All About Love (53 page)

It took him a moment to follow her reasoning, then his eyes hardened. “I’d rather they didn’t think about any of that at all.”

“You’ve as much chance of achieving that as of holding back the sun.” She squeezed his arm, then waved imperiously toward the guests. “Now go and play host and show off our son, while I go and admire the others.”

Majestically established in a wrought-iron seat placed at the center of the lawn, the Dowager and Horatia held court. Between them, they lovingly juggled three tiny, shawl-wrapped bundles, exclaiming fondly, displaying their grandchildren for the edification of the surrounding crowd that, for the past thirty minutes, had constantly changed but not diminished in the least.

In a lounger to one side of the seat, Catriona, Lady of the Vale, lay resting, still pale, her hair a fiery halo around her head. The glow in her face as she watched Helena cradle her babies rendered her nothing less than radiant. She looked precisely what she was, a madonna who’d been blessed.

Richard stood beside the lounger, his fingers entwined with hers. His gaze constantly switched from his wife to his children and back again. The expression in his dark eyes, on his lean, harsh-featured face, spoke louder than words of his pride and his joy.

Twins—one boy, one girl. If Catriona had guessed, she hadn’t said a word, knowing how important it had been for Richard to travel south for this summer gathering of his clan. But twins rarely obeyed the typical schedules; they’d arrived a month early, small but hale and whole. So the next Lady of the Vale, Lucilla, had been the first ever born outside that mystical Scottish valley. She’d been born here, at Somersham Place, the ancestral home of her Sassenach forebears. Catriona had accepted that without a blink—she’d merely smiled and reminded Richard that the Lady knew what she was about.

And to keep him busy, there was Marcus—a son to train in all the complex management of the Vale lands and the people they supported. That was no longer a job that could be done by just one, so now they had two.

While much attention centered on the twins’ red heads, there was just as much lavished on the fair-haired bundle Horatia rocked and jiggled. Christopher Reginald Cynster, Patience and Vane’s son, had been born four weeks before, two weeks after Michael had made his orderly appearance. Thus, in common with Michael, Christopher was now an old hand at family gatherings; he yawned hugely, then batted aside his blankets, trying to latch onto a trailing lock of his grandmother’s hair.

Everyone watching cooed and smiled delightedly; Christopher took it as nothing more than his due.

Noting his detachment, Lady Osbaldestone snorted. “A Cynster to his toes—already! Always knew it was inherited. Looks to have passed on undiluted.” She shook her head, then paused, then she cackled as she turned away. “Heaven help the ladies of 1850.”

Honoria checked that Helena and Horatia weren’t tiring, exchanged a soft word and an understanding smile with Catriona, pressed Richard’s hand, then moved on, looking over the throng, checking all was as it should be.

Having been delivered four weeks before, Patience was fully recovered, up and about. However, since it was his first time, Vane had yet to reconcile himself to allowing his wife out of his sight, indeed, very far from the protective circle of his arm. Honoria found them chatting with the General, Flick’s erstwhile guardian, and his son, Dillon; they’d driven across for the day from Newmarket. In that circle, horses reigned supreme. Honoria exchanged speaking glances with Patience, then strolled on.

Flick and Demon were standing with a group surrounding Great-aunt Clara and little Miss Sweet, whom Lucifer and Phyllida had brought with them from Devon. Clara had already asked Miss Sweet to visit her in Cheshire; arrangements were being discussed and plans made.

Elsewhere, Gabriel and Alathea, and Lucifer and Phyllida, like Flick and Demon, were making the rounds, ensuring they met and spoke with all the relatives, all the connections and close acquaintances, who had eagerly traveled to Cambridgeshire for the express purpose of meeting the new wives, and welcoming them and the latest crop of infants into the wider family.

Satisfied that all was well, Honoria spent a few minutes quietly slipping through the shade, noting, as a matriarch should, just where and with whom, and in what manner, the younger members of the family were employed.

