by Lauren Royal
Rand knelt on the rug, warily watching Jasper scurry over to claim his portion. “I’m surprised I fell ill at all, actually. You’ll find I’m of a strong constitution—perhaps due to all the running.”
“It’s Beatrix you’ll want to keep an eye on.”
“Pardon?”
Before he’d grasped her meaning, a brown and white blur sailed over his left shoulder and pounced on the bread.
Lily laughed. “Share, Beatrix.”
Though the cat’s tail twitched in protest, she relented and let her squirrel friend approach.
The animals well occupied, Rand judged it safe to pour the champagne. He dropped a strawberry into Lily’s and watched the drink fizz, remembering the first time he’d tasted this new beverage, at Ford and Violet’s wedding. Where he’d also first danced with Lily…and Rose. “How is Rose faring?”
Lily accepted her goblet and took a big gulp, looking as if she needed it. “Rose is very angry with me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Violet told Ford you’d never consent to wed me, for fear of hurting your sister.” He raised his goblet in a toast. “I’m glad she was wrong.”
They drank, solemnly, gazing at each other over the goblets’ rims—and Rand berated himself for bringing up Rose. He wished he could kiss away the shadow over Lily’s face, but his gaze darted to one of the open doors, leery of her mother’s return.
To his surprise, it was innocent Lily who set down her champagne, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his, rising on her knees to reach him. It was a slow, consoling kiss, though whether she was drawing consolation or offering it, he didn’t know—with Lily they seemed to be the same thing. Tasting of champagne, she held his head in both hands, unexpectedly strong. Trying to kiss her back with all the tenderness he felt, he thanked God for sending her to him.
Rain pattered on the roof far above. “I love you,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he returned, his voice filled with wonder. Sweet mercy, how incredible to have never had love in his life—and then to suddenly have it. What a difference love made! In the space of a fortnight, his entire life had changed. As if years of shadow had given way to full sun.
He clasped Lily to him like some precious object, tucking her head gently under his chin. ”When shall we be married?”
She gave a contented sigh. “Violet and Ford were wed two weeks after they became betrothed, and—”
“Two weeks?” His fingers played with a lock of her hair. “It won’t be easy, but I suppose I can wait that long.”
“That long? Mum has been complaining about the rushed wedding ever since. She wishes to make a proper job of it this time. Six months, she said—”
“Six months! You can’t be serious.”
He felt her smile against his chest. “Those were my words exactly. That is why I talked her into six weeks.”
“Oh. I suppose six weeks is survivable.”
“It will pass quickly enough. I’ll be busy with wedding plans, and you with your house. We’ll be married before Michaelmas term starts in mid-October. And I hope that in the meantime Rose will come around…”
Her voice trailed off sadly, and she sat back on her heels, not meeting his eyes.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
She took a minute to answer, a minute during which he neither moved nor drew breath. “No,” she said at last. “Not really.”
The words had come too slowly, too reluctantly. Rand’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Lily—”
“I’m not having second thoughts,” she repeated and then launched herself at him, knocking him back to the rug as she crushed her mouth to his.
He kissed her and laughed, sheer joy mixed with relief, keeping just enough presence of mind to steady the champagne bottle she’d nearly toppled…before losing himself completely in the sensation of her slight, warm body sprawled over his. He could have kept kissing her the whole afternoon, spectators or no.
Until he felt sandpaper rubbing his fingers. “What on earth—”
Lily giggled, a sound of pure merriment that drowned out the rain. “Beatrix, stop licking Rand’s hand.” Leaning on an elbow, she held up a bite of cheese, and the cat wandered over to take it with its delicate pink tongue.
At least it looked delicate. “I thought it would feel wet,” he said. “And soft.”
“Has a cat never licked you?” Lily’s eyes danced, and Beatrix hiccuped.
“Does she always hiccup so much?” Rand asked.
