by Lauren Royal
“Perhaps they haven’t,” Mum suggested. “But that will change, of course. You and Rand will be happy indeed, and your happiness will rub off on everyone else. And I imagine that after you move there you’ll be able to make improvements, make Hawkridge Hall feel warmer and more like home. If you cannot redecorate the whole house, you should at least have a say in the rooms assigned to you and Rand.”
Picturing Rand’s tiny chamber, Lily sighed. Maybe—assuming they were allowed to marry—they could occupy Alban’s suite of rooms instead. But if that were the case, a complete overhaul would be necessary before she’d agree to sleep there even once.
Rose added several carnations to the colorful spray she was creating. “Will you live at Hawkridge all the time, then? Will Rand have to give up his post at Oxford?”
“I don’t know. He and his father have yet to discuss any details like that.” She tossed the last of the rose petals into the glass bulb. “All of their energies have been focused on the marquess’s insistence that Rand wed Margery.”
Mum fitted the lid on the distillery. “Has Rand resigned himself to leaving his position?”
“I don’t think he’s had enough time to think about it. But I doubt he’ll be happy leaving Oxford.” Lily hoped he’d be happy just being with her. Whether at Oxford or Hawkridge or somewhere else entirely. But she knew better. “He worked very hard to attain that professorship. And he enjoys that life. He’s never fancied himself an earl, let alone a marquess.”
Finished, Rose stepped back to eye her masterpiece. “I shouldn’t think that would be hard to get used to.”
Rose might have mellowed a bit, but she was still Rose.
“How about you?” Mum asked. “Will you be happy at Hawkridge?”
“I’ll be happy wherever Rand is,” she said, knowing it was true. “I’ll have him, and my animals…”
Her voice trailed off.
Mum looked up sharply. “What is it, dear? Are you afraid Lord Hawkridge won’t approve of your menagerie?”
“No,” she said slowly. “He loves animals—more than people, truth be told. He raises mastiffs.”
Mum smiled. “Well, then, it sounds like Hawkridge will be the perfect place to build your animal home.”
Rose tweaked a few flowers, balancing the arrangement. “I imagine Hawkridge has plenty of space.”
“No. I mean, yes, there are acres and acres of land.” Lily took a deep breath and decided to come out with it. “You might as well know that if the marquess blesses this marriage, it will be with the stipulation that my inheritance goes to him.”
Rose gasped. “How dare he demand such a thing!”
“There was no demand. I offered of my own free will. Hawkridge was mortgaged during the war, you see, to provide funds for King Charles. The marquess was on the verge of losing it when Margery was dropped in his lap, along with her considerable fortune. Hawkridge would face bankruptcy without her land and money.”
“Or your money,” Rose said darkly.
“Exactly. Don’t look so sour, Rose. It was my idea to offer my inheritance in exchange for the right to wed Rand, and I’ll gladly do so, if only the marquess will allow it.”
Rose plucked a daisy from the vase and pointed it at Lily. “All your life, you’ve dreamed of nothing but building a home for your strays.” She shook the flower, emphasizing her words. “Maybe sometimes I’ve laughed at that, but I know how important it is to you. How can you give that up so cavalierly?”
“I’m in love,” Lily said simply.
But she caught Chrystabel’s gaze on her and knew her mother hadn’t missed the wistfulness in her voice.
Sixty-Seven
NOT THE SORT of man to indulge in self-pity for long, nor to accept blame, the marquess had made an excuse and gone off to his study. Half an hour later, when Rand and Margery asked to talk to him, he readily—if gruffly—invited them in.
They sat in two chairs facing him, gazing up at him seated behind his desk on the raised dais. A few awkward moments passed before Rand cleared his throat.
“Father,” he began, hoping calling him such might mellow the man, “we would like your assurance that, under the circumstances, you will no longer pursue the conviction of Bennett Armstrong for murder.”
“Of course I won’t. I’m a reasonable man when presented with persuasive evidence.”
