Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  The oak floor was sopping. The wet went up the walls, the water having apparently been deeper before escaping the chamber and making its way down the corridor and stairs. Most of the ground floor had flooded as well, including all of the beautiful, expensive carpeting that Violet had had specially woven.

  But this room, where the disaster had originated, was by far the worst. The pale green bedclothes dripped, the air held a chill, the carpet felt soggy beneath their feet, and Lily suspected that mildew was setting in already.

  “We did nothing,” Rowan repeated. “We just came up to look, and when we opened the door—”

  “Now, Rowan,” Lily began, knowing her brother all too well. Especially when he was with Jewel. The girl’s father was infamous for playing practical jokes, and she’d taught Rowan every trick the man had taught her. “Do you expect us to believe—”

  “He’s right,” Ford broke in, apparently having finished his investigation. “It was the fault of my design—a problem with the tank mechanism.” Looking rather pained to admit that, he ran a hand back through his long brown hair. “I expect it began flooding the moment I turned my back. I never considered…it never occurred to me…”

  “Never say never,” Rand interjected dryly.

  Jewel went to the window. “Everyone else has gone outside.”

  “Of course, you goose.” Rowan snorted. “The floor is wet all over the house.”

  “The women wouldn’t want to ruin their fashionable satin slippers,” Rand added, glancing down at the water-stained shoes on Lily’s feet, visible since she was holding up her skirts.

  “There are more important things than shoes,” she pointed out. “Like Violet’s carpeting. She’s going to be furious.”

  “No, I’m not,” Violet said, walking in with a squish-squash sound. She went on her toes to grace her husband with a light kiss. “I’m used to catastrophes,” she declared with an exaggerated sigh. “Part and parcel of my marriage. Besides, we must only remove the carpets and spread them outside to dry. A few rain-free days and they’ll be good as new.”

  “Are you sure?” Jewel asked dubiously.

  “About it not raining? No,” Violet said in her practical way. “But they will eventually dry. I’m afraid, though, that this room will be uninhabitable for a day or two, at the least.” She looked toward Rand apologetically.

  “I can ride home,” he assured her. “Oxford is but a few hours.”

  “Wait.” Ford held up a hand. “What about the translation? There’s no need for you to leave. We’ll move someone. The nursemaids—”

  “I won’t have you upsetting your whole household,” Rand interrupted. Unlike the sprawling mansion Lily lived in, Lakefield was a typical L-shaped manor house. Enough rooms to sleep the family, a few servants, and a guest, but that was all.

  Ford crossed his arms. “I won’t have you leaving. Your house is a wreck at the moment.”

  A smile twitched on Rand’s lips as he pointedly scanned the chamber. Lily choked back a laugh.

  “Rowan!” Her mother’s voice floated up the stairs. “Rowan, have you and Jewel—” A gasp chopped off her sentence as she stepped into the room. “Heavens, this is—”

  “A bloody mess,” Ford finished for her. “And my fault, not your son’s.”

  “See?” Rowan said with a grin of vindication. “It’s not my fault Lord Randal cannot stay here.”

  “It’s nobody’s fault.” Rand strode to the bed, his shoes making a sucking sound as he went. “I should probably be home badgering Kit anyway, if the house is to be finished this decade.” He reached for his luggage.

  “Don’t you want to finish the translation?” Ford looked frantic. “We’ll find a place—”

  “Lord Randal is welcome to stay with us,” Chrystabel interrupted with a smile. “We’ve more guest rooms than we know what to do with.”

  Lily’s mouth hung open. Why, they hardly knew Lord Randal Nesbitt.

  But apparently that made no difference to Mum. “You’ll be close to Lakefield,” she added. They were naught but a quarter-hour’s ride down the road. “By tomorrow, perhaps this room will once again be habitable.”

  Violet glanced around mournfully. “I doubt it.”

  Looking a mite dubious, Rand set down the luggage. “If I overnight at Trentingham,” he said slowly, “I can return tomorrow and help put the place to rights.”

  “A generous offer,” Ford said.

  Violet pushed up on her spectacles. “There’s no need for Rand to wrestle with soggy carpeting.”

