The Ideal Bride (55 page)

 
She felt Michael’s gaze, pressed his arm to keep him silent. Smiled at Muriel.

 
Who nodded, as haughty as ever. “We’re meeting at Number Four, Alder Street, just past Aldgate.”

 
Michael inwardly frowned; he glanced at Caro—she wouldn’t know London all that well, not beyond the fashionable areas.

 
She confirmed that by smiling and inclining her head. “I’ll hope to meet you and the rest of your committee there.”

 
“Good.” With another firm nod and a regal glance his way, Muriel made her good-byes.

 
He suppressed an impulse to tell her that if she was going to Aldgate, she should take a footman—a burly one—with her; Muriel would consider the comment unforgivably presumptuous.

 
He waited until she was out of earshot to murmur, “You’re not attending any meeting near Aldgate.”

 
“Of course not.” Caro retook his arm; they strolled on. “I’m sure the steering committee is full of eager and interested members—they’ll manage perfectly well without me. But Muriel’s obsessed with her societies and associations—she doesn’t seem to appreciate that others aren’t as interested, at least not to the same extent as she.” She smiled up at him. “But each to her own.”

 
He met her gaze. “In that case, let’s go to tea.”

 
Much more frivolous than a temperance society meeting—also much more relaxing.

 
They sat not in the formal drawing room but in a beautiful sitting room that gave onto the back terrace of the mansion in Grosvenor Square, drank tea, consumed cakes and scones, and caught up with the past.

 
Within seconds of taking Honoria’s hands and being pulled into a warm embrace, Caro felt as if the years had, if not fallen from them, then been bridged. Honoria was three years older than she; throughout childhood they’d been firm friends. But then Honoria and Michael’s parents had been killed in a tragic accident; the event had parted Caro and Honoria, not only physically.

 
They had been—still were, Caro suspected—alike in many ways; if Honoria had been and still was the more assertive, she was the more assured, the more confident in herself.

 
She had remained in Hampshire, the much-loved youngest daughter of the happy household at Bramshaw House—until she’d been swept off her feet into her marriage with Camden. While Honoria had been very much alone, she, catapulted into the highest echelons of society, had been wrestling with hostessly demands that had initially been well beyond her years. She had coped; so had Honoria.

 
While Honoria glossed over the years she’d spent with distant relatives in the shires, virtually alone in the world but for Michael, Caro was quite sure those years had left their mark, as the accident itself must have done. Now, however, there was not the faintest vestige of cloud to be found in Honoria’s eyes; her life was full, rich, and transparently satisfying.

 
She had married Devil Cynster.

 
Over the rim of her cup, Caro glanced at the lounging presence talking with Michael; they had taken chairs opposite the chaise where she and Honoria sat. It was the first time she had seen Devil beyond a glimpse.

 
Within the ton, the name Cynster was synonymous with a certain type of gentleman, with a certain type of wife. And while Honoria certainly fitted the mold of a Cynster wife, Devil Cynster, from all she could see and all she had heard, was the epitome of the Cynster male.

 
He was large, lean, harsh featured. There was very little softness about him; even his eyes, large, heavy lidded, a curious shade of pale green, seemed crystalline, his glance hard and sharp. Yet Caro noted that every time his eyes rested on Honoria, they softened; even the austere lines of his face, of his lean lips, seemed to ease.

 
Power was his—he’d been born to it, not just physically but in every imaginable way. And he used it; that Caro knew beyond doubt. Yet talking to Honoria, sensing the deep, almost startlingly vibrant connection carried in shared glances, in the light touch of a hand, she sensed—could almost feel—that another power ruled here. That just as Honoria seemed to have surrendered to it, so, too, had Devil.

 
And they were happy. Deeply, powerfully content.

 
Caro set down her cup, reached for another scone, and asked Honoria who else was in town; Honoria had confirmed that Michael had explained the real reason for their presence in the capital. “In order to learn whatever we can, we must make an effort to be seen.”

 
Honoria raised her brows. “In that case, Therese Osbaldestone came up two days ago. A select gathering has been summoned to attend her tomorrow for morning tea.” She grinned. “You should come with me.”

 
Caro met Honoria’s eyes. “You know perfectly well she’ll pounce on me and lecture me. You’re just trying to divert her attention.”

 
Honoria opened her eyes wide, spread her hands. “Of course. What are friends for, after all?”

 
Caro laughed.

 
Devil and Michael rose; she and Honoria turned to view them inquiringly.

 
Devil grinned. “I’ll return your late husband’s will. While my people couldn’t find anything significant in it, there are a number of matters I need to clarify with Michael, so if you’ll excuse us, we’ll retire to my study.”

 
Caro found herself smiling and inclining her head—even while her mind retreaded his words and found no request for permission in them. But by then, the door was closing. Looking at Honoria, she raised a quizzical brow. “Tell me—were those ‘matters’ to be clarified to do with the will, or something else entirely?”

