The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (The Cynster Sisters Duo 2)

Glancing at Mary, he saw a smile—a particularly ferocious one—curve her lips. “Yes. Let’s.”

They turned the corner.

And walked into consternation.

Chapter Sixteen

The pandemonium that erupted when they walked calmly into the midst of their panicking household took mere minutes to calm.

Ryder was astonished—and abjectly grateful he had Mary by his side; despite having been his marchioness for only three weeks, she’d established her position and developed a certain no-nonsense tone his staff patently found reassuring. She stemmed their fussing and the inevitable avalanche of questions with a minimum of declarative sentences. Subsequently, unimpeded by her bedraggled state, she marched across the tiles issuing crisp orders right and left, and like a well-conditioned team, the household responded to her hands on their reins; in short order he and she were in their respective bathing chambers, supplied with hot water and fresh clothes, brushes, towels, and scented soaps.

Fifteen minutes later, restored to their customary sartorial elegance, side by side they descended the main stairs, crossed the front hall, and went out through the doors Forsythe held open. Their carriage stood waiting, with Ridges on the box, Filmore beside him, and two burly grooms, one already up behind, the other holding open the carriage door.

Behind them, other than Forsythe, the great house was once again devoid of males. Before he’d followed Mary upstairs, Ryder had dispatched every man, other than the four who would travel with them, to form a cordon around the Dower House. He’d put Dukes in charge; the man knew every inch of the estate, including the Dower House woods. Ryder’s orders had been for every man to keep silent and out of sight, and to allow any who wished to enter to do so unchallenged, but to ensure that no one left.

Handing Mary into the carriage, he followed. The footman shut the door, then swung up behind as Ridges set the horses in motion.

“What’s the time?” Mary had seen Ryder check his watch just before they reached the carriage.

“Twenty minutes after midnight. We’ll be there in less than five minutes.”

“So she might or might not have returned yet.”

Ryder had settled beside her, his hand wrapped around one of hers; her shoulder rocked against his arm as the carriage turned out of the abbey drive. “I asked Dukes to scout the house and see what he could learn of who was there,

and in particular where Lavinia’s groom—Snickert—and the other two stable hands were.”

“Hmm . . . correct me if I’m wrong, but we assume Potherby will return with Lavinia, and we don’t actually know his standing in this.”

“No, we don’t.” Ryder gently squeezed her hand. “We’ll have to play it by ear and watch how he reacts.”

The carriage slowed, turned, then rolled slowly forward.

A soft owl-call sounded just ahead, and the horses were drawn to a halt.

Ryder let down the window as Dukes appeared.

The head gardener saluted. “Her ladyship hasn’t returned yet, my lord. The Dower House staff are here, but it seems they’ve only just got in. They’re all in the kitchen having a late supper. We’ve been listening from outside the window. Seems her ladyship insisted they all go off to see the circus in Marlborough—all except Snickert and the two stable hands. None of the rest of the staff knows what those three have been doing—there’ve been questions aplenty—but all three are there now, standing about the kitchen and looking right smug. Did hear the cook complaining that the bolt on the basement door had been broken—Snickert told her not to worry about it, but he and his two mates are sticking close by that door.”

Ryder thought, then nodded. “Here’s what I want done.”

Three minutes later, their carriage drew up before the Dower House front steps. Ryder handed Mary down. Head high, gowned in an elegant carriage dress, she walked beside him up the steps to the front door. A small lamp high on the wall was still burning, shedding a pool of light immediately before the door but leaving the space to either side in deep shadow.

Halting in the light, Ryder nodded at Dukes. Leading the six men who were melting back into the dimness on either side of the door, Dukes pulled a dangling chain, and in the distance they heard a bell jangle.

Dukes joined his men, indiscernible in the gloom.

A minute passed, then they heard the measured tread of a butler’s footsteps approaching, then the latch was lifted and the door swung open.

The middle-aged butler who stood in the doorway, a lanky footman hovering behind him, blinked in surprise. “My lord?”

“Good evening, Caldicott.” Sweeping Mary forward, Ryder ushered her in.

Caldicott fell back, uncertain. “My lord?” Then Caldicott saw the seven large men crowding the doorway behind them. “What . . . ? My lord!” Caldicott’s eyes went wide and he looked back at Ryder. “Her ladyship—”

“Is, I understand, not presently here.” Ryder caught and held Caldicott’s gaze. “You know who owns this house, and who in reality pays the wages of all those who work here.”

Caldicott hesitated, then carefully nodded. “Indeed, my lord.”