“Take me to Ravensmere. I need the vision of its munificence and the smell of its fresh invigorating air.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ravensmere, Hampshire County
The three-hour trip to Ravensmere seemed longer than usual. Old friendships such as his and Louise’s should be valued, Raven argued. Unhappy thoughts incised and invaded. He should not blame her for making a choice to leave him since it was apparent that marriage with him was out of the question. His issue was all about fidelity, integrity, and honor. They were not just words but morals he valued. Difficult as it might be, he wouldn’t give her another thought. That much he vowed.
After a time, the entrance to Ravensmere appeared. A relaxed cloud rained over him. The stately manor house was his sanctuary in all things.
His majordomo greeted the duke. “Good evening, Your Grace. Everything is in readiness.”
“Randall, advise Seigfreid I wish to see him in one hour.”
He entered his drawing room, inhaled the glory of antiquity and splendor. Raven wondered if Samantha would like his ancestral home. She would view all he loved from the ancient tapestries to the massive pieces of priceless furniture handed down through the centuries. The dining room table was large enough to seat twenty-six people or more. The chairs were antique with the ducal crest embroidered on the seats. A well-polished marble floor lent grandeur to the manor.
He hoped she’d appreciate the soaring walls and the beveled glass centuries-old windows in the same manner he did. Raven entered his library headed toward the table of decanters of liquor and poured a large snifter of the brandy. “Ah,” he sighed and breathed in the rich fumes to allow a pleasant heady sensation, but as usual, such release didn’t come with ease.
Randall entered and assisted him out of his formal travel overcoat and into the silk dressing jacket and velvet slippers he preferred when he worked in the library. He loved this room because it represented all he aspired to, all he hoped to be, and all he now was. Raven didn’t care to read his parliamentary papers or to study accounts about which to question his estate manager.
An aloof man normally of considerable restraint, he took his brandy with him to the drawing room and sat in the large leather chair in front of the imported carved massive stone fireplace. The picture of his late wife held prominence.
Most of his compatriots considered him cold-as-ice, yet in truth they did not know him. Beneath the ice was a heart of fire that suffered. He spoke to the magnificent portrait of his Duchess.
Don’t look at me that way, Liana. I’ve missed you for so long I don’t know if this heart of mine can love again. The passion I had with you has eluded me these past years. You always soothed my somber attitude with your good humor…and that contagious laugh. Liana, until now, I have kept my promise to you.
He took a small sip of the brandy, stared at the portrait he commissioned before she became enceinte with their son. “I miss you still, even more now that an old relationship has withered after eight years, and a new mysterious one has begun,” he whispered to the portrait. The picture enhanced Liana’s coal black hair, porcelain skin, long-lashed eyes and the sweet, full sensual lips and generous breasts he loved to kiss. Her teal colored dress flowed in softness about her and complemented her deep colored eyes. A dark band tied with a bow of lovely flowers circled under her bosom.
In the portrait, his duchess looked over her right shoulder at the artist, in a three-quarter profile, high cheekbones emphasized her classic elegance except for the long black curls that cascaded downward. Her gaze appeared wistful and angelic. Did Liana release him from his deathbed promise to foreshadow his future? Oh, he found it hard to put his past into a compartment while he pondered the future with one feisty, determined lady.
He stood and walked over to the mantel in expectation that the lady in the portrait would answer him. In deep thought, he grasped the poker to kindle the flame. How could he tell her an arrow pierced his heart, and another woman captured his affection? Would she understand if he broke his promise?
Raven reached out, touched the frame and withdrew his hand in haste. His fingertips seared, and his eyes met those in the picture. Could it be an omen? A voice in his head sounded soft and familiar. I’ve always known how much you loved me, the melodious voice said. Promises are promises, Raven. Follow your heart.
He recognized Liana’s voice. She didn’t quite release him from his word. She didn’t give him complete approval to pursue Samantha either.
“I’m maudlin.” He placed the brandy glass on the lowboy table.
Raven knew if he continued with this soliloquy to his late wife, unmanly tears would flow. In the depths of sorrow, he walked back into his library.
“Pictures can’t talk,” he muttered. “Frames don’t scorch.” Slight blisters on his hand stung. Had he grasped the fireplace poker too long? He placed both hands to cover his ears, and he prayed her voice would go away. “The brandy has taken its toll. All I can remember is she spoke of promises. Damnation.”
The stunning revelation of Louise’s infidelity shook the foundation of his beliefs. If there was one woman he thought he might trust, it was she. Why had her fidelity waned? Louise relied on him to do the right thing. Was he capable of trusting another woman again? If not, would he now lose Samantha?
Damnation, he now chose to live and love despite the deathbed promise. A glance at his hands revealed the absence of blisters! Was this Liana’s message? Was he truly free?
About to work with the accounts, a light tap on the door sounded, and he answered, “Enter.”
Randall announced Siegfreid’s arrival.
“Show him in.”
The tall man strode into the room, confident and well groomed, “Your Grace, it’s good to have you back.”
