Scandal's Bride (47 page)

Catriona stared into his eyes, a light hazelly brown, and let his words and his smile warm her. “I . . .” She hesitated, then nodded. “I think I'd like that. Richard invests with you, doesn't he?”

“All the family do. I oversee the investments, and Heathcote Montague, our joint man of business, acts as our executor.” Gabriel grinned. “That means I do all the talking and investigating and he takes care of the boring formalities.”

Catriona nodded. “Tell me more about what you do. How do these investments of yours work?”

They ambled through the gardens for close to an hour, by which time she'd learned more than enough to know that he, at least, knew precisely what he was talking about. “Very well.” With a nod, she halted at the entrance to the gardens. Here was an opportunity to establish the vale's future income for all time. Gabriel would invest their excess funds for her—the income would be there to tide the vale over any lean years, should such ever come to pass. She nodded again and refocused on Gabriel's face. “I'll talk to McArdle and get the funds transferred—Richard will know the direction.”

Gabriel's easy smile lit his face; hand over his heart, he bowed. “You won't regret it, I swear.” He straightened, eyes twinkling. “Welcome to yet another aspect of our family.”

Richard entered the dining hall that evening to a rousing chorus of cheers. The whole household stood and clapped. His slow stroll disguising his lack of strength, he grinned and nodded gracefully, his expression one of amused affability. But when he met Catriona's gaze as he reclaimed his seat beside her, she could see the warmth, the joy, the affectionate acceptance, burning in the blue of his eyes.

She smiled mistily and quickly sat so that he could sit, too. The cheering subsided, and the first course was brought out.

Beneath the table's edge, Richard clasped her hand briefly, then frowned at the serving dish placed before him. “Good heavens! Is that turbot?”

“Hmm-mm.” Drawing the dish closer, Catriona heaped some on his plate. “Cook said it was one of your favorite dishes.”

“It is.” Bemused, Richard stared at it, then looked at her. “But wherever did she get turbot up here?”

Catriona raised her brows haughtily. “We have our ways.”

He hesitated, then grinned, and gave his attention to the turbot.

The entire meal was a succession of Richard's favorite dishes—a fact that did not escape him. He caught Cook's eye and saluted her, which made her blush vividly even while she nodded graciously.

He leaned closer to Catriona. “I'd go down and thank her, but . . .” He grimaced.

Catriona smiled, and fleetingly leaned her shoulder against his. “You can speak to her tomorrow, or the day after, when next you go through the kitchens.”

He trapped her gaze and slowly arched a black brow. “That soon?”

The words hung between them, layered with meaning. The air about them grew dense, shutting everyone else out. Catriona felt her lungs lock. “Oh, I think so,” she managed, conscious of that sudden skittering excitement that she hadn't felt for too long. The rest of the room had vanished; all she could see was the blue of his eyes. “You should be able to . . . get up . . . er, completely, any day now.”

His lips quirked; a wicked glint lit his eyes. “You've no idea,” he drawled, “how thankful I am to hear that.”

Breaking eye contact, Catriona reached for her wineglass and took a much-needed sip. “Yes, well—there you are.”

“Hmmm—and where will you be?”

Flat on her back beneath him. “Busy,” Catriona stated repressively.

“Oh, I think I can guarantee that,” the reprobate she'd married agreed.

Catriona awoke the next morning, and saw—knew—what it was that the Cynsters had brought to the vale. The knowledge came as a revelation—a flash of insight, a crystal clear certainty. And in the same revealing moment, she saw their marriage—hers and Richard's—in its entirety, its full meaning, its full glory. Saw why The Lady had directed her to his arms.

She was there still; she knew, in that moment, that she would remain there for all time. He slept behind her, wrapped around her, his breath, softly huffing, caressing her nape, one arm possessively protective, over her waist.

He'd needed her—to provide an anchor for his restless soul, to give him the home and position he'd needed, to be his warrior's cause.

But she'd needed him, too—in more ways than one. He'd recognized from the beginning, and forced her to see, too, that she needed him to protect her and to ease the burdens that were hers through her responsiblities to the vale. What she hadn't seen—couldn't have seen—and what he may not have guessed, was that she needed more than that.

She needed to learn about family—large ruling families—something she and the vale knew nothing about. With Cynsters all around, she'd observed firsthand the enormous positive energy that, as a group, they commanded. They were not really moral, or religious in any way, yet they all, day by day, act by act, served one goal—the family, both their own smaller groups, as well as the larger whole. While their decisions were usually direct and straightforward, down-to-earth and obvious, they were also far-sighted, always made in the best interests of the family.

From the first, she'd been impressed by the incredible strength of the group, far greater than the sum of its parts. That strength derived from the simple fact that they were all moving in the same direction, all focused on the same ultimate goal.

The Lady's ways were profound.

There'd been no large family at the manor for generations—the lady of the vale had, by custom, only one child, a girl child to take on her mantle. But times were changing—there would be fresh challenges to face, greater challenges. Challenges requiring more than the isolation of the vale to counter them.

Lifting a hand to her breast, Catriona fingered the pendant that hung there—Richard's mother's legacy. Through their marriage, a line older than hers had come into the vale; their child—their first daughter—would be the first of a new line, a greater line, sprung from the merging of the two.

She would be the first of a new family.

Catriona lay still and pondered that fact, while beyond the windows the sun rose. As dawn washed the land, she slipped from Richard's arms and left him softly snoring.

