Page 82 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
The Countess of Glencrae’s party, held at Glencrae House in Bury Street, was strictly a family-and-close-friends-only affair.
More, the older generation had opted to reserve their energies for the formal family pre-wedding dinner on Friday, leaving the middle-aged and younger cohorts free to chat and share news of their lives in more relaxed fashion.
Meg was thrilled to be able to catch up with so many of her cousins. “Although,” she informed Drago, “strictly speaking, many are second or even third cousins.”
Taking in her eager expression, Drago smiled. “Our older families do tend to spawn many twigs on multiple branches of our family trees.” He glanced around. “That said, I doubt many families can rival the Cynsters in sheer fecundity.”
They were surrounded by a gay, rambunctious horde, all chattering at once. The noise level far exceeded anything one would encounter in a ton drawing room, but as they’d been instructed on their arrival by their hostess, Angelica, tonight was “All family, no holds barred, and no one needs to concern themselves over how they appear to anyone else.”
With all customary ton restraints removed, the Cynsters were in their element.
Drago found Meg and himself passed from group to group, as if waltzing through a kaleidoscope of the family from the senior members present—Devil and Honoria, Vane and Patience, Demon and Flick, Lucifer and Phyllida, Gabriel and Alathea, Simon and Portia, Henrietta and James, Mary and Ryder, Amanda and Martin, Amelia and Luc, Angelica and Dominic, Eliza and Jeremy, Heather and Timothy—to their numerous offspring, many of whom were now married and had their spouses in train. It wasn’t long before Drago’s head was spinning, trying to keep track of all the names.
At one point, Meg looked at his face and laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll eventually learn who everyone is.”
He wasn’t so sure about that. “They are legion,” he replied in awe. When she laughed again, he smiled, smugly satisfied.
Angelica’s husband, Dominic, Earl of Glencrae, was their host for the evening, and on his way across the room, he stopped beside them, handed Drago a glass, and poured a finger of amber liquid into it. “Try that.”
Nothing loath, Drago complied. As ambrosia burst upon his tongue, he felt his eyes go wide. He swallowed, raised the glass, and stared at the golden liquor. “That’s…exquisite.”
Dominic grinned. “Welcome to the family. We’ll send a keg as a wedding gift.” With a salute to Meg, he wandered off, bottle in hand.
Enlightenment dawned. “Glencrae—of course!” Drago looked at the glass he still held, then sipped again, closing his eyes to better savor the smooth, smoky flavor. “This stuff is rarer than hen’s teeth.”
“Dominic’s always very good about supplying the family.” Meg linked her arm in his and towed him on. “Come and meet his wards. They can tell you all about the distillery.”
That was a subject he truly was fascinated by, although he had to concentrate to decipher the soft burr of the Guisachans’ Highland accent.
When they left the pair, Meg informed him, “Angelica said the rest of the Scottish contingent will be arriving tomorrow. They rarely come to town, so have to rush to get here in time.”
“Which ones are they?”
She reeled off another string of names; he really had no hope of remembering them all. “Oh, but Carter and Calvin—they’re Richard and Catriona’s youngest two—must already be here.” On her toes, she peered over the heads. “They spend most of their time in London these days. There they are!” And she towed him on.
Sipping the excellent whisky, Drago went with a smile on his face.
As the evening wore on, he grew more aware of a realization unfurling in his brain, occasioned by a common thread he perceived in all the Cynster unions. Pru had spoken nothing but the truth: Cynsters married for love.
It was there, constant and unwavering, in the swift, shared, private looks, in the effortless interaction between each married couple. In an underlying, unstated joy, and in the confidence each demonstrated in the other.
Every couple present was a team, partners in life. An active partnership much as his parents’ marriage had been.
It wasn’t exactly an epiphany, yet it hit him with the force of one. The Cynster ideal was precisely the sort of marriage he wanted.
The sort of marriage he needed.
He’d known for some time that Meg was the right lady for him, had seen and had demonstrated just how well they could work together in forging a shared life.
All that, he already knew.
But it isn’t only that I need and want.
No, indeed, and that evening’s revelations underscored just what lay within his grasp.
Everything I’ve ever wanted and secretly hoped to have.
The couples about them were living, breathing testaments that his instincts weren’t wrong. The power in that room, the potential of the unions, was simply breathtaking.
