by Lauren Royal
Though the pie was delicious, swimming in rich gravy, Rand nearly choked. “Lily?” He shot a glance to Ford, whom he’d told about Lily in confidence. But his friend avoided his gaze, industriously cutting an already-small-enough bite of chicken.
“Just as an example.” If Violet’s expression might have revealed ulterior motives, she expertly concealed it while sipping wine. “Lily is beautiful, isn’t she?”
Rand sipped from his own goblet. Lustrous mahogany hair, deep blue eyes, that delicate face and petite figure…
“I don’t expect any fellow would argue with you about that.”
“And perhaps most men would notice that first, but there’s so much more to Lily. She makes beautiful music. She’s also quite intelligent. One needn’t be bookish to be intelligent.”
“Did I ever say—”
“Those are all obvious things, but now let’s look at her essence, those values we can see in the way she carries herself and behaves. She’s nurturing and compassionate. People feel good around Lily, because she cares. She really cares, about everyone and everything. She’s benevolent, she seeks harmony, and above all, she endeavors at all times to make the right choices. The sum of these is what makes her Lily.”
“Her essence,” Rand murmured.
“Yes!” Beaming, Violet set down her goblet. “And the sort of man who would recognize a kindred essence in Lily, most especially on first sight, would also recognize that she will someday make a wonderful mother.” With that, her gaze lovingly went to her babies in their cradles.
And Rand was rendered speechless.
He wasn’t sure he could even eat.
He was just getting used to considering love and marriage…fatherhood was another matter entirely.
SEVENTEEN
“LILY, ARE YOU ready to leave?”
“Just a moment, Mum.” With a sigh, Lily stroked Randolph’s soft brown fur one last time. She’d put it off more than a week, but she knew what had to be done. Setting her jaw, she crouched to tenderly place Randolph on the grass.
Without so much as a thank you, the rat scampered happily into a flower bed.
Lily sighed again and fished Beatrix out from beneath her skirts. “May I bring her?” she asked as she rose.
“I suppose she’ll contrive to come along either way.” Mum sifted through the basket on her arm, checking that all her perfumes were in order. “But you must leave her in the carriage. You know cats make Lady Carrington sneeze.”
Half an hour later, Lily stood on the steps of Carrington House with her mother and Rose. As Mum lifted the knocker, a sneeze resounded from inside.
“Beatrix is in the carriage,” Lily said defensively. Glancing back to make sure, she saw a small black nose pressed to the vehicle’s window. Jasper and Lady sat atop the carriage’s roof, looking similarly innocent.
The door opened, and a butler ushered them into the drawing room, where Lady Carrington was waiting with coffee, expensive imported tea, and cakes. Judith sat on a sturdy carved chair, dabbing at her nose with a lace-edged handkerchief.
Mum set her basket on a table and raised the cloth covering. “Your usual blend,” she said to Lady Carrington, handing her a bottle of scent. “And for you, Lady Judith, a new blend to celebrate your betrothal. More fitting for a lady of your status.”
“It’s spicier,” Rose explained.
Judith’s eyes widened. “Oooh, may I see?”
Lily brought the perfume to her friend, pulling the stopper out as she went. She waved the bottle under her own nose and smiled before handing it to Judith. “It smells lovely.”
Judith dabbed a bit on one wrist and raised it to her reddened nose. “It does. Even all stuffy, I can tell. Thank you ever so much, Lady Trentingham.”
“You’re very welcome, dear.”
Replacing the stopper, Judith stood. “Would you care to see the fabric for my wedding gown?” she asked Lily and Rose. “And the style? Madame left a fashion doll for me to show you.”
They followed her up the curving oak staircase.
“I think the dress will be ever so beautiful,” Judith said, pausing for a sneeze. “Heavens, I’m so excited about my wedding.”
“You should be,” Rose said somewhat wistfully.
