Her smile converting to a grin, Catriona climbed the steps and pushed through the heavy back door. Cynsters, she'd decided, were simply larger than life.

Two of them were baking bread. Up to their elbows in flour, Amelia and Amanda stood at the kitchen table, giggling with Cook's girls as they all kneaded dough. All the girls were flushed, Amelia's and Amanda's ringlets were dancing, their huge cornflower blue eyes brilliant with laughter. Even with flour smudges over their pert noses, they were beauties.

Beautiful young English ladies from one of the very best of the old families.

They could still giggle with the best of them. While certainly not unconscious of their charms, neither twin seemed to have a "conscious" bone in her body-while neither would ever forget who they were, they were openly friendly and ready to be pleased.

Cook's girls were in awe, but equally ready to join in the fun.

"Perhaps we could do the loaves in braids-like this." Amelia created a distinctly skewed braid with her dough.

"Aunt Helena likes bread made like that," Amanda explained, "but perhaps we should try some different shapes-braids might not be to the gentlemen's taste."

Smiling broadly, Catriona passed on, leaving them devising all manner of fancy loaves. Those sitting down to lunch would have a new interest.

Heading into the house, she passed the archway to the second kitchen, which housed the main ovens of the manor. And halted-arrested by the sight of two derrieres, side by side, one cloaked in serviceable drab, the other in fashionable twill.

"Hmm-I think it needs a touch more rosemary." Bent over, peering into the dark cavern of the roasting oven, Honoria passed the basting ladle to Cook.

Who nodded her grey head. "P'raps, p'raps. And maybe a pinch more tarragon and a clove or two. Just to pick it up a bit, like."

Neither heard her, neither turned around; both continued to study the roast with absolute concentration. Smiling still, Catriona glided on.

"I have always found that a soupcon of lavender in the polish is the perfect touch. It freshens a room without overpowering."

"I do so agree, madam. And it makes the beeswax just that bit softer, to go just that bit farther. Can I help you to a little bit more sherry, Your Grace?"

Prom the shadows of the corridor, Catriona watched Mrs. Broom refill the sherry glass clasped between the Dowager's fine fingers. A ring of emeralds and diamonds flashed as the Dowager gestured her thanks.

"I have noticed," she said, as Mrs. Broom returned to her chair, "that your silver has a very nice luster. What polish do you use?"

"Ah, well, now-that's a bit of a vale secret, that is. Howsoever, seeing as you're family now…"

Shaking her head, Catriona glided silently on, storing the moment in her memory to describe to Richard later. The Dowager could very well have sat in the drawing room and commanded Mrs. Broom's presence; instead, she'd elected to take sherry with the housekeeper in her snug little parlor. The better to learn her secrets.

The Dowager was incorrigible.

Her smile wreathing her face, Catriona stepped into the hall-and remembered those she had not seen in her journey through the nether regions. The manor's tribe of children. They'd been noticeably absent-not one small body had she seen, not one shrill shriek had she heard.

Which was not necessarily a good thing.

Where were they? And what were they up to?

She detoured via the games room-and found her answers. Patience was sitting on the rug before the hearth, her elegant skirts spread wide to accommodate the kittens, playing, rolling, batting at fingers and hands. The children were all gathered about, quietly enthralled.

"Ooh, look!" one said in wonder. "This one likes my hair."

"Their claws are sharp."

"Indeed," Patience warned, "and so are their teeth."

She looked up at that moment and saw Catriona-Patience raised her brows in question. Catriona smiled and shook her head.

"Ow!"

Patience turned back. "Now be careful-they're only very young and don't mean to hurt."

With her manor filled to bursting, and yet, at peace, Catriona headed on to the stillroom.

She was there an hour later when Patience put her head around the door. "Can I interrupt?"

Catriona grinned. "Please do-I'm only refreshing the linen sachets."

"Perhaps I could help." Pulling a stool up to the other side of the table at which Catriona sat, Patience settled and picked up one of the small linen bags. "I'll sew them up, if you like."

"You can interrupt me any time," Catriona informed her pushing the needle and thread over the table. "That's the part I hate."

