Meanwhile, Ellen was thanking her stars that she’d first become acquainted with Drake and Louisa during a fraught investigation. That had eased her into their world. Now, having dealt successfully with Drake—a tall, powerful, lethally focused nobleman intent on forging his own path in life—and Louisa, who was Drake’s female counterpart in every way except height, Ellen could weather interacting with an entire group of similar people, male and female both, without feeling overwhelmed—indeed, with passable aplomb.
She was especially interested in learning the ladies’ names, along with where they lived and when they were expecting or had had their first child. Lucilla, who lived in Scotland and had married first, had two-year-old twin daughters and a son of just three months. Lucilla’s sister-in-law, Niniver, had married next, and her son was now eight months old. There had, Ellen learned, been two other recent additions—a son and heir, ultimately to the dukedom, born to Antonia and her husband, Sebastian, a few weeks before Lucilla’s son had made his appearance. Most recently, a girl had arrived for Cleo and Michael; their little one was barely three weeks old and was currently being passed around among the older generation.
Louisa’s baby was expected within the month, while Prudence and her handsome Anglo-Irish husband were anticipating the birth of their firstborn early next year.
It was hardly surprising that the ladies put their heads together, largely ignoring their spouses, who looked on with proud expressions on their faces as their wives discussed all the usual issues pertaining to incorporating infants into one’s life.
Ellen was included in the group by right, and she couldn’t have been happier or felt more welcomed. These women were now her family circle, and they embraced her warmly in every way.
At one point, she managed to mentally draw back and catch her breath. Struck by how easily she’d meshed with the ladies and glancing at their husbands, talking in a circle nearby, she realized that this—family writ large—was what made clans like the Cynsters so powerful, not just socially but from bedrock up.
They might tease and laughingly taunt, but if anyone or anything threatened one of theirs, they would close ranks and defend as one.
She’d witnessed that in Toby’s and Carter’s readiness to support Drake, Louisa, and Christopher throughout the investigation.
She saw it now in the way the ladies interacted, with offers of advice, assistance, and more freely exchanged.
This was what she was now a part of—that family writ large.
The Martingales were a large family, but only loosely connected; they didn’t stand together against the world. The Cynsters’ level of support, of solid and invincible connection, was new to her, even if she recognized the forms and structures, the links.
A mix of confidence and eagerness buoyed her. She’d found her place, and she was determined to meet its challenges.
She refocused on the ladies’ conversation and discovered they’d moved on from discussing children to evaluating the prospects for the next Cynster wedding.
“Surely,” Pru opined, “it’ll be one of that recalcitrant group hugging the wall to our left.”
The others scrutinized the bevy of five males, and for Ellen’s benefit, Louisa recited, “Starting with Gregory, who you know, to his left is Justin, who is Rupert and Alathea’s eldest son. Then comes Aidan, who is Justin’s first cousin, being Alasdair and Phyllida’s eldest child—those three are all thirty, now. Then there’s Aidan’s brother, Evan, who is a year younger. And the last, the only one with fair hair, is Nicholas, Pru’s brother, who’s the same age as Evan.”
“Meaning twenty-nine,” Pru added, “and a man more stubbornly wedded to his career would be hard to find.”
“By all the signs,” Antonia observed, “it appears they’re circling and putting up defenses.”
Lucilla smiled with serene confidence. “That won’t save them.”
“No, indeed,” Louisa agreed. “It never ceases to amaze me that they so consistently fail to see their fate coming.”
“More,” Pru added, “despite all the evidence to the contrary, they cling to the mistaken belief that they actually have some say as to when Fate will strike.”
Louisa smiled at Ellen. “As we’ve just seen with Christopher, when it comes to Cynsters, Fate gives no quarter. No matter what they think, those five won’t escape.”
Louisa’s smile deepened, and she turned to bestow it on the five males. Judging by their expressions, that only made them even more wary.
By the wall, Gregory, Justin, Aidan, Evan, and Nicholas shifted restlessly under the beam of Louisa’s smile. They all breathed easier when she of the unnerving pale-green gaze, the one of their number slated to follow in their Great-aunt Helena’s footsteps, looked away.
Gregory frowned. “I wish she wouldn’t do that. It’s unsettling.”
“Indeed,” Justin replied. “And no matter what Louisa thinks, I, for one, have far too much to do to go hunting for a wife. At this point in my life, my sole goal is to establish myself in Papa’s shoes as an expert investor.”
“And I,” Nicholas declared, “have far too much on my plate managing the racing stables. Even with Toby helping with the breeders, there’s a never-ending litany of decisions to be made. Wife-hunting isn’t even on my list of possible distractions.”
Evan snorted. “I don’t think I’d label wife hunting a distraction, not in this company.”
Aidan looked around the circle and shook his head. “I’m in the same boat, but it’s fairly clear that now Christopher has fallen and most of our sisters of marriageable age—with a few exceptions, admittedly—have already dragged some poor blighter to the altar, then the combined attention of our grandmothers and great-aunts will, inevitably, focus on us.”
Nicholas shrugged. “They can focus all they like, but it’s not them living our lives. That’s our responsibility, our paths to choose. At least for the next five or so years, wife hunting will have to take second…no, make that seventh place.”
The others made sounds of agreement, and they stayed where they were, on the edge of the crowd, and sought to ensure that their grandmothers and great-aunts, especially their Great-aunt Helena and her terrifying companion, the now-ancient Lady Osbaldestone, who were clustered in armchairs farther down the room, couldn’t draw a bead on them and beckon, demanding their attendance.
Louisa was bad enough; the older generation were infinitely worse.
As it happened, the topic of discussion in the older ladies’ circle did not center on any of the as-yet unmarried males, nor even on the few Cynster girls of marriageable age yet to meet their match. Instead, the grandes dames of the older generation were covertly observing an already married couple on the other side of the room.
“I still feel a thrill on observing how much like me my namesake has become,” Lady Osbaldestone announced.
“Indeed.” Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, nodded sagely. “One has to wonder if, being acquainted with you as she grew, she consciously or even subconsciously took her lead from you. The likeness of character is striking.”
“Regardless of how it came to be,” Therese Osbaldestone returned, “I will be forever indebted to Patience for naming her daughter after me.”