The Ravenscar Dynasty Read Free Page A

always had. Also, his absence would bring the matter of Alice to a close, if it had not already died a natural death, or been terminated by one of them a few minutes before. Even if it had been non-existent, she was glad he was going. At Oxford he was safe.
    She sighed under her breath. He could be wild, even reckless at times, acting impulsively, without considered thought. And, women of all ages found him utterly irresistible.
    It had long ago occurred to Cecily that temptation was always under his feet and in his way; in fact, poor Edward was forever stumbling over temptation, more so than the average man.
    It would take a saint to resist everything thrown in his face, she muttered to herself, as she stepped into the Long Hall, still thinking about her son.
    Cecily was a tall and regal woman in her mid-forties, handsome, graceful and elegant. She was usually dressed in fashionable clothes even when she was here at Ravenscar, the family’s country seat.
    This morning she was wearing a navy-blue wool day suit with a long skirt slightly flared from the calf, and a matching tailored jacket over a white cambric blouse with a high neck and frilled jabot. The jacket was short, ended at her narrow waist; it was cut in the style of the moment, with puffed sleeves which became narrow and tight from elbow to wrist.
    Cecily’s hair was one of her loveliest features, a glossychestnut which she wore upswept on top of her head; arranged in a mass of curls, these moved forward to the front, just above her smooth, wide brow. This was the latest and most fashionable style, as every woman in England, from every station in life, was copying Queen Alexandra. Ever since Queen Victoria’s son, Albert Edward, had ascended to the throne as Edward VII, his queen had become the arbiter of fashion, style and taste. Edward’s wife, a Danish princess by birth, was much admired by the public as well as those in the top echelons of society.
    When Cecily was living at Ravenscar she wore little or no jewellery, unless there were house guests in residence or she and her husband were entertaining members of the local gentry. Today was no exception. Her choices were simple: small pearl earrings, her gold wedding ring and a fob watch on the lapel of her jacket.
    Now Cecily looked at the watch and smiled. The small hand was just moving onto eleven. Her husband forever teased her, insisted that he could set his pocket watch by her, and in this assertion he was absolutely correct. She was the most punctual of women, and every morning at precisely this hour she set out on her tour of the downstairs rooms at Ravenscar.
    What had begun when she was a young bride had, over the years, turned into a daily ritual when she was in residence here. She needed to be certain that all the rooms in this grand old house were warm and comfortable, that everything was in order with not one thing out of place. She was fastidious about this, as in most things.
    Over twenty-six years ago, when she had come toRavenscar as Richard Deravenel’s wife and the new mistress of the manor, she had at first been startled, then terribly saddened to find this Tudor jewel, glorious in its overall architecture and design, to be so utterly unwelcoming, so uninviting. The sight of it had filled her with dismay and she had baulked, momentarily.
    The rooms themselves were of fine proportions, with many windows that flooded the interiors with that lovely crystalline Northern light. But unfortunately these rooms were icy cold and impossible to occupy for long without freezing to death. Even in summer the cold penetrated the thick stone walls, and because of the nearness of the North Sea there was a feeling of dampness, especially in the wet weather.
    Richard had explained to her that the house was basically only suffering from neglect, that its bones were good, as was its structure. In effect, his widowed mother had grown parsimonious in her old age. She had closed off most of the