By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) (27 page)

Lucilla had noticed the footman because she was keyed up. On some edge, although which edge and why she had no idea.

Which only made her even more fidgety.

Something was about to occur, but she had no idea what.

A minute passed before Polby returned and, as she’d expected, made for her table.

Reaching Lucilla’s side, Polby leaned down so he could speak beneath the ongoing cheers and laughter occasioned by the short speeches Richard and Catriona made as they called each family to the dais. “My lady,” Polby said. Most of the staff had taken to addressing her thus, even though she wasn’t her mother, the formal Lady of the Vale.

Lucilla plastered on a calm smile even though her heart had sped up. “Yes, Polby?”

“There’s a gentleman at the front door asking to speak with you, my lady.”

And just like that, she knew who it was.

Knew why her lungs had constricted and her heart was thudding.

She inclined her head. “Thank you, Polby. I’ll come and see him now.”

Without glancing at her twin, seated alongside her, she slid out from the bench seat.

As she wound her way between the other tables, making for the archway into the front hall, she didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that Marcus, eyes narrowed, had risen and was following at her heels.

Her brother took his duties as future Guardian of the Lady quite seriously.

Unfortunately, having Marcus at her heels meant she couldn’t stop before the hall mirror to check her appearance before continuing to the door; that would have been far too revealing, certainly to her twin.

Polby had gone ahead and now stood by the open door; although his butler’s mien remained impassive, Lucilla could tell he was intrigued.

The day had been brilliantly fine, weak sunshine glinting off the snow and turning the landscape an eye-searing white; as she approached the door, the brightness outside made it impossible to see clearly… She walked onto the front porch more or less blind.

Behind her, Marcus swore softly; from the corner of her eye, she saw him duck his head, trying to shield his eyes.

She knew there was no danger lurking. She paused at the edge of the porch to let her eyes adjust. They did, and she saw who she’d expected to see—Thomas Carrick. He was standing before his horse, a fine roan stallion, with Hesta, as huge as ever, sitting by his side.

What Lucilla hadn’t foreseen were the two wriggling, squirming bundles of gray fur Thomas was struggling to hold, one under each arm.

Seeing her, he sent her an imploring look.

A spontaneous smile flooding her face, she picked up her skirts and swept down the shallow steps.

The instant she reached him, Thomas raised one excited, quivering bundle and deposited the beast into her arms. “That’s Artemis—a female.”

The pup was young, yet already the size of a lot of other dogs; Lucilla registered strong bones, firm muscle, and significant weight. The pup’s head was large and impossibly shaggy; it squirmed and wriggled to look up into her face. Bright amber eyes studied her, then the pup grinned, gave a little yip, and bobbed up to lick her chin.

Lucilla laughed and turned her head away. Tightening her grip on the pup’s body, she found its muzzle and stroked. “Calm down.”

Amazingly enough, the pup gave an ecstatic shiver and relaxed in her hold; she kept stroking the huge head, the fine ears.

Thomas had been watching; he nodded approvingly.

“And this one”—gathering the other pup, he finally shifted his gaze beyond Lucilla and held the wriggling bundle out to Marcus, who had halted at Lucilla’s shoulder—“is Apollo.”

Marcus accepted the pup almost reverently. The hound immediately turned and tried to climb Marcus’s chest to get to his face. Despite his clear intention to remain grim and forbidding, Marcus grinned—he couldn’t help it. He had to give his attention to avoiding the pup’s determined attempts at affection, but eventually, he and the pup came to an understanding, and Apollo settled in Marcus’s arms.

Both pups, each comfortable in their new owner’s arms, looked at Hesta and woofed.

“Is she their mother?” Lucilla asked.

Thomas nodded, his gaze going to the huge hound. “They were weaned a few weeks ago.”

Lucilla exchanged a swift glance with Marcus. Deerhounds of Hesta’s type and lineage were rare. The pups would be worth a small fortune on the open market, and to a clan like the Carricks, whose wealth was uncertain, they would be worth even more.

But what should she say? They couldn’t refuse a gift like this, offered clan to clan. When Thomas turned back to them, Lucilla caught his eye. “We helped as we should have—we didn’t expect such a valuable gift in return.”

