The Baron's Heiress Bride

by Lauren Royal

  Rand cleared his throat and raised his voice. “With your permission, sir, I’d like the honor of wedding your daughter.”

  “If you know my daughter well enough to wed her,” Father bellowed back, “you know she’s not about to ask my permission. None of my flowers ask me before doing anything.”

  “We can all hear, darling,” Mum reminded him. But he had Lily wrapped in a hug and wasn’t paying attention. When he released her, he turned to shake Rand’s hand.

  “Well done,” he yelled, and Lily just smiled and shook her head. If Rand could get through this day with her family, she reckoned he would learn to fit in just fine.

  Judith tapped her on the shoulder, her pretty face lit up with a grin. “We’re going to become old married ladies together!”

  Lily gave her friend a hard hug, wishing Judith could be as happy about her own wedding. “Let’s get married before we worry about growing old.”

  “Yes,” Rose said, “I’m the one who’s old.”

  Finally, having put it off as long as she could, Lily turned to her sister.

  Rose’s dark eyes were black with fury. “How could you?”

  How could she what? Lily wondered.

  What did her sister mean by those three words? How could she break her promise? How could she marry before her older sister? How could she steal the husband Rose had wanted? How could she be so selfish as to secure her own happiness?

  All of it, undoubtedly, Lily thought with a resigned sigh. But while her heart grieved for her sister’s pain, and she regretted her part in causing it, she refused to accept the guilt. In her view, Rose had forfeited whatever claim she had on Rand by her abusive treatment of him earlier that afternoon.

  And though Lily loved her no less, and would forgive her in time, she would not reward her sister’s folly with deference. Rose’s misery was of her own making, and though it aroused Lily’s compassion, she would not end that misery with a sacrifice.

  Wanting to explain—in language softer than her present feelings, if she could manage it—Lily took her sister’s arm to draw her aside.

  Rose shook her off. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, though she did move away from the others, closer to the oak. “You promised! You said you’d help, and then you told me to do the wrong thing on purpose.” As she talked, she advanced on Lily, backing her into the oak. “I went to Lakefield every day to offer my assistance with the translation, but he wouldn’t even see me.” Her face was right in Lily’s, her eyes flashing fire. “I always knew showing my intellect was the wrong way to get a gentleman worth having!”

  The rough bark bit into Lily’s back, and she hit her head against it, trying to gain some distance from Rose’s venom. “No, it isn’t,” she protested. “It’s the right way. Rand was just the wrong gentleman.”

  “Oh, and I’m supposed to trust your word?” With a huff and a swish of her skirts, Rose whirled away.

  Shaking, Lily walked back to the others.

  “I think we shall have a picnic tomorrow to celebrate,” Mum was saying brightly. “With champagne.”

  Rowan made a face. “No champagne.”

  “You don’t have to drink any,” Lily said woodenly, rubbing her head where it hurt. She looked up at the sky and wished she felt more like celebrating. “It will probably be raining anyway.”

  “Nonsense,” Mum said. “If it rains tonight, it shall be clear and beautiful tomorrow.”

  “A picnic sounds very nice.” Shooting Rose a concerned glance where she still stood near the tree, Rand moved to take Lily’s hand. “Thank you, Lady Trentingham. And I shall venture to invite your family to Oxford the day after, if you’re amenable. Lily ought to see her new home, don’t you think? I’ll give you all the grand tour, and you can stay overnight. I’ve no furniture yet in my house, save in the one room I’ve been using to sleep, but a respectable inn lies directly behind it.”

  “An inn,” Rowan breathed. “May we go, Mum?” He looked more excited about the journey than he had about the picnic—or the marriage, for that matter.

  “We’ve stayed at an inn only once since Rowan was born,” Mum explained to Rand, “and he was too young to remember.” She smiled at her son. “Yes, Rowan, I expect that we can go. I should like to see where my daughter will be living. And Rose always enjoys traveling, don’t you, Rose?”

  She looked to Rose, but Rose wasn’t there.

  Lily turned just in time to see her march up the portico steps and slam into the house.

