The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (41 page)

Let desire and need and hunger coalesce into a fire beyond their control.

Let the indescribable joy of being alive—of having cheated death together, of having survived together to come together like this, in wonder and in hope, in commitment and in reverence—flood them.

Sink and submerge them, meld and fuse them until they were one.

In love and in passion. In joy and in ecstasy.

In hope and in surrender.

To all they would be, to all that would come, to all they would create together.

Chapter Seventeen

A
shes to ashes, dust to dust.

Lavinia’s funeral marked the end of a lost era for the Cavanaughs. Ryder was determined that from that point onward, with no Lavinia attempting to create schisms between him and her children, the five of them—with Mary to guide them—would become, or grow into, the sort of family they’d all yearned to be for so long.

It would take time and a degree of learning, but they had time, were more than willing, and had Mary to help them understand when they should be sharing their difficulties. She’d well and truly taken the bit between her teeth and thrown herself into the role of his marchioness, into being the matriarch of the family, both immediate and wider, and had already made it plain that she expected any difficulties of any kind to be made known to them—if not to him, then at the very least to her.

He loved her bossiness; what always amazed him was how she got away with it. Most often he suspected it wasn’t that people agreed so much as they surrendered to a patently greater force and gave in. Increasingly quickly. He could see it becoming a habit.

There wasn’t a day when something she said or did didn’t bring a smile to his face—sometimes a smile he hid, but just as often he shared his amusement with her, just to see her narrow her vivid eyes at him, then humph and turn haughtily away.

Having her beside him through the days following Lavinia’s death, helping him to help the others over the hurdles, social and otherwise, had been a huge boon. He honestly wasn’t sure how he would have managed without her.

Together, the six of them had tackled the question of mourning. He and Mary had concluded that, for them, a week’s full mourning, followed by three weeks of half-mourning, would be appropriate; given the widely recognized antipathy between him and Lavinia, anything more would smack of hypocrisy. They’d encouraged Rand, Kit, Stacie, and Godfrey to make up their own minds; in the end, the four had decided on one month of full mourning, and three of half-mourning, and all those who gathered at Raventhorne for the funeral and wake had nodded and approved.

Following the formal funeral at the nearby church and the brief ceremony of interment, the wake, held at the abbey, was, socially speaking, more in the nature of a new beginning; the neighbors who attended made it plain they were doing so primarily to show their support of him and Mary rather than to acknowledge Lavinia’s passing other than it being the end of the past. Everyone clearly looked to him and Mary for a new direction, and to his everlasting gratitude, his marchioness was up to the challenge.

She swept regally through the crowd, dispensing grace and calm and a species of reassurance that was uniquely hers. Those who hadn’t met her before quickly thawed and smiled; those who had been previously captivated were happy to be so again. Watching her delight and manage, manage and delight, he felt reassured himself, content and more that in being there, in managing his household and, as far as he would allow, determining his life, she was in her true element.

Being his marchioness was where she should be; the position was hers—it was where she belonged.

Where she needed to be, for his sake, and hers, and that of so many others.

Throughout the afternoon, she constantly circled, popping up beside him to lay a hand on his arm, to lean close and ensnare his senses while sharing a shrewd observation or comment, and then she would be off again, sweeping on to oversee and direct.

One who had attended the service, the interment, and the wake was Claude Potherby. In light of what Ryder knew of the man’s long-standing devotion to Lavinia, he had sent Potherby a personal note, inviting him to attend. Potherby had come but had remained at the wake only long enough to satisfy social expectations; his role as Lavinia’s confidant had been widely known.

Potherby had looked shattered; he’d aged ten years in less than a week. He’d seized a private moment to ask Ryder whether Lavinia had taken her own life. When Ryder had assured him that her death had been an accident, brought about by an attempt to flee justice, Potherby had nodded and quietly reflected, “She wouldn’t have chosen it, but this end . . . might well have been for the best.” After a moment, he’d added, “For her . . . and for me.” Glancing at Ryder, he’d somewhat ambiguously said, “It’s time I moved on.”

After tendering transparently sincere wishes for Ryder’s, Mary’s, and the Cavanaugh family’s future, Potherby had departed.

