He grinned at her. “I thank you for monitoring the weather for me, Roxanne.”
Roxanne looked up, hearing a voice she recognized very well. “Oh, dear. I do believe we have added another thick blanket of unpleasantness. I should have guessed, but I didn’t.” She drew a deep breath. “My sister Leah has arrived, doubtless because Richard Langworth left London.”
“At least she will distract Richard. Onward, my girl, we have dragons to search out and slay.”
30
A party of nine sat down to dinner that evening at precisely six o’clock, the ladies resplendent in a rainbow of colors, her grace in a striking emerald green gown that quite outshone the young ladies in their pastels. The gentlemen were garbed in severe black, their linen white as the Devonshire cream Cook presented.
As on the previous evening, the baron directed the conversation, smooth as butter, Sophie thought. Perhaps it was the addition of Leah that made things easier tonight. She was certainly filled with laughter and gaiety and gossip from London.
“I believed our guests would enjoy Cook’s fine Exeter stew, Papa,” Vicky said. “Pray tell me what you think.”
The baron was staring at Leah, who looked very beautiful, indeed, her hair like spun gold in the soft candlelight. “I think that is very fine, Vicky.” He looked back toward Leah, as if unable to help himself. “My son has told me you are the loveliest of the Radcliffe sisters.”
He’d better have told his father that, Roxanne thought, a smile firmly set on her mouth.
Leah, known for her charm, something neither Roxanne nor Sophie saw much of, looked from Richard to his father. “That is kind of him. Let me say I consider Richard the finest-looking gentleman of my acquaintance. Now I see he resembles you greatly, my lord. And your house is not only impressive, it quite invites one in. Thank you for welcoming me, in spite of the surprise of it.”
The baron laughed, waved a fork that held a good bite of cheese pastry. “I’ve always believed my son has excellent taste, my dear. Welcome to Hardcross Manor. I should be delighted to show you the gardens when my son isn’t monopolizing you.”
Julian saw that Vicky had a smile fixed to her face even as she slowly chewed on a bite of roast turkey. Did she even care what was being said? Julian wondered, and saw the same question in Sophie’s eyes.
Julian said to the table at large, “I must leave you tomorrow to visit Ravenscar.”
“I shall go with you, dearest,” his mother said. “I wish to see how my vegetable garden fares.”
Julian was pleased when Roxanne, Sophie, and Devlin asked to come as well. He wanted Sophie to see his home. He also wanted her to meet his four spaniels.
Everyone was shocked silent when Vicky said suddenly, “Do you know, Julian, I haven’t been to Ravenscar since that day you buried Lily? May I come as well?”
31
Corinne waved toward the butcher’s wife as the carriage rolled through Ravenscar Village. “Isn’t this a charming town?” she asked any or all of her companions in the carriage. “Look yon at the village church. It dates back to the thirteenth century. Julian’s father always saw to it that the cemetery was well maintained, and naturally, I have continued to see to it now.” Since Lily is buried there hung in the air. Corinne continued after a moment, “He had the beautiful stained-glass windows installed toward the end of the last century. He was very proud of this village, of its people, but Ravenscar was his heart. It is a palace and a castle spun together by a drunk magician, Julian always says, but it doesn’t matter, it makes you feel safe from any invaders who might land on our shores, something that seems very doubtful now in our modern times. His grace would say ‘Ravenscar endures.’” She sighed. “Maximilian only wished he could endure right along with it. But, of course, no one can endure past his time, and his grace was blessed with a long life.”
Roxanne said, “A castle and a palace, I like that. You said the duke spent more time here than at his ancestral home—Mount Burney, near Colchester.”
Corinne said, “He did, though, to be honest, he thought of Ravenscar as his ancestral home. He told me he’d never liked Mount Burney, a drafty old place without a whit of charm. He was frankly relieved that his son Constantine loved the place. He always preferred Cornwall, the balmy south with its palm trees, and the north as well, with its savage coastline—and all of it so very close together.
“Do you know, I have never visited Mount Burney nor do I ever wish to. His grace married me here in the local church, and here is where we lived until he died. Constantine once invited me to visit, but I declined. I knew Lorelei wouldn’t be at all kind, were I to come.
“Since Ravenscar was unentailed, he was able to bequeath it to Julian.” She paused for a moment. “Do you know that hereabouts Julian is called the Prince of Ravenscar?”
“How vastly romantic that sounds,” Sophie said. “Prince! Goodness, what does that do to his opinion of himself, I wonder? How did that happen, your grace?”
“When Julian was a mere babe in arms, his father apologized to him that he couldn’t be the future Duke of Brabante. But it wouldn’t matter, he told him, because he was going to make him more important than a mere duke; he was going to make him a prince. From that day on, he would kiss Julian’s tiny hand and say grandly, ‘Never forget in the years ahead that you are the Prince of Ravenscar.’ As you can imagine, this makes Julian very uncomfortable.”
Sophie said, “I rather like it. He should, too.” And she said it over and over to herself, and smiled.
Roxanne said, “Devlin owns his own home—Holly Hill, on the outskirts of Hythe, he told me. Like Julian, he very much likes to live near the sea. He told me Holly Hill was his great-grandfather’s creation.” She turned to Sophie. “Would you like to visit Holly Hill? Devlin said he would take us out on his boat. He said it wasn’t as grand as Julian’s Désirée, but stir up a good wind and the Fifer flies.”
“Fifer,” Sophie said. “That is an odd name for a boat.”
“Devlin told me he was only five years old when his father presented the boat to him, and he didn’t know what else to call it. I believe Fife was the name of his dog at the time.” Corinne paused a moment. “Do you know, Devlin has a descendant also named Fife.”
Corinne turned to look out the carriage window. “I do wish Julian and Devlin had not chosen to ride.”
“The carriage is rather full, your grace,” Sophie said. “Besides, are you telling me you would prefer to speak to gentlemen rather than very smart witty ladies? Haven’t we entertained you sufficiently?”