  “I’ll go after her,” Judith said fretfully.

  “No, I’ll talk to her.” Mum started toward the house, then paused to look back at Lily. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ve done nothing wrong, but she’s hurting now, and I can’t say I really blame her. She’ll come to terms with it sooner or later.”

  “I hope it will be sooner,” Lily said in a small voice.

  She loved Rand. But if her own sister couldn’t be happy for her, could she be truly happy herself?

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “WELL, Chrysanthemum,” Joseph said as she crawled into bed that night, “your daughter is betrothed as planned. Are you happy?”

  “Happy? I’m not sure who’s more miserable, Rose or Lily. Or me.”

  Rand and Judith had left. Rose had taken supper in her room. Chrystabel had spent over an hour trying to soothe her, then another trying to assure Lily that her sister wasn’t lost to her forever.

  Rain pattered on the window, spelling doom for her picnic, and a headache was brewing, relentlessly hammering her temples. She hated when everything didn’t go as she’d planned.

  “Move closer,” Joseph said. “I’ll rub your shoulders.”

  She did, snuggling into the feather mattress and sighing when his hands went to work. For a spell she just lay there, letting his fingers knead away her tension.

  “Better?” he asked after a while.

  “Getting there.” The pounding in her temples was fading to a mere annoyance. “I’m afraid Lily might change her mind.”

  “No, she won’t.” He rubbed circles on the small of her back. “She’s in love.”

  “You finally noticed?”

  Running his thumbs down her spine, he snorted. “I haven’t the talent you seem to possess of discerning a person’s feelings by the look in his or her eyes. I know she’s in love because you told me.”

  “Ahh.” The sound was half agreement, half bliss. “Lily is feeling very badly, though, that Rose is in pain. I’m afraid she’ll break the betrothal because her sister is unhappy. Choose her relationship with Rose over Rand.”

  “Have you no sympathy for Rose?”

  “Of course I do. She’s my daughter, and I ache for her, never mind that she and Rand were all wrong for each other. I understand why she feels betrayed. And yes, her actions in the summerhouse were shameful, but I don’t believe for a minute that she’s truly that calculating. I fancy she sensed Rand slipping away and acted unthinkingly, out of desperation. Alas, our Rose never has been one to think before words leave her mouth. But she doesn’t truly love Rand, and Lily does, which is why I’m worried that the betrothal…um…Joseph?” His hands had ceased their sublime services. “Might you continue just a little longer?”

  He chuckled and resumed his task. “I was only scratching my nose. And try not to worry too much. I’m sure Rose will recover.”

  “Of course she will. She’ll be after another gentleman within the week. Which is why I’m more concerned about Lily at the moment.” She paused, listening to the soft rain. “I hope this unlucky rain ceases by tomorrow.”

  “Couldn’t you just move the picnic inside? Perhaps to the dining room, where civilized people usually eat?” His ribbing was as gentle as his fingers massaging her neck.

  “Hmmph. Perhaps.” She would have swatted her husband had she been at all inclined to move. “But the dining room is a much more intimate space than the gardens, and I fear asking Rose to share a table with the happy couple just now…while everything is still quit
e raw between them…”

  “But shall Rose—darling, your shoulders have tensed up again—shall Rose even deign to attend? The occasion cannot give her much pleasure.”

  Chrystabel forced her muscles to relax. “She told me she’ll not hide herself away and have Rand think her pining for him. She means to attend.”

  “Then perhaps we must disinvite her.”

  Chrystabel was horrified. “What, and shall we dress her in rags and cast her out in the lane while we’re at it?”

  “Your shoulders, Chrysanthemum. I wasn’t suggesting expelling Rose from a family picnic—that would be indefensible. But what if it were a private picnic instead?”

  “A private picnic?” Now Chrystabel grew thoughtful. “You mean to let Lily and Rand dine alone? Unchaperoned?”

  “You let Violet and Ford meet unchaperoned before they wed.”