Thinking back to that conversation, Ryder had to agree with Potherby’s direction; it was, indeed, a day for counting blessings, and then moving on.

Apropos of which, looking over the sea of heads crowding the abbey’s drawing room, he felt as if he was, at last, setting out unencumbered on the path he’d promised his father he would take. For the Cavanaughs, his time would be one of rebuilding. And, glancing around, he no longer lacked for guidance in how best to accomplish all he wished.

Devil and Honoria, as well as Lord Arthur and Lady Louise, had come from London to represent the Cynsters. Mary had blinked at him when he’d asked if the rest of her immediate family would attend—as if the answer was so obvious the question hadn’t needed to be asked.

As, apparently, it hadn’t; all her closest family were there—from Simon and Portia, and Henrietta and James, to Amanda and Martin, and Amelia and Luc.

Somewhat to Ryder’s surprise, Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, the elder matriarch of the Cynster clan, and her bosom-bow, Therese, Lady Osbaldestone, had arrived with Devil and Honoria. Lady Osbaldestone had shrewdly looked him up and down, then told him being Mary’s husband suited him, and that he would do. Bad enough, but mere minutes later, Helena had patted his cheek, told him he was a good boy, and that all would be well—he would see.

His instincts had all but jibbered.

Later, when he’d mentioned the exchange to Mary, clearly seeking reassurance, she’d told him Helena was widely regarded as perspicacious in the highest degree, and that he should be grateful she hadn’t been more explicit.

Apparently, his instincts had been right.

Yet in terms of family, appreciating the strength and innate power the Cynsters possessed—what the result of successive generations who had stood together had generated—and knowing that the main line of the Cavanaughs had been reduced to him and his half siblings, the route to the future, the future he wanted to create, was clear.

The clocks throughout the house had just chimed three times when Mary swanned up, twined her arm with his, and turned him toward the door. “It’s time to go out to the porch and wave people off.”

Closing his hand over hers on his sleeve, he was only too happy to obey.

Naturally everyone followed their lead.

Despite the somber reason for the gathering, people departed with smiles and waves. Within half an hour, the bulk of the guests had left, and Ryder allowed Mary to lead him back inside to the library, where those staying overnight had retreated.

Mary paused in the front hall to confer with Forsythe and Mrs. Pritchard, who’d been waiting for her instructions. Footmen and maids were already in the drawing room, setting the big room to rights. After commending the staff on their performance, she confirmed the arrangements for dinner. “As I suspected, we’ll be fourteen at table.”

“Indeed, ma’am,” Forsythe said. “In the formal dining room, then.”

Mary hesitated, but then nodded. “Yes—it will be an excellent opportunity to open up that room.”

With a nod of dismissal, she turned back to Ryder, waiting patiently by her side. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, she said, “It went well, don’t you think?”

Resuming their progress toward the library, he closed his hand, warm and strong, over hers. “Exceedingly well. An end on the one hand, a beginning on the other.”

“Exactly.” She wasn’t surprised he’d seen it as she had.

“So who is staying—you said fourteen?”

“Yes. Devil and Honoria took Helena and Lady Osbaldestone back to town, so it’s only my parents and brother and sisters and their spouses, and your half siblings.”

“Good.” When she glanced up and met his eyes, a question in hers, he explained, “We need to discuss arrangements for Stacie and Godfrey in particular, and I would value your parents’—and your siblings’—thoughts.”

Drawing her hand from his arm as he opened the library door, she grinned. “Don’t worry. You won’t even need to ask—they’ll offer their opinions regardless.”

From Ryder’s point of view, that would be another blessing for which to be grateful.

They joined the others on the sofas and chairs, and after a brief review of the day, Mary turned the conversation to the question of where Stacie and Godfrey would now reside. “You’re all welcome here at any time, of course, but what do you wish to do in London?”

Rand had his lodgings. “But sadly I have no extra rooms.”

Neither did Kit. “Moreover, I need to find a new place.”

Ryder looked at him and Godfrey. “You can return to live at Raventhorne House if you wish—it’s more than big enough, and Mary and I will only be there during the Season and for a few weeks in autumn.”

