Page 85 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
He didn’t have to feign interest. When, after chatting with Gerrard Debbington, the renowned painter, and Meg’s cousin Carter Cynster, as Drago and Meg moved on and she cocked a questioning brow his way, he could assure her with absolute sincerity, “Your family’s accumulation of talents truly is amazing.” Faintly, he frowned. “I can’t understand why the Helmsfords haven’t diversified to the same extent.”
That was a potential weakness he should attend to at some point.
Possibly by having a quiverful of children and sending them questing in every direction of modern life.
As if reading his mind, she replied, “There’s always time.”
He grinned to himself and allowed her to steer them on.
The overwhelmingly encouraging, happy, and positive atmosphere was universally supported. The ancient ones smiled benevolently, and the middle-aged generation were plainly delighted with the alliance. Many were already busy forging connections and making plans.
As for his and Meg’s generation… Drago had thought he, his siblings, and his cousins were close, but they had nothing on the huge tribe of Cynsters. They, it seemed, didn’t just keep abreast of the major milestones in each other’s lives but actively engaged with each other, dabbling and assisting in each other’s business, and their spouses were also active members in what seemed akin to a teeming cauldron of practical support to which all members freely contributed and drew from at need.
The idea that through marrying Meg, he and the dukedom of Wylde would gain open access—indeed, be expected to call on—such an immense range of knowledge and skills left Drago a trifle giddy.
Suddenly, the future looked filled with an immense potential he hadn’t known might be there.
All through marrying Meg.
He raised her hand from his sleeve and, gripped by a sense of gratitude to both her and Fate, pressed a kiss to her knuckles and, ignoring her questioning glance, allowed her to lead him on.
Soon after, they were summoned to dinner. As the guests of honor, he and Meg were seated in the center of the long banquet table, surrounded by their siblings and cousins. The meal was predictably sumptuous, the many courses nothing short of superb. Wine flowed freely, and toasts were duly offered and drunk, while otherwise, a steady hum of conversation enveloped the entire table.
While the desserts were being set out, Drago stole a moment to look up and down the long board, surveying the faces he could see. Every single one was aglow; everyone there was engaged and absorbed. Indeed, if the bright expressions were any indication, everyone was enjoying themselves immensely.
This, he reflected, was unquestionably the most pleasant of the many such evenings he’d participated in over the years.
After dinner, with the gentlemen forgoing the chance to sit apart and instead joining the ladies, the company repaired to the large drawing room and continued to chat in the more relaxed vein facilitated by excellent food and wine.
Standing beside Drago before the ornate fireplace and surrounded by a constantly shifting crowd of her siblings, cousins, and their assorted spouses, Meg was aware of a rising tide of excitement, of eagerness for the wedding tomorrow, that swirled about them, buoying her spirits and those of everyone there.
As Anthi gushingly observed, “Thank goodness the wedding is tomorrow! Being this giddy is exhausting!”
Everyone around them laughed, although fellow-feeling gleamed in many an eye.
This wouldn’t be the last Cynster wedding of this generation—there were several members younger than Meg who had yet to find their match—yet for some reason, possibly due to Drago’s rank and the potential importance of the alliance, significantly more attention than usual had been focused on their union.
Then Drake, with Louisa on his arm and accompanied by Aidan and Evan, strolled up, and under cover of the wider conversation, with a nod to her and Drago, Drake said, “We thought you should hear this.”
Louisa smiled. “So you can trip up the aisle with rather fewer cares.”
Aidan huffed. “I don’t know about walking up the aisle—you’ll be doing that regardless—but I can confirm that the funds your late father left in trust are exactly where they should be and, as one would hope, have grown substantially over the years.”
Drago nodded. “Thank you. So there’s nothing amiss there.”
They all looked at Evan, who duly reported, “I checked into the potential beneficiaries named in your father’s will. All three are well-known charities, and all are well-governed and entirely solvent and operating within their means. I looked, but could find no hint of a reason any of the three would be desperate for more cash. Well,” he temporized, “other than for their usual purposes. Charities always want more funds, but there’s no unusual or suspect activity at any of those three.”
Drake nodded. “And I can add that Toby, Carter, Justin, and several others I thought might have useful contacts have quietly and discreetly asked around, but no one’s found anything to indicate that anyone we don’t know about might benefit in any way from you two”—he dipped his head toward Meg and Drago—“failing to tie the knot.”
“Or alternatively,” Louisa put in, “be disadvantaged in some strange way because of you marrying.” She shook her head. “Aside from pointless jealousy, I couldn’t turn up a whisper of a possibility from even the most ancient of the grandes dames.”
Of all their number, Louisa was acknowledged as having the ear of the older generation of ton matriarchs.
Reassured, Meg smiled gratefully.
But then she noticed that Drago, Drake, and indeed all the others weren’t smiling. If anything, they’d grown more serious. Toby came up and joined the circle, and he looked equally somber.
“That means,” Drago said, his expression unreadable, “that we still have no idea what the motive behind the attacks is.”