  “The boards underneath must be dried, lest they warp.”

  “We have servants to do that sort of thing.”

  “But if we had extra help—” Ford pressed.

  Violet cut him off with a laugh. “Rand can ‘help’ you in the bone-dry laboratory upstairs, huddled over that ancient alchemy text.”

  Her husband’s expression made clear that sounded good to him.

  And so it was settled. Rand would sleep at Trentingham and return in the morning.

  Lily supposed it was well done of Mum to offer the hospitality, but she hoped it didn’t mean she was trying to match Rand with Rose.

  That would ruin her sister’s plan.

  Six

  TRENTINGHAM Manor was teeming with family and friends who had come to attend the twins’ baptism, so Rand’s addition to the mix was clearly little imposition. But he did appreciate Lady Trentingham’s kind invitation. She seemed a true gentlewoman.

  Although perhaps a bit overly solicitous.

  “Lily, dear,” she said as they walked into the linenfold-paneled dining room for supper, “I’d appreciate it if you’d sit beside Rand, since he isn’t acquainted with our other guests.”

  Which would have made sense if Rose hadn’t already planted herself on his other side.

  “Lord Randal,” she gushed, laying a hand on her chest theatrically, her fingertips flirtatiously grazing the skin revealed by her wide, low neckline. “What a pleasure to have you as a dining partner.”

  “Rand,” he corrected her, as he had countless times. So far as he was concerned, Lord was nothing more than a reminder of his disturbing roots. He liked to think of himself as a professor now, not a marquess’s son. “And the pleasure is mine,” he assured her, meaning it. This civilized supper was a lot more pleasurable than riding home to all the hammering and sawing at his house in Oxford.

  “Cousin Rose.” A gentleman on her other side begged her attention, waving a bejeweled hand at the floral arrangements—enormous vases of colorful posies that graced each end of the table, flanking a towering centerpiece. “Have we you to thank for these beautiful works of art?”

  “Why, yes,” Rose said warmly. “I’m pleased, cousin, that you’re enjoying them.” She turned back to Rand, fluttering her eyelashes in a way that tempted him to laugh. “I love arranging flowers.”

  “They’re lovely.” They were. She had an artist’s eye, a flair for color and balance. He turned to Lily. “Do you work with flowers as well?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve no skill with plants.”

  Rose shook her head, as though she felt sorry for her poor, talentless sister. “She cares only for her animals.”

  As if on cue, a sparrow flew into the room and landed smack on the table, right in front of Lily.

  “Holy Hades,” Rowan said. “Not again.”

  “Rowan,” Lady Trentingham admonished.

  “Well, someone should shut the windows.”

  Rose fanned herself with a languid hand. “With all these people, it would be too hot if we shut the windows.”

  “Cut the hedgerows?” Her father nodded sagely. “Yes, I’ve asked the groundskeepers to do that.”

  No one looked confused or surprised. Apparently they were all well enough acquainted with Lord Trentingham to know that along with his passion for gardening, the man was half deaf.

  “Excellent, darling,” Lady Trentingham said loudly, flicking crumbs off his cravat. She looked to Lily
, who was busy feeding bits of bread to the sparrow. “Not at supper, dear.”

  Lily sighed. “Go, Lady.” She tossed the gray-brown bird a final crumb. “Outside now.”

  Amazingly, the bird gobbled the last of its feast and then took flight, heading for one of the windows where a squirrel sat on the sill, seemingly watching the proceedings. With a flutter of feathers, the sparrow landed beside the squirrel and turned to tweet at it. The squirrel chirped back, for all the world like they were having a conversation.

  Rand had never seen a wild bird that obeyed, let alone a squirrel that didn’t run at the sight of humans. He turned to Lily. “You do have a way with animals.”

  “Oh, there’s more to Lily than that,” her mother informed him from down the table. “She plays the harpsichord like an angel.”

  Lily blushed. She looked fetching when she blushed. Of course, she could be wearing rags and scrubbing a floor, and she’d look fetching. As it was, she’d exchanged the water-stained gown for one made of some shiny, pale purplish fabric that hugged her upper body like a second skin.