Kit and Godfrey exchanged glances, then Kit looked back at Ryder. “Perhaps we can try that, at least to begin with, then see how we fare?” He smiled at Mary. “Mary might find us too bothersome, or wish us out of your hair come spring and the Season, but for now . . . the two of us moving back to Raventhorne House might serve.”

Tapping one finger on the chair arm, Ryder said, “Next point—the Chapel Street house. It’s owned by the estate. Do you wish it retained, or should it be sold?”

Despite Lavinia’s children all promptly declaring they wanted nothing to do with that house, the discussion was lengthy, weighing up the various options such as hiring the place, balancing the long-term costs of staffing and upkeep against the value to the estate, but, ultimately, selling the property was the unanimous verdict. Ryder was grateful for the knowledgeable inputs from Lord Arthur, Louise, and the twins and their husbands. He inclined his head. “That’s settled then. I’ll send word to Montague.”

“Excellent.” Mary turned to Stacie. “That leaves us with Stacie to organize.” She smiled encouragingly at Ryder’s half sister. “As I mentioned, you will always be welcome here, but as Ryder said, at least until the Season next year, aside from the weeks of the autumn session, he and I will most likely remain in the country. However, I imagine you would prefer to be in town for more weeks than that.”

Stacie grimaced. “Well, to begin with, I need to go back and pack, especially if the Chapel Street house is to be sold. And although that might take only a week or so, I do have several weddings of friends to attend, and other invitations I had already accepted . . .” She paused, then in a smaller voice said, “I could cry off—”

“If I might make a suggestion?” Smiling, Louise waited for Ryder as well as Mary to incline their heads, then she looked at Stacie. “If you would like it, you’re welcome to stay with us in Upper Brook Street. Now Mary and Henrietta are both gone, as well as the others”—Louise waved at Amanda, Amelia, and Simon—“there’s just Arthur and me, so we’ve more than enough room, and in general I would be attending all the events you’ve been invited to—I would be happy to act as your chaperon, at least until the autumn session when Mary returns to town.” Louise looked at her youngest daughter, and a slow, anticipatory smile curved her lips. “And then, perhaps, we might all go about together until Mary learns the ropes of how to be a chaperon—not a role she’s previously been called on to perform.”

The rest of Mary’s family laughed; a slew of comments, observations, and stories ensued, many pointed, all amusing, and all thoroughly good-natured in a family-teasing kind of way.

Ryder listened to the happy ribbing, saw Mary’s eyes sparkle as she capped one of Luc’s comments with a quip of her own—saw his half siblings watching, noting, taking it in, with a longing that mirrored his own, a wish to understand, experience, and be a part of just such an interaction.

This was the other side of family—the warmth, the support, the detailed understanding and unconditional acceptance of who and what each member was, what they could contribute, their traits and foibles, their strengths and passions, and the abiding affection and inclusiveness that embraced each individual and forged them into such a powerful whole.

Family—strength, warmth, support—power.

After being reassured several times by multiple people that she would not in the least be in anyone’s way, Stacie accepted Louise’s proposal. Older head and younger bent together to plan.

As a group, they spent the rest of the day and the early evening together, chatting amiably, discovering common interests and pursuing them, eventually devolving into two groups, the ladies settling in the library chairs to swap tales of fashion and scandal, while the gentlemen took themselves off to the billiard room, there to engage in an impromptu tournament, Cavanaughs versus Cynsters and connections.

Neither side won.

Dinner, even held in the grand and gracious setting of the formal dining room, wasn’t, in that company, allowed to be anything but a relaxed affair, a fitting end to the last hours of unwinding. After passing the port and brandy, the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room; by the time everyone trooped up the stairs an hour and a half later, the dark strain of the earlier part of the day had been wiped away, and every last one of them, Ryder would have sworn, was focused ahead.

Looking forward to the next day, and the next, and to all that their lives would bring.

Mary paused in the gallery at the head of the main stairs to bid her family—both sides of it—a good night, and to ensure they all remembered where their rooms were. After seeing everyone off down the right corridors, she smiled, turned, and found Ryder waiting.

As she’d known he would be.

Slipping her hand into his, she strolled by his side down the corridor to their apartments. Her heart felt buoyant; she felt like swinging their linked hands and skipping along, but now she was a marchioness that, sadly, would not accord with her dignity.