"You'll be invited," Amanda assured Flick. "We'll make sure your name is on the list."
Amelia stifled a snort. "Mama will make sure your name is on the list."
Minutes later, they were summoned to distribute the tea cups. Flick did her share, moving easily among the company. Although every lady she paused beside spoke with her, beyond the information Horatia had imparted regarding her visit, not one word was said-not one inference drawn. At least, not within her hearing. Every lady made her feel welcome, and if, by dint of subtle questioning, they extracted her entire life history from her, it was no more than she'd expected. But they were the very opposite of nosy, and certainly not judgmental-their warm approval, their ready acceptance, the protection of the group so openly offered very nearly overwhelmed her.
One very old, very sharp-eyed lady closed a claw about her hand. "If you find yourself in a ballroom, gel, and at a loss what to do, then find one of us-even those flighty flibbertigibbets"-Lady Osbaldestone's black gaze skewered the twins, then she looked up at Flick-"and just ask. The ton can be a confusing place, but that's what family's for-you needn't feel shy."
"Thank you, ma'am." Flick bobbed a curtsy. "I'll remember."
"Good. Now you may give me one of those macaroons. Dare say Clara there would like one, too."
Lady Osbaldestone was not the only one to offer advice and support. Long before the afternoon came to an end and she and Lady Horatia took their leave, amid embraces, waves and plans to meet again, Flick felt she had literally been gathered to the bosom of the Cynster clan.
Settling back in the carriage, Horatia closed her eyes. Flick did the same, and looked back over the afternoon.
They were amazing. She'd known Demon had a large family, but that the Cynsters would prove such a close tribe had been a pleasant surprise. She'd never had a real family-not since her parents had died. She'd never felt part of a continuing whole, a group that had a before and would also have an after, beyond the individual members. She'd been alone since the age of seven. The General, Dillon and the Hillgate End household had become her surrogate family, but this was something very different.
If she married Demon, she would become, once again, part of a real family. One in which there were other women to talk to, to turn to for support; one where, by unspoken accord, the men watched over the young women, even if they weren't their sisters.
In some ways, it was all new to her-in other ways, at some deeper level, it touched a chord that resonated deeply. It felt very right. Opening her eyes, she stared, smiling but unseeing, out of the window, deeply glad at the prospect of becoming a Cynster.
Two mornings later, in a far from glorious mood, Demon gritted his teeth
and turned his bays toward the park. For the third time in as many days, he'd arrived at his parents' house only to learn that Miss Parteger was out.
He'd called on the afternoon of the day he'd brought her to town, imagining her sitting alone and forlorn while his mother napped. Instead, they'd been gossiping at his Aunt Helena's-and he knew very well about what. He'd swallowed his disappointment, uneasily surprised that he'd felt it, and reflected that this was precisely why he'd brought Flick to town-so his dear family, especially the female half, could help her make up her mind to marry him. He had no doubt they would do so. They were past masters at engineering weddings. As far as he was concerned, they could exercise their talents on his behalf.
So he'd retired, leaving no message-nothing to alert his too-perceptive mother that he'd been impatient enough to call. He'd arrived promptly for dinner, but discovered that seeing Felicity over a dinner table with his parents present didn't satisfy his appetite.
Yesterday, he'd called at eleven-a perfectly innocuous time. Turning up too close to breakfast would have been too revealing. Highthorpe had looked at him with sympathy and informed him that his mother, his aunt and the young lady had gone shopping.
He knew that meant they'd be away for hours. And they'd be in one of those silly, feminine moods when they returned, wanting to tell him about frills and furbelows, unreceptive to the notion of paying attention to him.
He'd retreated in good order, noting again that this was a part of why he'd brought Flick to town-so she could be seduced by the entertainments available as his wife. Shopping, to the female soul, ranked high as entertainment.
In other arenas, fate was being more helpful; he'd heard on the grapevine that Rattletrap Selbourne had contracted mumps from his sister's offspring and was not expected in town this Season. Selbourne was one complication he could temporarily put from his mind.
Today, he'd arrived at Berkeley Square midmorning, quite sure he'd find Flick waiting to impress him in one of her new gowns.
His mother had taken her off to the park.
He was seriously considering having a very pithy few words with his mother.
Feathering his curricle through the Stanhope Gate, narrowly missing an approaching landau, he tried to rein in his unreasonable temper and still the urgent pounding in his blood. He was surprised at the strength of his reaction, at the sense of deprivation that had seized him. It was, he reassured himself, simply because he'd got used to seeing her daily, nothing else. The effect would wear off, subside.
It would have to. In town, in the lead up to the Season, he would meet her only briefly, in the park under the watchful eyes of the ton's matrons, or in a crowded ballroom, likewise overseen. Private hours such as he'd grown accustomed to in the country were no longer part of their schedule.
Turning into the Avenue, he replaced his grim expression with his usual, politely bored mask.
He found Flick sitting in his mother's barouche, smiling sweetly at a host of gentlemen who, parading with other young ladies on the lawn, were eyeing her speculatively. His mother was deep in conversation with his aunt Helena, whose landau was drawn up alongside.
Smothering a curse, he angled his curricle in behind his mother's carriage and reined in. Gillies came running to hold the bays' heads. Tying off the reins, Demon jumped down and stalked along the verge.
Flick had heard the curricle pull up, and she'd turned; now she smiled, gloriously welcoming. For an instant, he was lost in her eyes, in her glow-his mask slipped; he started to smile, his usual taunting, teasing smile.
He caught himself just in time and substituted an easy, affable expression and a cool smile. Only his eyes, as they met hers, held any heat. If his mother or his sharp-eyed aunt caught a glimpse of that other smile, they'd know a great deal too much.
Flick held out her hand; he took it, bowing easily. "Well met, my dear."