In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster (47 page)

May 29, 1829
St. Ives House, London

appy?” Jeremy asked, entirely redundantly as he waltzed Eliza around the massive ballroom.

Eliza’s face glowed; she was radiant, in his eyes beyond compare. “I’m the happiest lady here tonight, bar none.”

Around them, the crème de la crème of the ton, summoned to bear witness to their engagement, circled and swayed, smiled and chatted. The event, and the select dinner that had preceded it, had been an unqualified success, and none was more grateful for, and more satisfied with that, than Jeremy. He had secured the wife he needed, in the way they both needed, and he was utterly content.

“If you are the happiest lady, then I am, without doubt, the proudest and luckiest man.” He smiled into her eyes as he whirled her. “You take my breath away.”

Eliza laughed back, gratifyingly breathless, too.

Martin and Celia, also waltzing, passed by them as they negotiated a tight turn. When he and Eliza were once more precessing back up the long room, Jeremy murmured, “I think the second happiest lady in the room must be your mother. She’s settled her eldest two daughters creditably and, judging by all the usual signs, the ton wildly approves of both matches.” He paused, then added, “I wasn’t sure they would. Heather and Breckenridge, yes, but you could have reached much higher, as the grandes dames would phrase it.”

Smiling fondly, Eliza shook her head. “No, I couldn’t have — or rather, wouldn’t have. And all the grandes dames and the gossipmongers know that. So they are, naturally, in alt, all quite delighted that you’ve come along and claimed my heart and my hand.”

“I must admit, I don’t quite understand that. I’m a scholar, not an earl.”

“You forget — Heather’s twenty-five, so was at her last prayers, and I’m twenty-four, not much younger. The notion of two Cynster girls languishing on the shelf made all the social mavens uncomfortable — if we held out that long, and potentially even longer, for our heroes and refused to marry any other men, just think of the precedent, the example to other young ladies that would set.” Tilting her head, Eliza looked into his eyes and smiled that private smile that never failed to touch him in some indefinable way. “But Heather found her hero, and so did I, so all’s well once more within the ton.”

“Ah.” He nodded sagely. “Now I understand.” Through the throng filling the dance floor, he glimpsed Heather and Breckenridge, also dancing. No one, seeing the light in their eyes as they revolved, completely absorbed in each other, could doubt the nature of their connection. “I think Heather must qualify as the third happiest lady present.”

“Very likely. She may even be happier than Mama, who has divided loyalties, so to speak.”

“And next …” Scanning the dancers, then, able to see over most heads, looking further, Jeremy murmured, “Would it be your aunt Helena, your aunt Horatia, or Lady Osbaldestone?” He glanced down at Eliza. “Which do you think?”

But Eliza shook her head. “Oh, no — none of them. You’ve missed the lady who, now I think of it, is almost certainly the
second
happiest lady here tonight. Indeed, the more I think of it, that must be true. She, of all others, has the most cause to be thrilled.”

Jeremy racked his brains.

Knowing he liked puzzles, Eliza waited.

But after two more revolutions, he shook his head. “No. I can’t fathom it. So who, my darling, is the second happiest lady here tonight?”

Eliza laughed. “Angelica, of course.” She tipped her head to the side of the dance floor.

Glancing that way, Jeremy saw Eliza’s younger sister standing by the side of the room.

“Just look at her face — at her smile, at her eyes,” Eliza said.

Jeremy had to admit that, even from a distance, Angelica’s delight was plain to see. “But”— he looked at Eliza, let her see the puzzled frown in his eyes —“why? Why should she be especially thrilled?”

“Because not only are both Heather and I engaged, very happily to our heroes, who happen to be gentlemen of whom the ton at large and our family in particular approve — proving that waiting for the right gentleman is the sensible course for Angelica, too — but the laird is now dead.”

“What’s he got to do with it? With Angelica?”

