They tossed ideas about but could see no immediate way forward. Still turning the matter over in their minds, they retired to their beds.
"Why didn't you tell them?" Luc slumped on his back beside Amelia in their bed. She'd snuffed the candle; faint moonlight, silvery and insubstantial, filtered through the room.
"Why didn't you?"
He took a moment to consider her tone, but why she should be annoyed with him he couldn't imagine. "I'm hardly likely to tell a tale that seems to definitively implicate one of my sisters. Especially when, according to you, she's not the thief."
"Well! There you are." After a moment, she continued, in a fractionally less belligerent tone, "Why did you imagine I'd think differently?"
He suddenly wasn't sure whether there was any ice at all, thin or otherwise, under his feet. "Lucifer's your cousin. A Cynster."
She looked at him. "You're my husband."
He could feel her gaze but didn't turn to meet it. He stared instead at the canopy while he tried to understand. "You're a Cynster born and bred." He knew what he thought that meant, but was too wary to put it into words.
She turned fully, coming up on one elbow so she could — frowningly — study his face. "I might have been born a Cynster, but I married you — I'm an Ashford now. Of course I'm going to do all I can to protect your sisters."
He had to meet her gaze. "Even to the extent of being not quite open with Lucifer?"
She returned his regard. "If you want the truth, the question never even occurred to me. My loyalty now is to you, and beyond you, our family."
A knot of tension buried so deep he hadn't until that moment been aware of its existence unraveled, flowed away. Left him. Her declaration rang in his mind; the set of her jaw and lips stated she was unwaveringly steadfast, her position solidly fixed.
He had to ask. "Can you really do that — switch allegiances? Just like that?"
Even in the dimness, he could interpret the look she bent on him; she thought he was being unforgivably dense.
"Of course women can do that — we're expected to do that. Just stop and think how complicated life would be if we couldn't — or didn't — do that!"
She was right; he was being — had been — unforgivably dense. "I didn't think… men aren't conditioned to change loyalties like that, especially not family ones."
One sharp pointy elbow came to rest on his chest. She leaned over him. "It always falls to the ladies to handle the more difficult tasks."
Now she was closer he could see the exasperated affection in her eyes. She couldn't fathom why he hadn't understood; she thought he'd been obtuse, unthinking. Not true, but now he did comprehend, finally saw what the truth had to be… raising his hands, he framed her face. "Just as well." He drew her closer. "Thank you."
Before she could ask what he was thanking her for, he kissed her, long, lingeringly — thoroughly. She murmured incoherently and pressed nearer. Releasing her face, he slid his hands down her body, gripped her waist and lifted her across, setting her down atop him.
Drawing back from the kiss, he murmured, "If I could make a suggestion…?"
Given his erection was now cradled between her thighs, Amelia had little doubt of what direction his suggestion would take. "By all means." She set her lips to his. When she finally drew back, she invited, "Suggest away."
He did; she'd never doubted the quality of his expertise, nor the tenor of his imagination. The activities he scripted made her forget all else — the thief, protecting Anne, all else to do with his family — while she devoted every part of her mind, every part of her body, to just one thing.
The most important thing.
Loving him.
She loved him. She must.
A true heart and a backbone of steel; he'd always known she possessed both, but in recent times had focused more on the difficult latter rather than the highly desirable former.
Now both were his because she was. He finally understood all that that meant — all she meant by that.
The realization left him giddy.
Now he could confess, tell her all and everything he wished, all he felt she had a right to know. And all would be well. As Helena had told him, once he accepted the power, it was his to wield.
Wield it he would.
The only question was when.
Her parents, Amanda, Martin, Simon, and Helena herself were all due to arrive that afternoon.
The day was filled with preparations; Amelia rushed to and fro, giving orders here, checking details there. Lucifer and Phyllida smiled understandingly and took themselves off for a picnic. Reluctantly accepting that his time was not now, Luc retreated to his study, leaving Amelia in absolute control.
For which Amelia was grateful. As keyed up as she, the staff rallied around; when the youngest stablelad, whom she'd set on watch, came running with the news that the first coach had appeared across the valley, all was in readiness.
Exchanging a triumphant glance with Higgs and Cottsloe, she hurried upstairs to change her gown and tidy her hair. Descending ten minutes later, she just had time to winkle Luc from his study before a crunch of gravel and the clatter and stamp of hooves heralded the first of their expected guests.
Hand in hand, they strolled out to the portico to see Martin, Earl of Dexter, descend from the carriage, then extend his hand to his countess. The instant Amanda's feet touched the ground, she looked up, and beamed. "Melly!"
The twins met at the bottom of the steps, flying into each other's arms. They hugged, kissed, laughed, waltzed, then held each other at arm's length — and started talking, simultaneously, in a welter of half sentences they never seemed to feel the need to finish.
"Did you hear about—?"
"Reggie wrote. But how was—?"
Amanda waved. "The journey was easy."
"Yes, but what about—?"
"Ah, that! Well—"
Shaking his head, Martin climbed the shallow steps to Luc's side. The cousins exchanged smiles, with a spontaneous return to the camaraderie of their youth clapped each other's shoulders, then turned to survey their still chattering wives.
After a moment, Martin lifted his gaze, surveying the rolling green of the valley. "This place looks even more prosperous than I remember it."
Luc inclined his head. "We are doing quite well."
Martin had never known of the Ashfords' travails. If his cousin, who would remember the Chase in its glory days, could detect no lingering sign of their past plight, Luc was content to let that past die. The Ashfords had survived, that was what was important; his gaze resting on Amelia's golden head, he inwardly acknowledged that his house was only growing stronger. Day by day, by every day that she was his.
Another carriage appeared on the long slope traversing the other side of the valley; Martin nodded at it. "That'll be the Dowager. Simon's traveling with her. Arthur and Louise are bringing up the rear."
The sun slowly sank, gilding the V-shaped facade of the Chase; the afternoon stretched and lengthened with the shadows, the hours filled with warmth, joy, and unalloyed happiness as Amelia's family arrived and settled in.
Everyone gathered for afternoon tea; it was then that
Martin and Amanda made their announcement. Amanda was expecting their first child. The gathering erupted with a fresh outpouring of joy, of exclamations and congratulations. Luc watched Amelia hug her twin, watched the ladies crowding round to kiss and hug each other delightedly. Turning from the sight, he beckoned Cottsloe and sent him to fetch champagne.
Cottsloe rushed off to obey. Given he could count perfectly well, Luc returned his gaze to Amelia. She noticed; she cast him a quick glance, one he couldn't be sure he read correctly — imploring?