“Well, then, Margery respectfully requests permission to marry him.”
“Does she?” the marquess asked with a raised brow. He shifted his gaze to his ward. “I haven’t heard such a respectful request.”
“Uncle William…” Margery’s voice shook, and she paused to control it. “May I please wed Bennett?”
“No,” the man snapped. “I didn’t agree before Alban’s death, and nothing has changed between then and now. Marriage is primarily a business arrangement, and an alliance of Hawkridge with the Maybanks estates is best for both parties.”
“You mean Hawkridge requires Margery’s money,” Rand said, struggling to remain calm. “As I’ve told you, Lily has ten thousand pounds that she’s willing to invest in Hawkridge’s future. Added to her dowry of three thousand, it should be a sufficient sum.”
At Lily’s name, his father’s eyes had softened. It was amazing how much the man had apparently come to like her. He almost looked wistful.
But his expression swiftly hardened again. “I vowed on Simon Maybanks’s deathbed that his daughter would wed my heir. Lady Lily’s inheritance does nothing to mitigate that.”
“Uncle William.” Margery rose and walked over to him, stepping up onto the raised dais. She placed her palms on his desk and leaned toward him, her eyes pleading. “I was an infant when my father claimed that boon, and he was only attempting to provide for my future the best that he knew how. Don’t you think he would have been thrilled to marry me to a baron with Bennett’s vast lands and income? Most especially because I love Bennett so very much, and he loves me in return. You must agree that if my father had had any way of foreseeing such an opportunity, he would have given his blessing freely.”
In the silence that followed, Margery backed down the step and returned to her seat. She folded her hands in her black-skirted lap. A clock ticked on the mantel, unnaturally loud in the stillness. The marquess blinked but said nothing.
“Father,” Rand pressed, hoping the man’s lack of response meant he was considering Margery’s words, “you’ve told me that your treatment of me, in years gone past, was because you blamed me for my mother’s death.”
The marquess’s lips thinned. “I’ve also told you I’m sorry.”
“And I’ve accepted your apology—and your explanation.” Saying the words, Rand suddenly realized he had. “But what I’m wondering now, or perhaps I should say what I’m assuming, is that you loved her very much.”
“Of course I did,” his father said, looking bewildered. “I loved her with all my heart.”
“Well, then, if you loved her enough to blame me, whyever would you wish to deprive your son and foster daughter of that same sort of love?”
The marquess blinked some more. Margery’s hands clenched in her lap. The clock kept ticking. Rand prayed silently, harder than he’d ever prayed in his life.
“Marry whom you wish,” his father said at last with a sigh.
Margery leapt up and rounded the desk to hug him. “Thank you, Uncle William, thank you! You’ve always been so kind to me, I knew in the end you’d choose for my happiness.”
Rand’s father just grunted.
Rand sat immobile, his entire body seemingly gone boneless.
He’d done it.
He was going to marry Lily.
“I must go tell Bennett.”
Rand had never seen Margery’s eyes look so green, her face look so flushed. He smiled, picturing Lily looking that happy.
“I’ll take you to him,” he said, “on my way back to Trentingham. Lily will be anxious to hear this news, too.”
“I’m going with y
ou,” his father said.
Halfway to rising, Rand dropped back onto his chair. “Pardon?”
“What sort of a man do you take me for?” the marquess asked, then apparently decided he’d best not wait for an answer. “Not only has your Lily saved my dog’s life, she is also about to save Hawkridge from ruin. The least I can do is welcome her into our family.”
Rand wasn’t sure he was ready to think of himself and his father as a family—he suspected they might never truly be friends. But he grudgingly admitted that it seemed the man’s heart might be in the right place.
Or getting there, anyway.
Sixty-Eight
WHILE THE marquess rode around Armstrong House dismissing all the guards, Rand dismounted and walked Margery to the door. The butler answered and showed them both into a sitting room, then went to fetch Lord Armstrong.