The wedding dress fashion doll reclined in a place of honor against Judith’s mauve pillows in her feminine room. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“It is,” Lily agreed softly. The doll’s gown was palest blue with a wide neckline and golden ribbons crisscrossing the stomacher. The underskirt was cloth of gold.
Suddenly, quite unbidden, an image popped into her head—of herself wearing such a gown and standing beside Rand. The blue fabric brought out the hue in her eyes, which were fastened on Rand as she recited her vows in Trentingham’s oak-paneled chapel. The golden underskirt shimmered, rustling when she moved…
“You’re so lucky,” Rose told Judith, snapping Lily out of her reverie.
She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them with new determination. She ought to be picturing Rose standing beside Rand, rather than thinking disloyal thoughts.
Settling into the window seat, Judith sneezed again. “Pardon me,” she said with a sniffle. Then her voice dropped a notch. “I’m lucky about the wedding,” she mumbled, “but I’m worried about the wedding night.”
Her heart aching for her friend, Lily forgot her own troubles. She sat beside Judith and took her hands. “You’ll be fine,” she told her with all the confidence she could muster. “All brides are nervous.”
“Do you think so?”
“Goodness, I’m sure of it.” She slanted a glance to Rose before looking back to her friend. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Absolutely. But I’ve seen Lord Grenville, and—”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” Lily rushed to clarify. “I just wondered if you believed. In the abstract.”
“Yes. Oh, yes.” Judith had always been a romantic. “That’s why I—”
“I believe in love at first sight,” Rose interrupted. “I fell in love with Lord Randal the very first time I saw him.”
Despite her worries, Judith grinned. “You fall in love with every gentleman you see.”
“I do not,” Rose protested. “Only the handsome ones. Like Rand.”
Rand, Rand, Rand. Lily rose and paced back to the doll, staring at its pale blue magnificence. She would never feel right wearing a wedding dress before Rose was Lady Somebody.
“There are cakes downstairs,” Judith said into the sudden silence.
Lily was all too happy to escape the discussion, but no sooner had they reentered the drawing room than Rose revived it. “Mum,” she asked, “do you believe in love at first sight?”
“What nonsense,” Lady Carrington said, her chins trembling with indignation. “Love grows between two suited individuals. It was that way for me, and it will be the same for my Judith and Lord Grenville.” She brushed crumbs from her mouth and motioned her daughter closer. “Come here, dear. Have a cake.”
Judith took two. Evidently her illness wasn’t affecting her appetite.
“Mum?” Rose pressed.
Their mother set down her teacup. “I do believe in love at first sight,” she said firmly. “I experienced it with your father.”
Lady Carrington harrumphed.
“Of course,” Mum continued undaunted, “dear Joseph took some convincing. I’ve yet to meet a man who believes in love at first sight.”
Lily knew one. One who was trying to convince her.
“Nonsense,” Lady Carrington repeated as she reached for another cake.
Mum smiled charmingly and changed the subject. “Have you heard the latest?” she asked, lifting her cup. “Two more of my introductions are culminating in marriages. Lady Eleanor Randolph is betrothed to Lord Ducksworth. And you’re not going to believe this.” She paused to sip for effect. “I’ve managed to match the eternal bachelor.”
Lady Carrington’s eyes widened. “You don’t
mean…”
“Yes.” Mum nodded proudly. “Lord Percival Newcombe.”
“No!” her friend gasped, a cake halfway to her lips. “To whom?”
EIGHTEEN
“JOSEPH,” Chrystabel said as she slid into bed beside him that night, “do you believe in love at first sight?”
Eyeing her warily, he set down his book. “Is this a trick question?”
“No.”
“Then no. I don’t believe in love at first sight.”
“No?”
“Yes? Is yes the right answer? I’ve never thought about it, my love.”
She laughed. He was such a man.
Chrystabel loved the nights, the precious hours spent alone with her husband in their thick-walled bedchamber. Here, where the sound of her voice competed with nothing but an occasional crackle from the fireplace, her Joseph could hear her perfectly.
