Ryder looked at him and Godfrey. “You can return to live at Raventhorne House if you wish—it’s more than big enough, and Mary and I will only be there during the Season and for a few weeks in autumn.”
Kit and Godfrey exchanged glances, then Kit looked back at Ryder. “Perhaps we can try that, at least to begin with, then see how we fare?” He smiled at Mary. “Mary might find us too bothersome, or wish us out of your hair come spring and the Season, but for now . . . the two of us moving back to Raventhorne House might serve.”
Tapping one finger on the chair arm, Ryder said, “Next point—the Chapel Street house. It’s owned by the estate. Do you wish it retained, or should it be sold?”
Despite Lavinia’s children all promptly declaring they wanted nothing to do with that house, the discussion was lengthy, weighing up the various options such as hiring the place, balancing the long-term costs of staffing and upkeep against the value to the estate, but, ultimately, selling the property was the unanimous verdict. Ryder was grateful for the knowledgeable inputs from Lord Arthur, Louise, and the twins and their husbands. He inclined his head. “That’s settled then. I’ll send word to Montague.”
“Excellent.” Mary turned to Stacie. “That leaves us with Stacie to organize.” She smiled encouragingly at Ryder’s half sister. “As I mentioned, you will always be welcome here, but as Ryder said, at least until the Season next year, aside from the weeks of the autumn session, he and I will most likely remain in the country. However, I imagine you would prefer to be in town for more weeks than that.”
Stacie grimaced. “Well, to begin with, I need to go back and pack, especially if the Chapel Street house is to be sold. And although that might take only a week or so, I do have several weddings of friends to attend, and other invitations I had already accepted . . .” She paused, then in a smaller voice said, “I could cry off—”
“If I might make a suggestion?” Smiling, Louise waited for Ryder as well as Mary to incline their heads, then she looked at Stacie. “If you would like it, you’re welcome to stay with us in Upper Brook Street. Now Mary and Henrietta are both gone, as well as the others”—Louise waved at Amanda, Amelia, and Simon—“there’s just Arthur and me, so we’ve more than enough room, and in general I would be attending all the events you’ve been invited to—I would be happy to act as your chaperon, at least until the autumn session when Mary returns to town.” Louise looked at her youngest daughter, and a slow, anticipatory smile curved her lips. “And then, perhaps, we might all go about together until Mary learns the ropes of how to be a chaperon—not a role she’s previously been called on to perform.”
The rest of Mary’s family laughed; a slew of comments, observations, and stories ensued, many pointed, all amusing, and all thoroughly good-natured in a family-teasing kind of way.
Ryder listened to the happy ribbing, saw Mary’s eyes sparkle as she capped one of Luc’s comments with a quip of her own—saw his half siblings watching, noting, taking it in, with a longing that mirrored his own, a wish to understand, experience, and be a part of just such an interaction.
This was the other side of family—the warmth, the support, the detailed understanding and unconditional acceptance of who and what each member was, what they could contribute, their traits and foibles, their strengths and passions, and the abiding affection and inclusiven
ess that embraced each individual and forged them into such a powerful whole.
Family—strength, warmth, support—power.
After being reassured several times by multiple people that she would not in the least be in anyone’s way, Stacie accepted Louise’s proposal. Older head and younger bent together to plan.
As a group, they spent the rest of the day and the early evening together, chatting amiably, discovering common interests and pursuing them, eventually devolving into two groups, the ladies settling in the library chairs to swap tales of fashion and scandal, while the gentlemen took themselves off to the billiard room, there to engage in an impromptu tournament, Cavanaughs versus Cynsters and connections.
Neither side won.
Dinner, even held in the grand and gracious setting of the formal dining room, wasn’t, in that company, allowed to be anything but a relaxed affair, a fitting end to the last hours of unwinding. After passing the port and brandy, the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room; by the time everyone trooped up the stairs an hour and a half later, the dark strain of the earlier part of the day had been wiped away, and every last one of them, Ryder would have sworn, was focused ahead.
Looking forward to the next day, and the next, and to all that their lives would bring.
Mary paused in the gallery at the head of the main stairs to bid her family—both sides of it—a good night, and to ensure they all remembered where their rooms were. After seeing everyone off down the right corridors, she smiled, turned, and found Ryder waiting.
As she’d known he would be.
Slipping her hand into his, she strolled by his side down the corridor to their apartments. Her heart felt buoyant; she felt like swinging their linked hands and skipping along, but now she was a marchioness that, sadly, would not accord with her dignity.
But she could smile. Ryder held the door to the sitting room open; she flashed a beaming smile at him as she stepped inside—and, catching his hand as she passed, she towed him to the left—to her bedroom. The room he’d had decorated so superbly for her, but which they’d yet to use.
Collecting the lighted candelabra from the sideboard as they passed, he followed readily enough, as, indeed, he had all day, but when she halted and swung to face him, he looked into her eyes, arched a brow. “Are you sure you want to sleep here?”
“Yes.” She held his gaze. “This morning we buried the past, this afternoon we drew a line under it, and this evening we’ve started on our future. It’s fitting that we use this room tonight—the first night on our new journey.”
Briefly, he searched her eyes, enough to see her decision, her commitment, then nodded. His lips lightly curved. “As ever, your wish is my command.”
She laughed and turned away to pull the pins from her hair.
Setting the candelabra down, Ryder watched for a moment, then shrugged off his coat. Trying to decide where in this room he would leave it, he followed the thought further . . . “I just hope we don’t cause consternation tomorrow morning when Collier and Aggie look for us and find us apparently gone.”
“They’ll realize, I’m sure. No one would dream that you and I would run away.” She presented him with her back. “Help me with these laces.”
Tossing his coat on the end of the bed, he obliged, then, leaving her to strip away her gown, he retrieved his coat and walked down the room to lay it over a chair. After stripping off his waistcoat, he set his fingers to his cravat. He’d just finished unraveling the long band when a rustle had him glancing around—in time to see a nicely naked Mary slip under the sheets.
His smile was all appreciation, not just for the brief sight but in anticipation of what he would shortly find waiting for him in the bed. The lovely bed he’d had created just for her.
They’d been married for only three weeks, yet already they were behaving like a long-married couple. He’d wondered about her unvoiced but clear preference for, most often, undressing separately, each stripping their own clothes off, until he’d realized she liked watching him disrobe. Until he’d realized that she hurried to get her own clothes off so she could lie back in the bed and watch him strip—exactly as she was doing now.