Page 93 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

He glanced at her as she strolled beside him. There was a deep contentment inside him now that hadn’t been there before; he’d never before felt on such an even keel, with his future, clear and unclouded, stretching ahead of him.

And he owed his newfound certainty, his inner peace, to her. He was beyond grateful he’d found her—the right wife, the perfect helpmate, the partner-in-life he hadn’t had the faintest inkling could exist, much less that such an intelligent, independent lady was the bride he’d instinctively if unknowingly been searching for—the one lady in the whole world he needed to complete his life.

His life as he wanted to live it.

She offered him all he needed—she anchored him and gave him the necessary insights to imbue his chosen life of investing with a wider, deeper purpose, transforming it into a more fulfilling, long-term endeavor.

She was his future in every way.

With her walking by his side, her hand in his, he was…quietly joyous.

Felicia glanced at Rand’s face, took in the softened lines and the aura of relaxed happiness that invested his expression, and felt the same emotion, powerful and strong, dwelling inside her. Filling her and pushing out all doubts. She looked ahead—not at the old oak but into the future. The future that lay all but tangibly before them. By his side, that future was one she would embrace with fervor—one she would seize and hold on to with all her heart.

But that future hadn’t just accidentally found her—it had come to her courtesy of the nobleman pacing by her side, the knight in shining armor who had swept into her life and slayed dragons left and right, then opened her eyes and shown her who she truly was.

He’d released her true self to grow, then he’d taken her hand and encouraged her to be all she could be.

She was still riding the crest of that wave of newfound growth, buoyed high and on, into their future, and she had no plans to ever slide her fingers from his.

This is life.

This is love.

And it was glorious and wonderful and exciting beyond description—she would cling to this, to him, forever, and never, ever, let go.

EPILOGUE

AUGUST 26, 1843. BERKSHIRE.

Lord Christopher Cavanaugh reached the church just in time. On the southern edge of the village of Hampstead Norreys, the Church of St. Mary the Virgin, with its proud Norman tower, had—thank God—been easy to locate. After leaving his groom, Smiggs, to deal with the curricle, Kit found the reverend standing by the door; after shaking Kit’s hand with some relief, the reverend directed him around the outside of the church toward the vestry, where, apparently, his brothers were waiting.

Striding down the side of the church, Kit felt something of the good reverend’s relief. He’d overslept; if it hadn’t been for Smiggs, Kit would still be snoring in his room at the inn in Newbury. While such a lapse might be excusable, given he’d landed in Bristol yesterday afternoon and had had to make a mad dash across the country, driving for as long as he’d been able to make out the road, if he hadn’t made it in time, his brothers would never have let him hear the end of it. He’d reached Newbury too late to forge on, so had made a halt there, leaving covering the last ten or so miles to the village for this morning.

He’d driven those last ten miles like a madman, but he’d reached the church before the bride, and with time to join his brothers for Rand’s last minutes of freedom.

Lips quirking, Kit reached for the latch of the door to the small room built off the north transept. Before he could grasp the iron ring, the door was hauled open, and his younger brother, Godfrey, looked out at him.

“It is you—I thought I recognized your footsteps. About time.” Godfrey—who appeared to have grown another lanky half foot since Kit had last seen him, which had been only a few months before—impatiently waved Kit inside. “You’re just in time.”

“But I am in time,” Kit stated, stepping into the small room and letting Godfrey—at twenty-five years old, four years Kit’s junior—close the door behind him. “And that’s what counts.” Finding his two older brothers standing before him, Kit beamed. He nodded to Ryder, who, lazily amused, nodded back, then Kit turned to Rand, reached for his brother’s hand, and, simultaneously, clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, old man, so the time has come.”

As Rand shook Kit’s hand, Rand’s answering smile held a happiness—a contentment—Kit hadn’t expected to see. He felt a jab somewhere in the region of his solar plexus; unbelievable though it seemed, apparently, Rand truly had found what Kit had long thought none of them—Rand, Kit, their sister, Eustacia, and Godfrey—would ever claim.

The sort of love Ryder, their half brother, had found with his Mary.

After what their mother, Lavinia—Ryder’s stepmother—had put her own children, Rand especially, through, Kit had assumed none of them would ever be tempted by marriage. Although Lavinia had died nearly six years ago in a self-inflicted accident, her malignant influence lived on—or so Kit had thought.

When he’d received the letter informing him of Rand’s impending nuptials, he’d assumed either Rand had fallen victim to the matchmakers—a possibility Kit had found difficult to believe—or, more likely, Rand had decided to contract some sort of comfortable marriage in order to put an end to the unrelenting onslaught of the aforementioned matchmakers.

Looking at Rand, at the shining expectation in his eyes, Kit realized his assumptions had been incorrect. With his Miss Throgmorton, Rand had found love.

“We’d thought you would meet us at the Abbey,” Ryder drawled.

Raventhorne Abbey, the principal seat of the Marquess of Raventhorne, was their ancestral home and, presently, Ryder and Mary’s principal residence, shared with their growing family. As the Abbey was only about three hours away, Rand’s family had elected to gather there before traveling to Hampstead Norreys for the service. “I’d hoped to,” Kit replied, then transferred his gaze to Rand. “But I was in Bermuda when your letter reached me—I had to race to get back in time. And then, of course, we ran into storms off the Bay of Biscay. Truth to tell, I’m just glad I got here at all.”

Rand grinned. “So am I—if you hadn’t arrived, the wedding party would have been unbalanced, and Mary and Stacie would have been exceedingly peeved.”

“The pair of them have done most of the organizing,” Ryder explained, somewhat unnecessarily as Kit was well acquainted with his sister-in-law’s and his sister’s proclivities.