The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,160

the Vale again before we heard of the king’s illness, and then on his death Richard would have wanted to come south again to assess the political situation.”

Flick, who had paused to lean over the balustrade and admonish one of her sons, caught up; joining the others in looking over the crowd, she sighed contentedly. “It’s growing bigger every year—who would have thought, in that first summer in 1820, that we would, all together, create such a large and robust brood.”

Honoria snorted. “I’m quite sure our husbands, were they standing here, would claim all honors and declare the sight only right and appropriate, their due and nothing more.”

The others laughed.

“Where are they, incidentally?” Like the others, Catriona had instinctively searched for the particular Cynster head that inevitably drew her eye.

“I saw them heading for the stables.” Resignation colored Flick’s tone. “Demon insisted on riding his latest acquisition over, and, of course, the others all have to look and salivate, and ask when any offspring might be available.”

The other ladies all smiled, their shared understanding of their husbands’ foibles etched in their expressions. For several minutes, they stood and watched in silence, proud matrons regarding their growing children, while viewing the antics of those even younger with an indulgent eye.

“I have to say”—Phyllida leaned one hip against the balustrade—“that while I’m quite looking forward to getting my brood home to Devon again, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this year’s gathering.” She glanced at the others. “It feels very much as if it’s the end of an era, with a new one hovering, but not quite here yet.”

“Hmm.” Alathea was looking at a group of youngsters playing knucklebones at the bottom of the steps. “Gabriel heard that the palace is saying the coronation won’t be until the middle of next year, so we’ll have a little time before the new eventuates.”

“Socially and politically.” One fine brow arching, Honoria regarded the others. “And possibly on the family front as well.”

Patience nodded. “It is the end of a generation, isn’t it? Mary was the youngest yet unwed.”

“True,” Catriona said. “But while it will be ten or more years before the next round of weddings, the births will continue, and those we must celebrate as we always have.”

“As we always will,” Alathea affirmed. “Monarchs, politicians, and even social habits will wax and wane, but family goes on.”

“This one at least,” Honoria stated. “And given it’s up to us—and the other ladies—to steer it on, I have no doubt whatever that we’ll manage it.”

They all laughed, but underneath their amusement, all were resolved, and all understood that. When it came to family—this family—they would stand together, manage together. Go forward into the future, whatever it held, together.

As if setting out on that next phase of their journey, in a loose group they trailed down the steps and spread out among the throng.

The last to step down from the porch steps, Honoria, smiling, watched the others as they strolled into the crowd, locating and keeping watch over their bountiful broods. Every union represented there that day had proved fruitful, as the significant number of the next generation milling across the lawns and spilling into various areas of the extensive gardens testified.

Crossing to where her mother-in-law, Helena, considered the elder matriarch of the clan, sat on a bench, one of the newest additions—Portia and Simon’s Persephone—cradled on her lap, Honoria felt her smile grow wider. The tiny tot, only months old, was gurgling and waving her tiny fists in the air.

Helena looked up as Honoria approached, met her eyes, smiled her lovely smile, then directed her green gaze round about. “How many are there—do you know?”

Honoria chuckled. “I counted. We’ve reached seventy-nine, if you can believe it.”

Therese, Lady Osbaldestone, who had gone for a short walk, returned in time to hear those words. Sinking down on the other end of the bench, she protested, “But you Cynsters can’t take credit for all of those—you’ve the Carmarthen pair here, plus the Kirkpatricks—let alone the Anstruther-Wetherbys, the Ashfords, the Tallents, the Morwellans, the Caxtons, not to mention the Adairs.”

“True.” Honoria turned to look over the crowd. “But they are all connected in one way or another, and . . . well, that’s how it works, isn’t it? The friendships our children form at gatherings like this will stand them in good stead all their lives.”

Both Lady Osbaldestone and Helena nodded decisively.

“You have it exactly right,” Helena said. “This is how it happens, and you and all the others are