To Hugo's relief his father had never cut off contact. He wrote every week, and visited him in New York every year until his death eight years ago. They had remained close, the best of friends.

His parents had lived separate lives long before his brother's terrible accident, but they had never divorced. Sixteen years ago his mother's treatment of him had so enraged his father, it had driven yet another wedge between them. They were very different people, and had lived in their own worlds. His mother had been wrapped up in Cavendon, where she had been born, and had become something of a recluse, her music and garden her only real interests.

His father had lived in the world of racehorses and horseracing, and the highly successful stud he owned in Middleham, not far from Ripon. The Stanton yard at Endersby House had been run for years by Major Gaunt, a breeder and trainer employed by his father. Since his father's death the yard had belonged to him, but it continued to be under the control of Major Gaunt, which suited Hugo.

He loved horses, but not quite as much as his father had, and he did not want to be involved with the yard on a daily or even weekly basis. He left it to Gaunt. Hugo planned to go over to see him during this visit. He wished to congratulate him on his continuing success, and rea.s.sure him about the future. Hugo had no plans to close the yard. It was a moneymaker.

Endersby House was one of several properties Hugo owned in Yorkshire, but he would never sell the house and the stud as long as the major was alive. It was his home, meant everything to him, and it was there that he had bred so many racehorses for them. Then there was Little Skell Manor, which his mother had left to him, as well as his father's house in East Witton.

Oh, I'll deal with all that later, Hugo decided, pushing these thoughts to one side. As he settled back against the soft leather of the Rolls, Hugo thought of the last time he had driven through these great iron gates looming ahead. The gates of Cavendon Hall, which opened onto the long tree-lined drive.

He had been with his father, and they had been on their way to Liverpool. It was from there he would set sail for New York.

As it turned out, Manhattan had been the perfect place for him. Benjamin Silver had taken to him at once, and it was not long before he had begun to treat him like the son he'd never had. And what a training Hugo had been given in the real estate business, and in banking, and wheeling-and-dealing on Wall Street. Hugo had been an avid pupil; Benjamin an inspired teacher. They became close, and inseparable.

And then one day he had become Benjamin's son-in-law, after marrying Loretta Silver, Benjamin's only child. It was through his own intelligence and talent that Hugo had become a millionaire many times over. Then Loretta had made him even richer, after her untimely death. He had inherited her entire estate, which Benjamin had bequeathed to her.

Benjamin and his daughter had been his best friends, and he had loved them both dearly, and he knew how much he owed to them. And it was because of his loss, his loneliness, he had decided he needed to come back to Yorkshire, where he had grown up, and had family ties. He had been filled with optimism when Charles had been so warm and welcoming, first by letter and then on the telephone.

He had ended his youth here. In New York he had found himself, and started afresh, to become the man he was today. And now perhaps he would find a new beginning here, where he had once belonged, and where he wanted to belong again.

Twenty-four.

A sense of excitement gripped Hugo as the Rolls-Royce finally pulled up at the huge, double-fronted door of Cavendon Hall. As he alighted from the motorcar, and stood looking up at one of the greatest stately homes in England, countless memories flooded him and, momentarily, he was carried back into the past.

A split second later the front door opened and Charles and Felicity appeared in the doorway. Together they came hurrying down the few steps to meet him, followed by Hanson, who in turn was accompanied by two footmen to carry the luggage.

Charles embraced him, shook his hand, and exclaimed, "Welcome, Hugo, welcome home!"

"It's wonderful to be here, Charles," Hugo answered, and turned around to embrace Felicity, who, it seemed to him, had not changed one iota. She was still the beautiful strawberry blonde he remembered from his teen years, warm, friendly, and as elegantly dressed as always. As they drew apart, Hugo said, "You haven't changed, haven't aged, Felicity. You're as lovely as ever, and not a line, not a wrinkle. I don't know how you do it."

She laughed. "It's the Yorkshire climate, Hugo, darling. But I must admit, you have changed. You were a schoolboy when you left here, and look at you now. A grown man, and a successful man of the world, I sense."

He nodded, and winked at her, then turned to greet Hanson, who had a huge smile on his face. "How good it is to see you, Hanson," he said, shaking Hanson's hand.