Her revelations were still much in her mind when, later that morning, she repaired to the stillroom.

She'd been there an hour when the door opened and two bright faces looked in.

“May we ask you something?”

Smiling, Catriona waved the twins to stools before the table at which she was working. “How can I help you?”

“We have this burning question,” Amanda informed her, wriggling onto the stool.

“We want to know what we should look for in a husband,” Amelia stated.

Catriona opened her eyes wide. “That is a big question.”

“As you're a healer, we thought you might be able to advise us.”

“We're being paraded around at present—you know, so that all the eligible gentlemen can look us over and see if we might suit them.”

“But we've decided that that really isn't sensible.”

“No. We need to decide if
they
will suit
us
.”

Catriona couldn't stop her smile.

“Which,” Amanda declared, unabashed, “means we have to decide what it is we should be looking for.”

Catriona nodded. “I can see that—I have to say you're approaching this in a very clear-headed way.”

“We decided that was the only way to approach it—that's why we've come to see you.”

“We can't ask Aunt Helena—she's too old.”

“And Honoria was married over a year ago. These days, she's so caught up with being a duchess and taking care of Sebastian, she probably can't remember what she thought was important then.”

“And Patience isn't feeling well. And she's rather . . . absorbed—as if she's thinking of her new baby.”

“But we thought you'd know—you're a healer and they always know everything, and you've only just married Richard, so you should be able to remember why you did.”

Unarguable logic. Catriona had to laugh. But her laugh was kindly and gentle; inside, she felt deeply touched, humble, and a little awed. She'd been thinking about how she should learn about “family,” as if it was something she could study at a distance—and now here were the twins, reminding her that “family” wasn't at a distance, it was here. She was, their blue eyes declared, already one hub in the giant Cynster web, accepted as such, available to answer questions on matters vitally important to the younger generation. That was how families operated.

Drawing in a breath, she eyed the twins, read the earnestness in their eyes. “As I understand your question,” she said, looking down at the paste she was mixing, “you want to know, not why I married Richard, so much as what's important to look for in a prospective husband.”

“Precisely.”

“That's our dilemma in a nutshell.”

“So,” Catriona said, “your question is really philosophical, and as such that's something I can answer.” Frowning, she swirled the paste with the pestle; the twins remained encouragingly silent.

“A good husband,” she declared, “must be protective. That's often the easiest point to ascertain. If he frowns at you when you do something barely reckless, then he's noticing you in that way.”

The twins nodded in unison.

Catriona didn't notice, intent on her paste, intent on her answer. “For some reason, the best men also tend to be possessive—and that's also easy to see. He'll scowl at any other eligible men about you and get irritated if you don't pay sufficient attention to him. The
next
point, however, is a difficult one—one you need to be careful to get right. It's often not obvious.” She rolled the pestle about. “He should be pleased with you—even proud of you—as you are. He shouldn't seek to change you, or . . .” She gestured.

“Think you need to take lessons from his sister in how to go on?”

Catriona looked at Amanda. “Precisely.” Amanda's tone, and the militant light in her eye, suggested she'd already stubbed her toe on that step.

“The last point, one which, in your cases especially, I would strongly urge you to consider, is his attitude to family.” It was on the tip of her tongue to explain that she hadn't considered that herself—because she hadn't known to do so. But The Lady had ordained her marriage—and The Lady had looked out for her. Pausing in her labors, she studied the twins. “You were born into and raised within a large and close family—not everyone has that advantage. But you would miss it dreadfully, and find life very difficult, if the man you chose did not value your family, and the concept of family, as you do.”

Two pairs of huge blue eyes blinked at her; in that instant she knew their thoughts. Family? They weren't aware they valued the concept—it had simply been there, a constant all their lives; they had, perhaps until now, taken it for granted.

“Hmmm.” Amanda frowned.

“And, of course,” Catriona pointed out, “any gentleman wishing to marry either of you will have to run the gauntlet of your family.”

Both girls rolled their eyes.

“As if we could
ever
forget!”

“That's always a worry,” Amelia said. “What if the gentleman
we
want doesn't pass the family's inspection?”

Catriona smiled and looked down at her paste. “If the one you want meets those four criteria, I think you'll find the Cynsters will welcome him with open arms.”

C
atriona was not called upon to make any declaration on the question of her husband's complete recovery; the next morning, Richard demonstrated his return to full vigor by ensuring he reached the breakfast table a full hour before she did.

When, distinctly breathless, having lifted heavy lids and found him—and the dawn—long gone, Catriona rushed into the dining hall, she was greeted with wide smiles by the other Cynster ladies and knowing grins by the Cynster men. Straightening her spine, she swept up to the main table; her incorrigible spouse uncurled his long length and rose to pull out her chair.

“I wondered when you'd wake.”

The words, murmured in a tone of absolute innocence, brushed her ear as she sat; Catriona stifled a too-vivid recollection of what he'd done to ensure she hadn't.

Lifting her gaze, she met the Dowager's bright eyes.

“
Bon!
He is recovered, is he not? So all is well, and we really must return south—the Season will start soon, and Louise will be wanting to take the twins to the modistes.”

“Indeed,” Honoria agreed. As Patience turned to speak to the twins, Honoria turned to Catriona. “I know you'll understand—I want to get back to Sebastian. We've never before left him for so long.”