He leaned to place a kiss on her forehead, then propped his book back up. “Does this have something to do with Lily and Rand? Are your plans not working out?”
She sighed. “I’m certain he’s interested in her.”
“Love at first sight?”
“Maybe. Do you remember how he looked at her, even four years ago?”
“No. I don’t remember.” He turned a page. “I’m not sure I noticed.”
Of course he hadn’t. He was a man. “Well, it was quite obvious he was drawn to her then, and it’s even more obvious now. Surely you’ve noticed it now?”
“Not really.”
“Even since I pointed it out?” she asked incredulously
He set his book aside and rolled to face her. ”I have eyes only for you, Chrysanthemum,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Only you.”
Half charmed, half exasperated, she snorted. “Well, Lily feels something for him, too—of that I’m sure. But despite all my efforts, the poor boy isn’t making much progress. After I noticed Rand runs every day by the river, I told Lily that Snowflake needed some exercise, but—”
“Poor boy must not have my talents,” her husband interrupted, then pressed a long, lingering kiss to her lips. “Are you sure he’s good enough for Lily?”
“You’re incorrigible,” she said. But she didn’t move away. “I told you, didn’t I, that Violet said Lily promised Rose she’d stay away from Rand? Besides feeling bound to that ridiculous pledge, Lily is genuinely concerned for Rose. I can see it in her eyes, in her attitude. She’s afraid to put her own happiness before her sister’s.”
“Give it some time, love. She’ll come to her senses.”
“But Rand’s house will be ready soon,” she fretted. “He’ll be leaving.”
“Give it some time,” he repeated with another kiss. “If they’re right for each other, he’ll be back. You didn’t win me in a day.”
Oh yes, she had, she thought with a secret smile as she moved to blow out the candle, then tucked herself back in his arms. It just proved her finesse with men that he hadn’t noticed.
NINETEEN
ONCE IN A great while, Rand Nesbitt found himself truly drunk. And though the deplorable condition invariably gave rise to next-morning regrets, it was also a jolly good bit of fun.
Sitting in Ford’s laboratory, Rand stared at a nearly blank piece of paper. He blinked hard to make out the symbols, but they were just meaningless shapes. Unless… “That one on the end seems familiar.” A shape sort of like an hourglass, except not really. Why, it almost looked like—
“It’s a woman’s figure!” Ford smacked the table. “A rather curvy woman, at that.”
“I quite agree,” Rand cried, and then proceeded to laugh himself silly. When he finished, he took another swig of brandy. ”We’ve been here all night and translated only a single sentence,” he said, finding himself fascinated, in an odd, detached sort of way, at hearing the slur in his own voice. “We’ll never finish. You’ll never make gold.”
“What’s a few more years when these words have been waiting for four hundred?” Ford reached across the cluttered table for the decanter, impressing Rand when he didn’t knock over any of the assorted paraphernalia. He filled Rand’s beaker for the third time.
Or maybe the fourth. Rand had lost count.
“So you’re in love, are you?” Ford said.
“Maybe. Probably not. I cannot be sure.” Rand paused for a sip, trying not to speculate on what chemical concoction the beaker might have held the day before. “I think so.”
Topping off his own beaker, Ford nodded. “You’re in love.”
“She won’t have me. It’s that sister of hers. Rose.” Rand took another sip—or rather a gulp that he’d intended to be a sip. “She keeps saying how Rose and I are more suited. Rose sings like I do. Rose can speak Italian.” He shook his head. “As though that’s what I’m looking for in a girl.” Then another thought occurred to him—one that made the brandy seem to sour in his stomach. “What if she’s only using Rose as an excuse? What if she’s not attracted to me?” He had been sporting that wretched mustache when they’d first met; perhaps it had put her off permanently. “Or what if she won’t have me because I’m only a professor? She lives in a mansion, after all, and I—”
“Lily’s not like that,” Ford rushed to interrupt. “She cares about her family. She cares about all people and animals. She does not care about living in a mansion.”
