The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,87
midafternoon, and all around them, the guests gathered to celebrate James and Henrietta’s wedding mingled and conversed. “Given Henrietta and James elected to have a small wedding, and it’s been more than a decade since Amelia and Amanda wed, then I’m sure if we’d opted for a small wedding, too, poor Mama would have felt quite shortchanged.”
Settling his hand over hers as it rested on his sleeve—a proprietary gesture he couldn’t seem to resist and one she didn’t appear to notice, or did and chose to allow—Ryder smiled and, like her, considered those present. Although small by ton standards, the wedding and this subsequent breakfast had overflowed with familial warmth, genial good cheer, and the expectant joy of a new couple devoted to their joint future. Participating had left him even more certain that, on his own quest for a similar future, he was precisely where he needed to be—by Mary Cynster’s side.
As Henrietta’s maid of honor, Mary was wearing a gold gown, rather than her signature blue. Most of her gowns were blue—not just her ball gowns but her day gowns and walking gowns as well—in a variety of shades that either matched or made the most of her eyes.
Which, admittedly, were a striking color.
He wondered whether their children would inherit his hazel or her blue.
Which thought, unsurprisingly, led to memories of their activities two nights before.
When they’d finally stirred and left his bed, the sense that, regardless of appearances, with her he’d stepped into unfamiliar territory had only intensified. There’d been a pronounced lack of any awkwardness; their admittedly temporary parting had all gone too easily. He’d told himself it was because between them the question of whether they would meet again in a bedroom did not apply, yet . . .
Why that ease had bothered him he had no clue, but getting her safely home had been a simple matter; if her coachman was discreet, his was even more so. But he’d insisted on seeing her into the house, thus learning of the back parlor window she used to gain access.
He hadn’t seen her last night, which the experienced strategist within considered just as well. No reason for her to realize that he was as eager for their second round as she had been for the first. She’d seemed in fine fettle the following morning when he’d taken her for a drive in the park, but from midday yesterday to now she’d been caught up in the whirl of the wedding; he’d used the time to catch up with business, but last night had joined James, most of the Cynster males, and several others in bidding adieu to James’s bachelorhood.
It had been a merry night, one filled with more examples of the familial camaraderie the Cynsters possessed in such abundance and that he craved; he wanted to establish and nurture that same feeling between the Cavanaughs, starting from his generation. Deep in his instinctive warrior-brain, he viewed such a fundamental and emotional linking as a massive strength—one his family lacked.
Beside him, Mary stirred. Before she could direct him, he stepped out, taking her on a perambulation through the gathered guests.
She shot him a glance, but he kept his gaze fixed ahead, feigning obliviousness; he delighted in confounding her, especially when she thought to order him about.
They paused to speak with Lord and Lady Glossup, James’s parents and connections of Ryder’s. The senior Glossups spent most of their time at Glossup Hall in Dorset, but they had traveled to London for the wedding. Their delight in their son’s joy was transparent, and in the company of those present the reclusive pair felt little restraint in allowing their pleasure to show.
As Ryder and Mary moved on, she leaned close and confided, “Henrietta was worried that they might find the crowd difficult, but they seem quite at ease.”
Ryder glanced at her. “They used to spend much more time in the ton, but as the years went by, they grew to prefer the country—Catherine, mostly, but Harold, too.”
“I think Henrietta was more concerned that after the unfortunate incident involving the wife of James’s older brother Henry”—Mary gestured—“Lord and Lady Glossup might find socializing more difficult, but they seem to have recovered, enough at least to do James and Henrietta proud, which is the main thing.”
“Indeed.” Ryder glanced over the heads at a sober gentleman standing quietly by one wall. “Although he put on a brave face for the wedding, Henry still seems . . .”