"And you too, Mr. Hugo." Leaning closer, the butler said in a lower tone, "You've been missed by many. Your father usually filled me in when he got back from New York. You see, he knew I wanted to know how you were. All of the staff did."

"He told me, Hanson," Hugo responded, and nodded, as Felicity and Charles led him up the steps and into Cavendon.

In the front hall Hugo glanced around, his throat tightening with emotion. It was as he had remembered it over the years, but somehow it was just better in reality, more golden and embellished, if that were possible.

The hall had a gleam to it, and its beauty gave him great satisfaction ... the grand staircase flowing down, with his ancestors' portraits on the walls, the crystal chandeliers, the mellow antiques, and the urns filled with flowers. He had yearned to be back here over the years, and now here he was, welcomed as family, and with enormous affection. He was filled with relief, and glad he had finally had the courage to take this step, to come back to his roots.

"Would you like anything?" Charles asked. "A refreshment? Are you hungry, do you want something to eat? Or do you prefer to wait for tea?"

"Oh yes, I'll wait. There's nothing like afternoon tea at Cavendon, not anywhere in the world."

"Let me take you up to your room, Hugo," Felicity murmured, slipping her arm through his. "The Blue Room. I know you always liked it."

"It's my favorite."

Charles said, "Come down whenever you like, Hugo. I'll be in the library. There're a couple of things I would like to discuss with you, before you get surrounded by women at teatime." Charles chuckled.

"I'd enjoy that. See you shortly, Charles."

The moment Hugo stepped into the Blue Room his face broke out in smiles. It was exactly the same as it was the day he left for America. White walls, blue-and-white fabrics, and everything so fresh and appealing to him. And, of course, the big bowls of flowers everywhere, including his favorite pink peonies. Felicity's trademark. He looked at her. "I can't tell you how happy I am to be back at Cavendon."

"And we're happy too, Hugo." She smiled at him and walked to the door, added, "Hanson has a.s.signed Gordon Lane to be your valet. He is most suitable, you'll find."

"Thank you, Felicity."

She simply nodded, and slipped out, leaving him alone, as usual aware of other people's need to have their privacy for a while.

He strolled around the room, looked out of the windows at the rolling lawns and the stand of trees near the rose garden. And then went into the bathroom to freshen up.

He was just about to go downstairs when there was a tapping on the bedroom door. He strode across the room and opened it, and gaped in surprise. Standing before him was the most beautiful child he had ever seen. A Botticelli angel. She was gazing up at him with great curiosity.

Crouching down to her level, he found himself staring into saucer-sized blue eyes that were very serious indeed.

"h.e.l.lo," he said gently.

"I didn't speak on the teffalone because Papa said you were in a hurry," she explained earnestly. "I'm sorry."

For a moment he was baffled, but said, "Well, now we can speak in person. I am Hugo." He held out his hand.

She took it, and answered, "And I am Lady Dulcie Agatha Ingham. Pleased to meet you." She made a small curtsy, and went on in a solemn tone, "Am I the first of the sisters to meet you?"

Hugo swallowed a smile, and standing up, he opened the door and said, "Please come in, Lady Dulcie, and yes indeed, you are the first one to meet me."

Her face filled with radiance and then she giggled. "I like to march a steal on them."

"Steal a march," he corrected, enjoying this unique little girl, who followed him into the room, looking him over, obviously a.s.sessing him.

"Oh dear, I got that wrong. I sometimes do get things wrong. But DeLacy says it doesn't matter."

"Of course it doesn't."

"There you are!" a female voice cried, and a moment later a young woman who was obviously the nanny arrived in the room.

"Please do excuse Dulcie, Mr. Stanton. I've been looking all over for her. I'd no idea she had found you so easily."

Hugo began to laugh. "That's all right," he answered, still laughing, finding the situation amusing.

"She was longing to meet you first, before her sisters," the nanny explained. "And she did, I do believe."

"That is correct. And she wasn't a nuisance. On the contrary she was rather ... charming."

Dulcie flashed him a big smile. "I shall have to go, Hugo." She bobbed another curtsy and left with the nanny.

He stood there, shaking his head for a moment, and then he chuckled to himself. The child was beautiful and charming; obviously compet.i.tive with her sisters, and a go-getter. I'd better keep an eye on her, he thought to himself, still chuckling as he went out into the corridor. That child's going places.

