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, Godfrey noted Kemp and the staff, all beaming as they ferried around trays of tea and cakes. At the last, he found Maggie chatting with a group of local young ladies while sliding surreptitious glances at Carter Cynster.
Godfrey hid a faintly cynical smile; Maggie might be dreaming, but at least she had good taste.
She was also thoroughly happy, almost as radiant as Ellie. Being Ellie’s principal bridesmaid and shouldering the duties Mary, Stacie, Felicia, and Sylvia had coached Maggie in had transformed Maggie, too. She was no longer so wildly coltish—or at least that side of her had been tempered by a newfound appreciation of the world beyond the Hall. Maggie was now looking forward to spending the upcoming Season with her aunt, Lady Camberford; with Mary and Stacie insisting on acting as pseudo-aunts as well, Godfrey felt certain Maggie would have an amazing Season.
“What are you thinking?”
Godfrey glanced at Ellie and found himself the focus of a faintly intrigued gaze. He glanced once more around the room. “I was just thinking that your family—your father, Harry, and Maggie—and the staff here as well, seem to have…” Not quite sure of what he wished to say, he gestured.
“Turned some sort of corner?”
He nodded. “Yes—as if our wedding has signaled a new dawn, somewhat like spring after winter.” He met her eyes. “Is it fanciful or vain to think that our marriage has, at least in part, been a catalyst for that?”
She studied his eyes, then gently smiling, shook her head. “I would say that our marriage is the much-desired culmination stemming from the critical incident that enabled everyone here to change—to embrace a fresh outlook on life.” Her smile deepened, and on his arm, she leaned closer. “In case you’re wondering, that critical incident was you arriving at the Hall.”
When he opened his mouth to gainsay that, she pressed her fingers to his lips. “When I was waiting for you to arrive, I had a vision of you as a knight on a white charger, and so you proved to be. You swept in and protected us and steered us through a difficult time to this”—she glanced fleetingly around—“this happiness, this splendor. And I’m not the only one to think so. I heard Papa say that he owed the National Gallery and your Mr. Eastlake his heartfelt thanks for sending you to us.”
A warm glow swelled in Godfrey’s chest. His eyes on hers, he mouthed against her fingers, “Thank you. There is nothing so wonderful as feeling needed and appreciated as well.”
When she smiled and lowered her hand, he went on, “But as to thanks, perhaps we all owe our ultimate thanks to your old Uncle Henry. Without his farsightedness, none of this would have occurred.”
Ellie laughed and raised her glass, and Godfrey raised his, and they clinked the rims. “To old Uncle Henry,” they chorused and drank.
Surveying the joyful crowd gathered to celebrate their nuptials, Ellie was struck—again—by the sense of inclusion, of being embraced into a large, noisy, rambunctious, supportive, and protective family. She hadn’t spoken lightly when she’d named Mary, Felicia, Sylvia, and Stacie—her new sisters-in-law—as the sisters she’d never had. There’d been an instant bonding, an immediate recognition of having the same values, the same fundamental aspirations and aims. And out of that, faster than she would have imagined possible, had grown trust of the sort she’d previously thought took years of shared experience to forge.
She had that now, a strong and stalwart group of ladies at her back. With their support, she felt she could face the world—even the haut ton—and weather any and all challenges the future might hold.
She looked across the room—at the painting that Mary and the others had insisted be given pride of place above the mantel of the large fireplace halfway down the long room. Carter Cynster was presently standing before it; judging by his gestures, he was lecturing a trio of older ladies on the painting’s finer points.
“I still find it difficult to take in that Ryder and Mary managed to persuade Count Wurtzberg to return the Albertinelli.”
Godfrey chuckled. “While I’m sure Ryder was appropriately intimidating, it was undoubtedly Mary who carried the day. Once she learned that the count doted on his daughter and was exercised about her chances of making a good match, she knew exactly on what front to mount her campaign.”