“Because had he lived, a continuing threat to ‘Cynster sisters,’ then Angelica, Henrietta, and Mary would have been kept under the closest imaginable guard. Our brothers and cousins had already become unbearably autocratic and obsessively protective before Scrope whisked me away — can you imagine what they would have been like after that? According to Angelica, she was forbidden to set foot outside the house in Dover Street without at least one of them at her elbow, and both Rupert and Alasdair came up to town and took up residence at home, so there was always one of them in the house, on hand. Or, as Angelica put it, underfoot. She, in particular, had no peace, and, even more importantly, no opportunity at all to hunt for her own hero, which, of course, she’s now even more set on doing than she was before.”

“But she’s only …” Jeremy ransacked his memory. “Twenty-one, isn’t she? She’s years younger than you — she has plenty of time.”

“Yes, but you have to remember that she’s grown up together with Heather and me. She’s the youngest, but she discounts the three years between me and her. To her mind, now Heather’s engaged to Breckenridge, and I’m engaged to you, it’s her turn next. And for Angelica, next means now. You may be absolutely certain that she’ll set out to search for her hero in earnest tomorrow. Or, as the case may be, tomorrow evening. I’m quite sure she’ll have already assessed all those attending tonight.”

The music ended. The dancers swirled to a halt; the gentlemen bowed and the ladies curtsied. Rising, Eliza set her hand on Jeremy’s proffered sleeve, then glanced at where Angelica had been, but the crowds blocked her view. Turning back to Jeremy, she smiled, eyes dancing. “Knowing Angelica, her search for her hero is bound to be, at the very least, highly entertaining.”

Jeremy met her eyes. “I shudder to ask, but why?”

Eliza hesitated, then said, “Take every strong female trait Heather and I have, put them together, then double them, and you’ll have some notion of what Angelica is like. Of the three of us, she’s the most stubborn, the most decisive, the cleverest by far, the most determined, and she’s very good at manipulating people — exceptionally good at getting what she wants. Angelica might be the youngest, the shortest, the smallest of the three of us, but she’s also the boldest, the strongest, and she’s the one with a fiery temper, too.”

“Well, her hair is reddish, after all,” Jeremy said. “But I still don’t understand why her romance should be especially entertaining.”

“Because whoever Angelica sets her heart on, you can be absolutely certain there’ll be fireworks.”

“Ah.” Placing his hand over hers on his sleeve, Jeremy gently squeezed her fingers. “Have I mentioned how very grateful I am that we’ve managed to reach this point without any fireworks?”

Eliza laughed, then nodded toward a door. “That’s where all this started.” She looked up and met Jeremy’s eyes. “That’s where I was standing when the footman brought me the note that took me to the back parlor and Scrope.” She searched Jeremy’s eyes. “I was so desperate to find my hero that I went — and that’s how I came to be in that coach heading north toward Jedburgh, calling to you for help.”

Jeremy’s lips quirked in an understanding smile. “So you’ve come full circle — back to where you started, but with me by your side.”

“With my hero, my fiancé, and my husband-to-be.” Eliza’s gaze grew misty. “Fate was kind.”

“More than you know.” Jeremy held her gaze. “I left Wolverstone that day wondering how to find the bride I had finally come to accept that I needed — and fate stepped in and set me the task of rescuing you.” He raised her hand to his lips, kissed her fingertips. “And so here I now stand, with the lady who will be the perfect wife for me on my arm.” He smiled. “Fate has, indeed, blessed us.”

“To our credit,” Eliza said, “we were up to the challenges she threw our way.”

“True. Fate dealt the cards, but it was you and I who played the hand.”

“And won.”

“Yes — we won. Everything we wanted, all that we desired.”

“And now”— she glanced about them, at their families, connections, and friends all gathered to wish them well —“now that we’ve claimed our just reward, our future looks rosy.” Looking up, she smiled into Jeremy’s eyes. “I can’t wait for it to start.”

