reds for several hundred years, and George could go and spend time with them. He knew full well Meg would always welcome her favourite, whom she had loved since childhood.