Twenty-five.

As Hugo strode into the library a moment later, Charles immediately stood up and walked around his desk. "There you are, Hugo. Come on, let us sit near the fire, and chat for a while. We've a lot of catching up to do."

Hugo nodded, and stepped over to the fire, suddenly remembering how this room was always cold, even when there was a heat wave outside, and that there was a fire blazing whatever the time of year.

Turning to Charles, he asked, "Did you ever discover what makes the library so cold all year round?"

Charles shook his head. "Never managed that, old chap, although there are all sorts of old wives' tales ... that Cavendon is built on an ancient druid cemetery; that far below Cavendon, in the bowels of the earth, there are hidden wells of water left over from the Ice Age ... you name it, we've got it. But n.o.body really has an answer."

Once the two men had settled down in the armchairs, Charles said, "You mentioned your property in Yorkshire, in your letter to me from Zurich. Which particular house were you talking about, Hugo?"

"All of them. Well, not exactly. I mustn't include Endersby House, where Major Gaunt lives. That's his home for as long as he's running the yard. But my father left me Beldon Grange in East Witton, which I believe I'm going to sell, and then there's Little Skell Manor, here on the estate. I was-"

"You do know that Aunt Gwendolyn still lives there, Hugo," Charles cut in. "And she has for as long as I can remember."

"Oh yes, I do know. And I must set her mind at rest as soon as I see her this afternoon." He looked across at Charles and raised a brow. "She is all right, isn't she? She is coming to tea?"

"Oh yes, wild horses couldn't keep her away. She can't wait to see you, and she hasn't stopped talking about your visit since I informed her you were coming to see us."

"And perhaps to make my home here," Hugo said. "But getting back to Little Skell Manor, I want to rea.s.sure her that she can live there for as long as she wants. Until the day she dies, in fact. After that, I'll give it back to you. I know it has to stay in the family, and that it usually pa.s.ses to a girl. And you have four daughters ... one of them might need a roof over her head sometime, Charles, and it's really your call."

"But your mother left Little Skell Manor to you in her will, Hugo. And now you're telling me you don't want it?" Charles was surprised, but pleasantly so.

"Not for myself, to live in, no, I don't. It's not really large enough or grand enough. I aim to find a potential stately home, if there's one available around here, Charles, and I'm going to need your help to find it."

"I'll do the best I can," Charles replied, so filled with relief he would do anything to help Hugo acquire a grand property. How thrilled Aunt Gwendolyn would be, and Charlotte as well, that Little Skell Manor was safe. He was pleased an old lady wasn't going to be turfed out of her home, and also genuinely happy that the South Wing would remain unoccupied, so that they could use it themselves from time to time.

Charles said, "I've opened up the South Wing, by the way, Hugo, and you're going to get a thrill seeing it again. It's perfectly beautiful, and we're holding the supper dance there tonight. The first of the season."

"That's great to hear. I always thought it was one of the best parts of Cavendon. And I'm delighted I'm here for this event, so pleased you were able to accommodate me, that you agreed to the change in dates."

"No problem, Hugo, none at all. Getting back to homes, are you planning to keep your villa in Zurich?"

"Oh yes, for the moment. I might give it up, if there's a war, but even then it would be safe, since Switzerland is a neutral country."

Charles was frowning, his eyes tight on Hugo's face. "Why do you mention war? Everything has been peaceful for a long time now. England is safe; we are the greatest empire the world has ever known, and the richest. London is the center of the world, of the universe really. Prosperity reigns, don't you think?" His eyes remained riveted on his cousin.

Hugo said carefully, somewhat slowly for him, "Yes, there is a lot of truth in what you say, Charles. The Empire with a capital E is the greatest there has ever been, no question about that. But I think this is the last summer ... the last summer we're going to enjoy for a long time. There is trouble in the world. Trouble afoot."

Noting the seriousness of Hugo's voice, the solemnity of his face, Charles felt a shiver run down his spine. "Tell me more, Hugo. No one I know in London has spoken to me like this."

"Nor would they. They don't want to face reality, or perhaps they don't know what I do. Remember, I live in Zurich and New York, I hear things, I'm told things."