“No. Or at least she didn’t used to. She’s been acting a bit odd lately. I suppose it’s a good thing she stopped us, though.” With a rueful glance at the nearest door, Lily sighed and sat up. “Are you still hungry? Try a nun’s biscuit. They’re my favorites.”
Biting into the offered sweet, he tasted almonds and lemon and smiled. But beneath the smile, a twinge of uneasiness returned.
A nun’s biscuit, of all things. Well, he hoped the image of chaste nuns would remind both Lily and himself that that they weren’t married yet, and ought not to be engaging in improper intimacies. It wasn’t worth risking her parents’ ire, on top of Rose’s wrath.
Nothing was worth risking the wedding going forward as planned.
Lady Trentingham soon returned to an innocent scene of two young people munching on nun’s biscuits. Lily was apparently back in all good spirits, and the sight warmed Rand from the inside out. He told himself there was no danger, that their feelings for each other were too strong to be foiled. Not her parents, nor Rose, nor the king himself could come between them.
But all of a sudden, six weeks seemed like a very, very long time.
TWENTY-NINE
IT TOOK THREE carriages to get to Oxford. A valet and two maids rode in the first, along with all the luggage. The second conveyed Father, Mum, and Rose. And the third held Rand and Lily, with Rowan, evidently, as their chaperone.
Rand sat beside Lily on one of the two upholstered benches, holding her hand. Across from them, Rowan chattered, excited about his first trip to Oxford.
“You’ve never been?” Rand asked.
“Never.”
“Neither have I,” Lily added.
He squeezed her hand, praying she would be pleased with the town and with his house—anything that might add to her satisfaction, and hopefully help outweigh the less pleasing consequences of their betrothal.
Though she might have found more enjoyment, Rand thought, had Rowan shut his mouth for thirty seconds in a row sometime during the journey. He was a nice enough child, but spending several hours trapped in a small space with the lad was sufficient to convince Rand he wasn’t quite ready to be a father.
When children came along, he was certain he’d love them as much as he loved Lily. But he was just getting used to the idea of being a husband; he felt woefully unprepared for fatherhood as yet.
Especially if all children talked as much as Lily’s brother.
“Do you know,” Lily said, dragging his thoughts back to the conversation, “we’ve never been much of anywhere besides London and the area that surrounds Trentingham. Oh, and Tremayne, but not for years.”
“Tremayne?”
“A castle and lands our family owns near Wales. We stayed there during Cromwell’s Protectorate, and again in ’65 when the Great Plague was a threat. Now that Grandpapa has passed on and Father become the earl, Rowan is Viscount Tremayne.”
“Are you?” Rand asked Rowan, smiling when Lily’s brother nodded and puffed out his narrow chest. “Well, then,” he told the boy, “you’re certainly more important than I. I’m a mere lord.”
“You’re important,” Lily protested.
Rand waved that away, though secretly pleased. “Have you never been out of Britain, then?” he asked Rowan.
“No.”
“None of us have.” When the carriage jounced in and out of a rut, Lily jostled against Rand. “Where have you been?”
“Rose said he’s traveled a lot,” Rowan ch
imed in importantly.
Rand shrugged. ”I’ve been lucky to spend time on the continent. Spain, France, Italy, Greece…” He turned to Lily. “I’ll take you those places, and more.”
Rowan was gazing out the window at the unfamiliar countryside. “Rose said Lily won’t be able to talk to anyone.”
It was obvious the boy had no idea his words might sting. Rand wrapped an arm around her. “I’ll be happy to communicate for your sister.”
Lily watched out the window, too. She rubbed the scars on her hand, determined not to let her Rose’s spite spoil this special day. As they descended toward Oxford, the grazing land gave way to water meadows, and now the road was peppered with charming houses, each with a lovely, well-tended garden.
Rand began humming, that same old tune she’d heard before, somehow both quiet and cheerful at the same time. Lily’s mind drifted, and she touched her fingertips to her lips, imagining them tender and a little bit puffy like they’d been yesterday after kissing Rand. Though surprised by her own daring at the picnic, she was glad she had…well, pounced on him. Remembering what it had felt like to go to him, to make him want her instead of just letting him want her, was far more pleasant than her other preoccupations. She’d gone to sleep last night with one hand on her mouth and awakened that way, too.
