Stephanie Laurens - All About Love

Then it was done, and the last member of the Bar Cynster was wed.

Lucifer bent to kiss Phyllida; the sun broke from the wispy clouds to pour through the oriel window, enclosing the bride and groom in a nimbus of jeweled light. Then they smiled and turned, man and wife, to greet their family and friends.

At the bride and groom's insistence, the wedding breakfast was held at the Manor. The guests spread through the house, spilled onto the lawns, and strolled the wonderful garden. Standing at one side of the lawn with his father, Gabriel, and Demon, Lucifer watched as Celia all but paraded her new daughter-in-law, her delight in her second son's choice plain to see. Phyllida had, to the last, remained nervous of her reception into the ducal dynasty; it had taken Celia only three minutes to lay such trepidations to rest. In doing so, she'd earned her second son's enduring gratitude, but that wasn't something he intended to tell her. As a Cynster wife, Celia had weapons enough.

Beside him, Martin chuckled, the sound fond but wary. Lucifer, Demon, and Gabriel glanced at him, then followed his gaze to where Celia and Phyllida had met up with Alathea and Flick. They had their heads together.

Lucifer straightened. Demon sighed. Gabriel shook his head. It was left to Martin to put their thoughts into words. "Why we bother fighting it, the Lord only knows. Inevitability, thy name is woman."

Lucifer's lips lifted. "Actually, for us, I believe that should go: Inevitability, thy name is wife."

"Too true," Gabriel murmured.

"Indeed." Demon watched as their four ladies broke from their huddle and headed their way. "What now?"

"Whatever it is, we can't escape," Martin replied. "Take my advice-surrender with good grace." He strolled forward to intercept Celia.

Gabriel grimaced. "I wish he hadn't used that word."

"'Surrender'?" Demon asked.

"Hmm. It might be the truth, but I don't want to hear it." So saying, Gabriel gracefully deflected Alathea, turning her toward the shrubbery.

"There's a secluded little folly down by the lake," Lucifer murmured to Demon.

"Where are you headed?" Demon murmured back.

"There's this arbor in the garden I'm working on filling with pleasant memories."

Demon grinned. "Good luck."

Lucifer saluted as they parted, each to his own special lady. "Good luck to us all."

And with that, the Bar Cynster surrendered gladly, each to his own, very special, fate.

It was nearly two years to the day that she'd first sighted this house, first strolled the wide lawns. Honoria, Duchess of St. Ives, stood on the front porch of her home, Somersham Place, and looked about her, marveling at the changes, and at how much, despite all, remained the same.

The side lawn was filled with family and connections, the froth of summer gowns scattered like confetti over the green. Many had taken advantage of the shade offered by the ancient trees to lounge at ease; others strolled, stopping by the various groups to chat, to learn the latest news, and, most of all, to greet the new family members.

There were many of those. That fact infused the gathering with an untempered joy, an effervescent sense of burgeoning life that was tangible.

Two years ago, many of those present had gathered here to mourn. Although Tolly, and even Charles, had not been forgotten, the family, like all great families, had moved on. They'd prospered, they'd conquered-now they were enjoying the fruits of their labors.

Cradling one such apple in one arm, Honoria raised her skirts and descended to the lawn. Before she'd taken three steps, her husband detached himself from one group and strode, fiendishly handsome and arrogantly confident as ever, to join her.

"How is he?" Devil bent his dark head to peek at his second son.

Michael blinked, yawned, then grabbed his sire's finger.

"He's fed and dry and therefore content. And I believe it's your turn to play nursemaid." Honoria divested herself of the shawl-wrapped bundle. Devil accepted the charge with alacrity. Honoria hid her grin; she knew he'd been waiting to play the proud father. It never ceased to amaze her that he-indeed, all the males of his family-while so strong and powerful and so arrogantly assured, so totally dominant, could and would, at the wave of a tiny hand, readily devote himself so completely to his offspring.

"Where's Sebastian?" She scanned the lawns for sign of their firstborn. He'd recently started to walk; running could not be far behind.

"He's with the twins." Devil lifted his head and located the girls. "They're on the steps of the summerhouse."

There was a frown in his eyes; Honoria knew it wasn't because he doubted the twins' ability to watch over Sebastian. She patted his arm; when he transferred his pale green gaze to her face, she smiled up at him. "Consider this. Better they dream of having children of their own, therefore accepting all the steps that come before, than that they don't."