 
“Your guess is as good as mine. Devil and Michael share other interests; however, I, too, suspect those matters are most likely questions about Camden’s will.” Honoria shrugged. “No matter. I’ll get it out of Devil later, and you can drag the information from Michael.

 
Rising, she waved Caro up. “Come—I want to show you the other half of my life.”

 
Caro rose. The doors to the terrace were open; she could hear the shrill laughter of children playing on the lawns beyond. Linking her arm in Honoria’s, she strolled with her outside. “How many?”

 
“Three.”

 
The satisfaction and deep happiness that rang in Honoria’s voice slipped under Caro’s guard, and touched her. She glanced at Honoria, but she was looking ahead. Love and pride glowed in her face.

 
Caro followed her gaze to where three children romped on the lush lawn. Two brown-haired young boys held wooden swords; under the watchful gaze of two nursemaids, they were staging a fight. One of the nursemaids juggled a toddler, a dark-haired poppet, on her knee.

 
Honoria steered her down the steps. “Sebastian—sometimes known as Earith—is nearly five, Michael is three, and Louisa is one.”

 
Caro smiled. “You have been busy.”

 
“No, Devil’s been busy—I’ve been occupied.” Not even her laughter could disguise Honoria’s joy.

 
The dark-haired poppet saw them and waved chubby arms. “Mama!”

 
The demand was imperious. They walked that way, then Honoria lifted her daughter into her arms. The child cooed—literally—wrapped her arms about her mother’s neck, and snuggled her curly head onto Honoria’s shoulder. Her wide, pale green eyes, impossibly long- and lushly lashed, remained fixed—openly inquisitive—on Caro.

 
“Contrary to all appearances”—Honoria squinted down at her daughter—“this is the dangerous one. She’s already got her father wrapped about her little finger, and when her brothers aren’t busy fighting each other, they’re her knights to command.”

 
Caro grinned. “A very sensible young lady.”

 
Honoria chuckled, gently jigging Louisa. “She’ll do.”

 
At that moment, a wail rent the air. “
Oowww
! You did that on purpose!”

 
All eyes deflected to the would-be swordsmen; they’d progressed further down the lawn. Michael was rolling on the grass holding his knee.

 
Sebastian stood over him, a scowl on his face. “I didn’t hit you there—that would be a foul blow. It was your own silly sword—you stuck yourself with the hilt!”

 
“Didn’t!”

 
The nursemaids hovered, unsure whether to intervene, given that their charges had not yet come to blows.

 
Honoria took one look at her eldest son’s face—and untangled Louisa and thrust her into Caro’s arms. “Here—hold her. Any minute now a deadly insult is going to be uttered—and then it’ll have to be avenged!”

 
Left with no option, Caro hefted Louisa, a warm, resilient bundle, into her arms.

 
Honoria walked quickly down the lawn. “Hold hard, you two! Let’s just see what’s going on here.”

 
“Prrrt.”

 
Caro refocused on Louisa. Unlike her behavior with Honoria, the little girl sat up in Caro’s arms and stared into her face.

 
“Prrrt,” she said again, chubby fingers not very steadily pointing to Caro’s eyes. Then the tiny fingers touched her cheeks. Louisa leaned close, peering at first one eye, then the other.

 
She clearly found them fascinating.

 
“You, my sweet, have very pretty eyes, too,” Caro informed her. They were her father’s eyes, yet not—a similar shade, yet softer, more beguiling… oddly familiar. Caro searched her memory, then realized. She smiled. “You have your grandmother’s eyes.”

 
Louisa blinked at her, then lifted her gaze to Caro’s hair. A huge, delighted smile wreathed Louisa’s face. “Prrrtttt!”

 
She reached for the corona of frizzy golden brown; Caro tensed to feel a tug—instead, the tiny hands touched gently, patting, then lacing lightly through. Louisa’s face filled with wonder, big eyes wide as she stiffened her pudgy fingers and drew strands free, marveling…

 
Caro knew she should stop her—her hair was wayward enough as it was—yet… she couldn’t. She could only watch, her heart turning over, as the little girl explored, curious and enthralled.

 
The wonder of discovery lit the small, vivid face, glowed in her eyes.

 
Caro fought, tried so hard to keep the thought from forming, but it wouldn’t be held down. Would she ever have a child like this—hold a child of her own like this—and witness again this simple joy, be touched by such open, innocent pleasure?

 
Children had never been part of the equation of her marriage. Although she was close to her nieces and nephews, she’d rarely seen them as babies, or even as young children—she couldn’t recall carrying any of them, not even at Louisa’s age.

 
She hadn’t thought of children of her own—hadn’t allowed herself to; there’d been no point. Yet the warm weight of Louisa in her arms opened a well of longing she hadn’t until then realized she possessed.

 
“Thank you.” Honoria returned. “War has been averted and peace restored.” She reached for Louisa.

 
Caro gave her up, conscious of a reluctant tug—made all the stronger by Louisa, who made protesting noises and leaned back toward her until Honoria allowed her to place her little hands on Caro's face and plant a damp kiss on her cheek.