  He couldn’t help but imagine the shapely form barely hidden beneath that shimmering bodice.

  He dragged his gaze back to her face. His fingers itched to touch the tiny dent in her chin. “Will you play for us after supper?” he asked her.

  “Eh?” Lord Trentingham shook his dark head. “Everyone will stay after supper. They’ve all been assigned rooms, have they not, Chrysanthemum love?”

  “Of course, darling.” Lady Trentingham smiled her ever-patient smile. “And Lily will play,” she told Rand.

  “And I shall sing,” Rose announced as she reached for some bread, grazing Rand’s arm in the process.

  On purpose, he was sure.

  Rose wanted him. She’d made that clear, in action and words, four years ago and again now. As conversation buzzed around him, he wondered why he wasn’t tempted.

  Rose was lovely—tall and willowy, with a flawless, creamy complexion, glossy deep brown locks, and eyes so mysteriously dark they could be mistaken for black. A classic beauty. And not a cold one. True, she remained every bit as outspoken and forward as he remembered. Yet Rose had grown up. She was much warmer than he recalled.

  But the spark was missing. None of her heat penetrated his heart, while on his right, Lily seemed to burn like a bonfire. Chatting with the guest on her other side, she sensed Rand’s gaze and turned slightly to meet his eyes, then looked away to continue her conversation.

  “I should like to hear you sing,” he told Rose, wondering if she had the voice for it.

  She graced him with a smile that revealed fetching dimples. If she were one of Lily’s cats, she’d have been purring.

  And after supper, when she raised her voice in song, he was indeed impressed. Singing of love, the words flitted from her throat, rich and true.

  But Lily’s playing was even more splendid. Despite the fact that various relatives were all seated decorously in the cream-and-gold-toned formal drawing room, Rand found himself rising and wandering toward the harpsichord.

  While Beatrix dozed on her lap, Lily’s fingers flew over the ivory keys, raising magic in their wake. She glanced up and smiled at him, and without thought, he opened his mouth to harmonize with her sister.

  “Go tell her to make me a cambric shirt,

  Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

  Without a stitch of a seamster’s work,

  And then she will be a true love of mine.”

  Only when he finished did he realize that Rose had stopped singing to listen to him. He nodded at her to take the next verse. Back and forth they went until the song ended and the room burst into wild applause.

  “Your voice is beautiful!” Lily exclaimed.

  His face went hot. “Your playing is exquisite.”

  Her shrug was as graceful as her music. “I practice often. It’s a way to pass the time.”

  “It’s more than that. It’s a gift to all who listen.” Ignoring all her curious relations, he moved around to hit a key, the single note reverberating through the chamber. “I cannot play.”

  “I cannot sing.”

  He grinned. “Gift us with another tune, and your sister and I will accompany it. Together this time.”

  She thought for a moment, then the jaunty notes of “The Gypsy Rover” took air, his voice rising along with it.

  Rose waited until the chorus to join him.

  “He whistled and he sang till the greenwoods rang,

  And he won the heart of a lady.”

  Their harmony was flawless, he thought as they sang on. And as the lyrics said, Rand wished he really could whistle and sing and win the heart of a lady.

  But regardless of their perfect harmony, it wasn’t Rose he was wishing to win.

  They sang a third song, and a fourth, and then he lost count. More than once, Lily’s gaze locked on his as his voice and her notes blended. They made beautiful music together. For fleeting moments it seemed that he and she were the only ones in the chamber, and from the look on her face, he’d wager it was the same for her.

  When the gilt mantel clock struck midnight just as another tune ended, Lily blinked and jumped to her feet, making Beatrix tumble to the floor with an outraged meow. “Do you think it’s time to retire, Mum?”

  “Oh!” Lady Trentingham stood as well. “Rose, you must come with me. We have yet to prepare a room for Rand.”

  Rose frowned. “I’m sure the staff has taken care of that.”