Rand sat on a red velvet chair watching Margery walk aimlessly around the chamber, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. She’d be happy here, he thought. Though the house was centuries older and much smaller than Hawkridge, it was well kept and richly appointed. Besides, he knew Margery would be happy anywhere so long as she was with Bennett.
It was the same for him and Lily. Home would be where Lily lived, even if that was Hawkridge.
“Margery!” Bennett rushed into the room, then stopped short when he saw Rand.
Rand rose from the chair. “She’s yours, Armstrong.”
Long-lost hope leapt into the man’s eyes. “You mean…”
“Yes. My father has agreed to your marriage.”
“How—why—”
“Margery will explain,” Rand said. “Later.”
She’d stopped roaming. Now she seemed simply frozen in place, gazing at Bennett as though she couldn’t believe he would be hers. When he took a step toward her, she came to life and rushed into his arms.
Their lips met, and Rand smiled. That would be he and Lily soon, and he was sure their reunion would be even better. In fact, he couldn’t imagine why he was standing here watching the two lovers kiss when he could be kissing his own love himself.
“I’m leaving,” he announced.
With a heartfelt sigh, Margery drew her mouth from Bennett’s. “Good-bye, Randy,” she said, gazing into the other man’s eyes.
“I’m leaving you two alone.”
“I know,” she murmured, her words directed to Bennett along with a wide smile.
“Be good,” Rand said, knowing they wouldn’t.
LILY’S FINGERS ran over the harpsichord keys in an unceasing pattern. “What time is it?” she asked.
“About five minutes after the last time I told you.” Rose didn’t bother to look at a clock. “I thought you found music calming.”
“Well, today it’s not.”
“Perhaps it would help if you’d play something besides scales.” Rose set down her needlework and pulled a droopy bloom from the flower arrangement beside her. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry.” The music stopped abruptly as Lily folded her hands in her lap. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be patient. “That it’s taking this long, it’s a good sign, it that not so?” She heard her sister rise and walk across the drawing room. “It must mean his father is listening.”
“It must,” Rose said in a soothing way.
But Lily heard laughter bubbling underneath. Her eyes popped open. “This isn’t easy, you know. My entire life is hanging in the balance.”
“Of course it’s not easy.” Rose plucked three browning leaves off some flowers on the wide windowsill. “But surely not your entire life. If it all ends badly, you’ll go on—”
“You’ve never been in love,” Lily said.
The leaves crunched in her sister’s fisted hand. “No,” she admitted, “I haven’t. And given what you’re going through, I believe that’s just as well.”
“You’re wrong.” Lily’s voice came a whisper. “I wouldn’t trade love for tranquility.”
“Some of us,” Rose said, “don’t seem to have a choice.”
“Oh, Rose.” Lily’s eyes met her sister’s dark ones. “Someday…”
You’ll find someone.
The words hung between them, unsaid, until Rose looked away and out the window. “Someone’s riding up the road, Lily.”
“Rand!” Lily jumped up and brushed at her sky blue skirts.
Rose frowned. “No, two someones. I wonder who they could be?”
“Two?” Lily pulled a few curls forward to frame her face. “How do I look?”
“He’s not going to care,” said the sister that took the most care with her own appearance. “Go to him, Lily.”
As she hurried to the entry hall, Lily wondered if one of the riders was indeed Rand. After all, there were two, and he’d set out for Hawkridge Hall alone. As Parkinson opened the door, she braced herself for disappointment.
Rand stood on the other side, a wide smile on his face. Her heart leapt—until she looked beyond him.
“Lord Hawkridge. How, um, how very nice to see you.”
“Lady Lily.” Rand’s father bowed, for once looking at a loss for words.
“Rand,” her mother said warmly, glossing over the awkward moment as she appeared from seemingly nowhere. “Come in, please. And you,” she said to Lord Hawkridge, “must be this young man’s father. The resemblance is unmistakable.”
Rand didn’t look particularly pleased at that observation. Lily stared at him, caught in his compelling gray gaze, wondering…
“And you must be Lady Trentingham. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” the marquess told her mother. “I’ve come to welcome your daughter into my family.”