Rand nodded—slowly, to keep the room from blurring—as he tried to believe that. He nearly succeeded. “Then why does she keep bringing up Rose?”
“Guilt,” Ford said succinctly.
“Guilt?”
“Look, we all know Rose wants you—”
“Then why doesn’t Lily?” Rand interrupted plaintively.
“Guilt,” Ford repeated. Taking his time about it, he drained his beaker. “She doesn’t want to steal you from Rose.”
“Rose doesn’t have me. Therefore Lily cannot steal me from Rose.” Rand felt inordinately proud of that observation. “Those two statements make rational sense, don’t they? And I’m a professor of linguistics, not logic.”
“You’re brilliant,” Ford said dryly. “But you’re forgetting something.”
“What’s that?” Rand asked, marveling at the way the words sounded once they’d left his mouth. Whazzat. Had he said whazzat?
“The way women’s minds work. Or don’t, as the case may be. Would you care for some more brandy?”
Rand held out his beaker. “I think I need it.”
Ford refilled his own, too, then leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Listen,” he said, rolling the beaker between his palms, “it doesn’t matter whether Rose has you. The salient point here is that Lily knows Rose is interested in you, and she’s unwilling to hurt her sister by taking what Rose considers hers—never mind that you’re not and never will be—because Lily is putting her sister’s feelings before her own. She won’t allow herself to marry—”
“Who said anything about marriage?”
“Hold your tongue and listen. Lily won’t allow herself to marry before Rose, most especially to someone Rose wants for herself.”
Rand sipped more brandy as he attempted to absorb that convoluted line of reasoning. In his current state, it almost made some sort of sense. “How on earth do you know all that?”
“Violet told me. And she also said that Lily made Rose some harebrained promise to stay out of her way, which further complicates matters.”
“Did Violet suggest a solution?”
“She said it was hopeless. But that’s where she’s wrong.” Ford leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he focused on Rand’s. “Listen, my man. It’s time for you to take your own advice.”
Rand sat up straighter and then waited until the world stopped spinning around him. “Advice? About love? I’m not even sure I believe in it. I’ve certainly never given advice—”
“When Violet didn’t want me, remember? You helped me devise a plan. And it worked.”
“I did?” He blinked, trying to recall. “I must have been gloriously drunk.”
“You were,” Ford assured him. “Now, listen, because I’m far too masculine to say this more than once”—Rand gave a snort of disagreement—“at least, not without the influence of brandy. You told me I had to show Violet that I loved her, not just tell her so. I think you must do the same with Lily. As I said, she cares deeply for the wellbeing of all living things—including you. If she sees your feelings are stronger than her sisters’, her sympathy for you will overcome her concern for Rose. And if she loves you back, she’ll be free to make the right choice.”
Rand ran his tongue around his teeth, considering the idea. “And how exactly do I show her?”
Shrugging, Ford tilted his head back and drained his glass, then smacked his lips. “That, my friend, is your problem.”
TWENTY
THE BURN OF overworked muscles. The sound of his own labored breath. The rhythm of his feet on the turf. All worked to clear Rand’s mind…but disturbing thoughts insisted on creeping in anyway.
He’d stayed indoors yesterday, fuzzy-brained and out of sorts, the pounding in his head quite enough without the jarring beat of a run. He hadn’t felt up to contemplating Ford’s advice, either. It had been quite a while since he’d indulged in drink like that—for good reason. This recent bout would serve to ensure he drank moderately for another few years at least.
Still, he’d managed to make progress on the translation—enough, in fact, that he and Ford had come to the sad conclusion that Secrets of the Emerald Tablet held no secrets to making gold. Over the past few weeks, Ford had tested every formula Rand could find, with results ranging from hopeful-but-disappointing to all-out laughable.
Now there were no more formulas. There was no point in laboring to decipher what little was left of the text.