  “Not all our special welcoming details.” Lady Trentingham turned to her assorted family. “I trust you can all find your beds?” As they began drifting out, she focused on her older daughter. “Come along, dear. You’ll need to find flowers for Rand’s chamber.”

  “But Mum—”

  “Come along,” she repeated, more tersely than seemed to be her nature. “Lily, will you wait here and keep Rand company until his room is ready?”

  “I need no flowers,” Rand interjected.

  “Nonsense. Rose?” Lady Trentingham moved toward the door, herding the last lingering friends and relatives along with her.

  The chamber seemed so quiet after everyone had left. And Rand felt odd to find himself alone with Lily for the second time that day.

  “Mum,” he said, searching for a way to breach the sudden silence. “That’s a strange thing to call one’s mother.”

  “I know.” Lily’s soft laugh broke the tension. Still at the harpsichord, she sat again and began playing, a soothing tune he found unfamiliar. Beatrix reclaimed her rightful place on her lap.

  Obviously knowing the piece well, Lily talked as her fingers picked out the delicate notes. “You’ll probably have heard that my father raises flowers. Multitudes of them. He named us girls after his favorites—surely you’ll have noticed that—and Rowan after the tree. Mum’s given name is Chrystabel, but he calls her Chrysanthemum…Mum is short for that.” Her fingers stilled. “It’s silly, I know.”

  “Keep playing.” He leaned against the dark wood instrument and waited until she did. “I don’t think it’s silly so much as touching. I take it you’re all close?”

  “Very.”

  The single word was uttered so matter-of-factly he knew she took that closeness for granted. But he wouldn’t acknowledge the envy that clutched at his throat. He’d long ago accepted that his family was happier without him. And life on his own was just fine. Better, in fact.

  When the cat lifted its head, Rand followed its gaze to see a bird land gracefully atop the harpsichord.

  “Hello, Lady,” Lily greeted softly, her fingers not missing a note.

  Confused, Rand ran his tongue across his teeth. “Do you call all sparrows Lady?”

  “Of course not. I don’t call most sparrows anything. But Lady is special.”

  “Do you mean…” He focused on the nondescript bird. “Is this the same sparrow that flew in at supper, the same sparrow you fed at Ford’s house?”

  “One and the same,�
� she said, playing a little bit faster. “I raised her after I found her in an abandoned nest, and now she follows me around. She and Jasper.”

  “Jasper?”

  “The squirrel.”

  Still playing, she nodded toward the sill. Sure enough, a red squirrel sat there, gnawing on an acorn. Rand supposed it must be the same squirrel that had appeared at supper, although damned if he could tell for sure. Like sparrows, one squirrel looked much the same as another.

  To him, anyway.

  Beatrix settled back down on Lily’s lap, and Lady flew to join her friend at the window. Jasper chattered, his bushy tail flicking up and down. To Rand, it seemed all the animals were watching him. Talking about him.

  Under those three sets of eyes, he shifted uneasily. “Are you never alone?”

  “Rarely,” Lily said blithely.

  Rand shrugged. Absurd as it might seem, perhaps it was natural for her to be surrounded by such loyal creatures. He decided to watch Lily instead of the animals. Feeling pleasantly worn-out after the long day, he swayed in time to her music. “What song is this?”

  “Nothing, really. Just something I made up.”

  “You write music, too?” Slowly he lowered himself to the bench seat beside her. “Is there no end to your talents?”

  As she scooted over to make room for him, her fingers faltered, then resumed. He smiled to himself, thinking he’d managed to fluster her. Was it the compliment, or his nearness?

  He hoped it was the latter. Her nearness set him on fire.

  He’d known four years ago that something in Lily Ashcroft spoke to something in Rand Nesbitt. Though he’d tried his best to forget her, his efforts had been for naught.

  Beatrix began hiccuping. “I’m not particularly talented,” Lily protested. “Your singing is much better than my playing. I’ve never heard another voice as rich as yours.”

  Unlike her, he wasn’t modest enough to deny a truth. He knew his voice was exceptional, but it wasn’t a talent that had been valued in his family. “I’ve never heard anything like your music,” he said. “So we’re even. And I hope we’ll be able to play and sing together again.”