Simon was there, growing taller by the hour, or so it seemed. His fair hair shone guinea-gold in the sun, as bright as Flick’s. His face was finer boned than those of his older cousins, not as overtly aggressive. But the same strength was there, behind a countenance that was so like an angel’s that it would undoubtedly, in time, make women weep. He was not of the Bar Cynster, but he was a Cynster nonetheless—the one who would bridge the gap between Honoria’s sons’ generation and their fathers’.

In the same group, spread upon the grass like so many tulips, so many blossoms just waiting to fully flower, were Heather, Eliza, Angelica, Henrietta, and Mary. Some younger, some older, but all with the same eagerness for life, an enthusiasm for living, in their faces.

Honoria smiled and strolled on. She turned her steps toward the summerhouse.

The twins greeted her with joy in their faces; the cause of their happiness was not far to seek.

“We’re free!” Amanda flung her arms wide, just missing Sebastian as he clambered into Honoria’s lap as she sat on the steps in the sun.

Settling him, Honoria leaned back against the archway and smiled at the girls. “True, but now Lucifer’s fixed in Devon, and between you and me, I can’t see either him or Gabriel or even Demon back in town next Season—I rather think they’ll have other things on their minds, if you take my meaning—then what, my dears, are your plans?”

“We’re going to go through the ton’s gentlemen,” Amelia answered.

“Systematically and methodically,” Amanda qualified.

“We’re not going to rush, and we’re not going to be rushed.”

“We’ll be nineteen next Season, so we have years yet, if we chose to be picky.”

“And there’s no reason we shouldn’t be—picky, I mean. After all, we are talking about the rest of our lives.”

“Indeed.” Honoria inclined her head in approval. There was so much she wanted to tell them, to warn them of, to guide them, but how could she explain when, for all that they had had two Seasons, they were still so inexperienced, so unaware? “One thing,” she said, and knew she had their complete attention. “If you seek love, don’t expect it to be simple, don’t expect it to be easy. If one thing is certain, it’s that it’ll be neither.

“If you want love, then by all means seek it out—search for it high and low. You know you’ll always have us—all of us—here to help you, but when it comes down to it, love is a matter for each individual heart. No one can tell you, no one can warn you, no one can prepare you for what it will be like. When it comes, if it comes, you’ll know it—and then you’ll have to decide just how much you want it, how much you’re willing to give to let it live.”

They heard her in silence; in silence, they digested her wisdom. Honoria looked across the lawn to where her disgustingly handsome husband, he who now stood at the very center of her life, cradled their younger son. Their elder son lay, a warm, heavy weight in her lap.

“Is it worth it?”

She couldn’t be sure which of them had voiced the question—Amanda or Amelia; it didn’t matter. The answer was the same, now and forever.

“Yes. Many times over, it’s worth it, but only if you have the courage to give, and let it live.”

After a moment, Honoria stirred. Gathering sleepy Sebastian in her arms, she hefted him and stood, then strolled across the lawn to where she belonged, at his sire’s side.

Devil had been watching her; one part of his mind and most of his soul was always with her. Who could have known? Who would have guessed? Not even the joys of twitting his archenemy, not an enemy at all but they so enjoyed butting horns, was enough to interfere with that ephemeral connection between himself and his wife.

“Just whose idea was it,” Chillingworth asked, “to elect me an honorary Cynster?”

At the accusatory tone, Devil turned a mild smile his way. “Gabriel suggested it, and as you’ve been so remarkably helpful in assisting us in securing our futures, I seconded the motion, as did Demon, and the others were happy to support it. That’s all it took. You are now, by election, a member of the clan.”

Chillingworth met his gaze. “In
ceremonial
name only.”

Devil grinned. “That will do.”

“It won’t. I can assure you with absolutely no risk of contradiction that
electing
me to the clan will not make me susceptible to your particular curse.” After a moment of consideration, Chillingworth snorted. “Anyway, what sort of thanks is that to bestow, even on your worst enemy?”

“In your case, it’s the most useful of all—consider it as giving you a secret map to some treasure. Follow the instructions and you, too, could be rich. Take it from us—we did, and see where it’s got us.”