Raven nodded. “I’m sure there is much to tell. Update me, and then I have instructions for you. He listened while his manager went down the lists of the estate holdings and commented on each. A few problems Seigfreid brought to his attention. The estate manager’s position required a good wage, and he was well paid for his services.
The duke believed it important to let his employees know he valued them. He paid them more than market wages and rewarded them often. All of his tenant farmers knew the quotas for their produce. If they exceeded expectations, the tenant farmer shared in the profit for the produce. In this way, both he and the tenant farmer reaped the benefit for the superior effort. It proved to be a good and profitable venture for both. Put in simplistic terms, though it was unusual, it was fair to all. Raven applied this theory to all the other ventures on the estate. The tenants respected his concern for them.
Seigfreid reported, “The tenants wish to thank you for the gifts you’ve bestowed on them. The women appreciated the Ceylon teas. I heard mention they planned to use them for the Christmas holidays. The tallow candles have been put to good use, Your Grace. Of course, the men coveted the brandy you’ve given them from the on-site distillery. Perhaps you heard them sing your praises?” he asked. “The chapel’s choir resonated with a few male voices in loud praise of God and Your Grace.”
Raven noted the humor in the manager’s tone. “I see I’m in hallowed company,” joked the duke. A smile returned to his expression. “Let them know I appreciate all they do. It’s little enough, Seigfreid. I know they recognize the value of these luxuries. If we have another good year, there will be more due them.”
“Your Grace, you are a powerful patron loved by your people. Here’s a note from Mr. Elliott who injured his back when his farm wagon overturned. As you instructed, he and his family lived in the cottage rent-free until the doctor could release him. Credit for their needs became available at the mercantile shop. Mrs. Elliot expects another child in three months time.”
“So we add another mouth to feed? We will need strong children to grow up into able men and women to continue my legacy. Leave the note with me. I will answer it later. Is there anything else they may need?” He sorted documents and
letters in neat packs on his antique desk.
“All is well with them. Latham Elliott is anxious to get back to work his fields.”
Raven’s look of contentment graced his face. Not because of his philanthropy, but more because he cared, and considered himself to be a fair and honest landowner protective of his tenants. Upon his inheritance, they became part of his sacred trust. Stern and disciplined, he believed with all his heart, if his people were satisfied and productive, they all would continue to survive and prosper over the next decade. They looked to him for their continued livelihood. The responsibility was grave.
At times, it presented a significant burden on him. The stories were rampant of many landowners who didn’t plan for the future, who needed financial recourse and penalized their tenants for non-production. Worse, some owners gambled away their estates.
He asked about the incentive program he installed a few months before.
Seigfreid updated him, “They are pleased with the utilization progress. We’ve now appointed someone whose prime duty is to handle all the suggestions that the laborers have offered. I will have those for you in the morning. With your permission, there is still more work to accomplish a complete summary.”
“I would like a final report on the dairy farms. They are too important to overlook,” Raven stated. “Have the new Guernsey cows adapted?”
Seigfreid nodded. “They are content and productive.”
He advised his manager about the visit of the Winston family and friends and instructed that a tour be arranged for the gentlemen and any ladies who cared to attend. His pride doubled when he spoke of the icehouse, tucked back into the side of a mountain bluff. “We shall have an inspection the day before they arrive, Seigfreid, you and I alone. Will that be enough time for you to make sure all is in order?”
“I believe so, Your Grace. I may need some tenant assistance, and all will be to your satisfaction.”
Raven shook Siegfreid’s hand in deliberation. “I have no doubt in your capabilities.”
Randall next showed in the cook, and she curtsied. “Welcome home, Your Grace. We are to have guests to visit. How can I assist?”
Always solicitous of his staff, he asked, “How have you been, Cook Phoebe? Are you well?”
“Better, Your Grace, thank you.” She smiled at him, her ample form indicative of the food served at the manor house. “My arthritis can be difficult.”
Raven indicated Prince Nicholas of Russia would be in attendance for the week, others too, and that some special dinners would be required, and in particular, one a la Russe. “I will have my aunt, Lady Margaret, give you the menu and recipes for its preparation. If you need assistance of any kind, Randall will arrange for it. Don’t fear to ask,” he cautioned. “But for the rest of the meals, I would like the food prepared à la Francais.”
He gave her a broad smile. “Cook Phoebe, needless to say, I look forward to your flawless food.” He further advised, “I’m sure you will need help since some of the recipes can be difficult, do engage young ladies from the village to assist you. Above all, don’t hesitate to seek the advice of Lady Margaret. It’s not often we have such grand affairs at Ravensmere.”
A nervous Cook Phoebe fidgeted and curtsied. “Indeed not. Yes, Your Grace. It will be a fine week, but I’m frightened.”
He laughed with her, and his calm influence assured her that all would go well.
“Cook Phoebe, send Randall in again.” He paced up and down in front of the fireplace.
Randall appeared within seconds.
“For the food a la Russe, we shall need menu cards in English. See to it in an appropriate manner, and remind me if I have omitted anything. Has my aunt been notified of my request as yet?”
“Yes, Your Grace. The under-footman has just returned with her response. He handed him a parchment envelope.
