Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

On her way back to the house after checking the still slumbering gardens, she paused to take in the activity in the yard. Devil was there with McAlvie and his lads; beside them, Vane and Corby were mounted, about to ride out to check the orchards. Vane was looking down, Devil was looking up-all the other men seemed not just smaller, but somehow less alive. Then Devil nodded and stepped back. Vane wheeled his mount; with Corby at his heels, he clattered out of the yard. Turning away, Devil collected McAlvie; with the herdsman's lads following close behind, they strode down the slope to the cattle barn.

Smiling to herself, Catriona resumed her progress to the house. Devil watched over the livestock, Vane the orchards. Without the slightest comment, they'd left the crops to her. They'd divided Richard's responsibilities between them and were acting in his stead. As for Gabriel, he'd appointed himself Richard's amanuensis; he was presently sitting with Richard and dealing with the accumulated correspondence concerning his business affairs. She hadn't realized how extensive Richard's investments were until Gabriel had found the pile of letters in the library and come storming upstairs, waving them and insisting Richard deal with them.

She was learning new things every day.

Like the fact that, while in no way susceptible in the common sense, the other women in the vale were very definitely appreciative of men like the Cynsters. A group of them had gathered in the doorway of the dairy to enjoy the sight of Devil and Vane. All the Cynster men drew the same response-they were always so elegantly dressed and shod, yet thought nothing of picking up an axe and splitting logs, or helping with a fence, or herding cows. The local women had grown used to Richard, but… their wide smiles and their comments, drifting on the breeze-"And there are more of them yet, Cook says." "Oh, my!" as, with smiling nods to her, they turned back into the dairy-suggested they were far from bored with the sight.

Her smile converting to a grin, Catriona climbed the steps and pushed through the heavy back door. Cynsters, she'd decided, were simply larger than life.

Two of them were baking bread. Up to their elbows in flour, Amelia and Amanda stood at the kitchen table, giggling with Cook's girls as they all kneaded dough. All the girls were flushed, Amelia's and Amanda's ringlets were dancing, their huge cornflower blue eyes brilliant with laughter. Even with flour smudges over their pert noses, they were beauties.

Beautiful young English ladies from one of the very best of the old families.

They could still giggle with the best of them. While certainly not unconscious of their charms, neither twin seemed to have a "conscious" bone in her body-while neither would ever forget who they were, they were openly friendly and ready to be pleased.

Cook's girls were in awe, but equally ready to join in the fun.

"Perhaps we could do the loaves in braids-like this." Amelia created a distinctly skewed braid with her dough.

"Aunt Helena likes bread made like that," Amanda explained, "but perhaps we should try some different shapes-braids might not be to the gentlemen's taste."

Smiling broadly, Catriona passed on, leaving them devising all manner of fancy loaves. Those sitting down to lunch would have a new interest.

Heading into the house, she passed the archway to the second kitchen, which housed the main ovens of the manor. And halted-arrested by the sight of two derrieres, side by side, one cloaked in serviceable drab, the other in fashionable twill.

"Hmm-I think it needs a touch more rosemary." Bent over, peering into the dark cavern of the roasting oven, Honoria passed the basting ladle to Cook.

Who nodded her grey head. "P'raps, p'raps. And maybe a pinch more tarragon and a clove or two. Just to pick it up a bit, like."

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Neither heard her, neither turned around; both continued to study the roast with absolute concentration. Smiling still, Catriona glided on.

"I have always found that a soupcon of lavender in the polish is the perfect touch. It freshens a room without overpowering."

"I do so agree, madam. And it makes the beeswax just that bit softer, to go just that bit farther. Can I help you to a little bit more sherry, Your Grace?"

Prom the shadows of the corridor, Catriona watched Mrs. Broom refill the sherry glass clasped between the Dowager's fine fingers. A ring of emeralds and diamonds flashed as the Dowager gestured her thanks.

"I have noticed," she said, as Mrs. Broom returned to her chair, "that your silver has a very nice luster. What polish do you use?"

"Ah, well, now-that's a bit of a vale secret, that is. Howsoever, seeing as you're family now…"

Shaking her head, Catriona glided silently on, storing the moment in her memory to describe to Richard later. The Dowager could very well have sat in the drawing room and commanded Mrs. Broom's presence; instead, she'd elected to take sherry with the housekeeper in her snug little parlor. The better to learn her secrets.

The Dowager was incorrigible.

Her smile wreathing her face, Catriona stepped into the hall-and remembered those she had not seen in her journey through the nether regions. The manor's tribe of children. They'd been noticeably absent-not one small body had she seen, not one shrill shriek had she heard.

Which was not necessarily a good thing.

Where were they? And what were they up to?

She detoured via the games room-and found her answers. Patience was sitting on the rug before the hearth, her elegant skirts spread wide to accommodate the kittens, playing, rolling, batting at fingers and hands. The children were all gathered about, quietly enthralled.

"Ooh, look!" one said in wonder. "This one likes my hair."

"Their claws are sharp."