  “Yes, and look what nearly happened!” When Chrystabel had been stealthily arranging her eldest daughter’s marriage, in desperation she’d allowed Violet to pay a late-night visit to Lakefield House. Thanks be to heaven, her daughter’s reputation had ultimately come through unscathed, but it had been a close thing. “I’ll not repeat my mistakes by risking another daughter’s virtue. Though I’ve contrived to get them alone together for a few minutes here and there, the length of a whole meal is…however, perhaps there is a compromise…”

  In silence she pondered a few more minutes while Joseph kneaded away. The last of her stiffness and discomfort had dissipated by the time she settled on the superiority of this new plan.

  With renewed energy, she moved to kiss her dear husband. “I hope the rain continues tomorrow,” she said with a sly grin, reversing her earlier wish.

  Joseph chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE SOFT drizzle of the night before had given way to real rain today, but Rand borrowed Ford’s old carriage and rode to Trentingham even though it was obvious there wouldn’t be a picnic.

  He was surprised when Lady Trentingham came to meet him, carrying one of the new umbrellas imported from France. As he climbed down, she stepped closer than he would have expected and held the contraption over both of their heads. “Come along!” she said. “My skirts are getting wet.”

  Obediently he walked beside her, feeling silly under the expanse of oiled canvas. Only women carried umbrellas—only wealthy women, come to that. Rich or poor, men wore hats and got drenched. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “To the picnic, of course.” Both her hands clenched on the curved ebony handle, she hurried him through the gardens. “What with the disappointing weather, I decided to set it up the summerhouse. I was nearly finished when I heard your carriage arrive. Here we are.” She stopped before one of the four arched oak doors.

  He opened it, blinking at the dimness beneath the dome. It was empty—of people, in any case. Though it was a bit hard to tell in the gloom of the dreary day, there seemed to be items inside that hadn’t been there the day before.

  “Go on in,” she told him, shifting the umbrella to one hand to fish a little paper package out of her pocket with the other. She gave it to him. “Light the candles. I’ll go fetch Lily.”

  As she went back through the gardens, almost but not quite running in her fashionable Louis heels, he unfolded the package and found a few more of Mr. Boyle’s fire-making things. He drew one of the sulfured sticks through a fold of the paper and began lighting candles.

  There seemed to be dozens of them spaced out on the benches along the wall. After nearly tripping over something in the center of the summerhouse, he decided to skirt the perimeter instead.

  When he was finished, the little circular chamber was alight with a cheerful glow. Plenty enough to illuminate the “picnic” Lady Trentingham had set out on the benches. Platters of fruit, bread, sliced cheese, and sweets. A bottle of champagne and two goblets.

  Only two?

  He stared at them, puzzled, until Lily blew in through the same door, wearing a summery apricot gown that belied the rainy day.

  Lily’s mother stood on the threshold, the front of her umbrella dripping onto the bricks. “Well, then, will you two be wanting anything else?”

  Rand glanced at Lily, but she looked as confused as he felt. “Where is the rest of the family?” he asked.

  The countess waved a hand. “Sadly, there’s not enough room.” She didn’t look particularly sad. “I didn’t want you and Lily to miss your betrothal picnic, but the summerhouse is rather cramped, don’t you think?”

  “We could take everything into the house,” Rand suggested.

  “Heavens, no. It wouldn’t be a picnic in the house.”

  He couldn’t see why that should signify, but as this new arrangement was rather to his liking, he kept silent.

  “All the doors are open,” Lily said slowly, and Rand glanced around to see that all four entrances to the round structure were indeed flung wide. Passersby on any side would be able to observe their picnic.

  “Yes, isn’t the sound of the rain lovely? Well,” Lady Trentingham concluded, retreating with a gracious smile, “pray enjoy yourselves! I shall pop by in a few minutes to see how you get on.”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself,” Rand began.

  “It’s no trouble,” she said brightly. “Though I beg leave to excuse myself from the party, I mean not to neglect the guests of honor!”

  And with that she was gone.

  Removing his wide-brimmed hat, Rand shook his head, impressed by how artfully the countess had ensured their good behavior. “Clever woman,” he muttered to himself.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Lily chimed in, plucking a grape off a bunch.

