The carriage started to turn and Edward noticed they were approaching a pair of heavy wrought iron gates. The entrance, presumably, to the Earl of Ranford's estate. His steel grey eyes took in his surroundings as the carriage began its slow progress up a meandering gravel path set in sweeping verdant grounds.
Ireland was really breathtakingly beautiful, he had to admit. Though there were similarities to his own country estates in Surrey, Lancashire, and Wales, there really was an air of mystery and magic amongst these hills and dales.
Edward was never one for fanciful thoughts. He had great responsibility, which he took seriously. Though his friends and family knew him to have a kind heart and wicked sense of humour, he rarely gave way to thoughts which were illogical or insensible. He shook his head slightly, laughing at himself.
The carriage rounded a central water fountain and stopped before a rambling red brick house that was the formal seat of the Earl of Ranford.
The house itself was built on land which had been occupied by an old and important Clan in Irish history and there were traces still of that ancient civilisation dotted around the grounds. There were ruins that could be explored, and his mother took great delight in telling him about the hills of the faery folk and 'little people' of Ireland.
He should really have her looked at.
Aside from the supernatural nonsense it was a beautiful old house, very well situated with a central rectangle design flanked by extended wings on either side.
The afternoon sun bounced off the windows giving the place an altogether welcoming feel.
No sooner had their carriage stopped than the front door opened and a flurry of activity ensued.
Footmen were brought immediately to their assistance by the butler, who introduced himself as Murphy — a very well turned out man, appearing to be in his sixties and with a pleasant Irish brogue.
"Good day to ye, your grace, your grace, sir," he said deferentially, bowing to each of them in turn. "If you will follow me please, his lordship is waiting to receive ye."
Edward offered his arm to the dowager and together they walked up the steps and into the hallway of the great house. His mother gasped in approval and Edward could tell she was noticing striking similarities between here and his estate, Banfield, in Surrey.
The floor was covered in a similar light coloured marble, a central staircase veered out to a surrounding balcony on the first floor and a truly magnificent chandelier took pride of place in the centre of the ceiling, drawing the guest's eye up.
Murphy coughed discreetly and indicated that they follow him to a room on the left.
He heard Murphy announce them and a booming voice telling him to show them in at once. He shared a look with his mother— hers, one of pleasure, his, ever suspicious.
Tom hung back and appeared disinterested in the proceedings. Edward knew he would already be wishing to acquaint himself with the staff and kitchen. Mostly concentrating on the kitchen.
They were shown into a beautifully situated receiving room. Decorated in tones of palest yellows and whites it was bright and airy and perfect for a hot summer afternoon. The windows looked out onto a beautiful vista of green leading down towards what looked like a sizeable pond centred by yet another fountain.
"My dear Kate, how wonderful it is to see you again." This rather informal – greeting was conducted by a statuesque woman who had risen to greet them. She stood a good head taller than his mother, was slim and willowy and carried herself like a true lady, her blonde hair, showing shades of grey, pulled into quite a severe knot at the back of her head. Her dress, though simple in deference to her age, was excellently made. In short, here stood the very epitome of a lady.
"Mary, it has been far too long," the dowager responded equally as warm, which was unusual for his usually reserved mother, and the two women embraced.
His mother turned to him to draw him forward.
"You must remember my son, Edward, the Duke of Hartridge."
"I do of course, though it has been many, many years. How good to see you again, your grace."
Edward bowed politely then turned toward the man who was awaiting his turn for introductions.
This man had been his father's oldest friend and, by all accounts, the pair of them could have given the duke and his set a run for their money, in their hay day.
The earl was a tall and broad shouldered man whose face was remarkably unlined, though his hair was a pure white.
It was quite a bittersweet moment for Edward, to see his father's best friend stand healthy and happy before him, when his own poor father should have been here too.
The earl stepped forward to kiss the dowager on the cheek, and then turn to clasp Edward's shoulder.
"My dear boy" —obviously the Earl wasn't one for formality— "how good to see you now after all these years. And what a fine gentleman you've turned out to be. Why you are the very image of your father at this age. A finer man I never knew, and I miss him still."
"Thank you, my lord. I miss him too, every day," Edward responded.