ready to step in and defend her if need be, but everyone was as delighted to meet her and warmly congratulate them as he could wish. It seemed their marriage was universally welcomed.
From various comments he overheard, he suspected he had Mary and Stacie to thank for that unanimous benediction; it sounded as if his powerful sister-in-law and his sister had put it about that they’d been hugely relieved at the news of his engagement as they’d started to fear he would never wed.
As far as Godfrey knew, such an assertion was a huge exaggeration, but there was no doubt that Mary’s and Stacie’s transparently genuine embracing of Ellie as his bride had effectively silenced any tempted to be mean-spirited about a mature lady from a provincial gentry family snaring one of the haut ton’s most-eligible partis.
He and Ellie had just excused themselves from another group of elders and turned to move on when a line of laughing, cheering children came snaking through the milling crowd. Led by Godfrey’s oldest nephew, Ryder and Mary’s eldest son, Lord Robert, Viscount Linton, a strapping twelve-year-old, the line circled Godfrey and Ellie, then many gentle but insistent small hands and bodies urged them toward the area opening up on the dance floor.
Laughing themselves, Godfrey and Ellie consented to be herded along.
“Here they are, Mama!” Robert called, then the children melted into the crowd, leaving Godfrey and Ellie at the edge of an expanse surrounded by their loved ones and friends.
The musicians set bow to string.
Godfrey smiled at Ellie, bowed, and held out a hand. “Might I have this dance, Lady Cavanaugh?”
Ellie laughed, sank into a curtsy, and set her hand in his. “Indeed, my lord, you may.”
He grasped her fingers. Their eyes met and held as she rose and stepped close, and he slid his arm about her waist, raised her hand, and drew her to him, into the dance.
They whirled, and the rest of the world fell away. Lost in each other’s eyes, for those few moments, for him and for her, only the other existed.
Just the two of them, wrapped in a cocoon of contentment, of peace and quiet joy.
This was their new reality, and they grasped that instant to savor all it was and all it would be.
Sounds and movement as the others in the bridal party joined them drew them from their absorption, then other guests thronged the floor, and laughter and conversation abounded.
At the end of the wedding waltz, with Ellie, Godfrey escaped to the side of the room where long windows looked out over a section of the park. He lifted two glasses of champagne from the tray Mike, the footman—beaming fit to split his face—offered. Thanking Mike with a smile, Godfrey handed one glass to Ellie and sampled the other.
Ellie sipped and sighed, then surveyed the guests. “This has been”—she glanced mischievously at him—“the best wedding I’ve ever attended.”
He grinned. “It’s the best wedding I’ve ever attended as well, and I suspect I’ve been to many more than you.”
She huffed, but smiling, didn’t disagree.
Godfrey found his gaze drawn to the vista outside. “I’m dying to explore the park thoroughly.” When the snows had finally melted, he’d found a large sculpture he thought was by an Italian master. He’d since learned that the park was extensive and “all sorts of bits and pieces” were scattered through it. “The Hall is an intriguing place.”
One they’d agreed to live in, at least until Harry gained his majority; after that, they would see.
Thinking of Ellie’s brother, who Godfrey had insisted be one of his groomsmen along with Ryder, Rand, and Kit, Godfrey turned back to the crowd in the ballroom and scanned the heads. He spotted Harry chatting with Carter Cynster, a cousin of Mary’s and a budding artist whose path Godfrey frequently crossed. Carter was only a year or two older than Harry, but possessed infinitely more worldly experience. Despite that, the two had clearly found common ground.
“What do you imagine they’re talking about so avidly?”
Godfrey glanced at Ellie and saw her staring in the same direction. He looked again at the two young men, at the gestures both were making. “At a guess, I’d say hunting or shooting. Carter’s home is in the Scottish Lowlands, so there’s likely similar game there.”
He looked again at the park—at the transformation spring had wrought—then glanced around the room, at Harry, at Mr. Hinckley in his chair, part of a large circle of friends and connections that included Godfrey’s brothers. Looking farther,