Page 95 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

Kit knew himself well enough to admit that he also felt just a tad jealous. Not over Felicia herself, but over the future Rand now had a chance at creating with her.

On the one hand, he would dearly like such a chance himself, but, on the other hand, after all he’d learned of his mother and her doings—in actuality, far more than Rand, Stacie, or Godfrey had ever known, and a great deal more than Ryder had ever guessed—marriage was an entanglement he couldn’t see himself ever risking.

Then the reverend pronounced Rand and Felicia man and wife, and they shared a kiss before God and the congregation. Kit found himself grinning, infected with the newly-weds’ happiness as the pair drew apart, then, arm in arm, their faces glowing, led the bridal party up the aisle.

With a proud smile, Ryder offered his arm to his marchioness. Mary took it, and they fell into step behind Rand and Felicia—slowed by the well-wishers on either side, all wanting to press their congratulations.

Kit duly paced to the center of the step and offered his arm to his enigmatic partner. “Miss Buckleberry.” He watched, waiting to catch her eyes if, finally, she glanced at him.

She did, and he discovered her eyes were a soft violet blue—periwinkle blue.

Somewhat to his surprise, she met his gaze with a very direct, level look.

Before he could say anything more, she dipped her head crisply. “Lord Cavanaugh.”

Then she placed her fingertips on his sleeve and stepped down—perforce, Kit moved with her.

As they took their place behind Ryder and Mary, Kit glanced sidelong at the confounding Miss Buckleberry, but even though he waited—and he was fairly certain she could feel his gaze—she didn’t look his way again. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed forward, her chin high…almost as if her nose was, at least figuratively, in the air.

What?

Puzzled by the muted but distinct frostiness emanating from the lady by his side, Kit wracked his brain. Had he met her before? Was she miffed because he hadn’t recognized her?

But no. He had an excellent memory for faces, and he’d take an oath he’d never seen hers before.

Buckleberry. The name rang not a single bell; he hadn’t met her father or any brother, either.

They reached the front of the church, and, after Rand and Felicia had braved a storm of rice, everyone gathered in groups on the sloping lawns to chat while the carriages were brought around.

Miss Buckleberry drew her hand from Kit’s sleeve the instant they stepped out of the church, but of necessity, she remained in the same group, more or less by Kit’s side, although she largely ignored him in a perfectly polite way.

Rand and Felicia departed first in Rand’s curricle, which had been bedecked with ribbons and rosettes. The crowd waved them off, then Ryder and Mary followed in Ryder’s curricle. The Throgmorton brougham drew up next, with Kit’s curricle following behind.

Kit studied Miss Buckleberry, then touched her arm. When she looked inquiringly at him, he waved toward his curricle.

She glanced at it, then, again, met his eyes with a direct—and faintly challenging—look. “Thank you, my lord, but it’s more appropriate that I travel with your sister in the brougham.” She turned her perfectly polite and faintly smiling gaze on Godfrey. “I’m sure you and your brother have stories to share.”

Kit stared at the confounding creature.

More appropriate?

What the devil did she mean by that?

After Felicia’s cousin Flora had taken her seat, Kit, clinging to what was—where Miss Buckleberry was concerned—fast becoming a mask of civility, handed her into the brougham, then stood aside as Godfrey helped Stacie in and Felicia’s brother followed.

Kit shut the brougham’s door, then stalked to his curricle.

Godfrey followed and climbed up to the seat beside Kit.

After Smiggs swung up behind them, Kit shook the reins, and the pair of bays obediently stepped out in the brougham’s wake.

As the curricle rolled behind the carriage, Kit rested his gaze moodily on the back of Miss Buckleberry’s fair head. She had settled beside Flora on the forward-facing seat, which left him free to glare at her as much as he wished.

Godfrey leaned back in the curricle’s seat. “We—Ryder, Mary, Stacie, and I—are leaving for the Abbey after the breakfast. Are you planning on joining us?”

“That was my intention.” Without shifting his gaze from its obsession, Kit added, “I could do with a few days of—” He broke off, then his lips twitched. “I was going to say peace and quiet, but with our nephews and niece racing about, I suspect there’ll be precious little of that. Still…”

Godfrey nodded. “I know what you mean. A stay at the Abbey might not be restful, but it is comforting.”