Once they'd settled to their tasks, Patience said: "Actually, I was wondering it you could recommend anything to help settle my stomach." She caught Catriona's eye and grimaced. "Just in the mornings."

"Ah." Catriona smiled and dusted off her hands. "I have a tea that should help." She had the canister to hand. "It's mainly chamomile."

The family had celebrated Patience and Vane's good news with a boisterous round of toasts around Richard's bed some nights before. Honoria had tried to take a backseat, claiming a second pregnancy was less news than a first-they hadn't let her succeed. However, other than exchanging warm glances, she and Richard had said nothing; both, independently, had felt the need to keep their news to themselves for a time-to savor it fully before sharing it with others. Setting the canister down, she found a cloth bag and filled it with the leaves. "Have the maid brew this for you every morning and drink it before getting out of bed-it should soothe you."

It worked for her.

Patience took the bag gladly. "Thank you. Honoria doesn't seem to be affected-she says she only feels woozy for about a week."

"All women are different," Catriona assured her as she returned to her task of stuffing dried herbs into the linen sachets.

A companionable silence descended, then the door opened; Honoria looked in. She smiled. "There you are. Perfect. I wanted to ask if you had any remedies made up for teething infants." Pulling up another stool to the table, she picked up an empty sachet and started to stuff it. "Sebastian's cut his first two teeth, but the rest seem to be causing him more bother. He gets so fractious-and, if anything, he can out-bellow his father."

Patience chuckled.

Catriona grinned and slipped from her stool. "Cloves should help. I have an ointment made up here somewhere."

While she poked about and found the jar, then filled a smaller jar for Honoria, the other two industriously stuffed and sewed.

"Actually," Honoria said, handing a stuffed sachet to Patience, "when you come to visit I must get you to go through our stillroom. I know the basics, of course, but I'm sure you could give me a few lessons to good effect."

"Hmm." Patience looked around at the neat rows of bottles and jars, all filled, all labelled. "And when you've finished in Cambridgeshire, you can come and visit in Kent."

Ordinarily, she would instantly have said that she never left the vale; instead, visited by an impulse she couldn't define, Catriona smiled warmly. "We'll see."

They all gathered for lunch that day-when the gong sounded, the three ladies left the stillroom where they'd spent a companionable hour finishing the linen sachets and comparing household notes. As she strolled with her sister-in-law and cousin in law to the dining hall, Catriona could not recall any similar experience. She'd never been party to such a discussion before, never been exposed to the warmth of shared confidences and freely offered advice.

She'd never felt as close to any other lady as she now did to Honoria and Patience. Yet another revelation of what she had not known could be.

The dining hall was its now customary hub of noise and energy. As she took her seat, she looked over her guests with an affection she'd never before experienced. A growing affection.

They, of course, simply took it as their due; they smiled, grinned and even winked at her, then settled to entertain themselves and everyone else. They were all so powerfully alive, so sure of themselves, so innately confident, yet not high in the instep at all; the manor folk, the vale folk-all her people-had taken them to their hearts.

The Dowager sat beside McArdle and lectured him on taking more exercise, something Catriona had tried to hint to him for years. The Dowager didn't hint-she told him. With extravagant gestures cloaked in Gallic charm.

And, of course, McArdle listened, and nodded his head in agreement.

Cook and Honoria compared notes on the success of their efforts with the roasted meats, while the twins called everyone's attention to the highly varied loaves scattered about the tables, prettily sharing all compliments thus gained with Cook's three girls, who turned beet-red with confusion.

Henderson, Devil and McAlvie sat at another table, deep in discussion of who knew what; farther along, Vane and Gabriel were chatting with Corby, Huggins and the stable-lads-about horses if their gestures were any guide.

Outside the weather was still raw and cold, but inside, the manor was aglow with warmth and laughter. Smiling benignly, Catriona looked out over her extended household and silently blessed them, every one.

Later that afternoon, she left Richard, grumbling, to rest, and went out to watch the riding lessons.

Vane had discovered Richard's attempts in that direction-he'd told Devil and Gabriel.