Watching Eliza smile at Jeremy, watching Jeremy set Eliza’s hand on his sleeve, and, head bent to hear what Eliza was now saying, stroll on down the room, Angelica Cynster sighed. Relieved, content, happy, and delighted.

All was once again well in her world, just as it ought to be.

Glancing to where Heather and Breckenridge stood chatting with Great-aunt Clara, Angelica smiled; she thoroughly approved of her sisters’ choices. They had searched for and found their heroes, and all was well with them.

Which meant she could now turn her full and complete attention to her own search, to locating and snaring her own hero.

Wherever the damned man was.

Sending a brief glance skating over the shoulders around her, she muttered, “He’s not here, that’s clear. So where should I look next?”

Fingers rising to close about the rose quartz pendant depending from the strange old chain comprised of gold links interspersed with amethyst beads that she now wore, she waited for inspiration to strike. The necklace was now hers — her talisman just as it had been Heather’s, and then Eliza’s. And, apparently, Catriona’s, too, so many years ago. Eliza had passed it on to Angelica on the day Eliza and Jeremy, along with Celia and Martin, had returned from Wolverstone. Eliza had explained Catriona’s — or possibly her Lady’s — directive that the necklace was to be passed down among the Cynster girls as each found their hero, their fated husband. Angelica wasn’t sure she believed in fate, but she was happy to accept whatever help came her way with respect to locating her hero. She’d already combed the ton for him, or at least all of the ton she was allowed to explore, the tonnish entertainments deemed suitable for a well-bred young lady of her age.

“Clearly, I need to cast my net wider.” Clinging to the shadows along the wall beneath the overhang of the gallery, she considered what alternatives she might have, what wider fields she might wander. Most of the gentlemen present were either related or connected in some way, so all knew better than to disturb her seclusion, and for the same reason the grandes dames, who would otherwise ensure she was introduced to every potentially eligible gentleman in the room, had tonight no reason to turn their beady gazes her way, leaving her free to think.

To set her mind to defining her way forward.

Tomorrow, she felt sure, was the time to start — to strike out on her own now that her brothers and cousins had relaxed their vigilance after learning that the laird had died, and his threat against “Cynster sisters” along with him. Their obsessive protectiveness had subsided to its usual irritating, but manageable, level, but there’d been so much to do with preparing for this ball that she’d set aside her concerns to help Eliza and Celia.

But now the ball was nearly at an end, and it was time to reinstitute her search — indeed, to intensify it given she now wore the necklace and was therefore marked by The Lady as next in line to find her true love. Even more pertinently, she should make a start before her brothers and cousins realized, and remembered that the laird was not the only dangerous male inhabiting the wider ton.

The whole question of the laird’s intentions as yet remained a mystery; Royce, Duke of Wolverstone, had volunteered to discover the man’s identity, but yesterday word had arrived that Royce and his half brother Hamish had still not located the band of drovers who had removed the laird’s body and that of his henchman Scrope from the bottom of the cliff over which they’d fallen. Regardless, there was no question that the man had died, and eventually, as always, Royce would prevail, and then they’d know the whys and wherefores, but the laird’s motivations no longer concerned her … or at least they wouldn’t, not unless some other member of his family took up the vendetta … no — she wasn’t going to entertain that thought.

Glancing at her eldest brother, Rupert, standing chatting with others nearby, she fervently prayed the possibility of a family vendetta continuing did not occur to him. Or to Alasdair, or Devil, or any of the others. If it did … they were quite capable of making her life a misery, regardless of whether there was any real threat or not.

Narrowing her eyes on Rupert, she murmured, “Best to start as I mean to go on, and best to start immediately — tomorrow it shall be.”

Pushing away from the wall, she moved into the crowd, smiling, nodding, exchanging comments here and there as she made her way toward the exit. Catching sight of her mother, she detoured to explain that she had an incipient headache and would take the carriage home, then send it back the short distance for Celia, Martin, and Eliza, who wouldn’t be free to leave until the last stragglers had departed.