Thomas looked at her for a moment—long enough for her to wonder what he was thinking—then he lightly shrugged. “What value a baby’s life? Without your help, we wouldn’t have her.” He shifted his gaze to Marcus, almost as if challenging him to argue. When Marcus said nothing, Thomas’s lips eased. “No—I believe the exchange still leaves me and the Carricks in your debt.”

Lucilla resettled Artemis and, looking down at her, continued to pet the pup. She could feel Thomas’s gaze on her face. “Have Jeb and Lottie chosen a name for the baby yet?”

“Yes,” Thomas said. “They’re calling her Lucy.”

Lucilla glanced up. Meeting amber eyes more complex and intriguing than the pup’s, she smiled. “Please tell them I’m honored.”

He inclined his head. “I’ll send word once we know when the naming ceremony will be held.”

She nodded and looked back at the pup. She got the distinct impression that, given the choice, Thomas would have happily stood and watched her—watched her stroke the puppy he’d given her—for the next hour, but instead he forced himself to look at Marcus, who was silently communing with Apollo.

Sliding his hands into his breeches pockets, Thomas nodded at Apollo. “They’ll need plenty of exercise until they’re grown.”

He took a step back, and Lucilla abruptly recalled the tenets of hospitality. “Won’t you come inside and join us—take a drink, at least?”

Thomas met her gaze. “Thank you, but no. I must get back.”

With a fluid bow that included them both, he turned and strode to his waiting horse.

Gathering the reins, he swung up to the saddle. He looked at them—Lucilla, Marcus, and the puppies—for a moment, then his gaze focused on Lucilla. With a last slow inclination of his head, he wheeled the horse, called to Hesta, and set off down the drive.

Hesta rose, stretched, then without a glance at her puppies, fell in behind and a little to the side of the big horse.

With Marcus beside her, Lucilla watched Thomas Carrick ride away. The puppies, too, lay silent in her and Marcus’s arms and watched their mother lope off.

Thomas rounded the curve in the drive and passed out of their sight.

Hesta stopped before the curve and looked back.

The monstrous hound stared—and Lucilla would have sworn the dog was not looking at either her or Marcus, but at her pups.

And the pups stared solemnly back.

They didn’t whine; they didn’t squirm. It was as if mother and offspring communed across the distance via that long, meaning-laden look.

Then, still without a sound, Hesta turned and loped after Thomas.

Marcus quietly exhaled. “Do you have any idea what that was all about?”

Peering down at Artemis’s face, Lucilla shook her head. “No more than you.”

They walked toward the open front door. As they neared the steps, Marcus asked, “Would the babe have been lost if you hadn’t been there? If we hadn’t heeded Jeb’s call and turned aside to give aid?”

Starting up the steps, Lucilla nodded. “Very likely.”

Marcus halted on the top step and frowned at her. “How did he know?”

Thomas had known before she’d told him. Pausing before the door, Lucilla glanced at her twin. “The Lady only knows.” With that, she turned and stepped over the threshold. “Now stop questioning fate and bring Apollo, and help me make Sebastian and Michael turn green.”

That drew a laugh from Marcus. “Oh, I’ll very happily be a part of that.” Accepting her tack, he hoisted Apollo up and followed her into the house.

* * *

Daniel and Claire could think of no better day than the Feast of St. Stephen on which to approach their respective employers with a view to discussing their futures. Both had received boxed gifts from the families they served, and both sets of employers had readily agreed to a meeting immediately after dinner—once again a lighter and therefore shorter meal.

Following Rupert and Alathea Cynster, as well as Alasdair and Phyllida Cynster, into the drawing room, Claire was grateful that the other Cynster couples—and, indeed, virtually everyone else—had remained to sing songs and be entertained by charades in the Great Hall.

The drawing room was a large, well-appointed chamber. Like all the rooms in the manor, it did not boast wide or long windows; while there were windows, the climate demanded they be smaller and, in this season, well curtained. The result was a room that was cozy and comfortable, with few if any drafts to disturb those who sat there.

The Cynster couples arrayed themselves on a pair of opposing sofas, the gentlemen relaxing alongside their wives, their arms stretched along the sofa’s backs; the brothers, almost certainly unknowingly, had struck nearly identical poses. Meanwhile, Alathea and Phyllida had settled their skirts and now turned serenely inquiring gazes on Daniel and Claire and, with similar graceful waves, invited them to avail themselves of the numerous straight-backed chairs that, with so many to accommodate every evening, were left scattered about the room.