  Startled when something moved against his leg, Rand glanced down to see Beatrix winding between his feet. He looked about in expectation, and sure enough, found Lady perched up in the rafters and Jasper under a bench.

  They would take some getting used to, as well.

  Made uneasy by both the animal audience and the anticipated return of Lily’s mother, Rand stood awkwardly for a moment. The only sound in the summerhouse was the rain tapping on the copper-domed roof and the gravel path outside. “Do you picnic in here often?” he asked at length.

  “Never,” Lily said, hesitating over a platter of strawberries. “It really is too small, as Mum said. When we entertain in the garden, though, we sometimes use it to shelter the food. And my sisters and I like to come out here in the summertime. It’s a nice place to sit and read or play a game. If you open all four doors, the breeze flows through, yet it keeps the sun off our faces.”

  “Preserves your lily-white complexion, does it?”

  She smiled at his play on words. “That it does.” Finally settling on a strawberry, she turned to offer it to him. “Are you not hungry?”

  Her thoughtfulness immediately dispersed all his uncomfortable feelings, and he accepted with pleasure. He couldn’t help but be put at ease by Lily’s sweetness. He popped the fruit into his mouth, found she had chosen well, and reached for another.

  She laughed when he lifted the whole platter and took it with him to the middle of the room, where a handsome rug had been spread over the brick floor for their picnicking.

  Taking a tray of bread and cheese, she joined him on the rug, tucking her legs beneath her with movements graceful as a swan. “When we were young, Violet and Rose and I could spend days in here. We used to take playing cards and lay them out end-to-end on the floor to divide the space into pretend rooms. Then we’d play house.”

  “Divide it into rooms?” Wiping strawberry-sticky fingers on his handkerchief, he eyed the small area. “They must have been minuscule.”

  “When you’re tiny, even little spaces feel large.”

  He helped himself to a hunk of hard yellow cheese. “It sounds as though you had a happy childhood here at Trentingham.”

  “I did.” She swallowed, concern darkening her eyes. “Was there no happiness in your childhood at all?” />
  “Oh, yes, until I was six. Then my mother died and my father…changed. Or maybe he’d been that way all along, but I hadn’t noticed. Mother had always been attentive to me, perhaps taking my part…I was young…I don’t remember.” He shook his head. “I remember only how it felt after she was gone.”

  “Lonely,” Lily said softly.

  He nodded, thinking that loneliness was a feeling he’d carried with him far too long. But now, with her, it was gone. “I don’t feel lonely now.”

  Her smile was a little bit sad. “Do you never see them, then?” she asked. “Your father and your brother? Or hear from them? Ever?”

  “Not in several years.” He’d thought that if he forgot about them the anger would disappear, but there were others at Hawkridge he’d done an all-too-good job of ignoring as well. Like the beloved foster sister who had followed him around with hero worship in her eyes. “But my father has a ward, a girl named Margery Maybanks who was brought to our home very young. She writes to me sometimes.”

  Not nearly often enough, and he missed her. Of course, that was his fault. Reading news of his family made ripples in the nice calm life he’d made for himself—so much so that he often went months before answering Margery’s letters.

  “Does she tell them about you, then? Does your father know you’re now a professor?”

  “Oh, he knows. According to Margery, he said that just went to prove I never belonged in the best circles.”

  Her heart leapt into her eyes. “I cannot imagine what it would be like if my parents weren’t proud of my accomplishments. And my sisters and brother, too. That’s what family is all about, why we need them around us.”

  “I’ve done all right without family.”

  “Because you didn’t have one,” she said stoutly. “But you will now.”

  Her acceptance meant the world to him. Gratitude formed a lump in his throat, and he was overcome in a most unmanly fashion. Embarrassed, he excused himself and rose to fetch the rest of the food.

  Lily crumbled some bread for her animals while Rand delivered plates of cherries, sweets, and cold beef. Lastly he returned with the champagne, and she smiled, sitting back on her heels and dusting her fingers. ”I thought you’d be deathly ill today. I was certain you’d send your regrets, and here you are, all recovered it seems.”