The Ravenscar Dynasty by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page A

you?’
    â€˜I certainly will, I promised, didn’t I?’
    â€˜Yes. But you see, well, Ned, I don’t think George and I are old enough to look after Mama and Meg…but you are. So you have to come home.’

    â€˜I understand what you’re saying, and I’ll be home in a flash, don’t you worry. Once I’ve done my business in Italy I’ll be back. But you know, Dick, I have a feeling that the two of you could keep an eye on things for me, couldn’t you? Or should I say four eyes?’
    Richard forced a smile, but his slate-grey eyes were sad. ‘I suppose so.’
    Funny how his eyes look more blue at times, Edward thought. Then they become the colour of wet slate, and sometimes they even turn black. They reflect his moods, I suppose. ‘Come along, old chap, let’s go upstairs,’ he suggested. ‘It’s time we both went to sleep, don’t you think?’
    Richard simply nodded. Taking hold of Ned’s hand, he allowed himself to be led out of the study, across the Long Hall and up the wide staircase. It was only when they came to the first-floor landing that Richard tugged on Edward’s hand. ‘Could I sleep with you tonight, Ned? Like I did when I was really, really little and afraid of the dark?’
    â€˜It will be my very great pleasure to share my bed with you,’ Ned exclaimed, smiling down at the eight-year-old boy, understanding that Richard needed to feel protected, safe and secure tonight. There had been so much pain and hurt and sorrow today.
    Edward found himself the recipient of a wide and happy smile from his youngest brother, a smile that touched his heart profoundly.

FIVE
London
    Will Hasling stood waiting at the barrier at King’s Cross Station, stamping his feet to keep warm, and huddling himself deeper into his long winter overcoat. This was made of grey merino wool and had a raccoon fur collar; the coat was slender and elegant, made him look taller than his five feet nine, and added to the twenty-two year-old’s air of prosperity.
    A pleasant looking young man, with a warm, expansive smile and light-brown hair, Will hailed from a prominent family of landed gentry in Leicestershire. His father was a landowner of considerable importance, with a stately home on hundreds of acres; the local squire and justice of the peace as well, he was something of a bon vivant. His son took after him in that he, too, enjoyed good food and drink but, unlike his father, rural life did not appeal to Will. Hunting, shooting and fishing held no interest for him.
    After graduating from Oxford, he fully intended to live in London where he hoped to work in the City, possibly as a broker with a firm on the London Stock Exchange. He loved London, and especially the way itwas these days. He found it glittering, glamorous and exciting, the place to be.
    In the three years that he had been king, Edward VII had become even more popular than he was as Prince of Wales; everyone in the country adored him, from the aristocracy to the working classes and those in between.
    Will, like the entire nation, mourned Queen Victoria’s passing, but he also felt that same sense of relief, and expectation, now that Edward was on the throne.
    People were happy that the king had moved the monarchy back to London. He had lit the lights, thrown open the doors of Buckingham Palace, welcomed his friends inside, and the dancing had begun. It seemed to Will and his friends that after the constraints and repression of Victorian England a new era had begun—a time of jollity, gaiety, freedom and expressiveness. And he for one couldn’t wait to sample all of these excitements and pleasures when he left university.
    Stamping his feet again, he moved around trying to combat the icy weather. There was a fog on this Wednesday evening, a fog Will hoped would not turn into one of those dreadful pea-soupers. There had been quite a few of those of late, and they