As they crossed a river to enter Oxford, she smiled at a beautiful square bell tower built of mellow stone. “It looks so old.”
“Charmingly old, I hope.” Rand’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “I hope you won’t mind living here.”
“It’s lovely,” she breathed.
“We’re on Magdalen Bridge, and that tower is part of Magdalen College. It was built by Cardinal Wolsey. Every May Day since 1501, the college’s choir ascends the tower at dawn to greet the coming of spring with hymns.”
“Oh,” she said, “I imagine that must be spectacular.” Beyond Magdalen, they passed through the low-arched East Gate, and then they were within the city wall, its battlements interspersed with turrets. Towers of Oxford’s many other colleges rose to punctuate the horizon, monuments to centuries of education.
Among the huge buildings of the university, townspeople lived and worked in smaller homes and shops under steep, sloping roofs. Few people walked the streets, but those that did looked prosperous, unlike in London where the poor slept in the gutters. “It’s a quiet town in the summer months,” Rand said, “but it will be bustling come October, full of students in their billowing black gowns.”
“Can we climb all the towers?” Rowan asked, bouncing on the seat.
“Not all of the towers, but certainly one or two,” Rand promised. “I’ll take you all on a walking tour later.”
Following instructions Rand had given the coachmen earlier, they turned onto New College Lane, a narrow street that ran between New College and Hart Hall. Behind a small rectangular courtyard, his new house rose three stories, the left side still cloaked in scaffolding.
“Here we are,” he said, somewhat unnecessarily given that their carriage had stopped behind the other two.
The door opened, and the driver lowered the steps. Upon exiting, Rand waved at Lily’s parents, noting that they looked a good deal more cheerful than stormy-eyed Rose.
He swallowed, hoping he could shield Lily from the worst of her sister’s ire.
Looking lovely in a cornflower blue traveling gown, Lily stepped out and stared up at the rows of Palladian windows. “It’s very big!”
“Did you think I’d expect Lady Lily Ashcroft to live in a cottage?” he teased. But he breathed easier knowing she so far approved of her home-to-be.
When Rowan emerged and made a beeline for the scaffolding, Rand reached a quick hand to grab the boy’s arm. “No, you don’t.”
“Holy Ha—I mean zounds, I just wanted to climb it.”
“It isn’t safe,” Rand said firmly, then turned back to the rest. “Come, let’s see if the architect is at hand. I’ll introduce you all—and find out why he hasn’t finished as promised.”
A workman came out the front door, burdened with two buckets of paint. He smiled and bowed awkwardly. “Lord Randal.”
“Henry. How goes the job?”
“All but done. Mr. Martyn should return soon. He was called away—”
“Of course he was,” Rand interrupted. “Isn’t he always?” With a short laugh, he waved the man and his paint toward the scaffolding and ushered Lily’s family inside the house.
Even though Kit was off-site, the interior swarmed with industrious men, a testament to the architect’s deft management. “The house is designed in the classical style Kit favors,” Rand explained as he led the Ashcrofts through an impressive entry and into the first chamber, a drawing room where a man was noisily installing a marble fireplace surround. “I admired many homes like this while touring Italy, so when he started sketching elevations of what he had in mind, we found ourselves in complete accord.”
“It looks different,” Lily’s mother observed. “Plainer than other homes, but somehow more elegant, too.”
“Kit and I designed it together.” Rand clearly loved this house; Lily could hear the pride in his voice. “I wanted the decorative elements understated, not so grandiose as in most new homes today. And Kit has an eye for grace and balance.”
“Come along!” Rowan yelled.
A bundle of energy after having been pent up in the carriage, he directed a whirlwind tour through the main rooms and the kitchen—no matter that he didn’t know where he was going. Upstairs, he led them all on a merry chase down a narrow hallway between the five bedchambers.
