Barbara Taylor Bradford - The Ravenscar Dynasty

There was such a contrast between him and his brother Richard it was quite startling. There he was, sitting next to his adored Ned, his face so very grave, and now he offered her a solemn sort of smile, a sad smile for a little boy of eight. How steady his slate-grey eyes were; such a serious child, so dedicated in everything he did, her Richard. For a split second she wanted to ruffle his black hair, but she knew he would not appreciate that, because he would think she was babying him. He was the darkest in colouring of all her children, dark like her, and he had inherited some of her traits, her stoicism, her stubbornness particularly.

Finally, Cecily’s eyes came to rest on her eldest son. Edward, too, was smiling at her, a loving smile. His eyes were so vividly blue they startled her, but then they had since his childhood. His red-gold hair, inherited from his Normandy forebears, resembled a polished helmet above his face, and as his smile grew wider and his white teeth flashed she thought of those women who fell all over him—yet he was so young, still only a boy…not even nineteen…

For a long time she had believed that his inherent wildness did not negate his other qualities, especially his natural ability in so many areas. And he was very able. She never underestimated him, although his father occasionally did. Even so, her husband was fully aware, just as she was, that with Ned family loyalty was deeply ingrained in him, bred in the bone. Family came first; she knew it always would. She relied on it.

As Cecily stood there for a moment longer, she stopped ruminating about the three boys present, thought for a moment of her second son, Edmund, gone to Italy with his father several days ago. Edmund, who was seventeen, seemed the most responsible of her sons, and he had begged to accompany his father on this business trip. He was practical, had his feet firmly planted on the ground, and was very much his own man. It was his two elder sisters whom Edmund most resembled, at least in his colouring…They had light brown hair, hair which her fourteen-year-old daughter Meg characterized disparagingly as mousey . Meg was blonde, but not quite as blond as George.

Edward said, ‘Please come and join us, Mother, won’t you? We’ve been having a snack. Would you like to partake of something…a cup of tea perhaps? Should I ring for Polly?’

‘No, no, but thank you, Ned,’ she replied, walking across the floor to the sofa. As she seated herself on it, George jumped up and rushed across the room, fell onto the sofa next to her, leaned against his mother possessively. Automatically, she put her arm around him protectively. Years later she would remember this gesture from his childhood, and wonder why she had done this so often then. Had she somehow had a premonition that he would one day need protecting?

Ned ventured, ‘I wonder, Mother, if you know when you plan to return to town?’

‘In a week. I told your father we would all be waiting at the Mayfair house when he returned from Italy. Of course, you yourself will be at Oxford by then.’ She glanced down at George, lolling against her, and then across at Richard, before adding to Edward, ‘Mr Pennington will be joining us at the end of the month. He will tutor the boys as he did last year when we were in London. And Perdita Willis has been engaged as governess to tutor Meg. Where is she by the way? Have any of you seen your sister since breakfast?’

Ned and Richard shook their heads, but George spoke up, murmured, ‘I saw her going up to the attics.’

‘When was that?’ Cecily asked swiftly.

‘I can’t really remember the exact time, Mother.’

‘Force yourself,’ she said a little sharply for her.

‘Oh, about an hour ago,’ he muttered.

‘I wonder why she was going up there?’ Cecily frowned, looked puzzled.

‘Oh, heavens, Mother! I think I know why,’ Edward announced. ‘I’ve suddenly remembered. She told me her friend Lillian Jameson is being given a spring ball for her sixteenth birthday. Meg said she was going to look in those trunks up there—’ Edward broke off, glanced at the door which had opened to admit his sister.

‘There you are, darling!’ Cecily exclaimed, rising, moving towards her daughter Margaret. ‘I was just wondering where you were and Ned said you’d probably gone to look in those old trunks.’

‘Yes, I did, Mama,’ Meg answered, gliding into the room; she was as graceful as her mother, and she looked pretty this morning in a red wool dress, black stockings and black shoes.

Cecily knew Meg was blossoming into a very pretty girl indeed, and smiling at her youngest daughter, she murmured, ‘You didn’t mention that Lady Jameson is giving a spring ball for Lillian’s birthday.’

‘It’s not actually definite yet, Mother. The invitations haven’t gone out. And they won’t for weeks and weeks. If it happens at all. Well, you see…Lillian is hoping , and so am I. It might be rather fun, don’t you think? However, her mother hasn’t actually said yes.’

‘Are boys going to be invited?’ George asked, sitting up straighter, staring at her intently.

Meg laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible, George, truly incorrigible. Imagine you thinking you could be invited.’

‘Why not? I’m a Deravenel. We’re invited everywhere.’

‘The likes of Papa, not you,’ Meg said with cool authority. ‘You’re too young to go to cotillions, dances, that sort of thing.’

‘No, I’m not, am I, Mother?’ He gave her an appealing look.

‘Well, George, perhaps…at this moment, let’s say. By the spring you’ll certainly be a little older,’ Cecily replied quietly, wanting to mollify him.

‘There, you see, Margaret! Our mother says because I’ll be older by spring I could go. I’ll think about it, and maybe I will come after all…I shall give it considered thought, as Papa always says.’

Edward chuckled. ‘I hope you’ll ensure I get an invitation, Meg,’ he teased, winking at his sister, wanting to make light of all this, since George looked sulky.

She laughed and nodded. ‘Of course I will. And if you come you’ll be the envy of every other man there.’

He looked surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Because all the young women will be falling at your feet,’ George announced. ‘Everybody says you’re a ladykiller.’

‘That’s enough, George,’ Cecily cut in, although she spoke mildly. ‘None of that type of vulgarity here, if you please.’ Turning to Meg, she asked, ‘Well, did you find anything interesting in the trunks?’

‘Oh, yes, Mama, I did : some wonderful frocks, all beautifully packed away in cotton bags. They’re like new. Will you come and look?’

‘I’ll be happy to,’ Cecily answered, taking her daughter’s arm. Laughing, the two of them went out together.

The attics at Ravenscar were large, and ran the entire length of the house, under the eaves. Since she was such a stickler for cleanliness and perfect order, Cecily had them cleaned and dusted once a month. Because of this, it was easy to find everything, and her neatness and talent for organization meant easy access to the chests, boxes and trunks which were stacked there.

Earlier, Meg had taken out several gowns, and laid them across a sofa which had been covered in a dustcloth. The gowns were made of silk, a light featherweight silk, since they had been designed to wear over bouffant underskirts, or hoop skirts, which had been so prevalent in the middle of the Victorian era.

Meg ran over to the sofa and picked up one made of pale green silk and held it against her. ‘I thought this colour would suit me. What do you think, Mama?’

Cecily stood facing her daughter, studying her for a moment. Then she nodded her head. ‘I must agree with you, it’s a pretty colour and perfect for you. I am sure we can have several of them remodelled to fit you. Madame Henrietta is such a good dressmaker, and innovative, she’ll create more up-to-date designs.’ Reaching for another gown, Cecily handed it to Margaret. ‘Let me see how this shade looks: it’s such a lovely blue, it reminds me of cornflowers.’