Daniel steered Claire to a pair of chairs helpfully set facing the hearth, making the fourth side of the rectangle created by the twin sofas and the fireplace. He waited until she sat, then sat beside her.

Together they faced their employers—who were smiling upon them, the ladies with blatant encouragement.

“We understand you have some news for us,” Alathea said.

Daniel nodded. “Indeed.” He paused, then surrendered to impulse, reached across and took one of Claire’s hands in his. It wasn’t something he would normally have done in public, but in the circumstances it seemed appropriate. The feel of her fingers lightly gripping his imparted both strength and affirmation. “Mrs. Meadows and I have decided that we wish to marry.”

“Excellent!” Alathea beamed.

“Wonderful!” Phyllida lightly clapped. “That couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Congratulations.” Alasdair smiled.

Smiling, too, Rupert inclined his head.

Daniel felt a moment of irrational panic; he hadn’t anticipated such instant and open support. He glanced at Claire and saw the same dawning consternation in her eyes. Gripping her hand more tightly, he cut straight to the heart of their concern. “Naturally, Mrs. Meadows—Claire”—again he glanced at her, and he read encouragement in her eyes—“would need to move to Devon.” He took his heart in his hands and looked at Alasdair. “We had hoped, with my new position as your secretary, that perhaps we might take a small cottage nearby—”

“I would not expect to be paid, of course,” Claire rushed to assure Alasdair and Phyllida. “As you know, it’s not customary for a governess to be married, but I thought that perhaps I might find some pupils in the vicinity…” She trailed off, then looked at Alathea. “Regardless, I’m afraid—ma’am, Mr. Cynster—that I will be leaving your employ. That said, although I know we’ve touched only briefly on the issue, Juliet is, in truth, past the stage of needing an academic governess—she really needs a finishing governess to prepare her for her entry into the haut ton.”

Somewhat to Daniel’s relief, Alathea was nodding as well as smiling. “I agree. But I believe you sell yourself short, my dear. You are an exceptional academic governess, because not only do you know your studies, but your pupils like and enjoy working with you.” Alathea glanced at Phyllida.

Following her gaze, Daniel saw Phyllida nod with open encouragement at Alathea, patently urging Alathea to go on.

Returning her gaze to Claire, who was looking faintly nonplussed, Alathea paused. Then, her smile taking on a self-deprecatory edge, she admitted, “We haven’t been entirely oblivious to your evolving connection. Consequently, as is our wont, we have already discussed the eventuality of you, Claire, marrying Daniel and therefore removing to Devon. As I said, you are too good a governess for us to allow to slip through our collective fingers, at least not without making an effort to retain your services, but as you say, your work in our household, with Juliet, is done. So we wondered if, in moving to Devon, you would consider accepting a position in Alasdair and Phyllida’s household as governess to Lydia and Amarantha.”

Claire blinked. She looked at Phyllida.

Phyllida leaned forward, her expression eager. “Please say yes. Although I have to warn you, Mrs. Meadows—Claire, if I may?” After Claire, faintly stunned, nodded, Phyllida went on, “As I was about to confess, my girls, Lydia in particular, will not be such easy pupils as Juliet. Lydia believes that there must always be an easier way—in anything. She’s not precisely lazy. She’s…”

“Too clever for her boots,” Alasdair, Lydia’s father, supplied. He cut a glance at his wife. “I have no idea where she gets it from.”

Phyllida humphed and bumped his arm, but she immediately returned her dark gaze to Claire. “So, you see, we would be thoroughly pleased if, in moving to Devon as Daniel’s wife, you would consent simultaneously to take up the currently vacant position of Lydia and Amarantha’s governess.”

“No need to find any cottage, either,” Alasdair said. “We’ve plenty of rooms in the house—you can have your own suite. I appreciate having you”—he nodded at Daniel—“under our roof and close at hand to help deal with anything that arrives at our door, and I also know Phyllida and the girls”—he glanced at his wife—“will prefer to have Claire close, too.”

Alasdair looked at Daniel and Claire. “Later, perhaps, when our girls are grown, we can look into other arrangements, but for now”—Alasdair smiled winningly at Claire—“just say the word, and we’ll be delighted to welcome you into our household.”