“Good. I’m ready for dinner now. I’m famished. All this menu preparation is not for me.” He remembered back to the time that his Liana supervised all these household duties. “Know I’m grateful for your help.”
“Where do you wish to dine, Your Grace?”
“My study will do, just simple fare, but lots of it. The food tends to get too rich in London.” He walked toward his inner sanctum determined to take charge of his life and live it to the fullest, perhaps with the help of a certain spitfire widow of his acquaintance. His spirits lifted. He vowed there was no time for despair any more and he now would have to come to terms with his inner being. That part would be the hardest.
He read his aunt’s note,
My Dear Raven,
I send you my salutations and affection. How nice to know that you have need of me. I shall be most happy to assist and look forward to my visit. You may expect my arrival in about two days, and then you can advise me about your plans. I’m excited to see you once again.
With all my love,
Aunt Margaret
The note hung from his hand. He peered off into the distance not looking at anything in particular. His mind wandered to the sight of Samantha in her garden and envisioned how she looked beautiful and angelic, unapproachable, untouchable and unobtainable. It then occurred to him she lived in her special world. Could there be room for him too? Most of all, could they make it their world?
Raven ascertained their joint passion enticed them both. For the sake of his sanity, he deemed it best to slow down the pace a notch or two, although the fire between them required quenching, and not with water.
Samantha’s search for a pure love became fantasy. He couldn’t be sure if she could participate in his world on his terms. The biggest question of all, did she have the desire to compromise? That word seemed to take on new meaning in his lexicon of speech.
Chapter Nineteen
Winston House, London
Samantha’s maid brought up a tray of tea and hot water for her ablutions. “Good morning, milady. Which dress shall you wear?” She went to the dress closet prepared to make a selection.
“I’m not sure of my brother’s plans so fetch me a morning peignoir, perhaps the blue? I’ll brush my hair back and secure it with barrettes to keep it in place.”
She sipped her tea and couldn’t help but think how everything in her life now evolved. The thought of a week in the country at Raven’s estate excited. The man intrigued her, yet he evoked many conflicted sensations within her. Strong ones at that.
When she arrived in the dining room, the side table presented the usual breakfast selection, and she took care to select small portions.
“Good morning, brother.” Samantha smiled and then she kissed his forehead. “Is Aunt Min not up yet?”
“Sister, good morning. I believe she’s in the kitchen with the staff.”
Samantha sat in her usual chair tasting the savory ham’s rich flavor.
Aunt Minerva walked in and greeted her.
“We are anxious for your news, Brandon. Will you not tell us now?” asked Aunt Min.
“I’m not sure where to start.” He informed them that they would spend a full week at Ravensmere. “One of the guests is Prince Nicholas of Russia.”
“I do so admire Russian princes,” Lady Minerva commented. “Samantha, you will know how royalty socializes. I’m excited for you both.”
Brandon mentioned some other members of the proposed cartel would be there. “I’m much interested in the granary.”
He placed his cutlery down and in a pensive tone, his forehead creased. “There will be discussion about the goals of the cartel and details on what is needed to accomplish them. The confidential brief outlines the details, and after money exchanges hands, each member will receive specific assignments.”
Her brother spoke again. “I hope you ladies won’t be bored, and of course, you don’t have to come on the inspection tour if you don’t wish. I mention this because I’ve pretty much decided to take advantage of the offer to participate in the cartel. I’m scared to death.” His smile appeared to make light of his last sentence.
Samantha noted her brother’s excitement and his animated handsome face. “Brandon, I don’t intend to be bored. I will find a lot to content myself. Don’t worry about me,” tongue in cheek while her thoughts wandered to wonderful places where she could be with the duke to get to know him better.
“What do you know of this Prince Nicholas, Brandon? Will he be one of the investors?” Aunt Minerva asked. “You do know I have a fondness for all things Russian, and there were no boundaries when it came to its men. Ah, yes, they were such wonderful barbarians.”
“Aunt Min!” Samantha raised one hand to her lips.
Brandon answered, “I know what I’ve read about him. He has youth, wealth, and political connections, and one brother, Sergei. They were part of the Russian aristocracy related to the late Czar. Nicholas received his education at Oxford and has spent the last ten years in England. That is all I know for now. In some circles, he’s considered a rake or a libertine.”
“Tell me, nephew, what Russian aristocrat is not?” Aunt Minerva smiled when she interjected, “We will consort with Russian nobility.”
She addressed her niece, “Samantha, we should change and prepare our trunks for what we will take. You will need new dresses and time is short. I suppose, Brandon, we should give our host a gift of appreciation. What do you give a man who has everything?”
“Something he does not have, Aunt?” Samantha smiled. “Or something he’d appreciate. He is, after all, an Aquarian, cosmopolitan and possesses a literary mind, so perhaps we should look for a special book. He might appreciate a first edition.” Samantha’s mind conjured a different gift for him. She planned with care how it would be presented—in private, with an invitation to the intimacy he always spoke about with her.
The ladies returned to their rooms and chatted about fashion and the need for new accessories and bonnets. Samantha returned to the dining room and asked, “Brother, are we to bring our maid or will one be provided. Do you know?”
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