It took him a moment to follow her reasoning, then his eyes hardened. "I'd rather they didn't think about any of that at all."

"You've as much chance of achieving that as of holding back the sun." She squeezed his arm, then waved imperiously toward the guests. "Now go and play host and show off our son, while I go and admire the others."

Majestically established in a wrought-iron seat placed at the center of the lawn, the Dowager and Horatia held court. Between them, they lovingly juggled three tiny, shawl-wrapped bundles, exclaiming fondly, displaying their grandchildren for the edification of the surrounding crowd that, for the past thirty minutes, had constantly changed but not diminished in the least.

In a lounger to one side of the seat, Catriona, Lady of the Vale, lay resting, still pale, her hair a fiery halo around her head. The glow in her face as she watched Helena cradle her babies rendered her nothing less than radiant. She looked precisely what she was, a madonna who'd been blessed.

Richard stood beside the lounger, his fingers entwined with hers. His gaze constantly switched from his wife to his children and back again. The expression in his dark eyes, on his lean, harsh-featured face, spoke louder than words of his pride and his joy.

Twins-one boy, one girl. If Catriona had guessed, she hadn't said a word, knowing how important it had been for Richard to travel south for this summer gathering of his clan. But twins rarely obeyed the typical schedules; they'd arrived a month early, small but hale and whole. So the next Lady of the Vale, Lucilla, had been the first ever born outside that mystical Scottish valley. She'd been born here, at Somersham Place, the ancestral home of her Sassenach forebears. Catriona had accepted that without a blink-she'd merely smiled and reminded Richard that the Lady knew what she was about.

And to keep him busy, there was Marcus-a son to train in all the complex management of the Vale lands and the people they supported. That was no longer a job that could be done by just one, so now they had two.

While much attention centered on the twins' red heads, there was just as much lavished on the fair-haired bundle Horatia rocked and jiggled. Christopher Reginald Cynster, Patience and Vane's son, had been born four weeks before, two weeks after Michael had made his orderly appearance. Thus, in common with Michael, Christopher was now an old hand at family gatherings; he yawned hugely, then batted aside his blankets, trying to latch onto a trailing lock of his grandmother's hair.

Everyone watching cooed and smiled delightedly; Christopher took it as nothing more than his due.

Noting his detachment, Lady Osbaldestone snorted. "A Cynster to his toes-already! Always knew it was inherited. Looks to have passed on undiluted." She shook her head, then paused, then she cackled as she turned away. "Heaven help the ladies of 1850."

Honoria checked that Helena and Horatia weren't tiring, exchanged a soft word and an understanding smile with Catriona, pressed Richard's hand, then moved on, looking over the throng, checking all was as it should be.

Having been delivered four weeks before, Patience was fully recovered, up and about. However, since it was his first time, Vane had yet to reconcile himself to allowing his wife out of his sight, indeed, very far from the protective circle of his arm. Honoria found them chatting with the General, Flick's erstwhile guardian, and his son, Dillon; they'd driven across for the day from Newmarket. In that circle, horses reigned supreme. Honoria exchanged speaking glances with Patience, then strolled on.

Flick and Demon were standing with a group surrounding Great-aunt Clara and little Miss Sweet, whom Lucifer and Phyllida had brought with them from Devon. Clara had already asked Miss Sweet to visit her in Cheshire; arrangements were being discussed and plans made.

Elsewhere, Gabriel and Alathea, and Lucifer and Phyllida, like Flick and Demon, were making the rounds, ensuring they met and spoke with all the relatives, all the connections and close acquaintances, who had eagerly traveled to Cambridgeshire for the express purpose of meeting the new wives, and welcoming them and the latest crop of infants into the wider family.

Satisfied that all was well, Honoria spent a few minutes quietly slipping through the shade, noting, as a matriarch should, just where and with whom, and in what manner, the younger members of the family were employed.

Simon was there, growing taller by the hour, or so it seemed. His fair hair shone guinea-gold in the sun, as bright as Flick's. His face was finer boned than those of his older cousins, not as overtly aggressive. But the same strength was there, behind a countenance that was so like an angel's that it would undoubtedly, in time, make women weep. He was not of the Bar Cynster, but he was a Cynster nonetheless-the one who would bridge the gap between Honoria's sons' generation and their fathers'.