Page 91 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

Kit retained his hold on her hand. “When did your mother die?”

“When I was seventeen.” She paused, then lightly squeezed his hand. “The household here was long established. Papa had the Henleys, Egbert, and our cook, and Deacon Harris, and all the parishioners—let alone the bishop and Papa’s other friends in the church. Once our sorrow had passed, Papa didn’t need me to keep house for him or entertain him—he still had his life.” She tipped her head, as if viewing something only she could see. “Eventually, I realized that I needed to make a life of my own, and that led me to start on the journey that, ultimately, led to me founding the school.”

Kit suspected there had been more to her life than that, but learning of her past could wait; he was more concerned with her future. He raised her hand and dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “How soon can we wed?”

She glanced at him sidelong, a smile curving her lips. “Impatient?”

“Very.” Now he’d got past the proposal and her father’s agreement, he wanted nothing more than to formally claim her as his and install her in his home.

“Banns, I fear, are a necessity in this case.”

He’d expected that. He nodded. “So three weeks clear, then the wedding?”

“And today’s the first of October and a Sunday, too,” she said, “so late this month or early the next.” She arched a brow at him. “Will that suit, my lord?”

With his free hand, he sketched a flourishing bow. “It will.” It would have to; he could only hope the time flew. But the weeks between would give her time to prepare, to arrange a wedding gown and her attendants and all the other things females so delighted in when it came to weddings. Felicia, Stacie, and Mary would, undoubtedly, throw themselves into assisting, and Kit realized he wanted that period of building anticipation and joy for Sylvia.

He liked to plan ahead, and so did she. “Once we’re wed, I take it you won’t be averse to living in the city?”

She turned her head to study him. “You have a house, don’t you? I assumed we’d live there.”

He inclined his head. “That would be my preference, but if you wished to reside somewhere outside the city itself…”

“No.” She tilted her head, her gaze on his face. “Is your house big enough? You mentioned it’s in Queen’s Parade—that’s a very acceptable neighborhood.”

“It’s definitely big enough. I have the beginnings of a staff—a majordomo, an excellent cook, Smiggs, and, of course, a footman-in-training. I daresay you’ll wish to—indeed, will need to—add to them.”

She smiled. “I imagine hiring a housekeeper and maids would be wise.”

“I’ll leave that to you and Gordon—my majordomo. He’s young and learning the ropes, so he’ll be grateful for your guidance. He was a footman at Raventhorne Abbey—I stole him away from Mary, but as they have a surfeit of footmen, she didn’t really mind.”

“I’m glad you warned me.” Consternation seeped into her expression, then she gripped his hand a little tighter. “I just realized I’ve agreed to marry into the nobility. I’ll have to entertain lords and ladies and, possibly, even duchesses.” Her tone had turned faintly aghast.

Smiling, he squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Behind the titles, we’re all just people. Wealthier, perhaps, but you can’t take even that for granted. And you’ve met Mary and Stacie and several others of the family already, at Rand’s wedding. And if Felicia, of all ladies, can cope with the challenge of us without turning a hair, then I’m more than confident that you will, too.”

She tipped her head consideringly. “There is that. Felicia is more…unworldly than I am.”

“Buried at Throgmorton Hall as she was, she unquestionably had much less experience of the wider world than you. You’ve been dealing with the directors of the Dock Company, the Dean, and the luminaries of Bristol society for years. Handling a few members of the haut ton won’t even count as a challenge.”

He shifted on the bench, half facing her and drawing her hand to where he could enclose it between both of his. “But enough of others. What of us?”

Turning slightly, she met his gaze. “What about us?” Before he could reply, she went on, “I assume you’ll spend your days working on building your yachts, while I continue to manage the school…” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t think I would give up my position with the school?”

“No.” Disgruntled that she’d even thought of it, he frowned. “Of course not. I assumed you would continue to manage all—perhaps that I would see you to your office every morning before going on to mine, then meet you at the school in the afternoon, before we head home.” Together in all things was his vision.

“Then…what?” She looked at him encouragingly.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I was trying to be delicate. So—children?”

She blinked. “Oh.” Faint color touched her cheeks. “I assumed…well, that if they came, they did.” Her gaze grew dreamy. “But…”

He watched her face, her eyes, as, clearly, she examined the prospect. “But…? Would you like children? My children? To have children—perhaps even a whole tribe—with me?”

Her lips curving, Sylvia refocused on Kit’s eyes. “Can I just say yes and leave it at that?” She couldn’t describe the feelings that had surged to life inside her simply at the thought of holding a tiny Kit in her arms. And later, overseeing a brood of adventurous children—one challenge she would embrace with her whole heart.

He held her gaze for a long instant, as if reading her emotions in her eyes, then, his voice lowering, said, “Yes is acceptable. Entirely acceptable.” His gaze fell to her lips, and the rhythm of her breathing fractured.

Slowly, he leaned closer—as if he, too, was as mesmerized as she.