The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,163
the conversations and Portia, alerted, looked around. “Oh, good heavens!” She poked Simon’s shoulder. “Go and rescue poor Milly from your son. He’ll quiet if you carry him about.”
“My son?” But Simon was already turning to the circle of nursemaids. “Why is he always my son when he’s being difficult?”
“Well, he didn’t get ‘difficult’ from me, so who else would be responsible?” Portia prodded him on his way, waved to the others, and followed.
Leaving the other four staring after them, watching . . . after an instant, each couple drew their gazes away and exchanged a private glance, then Henrietta turned to Mary just as Mary turned to her.
“We’re expecting . . .”
They’d spoken in unison. Both blinked, then identical smiles bloomed, lighting their faces.
Henrietta whooped and hugged Mary.
Who jigged and hugged her tightly back. “When?”
“March! And you?”
“Sometime in March, too!”
James and Ryder, both beaming fit to crack their faces, shook hands and clapped each other on the shoulder. “We haven’t told anyone else yet,” Ryder confessed.
“Neither have we,” James confirmed. He glanced at the crowd all around, then arched a brow at Ryder. “We thought we might wait a few months.”
“Sound notion,” Ryder said. “We thought the same.”
The men stood shoulder to shoulder and, with proud expressions stamped on their faces, watched their wives, heads together now, chattering nonstop. Then James said, “It takes a little getting used to, the notion of having a child in your life.”
“It does.” Ryder nodded. “But I can’t think of a more . . . glorious expectation.”
“True.” James drew in a half-laughing breath. “It’s a scarifying prospect, but so damned wonderful.”
Later, when they’d parted from Henrietta and James, each couple swearing to keep the other’s secret, and were once again ambling idly through the crowd, Ryder glanced at Mary, strolling by his side, her arm twined with his. “Would you like to go on a wedding trip, too?”
She considered, then looked up and, smiling, shook her head. “There’s a lot I want to get settled, at the abbey, on your other estates, and in the London house, too—all before March. I’d rather devote myself to that, and to all the rest we have on our plate, than swan around to places unknown. Sometime, perhaps, when our children are grown . . .” Brows rising, she added, “I really ought to suggest that to Mama. Once we go up to town and Stacie is settled with us, there’s no reason Mama and Papa can’t travel and see more of the world.”
Ryder’s lips twitched. “The only event I would consider less likely than your father agreeing to leave England when you and Henrietta, or Portia, or even the twins might decide to be increasing is for your mother to agree to such a trip.”
Mary grimaced. “There is that.”
A moment later, she drew him to the edge of the lawn. “I’ve been thinking that, quite aside from the estate picnic—which, by the way, I’ve decided should coincide with the harvest—as head of the Cavanaugh family, we really ought to host an event similar to this. Not just for your half siblings, but for the connections, too. As is done here.” She glanced up at him. “It helps—”
“To bind people together,” he supplied. “To give them common cause.”
“To underscore the common cause.” Mary nodded, then arched her brows. “So can we?”
Ryder smiled and started them strolling again. “Organize away, wife, with my blessing.”
“Excellent!” Beaming with anticipatory delight, Mary walked on.
Fifteen minutes later, she and Henrietta met again at the tea trolley. Once supplied with full cups by Webster, they retreated to the shade of an oak to sip.
They were sharing quiet comments on their expectations of the coming months when Lucilla walked past.
Mary frowned. “Lucilla!” When Lucilla turned, Mary beckoned.
As Lucilla drew near, Henrietta, too, frowned. She glanced at Mary. “You handed on the necklace, didn’t you? At your engagement ball?”
“Yes. Of course.” Mary looked at Lucilla. “Why aren’t you wearing it?”
Lucilla arched her brows but answered readily, “Because my time is not yet, and . . .” A faint frown disturbed the fine line of her brows. “The place, apparently, is not here.”
Refocusing on Mary and Henrietta, she grimaced slightly and shrugged. “You know how it is. I don’t know the details—I just know I have to wait.”
Someone called Lucilla’s name; she looked, then, with a small wave, left the two sisters and forged into the crowd.
Mary snorted and took another sip of tea. “Better her than me.”