The Ideal Bride (Cynster 11)

Ferdinand nodded and left. Devil remained on the floor beside Timothy and Michael; Gabriel sat on the chaise and kept a close eye on Muriel. Caro studied Michael’s face, with her eyes traced the lines that had become so familiar, stroked his hair.

Then Lucifer returned with the doctor; she stirred and, giving thanks to the gods, gave herself up to caring for the two men she held closest to her heart.

The final scene in the drama was played out in Magnus’s library. All the family involved gathered late that night to hear the full story, to understand, to be reassured, ultimately to help protect.

Michael sat in a deep armchair, his head, still distantly pounding, cushioned on a silk pillow. A bump the size of an egg on the back of his skull throbbed; he raised his glass and sipped—a cordial. Caro, sitting on the chair’s arm no more than inches away, had insisted on the tonic. All the other men were drinking brandy, but with Caro so close and Honoria on the chaise nearby, her eyes fixed on him, he had no option but to drink the ghastly stuff.

Devil was present, along with Gabriel and Lucifer and their wives, Alathea and Phyllida. Magnus sat in his favorite chair listening intently as they recounted the facts, put together the pieces. Evelyn, too, hung on their words.

“I didn’t really believe it until I remembered Muriel was a marksman.” Caro glanced at Michael. “She excels at all those things at which girls normally don’t—like driving, archery, and pistols.”

“And,” Michael grimly added, “slingshots.”

She nodded. “That, too.”

“So,” Honoria said, “when you returned to Bramshaw, Muriel told you of the Ladies’ Association meeting, insisted you attend, then when you did and the local ladies treated you, unsurprisingly, as a celebrity, she saw red?”

Caro met Michael’s gaze. “I think it was more the straw that broke the camel’s back.” She glanced at the others. “Muriel always saw herself as the rightful lady of Sutcliffe Hall. She was a true Sutcliffe, Camden’s firstborn—the heir of his talents if you will, but then, in marrying me and making me his hostess, he chose me over her. Bad enough. She then worked hard to be the premier lady of the district—that position was all hers. Yet despite my long absences, all I had to do was appear and the other local ladies put me on her pedestal, displacing her. Camden wounded her, but then every time I returned home, salt was rubbed into the wound.”

Michael squeezed her hand. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“No.” She looked down, after a moment raised her head and went on, “But once she started trying to get rid of me, in her usual dogged fashion, she just kept at it. Then she saw the house, and also the chance to even her old if secret score with Timothy, and…”

“However,” Magnus said, looking up at her from under his shaggy brows, “her true target, the one she wished to punish, was Camden. But he’s dead. You and Breckenridge were

merely the two on whom she could vent her rancor.” Sternly, he held Caro’s gaze. “All this has been more about the loose ends of Camden Sutcliffe’s life than about either you or Breckenridge.”

Caro looked into his old eyes; after a moment, she inclined her head.

“Regardless,” Devil said, “we’re now left with the final tying of those loose ends.” He looked at Gabriel and Lucifer, who had taken Muriel, still bound and gagged, to her London home. “How did Hedderwick take it?”

Gabriel grimaced. “He didn’t argue, nor even seem all that surprised.”

“He was surprised over what she’d done,” Lucifer amended, “but not surprised she’d finally done something.”

“He must have known how obsessed she was,” Gabriel said. “He was quick to take our points. He’s a quiet sort, but seems competent and decisive enough, and we left him in no doubt over what he needs to do to ensure our silence.”

“So he’s undertaken to keep her restrained?”

Gabriel nodded. “She’s immensely strong, and given her skills she’ll always be dangerous. Hedderwick has an isolated cottage on the Cornish coast he intends taking her to; she’ll be guarded night and day.”

Devil glanced at Caro. “The doctor intends to remain with Breckenridge overnight, just to make sure, but he felt certain that with time he’d recover fully.” He looked at Michael, raised a brow.

Michael nodded, winced, resettled his head carefully. “In the circumstances, we’ll need to consult with Breckenridge, and also with George Sutcliffe, but allowing any of this to become public is pointless. Quite aside from tarnishing Camden Sutcliffe’s memory—and despite his personal shortcomings, his public service was exemplary—any formal proceedings will cause considerable anguish and difficulties for the other Sutcliffes, and even more for the Danverses.”

He glanced around the circle; no one argued. He nodded. “It’s a sorry enough tale as it is—best we end it here.”

They all agreed, drained their glasses, then, reassured that all was as well as could be, took their leave.

Michael woke in the night, in the small hours when the world lay blanketed and asleep. About him, the huge old house lay silent and still; he rested warm beneath soft covers, Caro curled against his side.

He smiled, felt relief and quiet joy spread through him. Realized his head had stopped throbbing. Reaching up, he touched the bump, confirmed it still hurt if touched, but otherwise was bearable.

Beside him, Caro stirred. She seemed to realize he was awake; lifting her head, she peered into his face, then blinked her eyes wide. “How are you feeling?”

He’d barely made it to her room before collapsing; she’d helped him undress and crawl beneath the covers—he’d fallen asleep the instant his face touched the pillow. “Much better.” He studied her face, put out a hand to stroke her hair, smiled. “Your tonic worked.”

Her look said “I told you so,” but she refrained from uttering the words. Instead, she searched his eyes, then, shifting further over, crossed her arms on his chest and settled to look into his face. “If you are properly awake and compos mentis, I wanted to ask you a question.”