enormous, the good wishes unfeigned; the sun shone down in glorious benediction as, hand in hand, they did the rounds, greeting, thanking, talking.
The crowd didn’t start thinning until late in the afternoon. Still wearing her ivory lace wedding gown heavily beaded with tiny seed pearls, Caro saw Timothy, a glass in his hand, sit down on the orchard wall, grinning as he watched the younger crew playing bat and ball along the back section of the drive. She leaned close to Michael, brushed his jaw with her lips, met his gaze. Smiled serenely. “I’m going to talk to Timothy.”
Michael looked over her head, then nodded. “I’m going to get Magnus inside. I’ll find you when I come out.”
Drawing away, leaving his side yet aware some part of her never truly would, she followed the lawn bordering the drive, and came up beside Timothy.
He glanced up as she sank onto the stone beside him. Grinned, and raised his glass to her. “An exceptional event.” He held her gaze, then took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I’m pleased you’re so happy.” Gently squeezing her hand, he released it.
They sat in the sunshine and watched the game, then she remembered and murmured, “Hedderwick sent his felicitations. He’s staying in Cornwall with Muriel. He’s a quiet man, but a steady one—I think he truly loves her, but she never seemed to see it.”
“Or wasn’t content with it.” Timothy shrugged. “That was Muriel’s choice.” Facing her, he smiled his rakish smile. “You, at least, have had the sense to plunge into life and live it.”
Caro arched a brow. “And you?”
He laughed. “As you know full well, that’s always been my creed.” His gaze went past her; he stood as Michael joined them.
They exchanged easy nods.
“How’s the shoulder?” Michael asked.
Caro listened as they swapped quips, inwardly smiled. They weren’t at all alike, yet they seemed to have settled into an easy camaraderie based on mutual masculine respect.
Then Timothy glanced down at her; she rose and slipped her hand onto Michael’s arm.
“I must leave,” Timothy said. “I’m off north to spend the next weeks with Brunswick.” He glanced at Michael, then leaned close and kissed Caro’s cheek. “I wish you both the very best of happiness.”
With an almost boyish smile, he stepped back, then turned and started up the drive.
Three paces on, he halted and looked back. Frowned at Caro. “When you come up to town,
She laughed; hand over her heart, she promised. Timothy humphed, saluted Michael, then strode away.
Michael frowned. “Just how did you damage his reputation?”
Caro looked into his eyes and smiled. “His, not mine.” She patted his arm. “We should speak with Mrs. Pilkington.”
Noting the subject for investigation later, Michael let her distract him.
They moved through the crowd, chatting, accepting wishes and farewells. There were children aplenty present, running hither and yon through the gardens and shrubbery, whooping through the orchard, playing games in the drive. Michael caught a wild throw; releasing Caro, he lobbed the ball back, stopping for a few moments to compliment the boys on their style.
Watching him smile at a towheaded lad and tousle the boy’s hair, Caro felt her heart catch. She thought she might be pregnant, but… just the thought made her so emotional it was a battle to keep her face straight, to keep the blissfully happy tears from her eyes. Not yet; today, she’d enjoy today’s joys. Once she was sure, she would share the news with Michael—a new joy for them both, one to share privately—one she’d once thought she never would know.
So she waited for him to return to her, a smile on her face, giddy exultation in her heart. When he did, they passed once more into the crowd, chatting here and there until Therese Osbaldestone summoned her with an imperious wave.
“I’ll wait here,” Michael said. Lifting her hand from his sleeve, he kissed her fingertips, and released her.
She looked at him. “Coward.”
He grinned. “Indeed.”
She laughed, and left him. Michael watched her go, saw the sharp glance Lady Osbaldestone threw him, pretended he hadn’t.
Gerrard Debbington strolled up. “I wanted to ask if you and Caro would consent to sit for me sometime.”
Michael looked his surprise. “I thought you only did landscapes?” Gerrard had built a spectacular reputation as a painter of English country scenes.
Gerrard grinned. Hands in his pockets, he looked across the thinning crowd at Caro, seated beside Lady Osbaldestone. “That’s my forte; however, I’ve recently realized there’s a special challenge in painting couples—one I hadn’t previously appreciated. I stumbled across it when I did a family portrait for Patience and Vane. To me, it’s like a different dimension—one that simply doesn’t exist in landscapes.”
He met Michael’s gaze. “I’d like to paint you and Caro—together, you have that extra dimension. As a painter, if I can capture it, I’ll be rich beyond measure.”
Michael looked across at Caro, thought of a painting that would capture what had grown between them. He nodded. “I’ll tell her.” He glanced at Gerrard. “Maybe when next we’re in town?”
Delighted, Gerrard agreed. They shook hands and parted.
Michael remained where he was, in the center of the forecourt. Others came up to make their farewells; a few minutes later, Caro rejoined him.
The sun was sinking; the next hour was one of good-byes. Only they and Magnus and Evelyn were remaining at the Manor; the London-bound crowd left in a steady stream, then the locals followed.
Devil and Honoria were the last to leave—they were driving back to London and their children, then retreating to Somersham for the next several weeks. Caro and Michael had, of course, been summoned to the family Summer Celebration and, of course, would go.
As the St. Iveses’ carriage rumbled out through the gateposts, Caro heaved a patently happy, deeply contented sigh. Equally content to hear it, Michael looked down at her, at the glorious sun-shot frizz of her golden brown hair. She glanced up; her silver eyes met his.
Then she smiled and looked across at the grass verge. “It was just there that this all started—do you remember?”
She walked the few steps to the spot on the verge a few yards from the memorial stone. His hand about hers, Michael went with her.
Glancing up, she grinned. “You called me witless.”
Staring at the grass, he squeezed her hand. “You frightened me. I knew, even then, that I couldn’t afford to lose you.”
Deliberately, he shifted his gaze to the stone. Waited… but all he heard was the birds settling in the trees, the soft whisper of the breeze. All he felt was Caro’s warmth as she leaned against him.
No screaming horses. No cold and deadening fear.
The memory hadn’t gone, but the effects had dimmed, been overlaid.
By something much more powerful.
He looked at Caro, caught her silver gaze, smiled. Lifting her hand, he kissed it, then turned away. Hand in hand, they walked to the house.
He glanced up at the windows, looked up to the attics below the roofline, and felt a sense of completion well. A sense of sureness, of anticipation—of simple happiness.
His lost family was his past; Caro was his present and his future.
He’d found his ideal bride—together, the future was theirs.