“We designed the house with corridors,” Rand explained, “so there’s no need to go through one room to get to another.”
Since the master bedchamber was the only room in the house with any furniture, their footsteps and voices echoed in the empty spaces. To Lily’s remorse-tinged-relief, Rose remained quietly withdrawn, trailing the rest of the group with disdainful eyes. When Rowan had finished racing in and out of every chamber, he slid down the slick new banisters to the bottom. The others followed more sedately and gathered in the entrance hall on the ground floor.
“It’s beautiful.” Lily hugged herself and smiled, looking slowly around the square, high-ceilinged room. She loved all the architectural details, the niches built into the walls, the light that streamed through the many large windows to brighten the interior. Rather than being covered with heavy, dark paneling or a riot of intricate carving, the walls were smooth plaster.
“All white,” Rand pointed out with a grin. “Like your bedchamber.”
“You’ve seen Lily’s bedchamber?” Rose asked pointedly, breaking her long silence.
Lily blushed and avoided her family’s eyes by looking up at the classic coved cornice around the ceiling. “Will the walls be staying all white?” Her voice came out squeaky.
“I don’t expect so. My last lodgings came furnished and decorated in a style that never quite felt like home, but I hadn’t any idea how to fix it. For this one, I was planning to hire someone to choose fabrics and furnishings and wall coverings. But now that I have you—”
“She’ll leave it all white,” Rose interrupted.
“Rose,” Mum started.
But then someone walked in, silencing Rose more effectively than her mother ever could.
Lily turned to see what had captured her sister’s attention. Or rather, who. Dressed in deep blue velvet with white linen and crisp lace, the gentleman was tall, lean, and had the carriage of someone used to being in charge. His hair was black, his eyes a unique mixture of green and brown.
“My house is still unfinished,” Rand said without preamble, but Lily could tell he wasn’t really angry. His long-suffering sigh was just for show. “What might be your excuse this time?”
“Will King Charles do?” the gentleman asked, a lazy smile curving his lips. Those unusual eyes narrowed. “What happened to your hair?”
“A fire,” Rand said without elabo
rating. He turned to Lily’s father, raising his voice. “Lord Trentingham, may I present Christopher Martyn, distinguished recipient of the Procrastinating Architect Award.”
Lily’s father smiled vaguely; then his ears seemed to perk up. “The Christopher Martyn?”
Mr. Martyn bowed. “At your service, my lord.”
“Atchur—?”
“Lord Trentingham is hard of hearing,” Mum said warmly as she reached to pull Rowan down from a ladder. “You’ll need to speak up.”
But apparently Mr. Martyn didn’t need to speak at all. Father stepped closer. “I’m looking for an architect to design one of those newfangled greenhouses—”
“Lord Martyn is busy,” Rose broke in loudly. “Working for the king.”
“I’m not a lord, my lady. Just plain Mr. Martyn. Although Kit will do.”
Rose looked very disappointed to hear that, and Lily took perverse pleasure in thinking her sister couldn’t call the man lord against his wishes. Having decided she didn’t always have to be nice, it seemed she was turning out to be rather bad.
But it felt better than she’d expected.
Rand performed the rest of the introductions, and then, while Kit took over explaining the details of the building, he drew Lily aside.
“What do you think?”
“I think Rose likes your friend Kit.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He tapped her on the chin. “What do you think of the house? Will you be able to stand living here?”
Feeling wickeder by the minute, Lily pretended to consider. “I saw only one master chamber. I’m not certain that’s acceptable.”
He looked a bit startled. “When the plans were drawn up, I was expecting to live here alone. But it’s a large enough room, don’t you think? Wouldn’t you rather share—”
“Let me see,” she interrupted. “You’re asking me to give up living with my moody sister in the dull countryside and move to this bustling, sophisticated town…hmm…and then I’ll have to sleep with you every night.” Watching his alarm turn to amusement, she grinned. “It sounds perfect.”