Hugo let out a long sigh, and settled back in the chair. He made a steeple out of his hands and brought the point to his mouth. After a moment or two he said quietly, "Germany is rearming. They want to rule the world. Kaiser Bill is on the march, or about to be. And quite soon. There's a heaviness in the air in Europe, and it spells war, trouble, problems. Russia is in danger. Nicholas hasn't ruled well, too much influence from his queen. Alexandra is not the best advisor. The country is divided ... the aristocracy and the serfs. Too many inequities. And then there are the Bolsheviks ... watch out for a revolution in Russia. It's almost unavoidable, inevitable."

"And it will affect us, won't it?"

"It will. That's one of the reasons I must go to Zurich for that meeting I mentioned. I can't miss it ... the gnomes of Zurich more often than not call the tune." Noticing the bafflement on Charles's face, Hugo felt bound to explain. "The gnomes of Zurich are the international bankers, and they are frequently considered to be the puppet masters of the world. However, I wouldn't swear to that. They are most powerful though, and I never miss a meeting. Also, I always listen without saying too much. Remember what my father used to say?"

"I do indeed. A still tongue and a wise head," Charles was quick to say.

"Exactly."

There was a knock on the door, and it opened immediately. A young woman came in, exclaiming, "Papa, about tonight, I've-" She stopped when she saw that Charles was not alone, and paused waiting in the middle of the floor.

Hugo stood up and turned around. All speech left him. He felt as if he had been punched in the belly. The young woman he was staring at was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Breathtaking. She appeared to shimmer, from the top of her golden head filled with sunlight, to the hem of her satin dress. It was an unusual color, not yellow, not peach, more like apricot. And it made her cornflower blue eyes seem even bluer.

She came toward him, smiling, her hand outstretched. "Hugo, I presume. I am Daphne, the second daughter."

Hugo still could not speak, and his legs felt weak. He took her hand in his, and felt its silkiness, and he said, "I'm pleased to meet you again, Daphne. When we first met you were only twelve months old." To his total surprise his voice sounded normal.

Daphne merely smiled, and managed to extricate her hand from his, and walked across the room to her father.

Hugo watched her, noticing her grace and fluidity, the swirl of the clinging satin dress against her long legs, the proud set of her shoulders, the elegant tilt of her head.

He wanted her. Not for a night, not for a week, not for a month. Forever. He wanted to possess her. Keep her next to him. He had to have her, had to make her his entire life. And he would.

Sapphires, he thought. I want to drape her in sapphires that match those wondrous eyes. Sapphires around her neck ... on her ears ... encircling her arms. Sapphires, and diamonds, and anything else she wants ... I will give her the world.

Clearing his throat, Hugo managed to say, "Will you excuse me for a moment, Daphne, Charles." He inclined his head to them both, smiled, and hurried out.

Once he was in the Blue Room he took off his jacket and threw it on a chair, then went into the bathroom, where he soaked a towel in cold water. This he held against his burning face for a good few minutes. He noticed, later, as he looked in the mirror, that his shirt was damp. He had broken out in a cold sweat downstairs.

After a moment, he went and lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes. Schoolboy, he chastised himself. You're behaving like a silly schoolboy. It was true, he was, but he couldn't help himself.

He had never seen a woman who was as beautiful as her. Nor had he ever wanted a woman as much as he wanted Daphne. What was he going to do?

Hugo was startled by his reaction to Daphne. He had just met her but she had affected him most forcefully. He believed he was decidedly too old for her. She was seventeen; he was thirty-two, and a widower, a man of experience. A big age gap. Also, they were second cousins, although he knew that had no legal bearing on anything in England. Still, the fifteen-year age difference was a stumbling block.

Then there were her feelings. He had fallen instantly for her ... love at first sight. She was hardly aware of him, had been polite, pleasant, and that was all. There had not been a flicker of interest.

She was probably in love with some dashing young man. Probably not, come to think of it. For it was more than likely that Charles had plans for her. She was, after all, a great beauty, and was obviously set to make a brilliant marriage.

Her father would want nothing less than an earl's son. Perhaps Charles already had his sights set on a duke's son. That was the way the Inghams thought and acted. Onward and upward. Ambition was endemic.