It took a moment for Lily to register those words, and when she did, she was embarrassed to feel tears spring to her eyes.
“Rand,” she whispered.
His gaze flicked over to his father, then her mother, and finally Rose standing at the bottom of Trentingham’s wide staircase. He stepped forward to take Lily’s hand.
“Come,” he said, “I feel a need to take a run.” He glanced at her fashionable heeled shoes. “I mean a walk.”
That old, rude habit, but Lily didn’t care, so long as he wanted her with him this time. Her mother and the marquess would do fine—Rand’s father might be on the curmudgeonly side, but Chrystabel had never met a man she couldn’t wrap around her finger.
Without saying a word, Rand hurried her through the house, out the back into the gardens, and along the paths to the summerhouse. He dropped her hand long enough to shut the door behind them, enclosing them in the cool dimness of the small, round brick building. Then he turned and gathered her into his arms.
“Rand, how did you convince—”
“Hush,” he said as his mouth crushed down on hers.
She was hushed, very effectively, by a kiss so intense it rattled her to her toes. His lips slanted over hers again and again until she couldn’t tell where his mouth stopped and hers started, until her knees were so weak she needed his arms to hold her up.
“When can we marry?” he asked, dropping little kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her chin. His mouth trailed down the side of her throat. “When? Today?”
“No.” She laughed, arching her neck to allow him better access. He felt so very good—especially knowing that finally, miraculously, he was going to be hers.
“Tomorrow?” he asked, his lips dancing over her skin.
“Not tomorrow.”
“The next day, then. Or the day after that. Saturday. A perfect day for a wedding.”
“No.” She shivered, and not only from his sensual assault. “You and Margery were supposed to marry on Saturday.”
“Her birthday. The day she’ll wed Bennett.” He worked his way back toward her mouth.
“Oh,” she breathed, “they must be so happy.”
“Mmm.” His agreement was muffled by his lips claiming hers, his tongue meeting hers in a heady swirl of sensation. He tasted divine. “Margery
will want us at her wedding,” he murmured against her mouth. “So ours will have to be the day after that.”
“No.” Pulling back, she laughed again. “Two weeks. When Violet and Ford wished to marry in a rush, Mum insisted on two weeks to plan the wedding.”
“Two weeks?” he said on a groan. “After all we’ve gone through, two more weeks seems a lifetime.”
She smiled softly, basking in those heartfelt words. “Two weeks is entirely survivable.”
“As long as we don’t have to wait for the wedding night,” he said, his fingers moving to the tabs on her stomacher.
His eyes smoldered, and something inside her responded to that heat. But something else held her back. She reached to still his hands. “Rand.”
“Hmm?” He kissed her again, nearly melting her resolve.
But she’d thought about this. “I want to wait. Until we’re married. Until you’re mine, heart, body, and soul, and no one can threaten otherwise.”
The heat in his eyes transformed to disbelief. “Nothing can threaten us, Lily. Nothing. We’ve been to hell and back again, and there is nothing I will allow to come between us.”
Under the force of his gaze, she was weakening. She’d already given herself to this man, and she hadn’t been sorry, and more than anything, she burned to share that again.
But it was hard to believe that all would be well. There had been too many hours and days when she’d thought he was lost to her.
“Nothing,” he repeated, and the earnestness in his voice went a long way toward breaking her will. “Fate may send us dragons, but I’ll slay them for you, fair Lily. Nothing will steal you from my side.”
Watching her closely, he pulled something from his pocket.
His mother’s pendant, on a delicate white gold chain.
“I’ve learned that my father gave this to my mother on their wedding day. I was planning to save it for our own wedding day, but I want you to have it now.”
“Oh, Rand.”
If this wasn’t proof that he was certain they’d stay together, she didn’t know what was. Her heart seemed to melt as he clasped the chain around her neck. Looking down, she lifted the necklace, admiring all the diamonds and the beautiful enameled filigree design.