What Chillingworth said in reply made Devil’s lips twitch. “Anyway,” he returned, “you can’t escape, so why not take the bull by the horns and make a virtue of necessity? You do, after all, need an heir, or that vacuous cousin of yours from Hampstead will inherit the title. Have I got that right?”

“You have, damn you—don’t remind me. My mother’s actually started holding you up as a pattern card of virtue. I’m tempted to invite you and Honoria to the Castle simply so experience can set her straight.”

“Do invite us down,” Devil murmured. “We’ll bring the family.”

“That’s precisely why I haven’t—I’m not that daft.” Chillingworth nodded at Michael, asleep in Devil’s arm. “Deposit that in my mother’s lap and my life will be hell.”

“You’re going to need one someday.”

“Ah, but I’m altogether adamant on the price I’m willing to pay.” Chillingworth watched as Honoria, Devil’s heir asleep on her shoulder, stepped away from a group of guests and continued on her way toward them. One glance at Devil’s face and Chillingworth shook his head. “A simple marriage will achieve the necessary result. I see absolutely no reason to indulge in the extremes you Cynsters seem to find so unavoidable.”

Devil chuckled. “I’m going to seriously enjoy dancing at your wedding.”

“The pertinent question is”—Chillingworth lowered his voice as Honoria neared—“will I?” He smiled and sketched a bow to Honoria. “If you’ll excuse me, my dear, I must get back to London tonight. I’ll leave your husband to your tender mercies.”

He nodded at Devil, a smug glint in his eye.

Devil grinned back, unrepentant, undeterred.

“What was that about?” Honoria asked as Chillingworth strolled off.

“Vain hope.” Devil watched his old friend stride away, then he looked at his wife. He jiggled the sleeping baby. “He’s getting heavy. And Sebastian’s sound asleep. Perhaps we should take them up to the nursery.”

Honoria was too busy checking Sebastian’s sleeping face to notice the unreliable gleam that had appeared in her husband’s green eyes. “I’ll find their nannies and have them take them up.”

“Let the nannies enjoy the last of the afternoon. We can take them up. There’s plenty of people indoors to keep an ear open for them.”

“Well . . .” The motherly need to tuck her darlings in herself warred with Honoria’s hostessly instincts. “All right. We’ll take them up, and I’ll send the nannies up when we come down.”

They strolled into the house and up the stairs, the sleeping children their obvious excuse. No one thought anything of their departure.

No one noticed when they didn’t immediately reappear.

Indeed, only those with sharp eyes and suspicious minds noticed that when the duke and duchess eventually rejoined their guests, the duchess’s ivory skin was delicately flushed and her eyes held the dreamy look of a woman well loved, and that a certain male pride—a wholly Cynster expression—glowed in her husband’s green eyes.

Times may change; Cynsters never do.

Dear Reader,

In response to your requests, I’m pleased to announce that stories from the wonderful world of the Cynsters will continue to come your way! Five more Regency-era historical romances by Stephanie Laurens are in the pipeline, bringing you the love stories of characters you’ve already met in the six volumes of the Bar Cynster series.

The next to meet his destiny is, of course, the Earl of Chillingworth. He leaves the Cynsters’ Summer Celebration vowing never to fall victim to love, especially not love within marriage. But marry he must for the sake of an heir, so in typical arrogant style, he goes on the offensive. Determined to cheat fate and spurred on by his election as an honorary Cynster, Chillingworth organizes his wedding—an arranged liaison with a meek, mild-mannered Cypher who lacks all ability to evoke his passions. He goes to his wedding convinced he’s escaped the fell fate of the Cynsters, only to discover . . . that fate has used his own arrogance to turn the tables on him.

Read of Chillingworth’s surrender to love in the next volume of the wider Cynster series, to be released by Avon Books in Fall 2001. Two volumes featuring the twins, Amanda and Amelia, will appear in 2002, followed by the tale of Simon, the youngest male of the Bar Cynster generation.