Part 13 (1/2)

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 Yorks.h.i.+re, 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, pus.h.i.+ng 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 Yorks.h.i.+re, 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 Yorks.h.i.+re 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.”