And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

They came together with open hearts, with passion driving them, and desire filling them, but, above all, with love fusing their souls. Recognized, acknowledged, and freely given, it bound them, held them, and made them more, forged in its fire into the very best they could be.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

The words fell from their lips again and again, in soft murmurs and gasps, in passion and in frenzy.

Then the cataclysm caught them, wracked them, and they flew, then they knew no more, were blind and senseless to all but the ecstasy.

To the glorious, scintillating, coruscating delight.

Gradually, the sensual nova faded, and the golden pleasure that was love made all but tangible wrapped them in its succoring folds, and held them safe, protected and cared for, shielded from the world in each other’s arms.

Epilogue

The engagement of the Honorable James Glossup and Miss Henrietta Cynster had titillated the perennially jaded interest of the ton. No one had seen it coming; not one of the grandes dames could claim to have predicted it, nor anything like it, for either participant.

Consequently, despite the short notice, their engagement ball, held in the magnificence of St. Ives House, was viewed as an event of signal significance, one everyone honored with an invitation braved hell and high water to attend. But prior to the ball itself, a formal family dinner was held to toast the engaged couple; every Cynster—even Catriona, Richard, Lucilla, and Marcus—gathered in the long formal dining room to feast, drink, and delightedly commend the pair. And, of course, to hear the tale of their brush with a madman, and their role in bringing one of the more heinous villains of recent years to justice.

The news of Sir Peter Affry’s arrest and incarceration pending trial, a trial those lords and parliamentary dignitaries who had been permitted to view the evidence had confirmed could have only one end, had deeply shocked the ton. So many had welcomed Sir Peter into their homes, so many had shaken his hand, so many had judged him worthy of support that on learning of his perfidy, all of society felt deeply disturbed and, indeed, betrayed.

From up-and-coming politician and potential minister, he became a pariah in a matter of hours.

But within St. Ives House on that happy evening, the talk rarely strayed into darker spheres. Indeed, possibly in reaction to the darkness Sir Peter represented, everyone attending turned their minds and their hearts to embracing the shining hope and expectations for a joyous future embodied by the engaged couple.

In many ways, they, and the promise of their upcoming union, were the perfect and most appropriate antidote to lift the shaken spirits of the ton.

The family dinner ended with a traditional round of toasts to the affianced couple—ending with a warning to all, delivered by Honoria, that they would soon be summoned back to St. Ives House for the wedding breakfast. The date for the wedding was confirmed by Arthur, a beaming Louise by his side, then the gathering broke up to repair to the ballroom upstairs with everyone in a mellow mood and a delighted, expectant frame of mind. Every lady had more than enough fact and speculation to never be at a loss for conversation over the next several weeks, while as they climbed the stairs, the gentlemen traded opinions and quips on the benefits of a rapid engagement, and an even more rapid wedding thereafter.

Recalling one last duty she had to perform before taking her place in the receiving line upstairs, Henrietta drew her hand from James’s sleeve and, leaving him chatting with Gabriel and her father, turned—to discover Mary standing directly in her path, looking pointedly at her.

Henrietta laughed. “Yes, I have it.” Catching Mary’s hand, flown with her own happiness, she drew her younger sister—the last of the Cynster girls of their generation yet unwed—to the side of the room. “Here. This is where Angelica gave it to me, so . . .” Opening her silver reticule, Henrietta fossicked inside, then drew out the gold links and amethyst bead necklace, with its long, tapered, rose-quartz pendant.

She held it up, dangling from her fingers; both she and Mary studied it for a moment, then Mary reached for it—but Henrietta whisked it away. “No.” She met Mary’s eyes. “Let me put it on for you.”

Mary smiled delightedly and presented her back. Henrietta was significantly the taller—Mary was, if anything, shorter than Angelica—so looping the necklace into position was a simple matter.

Fiddling with the clasp, Henrietta softly said, “I didn’t believe, and if it weren’t for your pushing I never would have worn it—and I honestly don’t know if I would ever have found James, if he and I would ever have found our way to the happiness we now have, without it. Without The Lady’s help.”

Raising one hand, Mary touched the fine necklace, holding it against her skin. On her, the pendant hung fully between her breasts. “But you believe in the necklace now.”

“Oh, yes.” Henrietta was still fiddling. “If anything I would say I believe in it, in its power, even more than you. I’ve seen what it can do, experienced what it can bring. There!”

Feeling Henrietta pat the clasp at her nape, Mary turned, looking down at the necklace, at how it sat against her creamy skin; the cornflower blue of her satin ball gown, chosen to match her even more vivid eyes, echoed the purple hues of the amethyst beads. Looking up, she met Henrietta’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“No.” Henrietta held her gaze steadily. “Thank you. I know you’ve been waiting for this—to receive the necklace and be able to wear it and so find your own hero—literally for years. Even though you’re generally so impatient, you waited patiently—and then you pushed at just the right moment. I truly believe you were influenced by The Lady in that, that you’ve already felt Her hand, for you certainly played a major part in bringing me and James together.”

Henrietta paused to draw in a huge breath, then she smiled one of what Mary privately dubbed her over-the-moon-joyous smiles. “For that—for all of that—I wish you the very best of success in finding your own hero.”

Mary felt the warm wash of affection as Henrietta swooped and embraced her. She returned the hug with equal joy; she was sincerely happy, from the depths of her heart happy, to see Henrietta so perfectly matched. This was her sister’s fairy-tale ending; now it was her turn to go out and find hers.

“Henrietta!”

Releasing each other, they both straightened. Turning, they saw Louise beckoning imperiously. “Come along—we need you in the receiving line. And Mary, too—you should already be upstairs.”

Mary and Henrietta shared a glance, then they laughed and hurried to where Louise waited. Together, they swept their harried mother up the stairs.

“Really, I don’t know what’s got into you,” Louise said to