The Baron's Heiress Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “What about your menagerie?”

  “Though I’ve yet to see the garden, I’m sure it will do fine.” Perhaps it wouldn’t be ideal, but it would be much, much better than living without Rand. Even suffering her sister’s ill temper was better than living without Rand.

  Why hadn’t she been able to see that all along?

  “Are you certain?” he pressed, moving closer. He ran his hands up her arms until they were resting on her shoulders.

  Out of habit, she shot a glance to Rose, but she really, truly didn’t care what her sister thought. She, Lily, deserved happiness, too. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

  Rand looked like he wanted to pull her against him and kiss her then and there. And she wouldn’t have minded, even right in front of Rose.

  But Kit interrupted. “Oh, Rand, you have some mail.”

  Rand was still gazing at Lily. “Later, Kit.”

  “One thing looked important. A missive from Hawkridge.”

  That succeeded in seizing his attention. He jerked his head around and gaped at Kit. “You can’t mean—from my father?”

  THIRTY

  “THE MARQUESS never contacts me,” Rand protested, sounding dazed.

  “Never say never,” Lily said softly.

  And Kit burst into laughter.

  “What?” she asked, half distracted by Rand’s distress but unable to ignore his friend’s reaction. “What’s so amusing?”

  “That’s Rand’s saying. He’s been dogging me with that phrase ever since we were wee lads.”

  “I think my mother used to say it,” Rand said absently. “Where’s this letter?”

  Kit nodded. “I’ve been collecting your mail as it comes in. I’ll get it.”

  “I expect we should all go upstairs to my bedchamber.” Rand led the way while Kit went off to fetch the mail. “It’s the only room where we can sit.”

  Even there, the seating was lacking. Rose took the single chair at his desk, while Rand waved the rest of them toward his enormous bed, a heavy oak four-poster with hunter green hangings. “I’m sorry there are no other chairs,” he said, settling himself on a carved wooden chest. “All my furniture is in storage, and in any case, it needs replacing.” He forced a smile. “I’m hoping my new wife will help with that.”

  “I’ll be honored to.” Lily sat beside him. “And I promise not to choose white.”

  “Nothing white?” Rose looked suspicious. “Nothing at all?”

  “White isn’t a good color for a home with children,” Lily said, feeling her cheeks flood with heat. Why had she mentioned children? What a thing to speak of while her parents perched on her future marital bed!

  She was grateful to Kit for entering just then with a stack of mail, drawing everyone’s attention back to the mysterious missive.

  Rand flipped through the letters and slowly pulled one out. “Here it is.” Forgotten, the rest of the mail fluttered to the floor.

  Kit bent to collect it. “You didn’t believe me?”

  “I was hoping you were wrong.” Rand shrugged as he broke the seal. A big, black one. Then he just sat there with the paper in his hands. “Word from the marquess cannot be good.”

  Lily scooted closer. “Perhaps it’s not from him, Rand. Could it be from your friend, his ward?”

  “She doesn’t use the Hawkridge seal.”

  “Does your brother never write?”

  “He has nothing to say to me.” He stared at his name on the front. “No, this is the marquess’s writing.”

  At last he unfolded the paper. As he scanned the single page, an expectant silence descended on the room. Impatient, Lily leaned to glance at the letter. The writer had a heavy hand. The ink was dark and decisive.

  She looked up to Rand. His face matched the plain white walls, all the color drained, his eyes lifeless.

  “What is it?”

  Both his hands dropped to his sides, the paper dangling from one. “My brother Alban is dead,” he said disbelievingly. “At the hands of another man.”

  The air left Lily in a rush. She had some idea that Rand and Alban had never got along, but they were still brothers. She could only imagine how the news made Rand feel. Unsure what to say, she reached for his free hand and quietly laced her fingers with his.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mum murmured.

  “What—” Father started.

  “Hush, darling.” Mum patted his hand. “Rand’s brother has died.”

  Rand shook his head as though to regain his senses. The paper crackled when he waved off the sympathy. “He and I weren’t close, so condolences are unnecessary.” When he turned to Lily, his deep gray eyes held pain that belied his words—unless it was not grief, but an older pain jarred to the surface. Not for the first time, she wondered what had happened between Rand and his brother when they were children. But now was not the time to ask.

  Silently he offered her the letter, and more silent moments passed while she examined its contents. Biting her lip, she finally looked up. “You’re now your father’s heir.”

  “You’re going to be a marquess?” Rose looked between him and Lily, her eyes flashing with envy. “The Marquess of Hawkridge? And what are you now that your brother is gone?”

  “Baron Newcliffe,” Kit said. “But none of that matters.”

  Rose’s expression said it mattered quite a bit, as well as displaying scorn that a commoner like Kit wouldn’t think so.

  Releasing Lily’s hand, Rand stood and began pacing. “I’ve no wish to be a marquess. Or even a baron. I like being a professor.”

  “You may not have to give that up, Rand. Or at least not right now.” Lily watched his agitated movements, feeling helpless to soothe him. He looked like a penned animal. She suspected that if it wouldn’t be so impolite, he’d leave Kit and her family here and set off running through the streets. “How old is your father?”

  “Only fifty-two,” he admitted. “And last I heard, healthy as a horse.”

  “Well, then…”

  He gestured to the letter on Lily’s lap. “He commands me to move to Hawkridge. He expects me to leave the position I’ve worked hard to earn and scamper home to help him run his infernal estate.” He scowled. “I’ll spend my days fiddling with account books and extorting rents and dancing attendance on the king—as if I’ve nothing better to do with my time!”

  “That’s not all there is to managing an estate,” Lord Trentingham said gravely.

  Rand finally stopped pacing. “Beg pardon, my lord. I’m sure you’re right. But it’s still not the life I want for myself. I’m happy with my life here…” He turned to meet Lily’s gaze. “I’m even happier now you’ll be here with me.”

  Mum rose from the bed and touched his arm. “Then go tell him that you mean to stay.”

  “Defy my father?” he asked, perhaps surprised to receive such advice from another parent.

  But Chrystabel Ashcroft was no ordinary parent. “Yes, Rand, defy him if you must. You are a man grown; he cannot force your obedience. But try to reason with him first. A son owes a father that much.”

  “I owe the marquess nothing,” Rand grumbled. “But I suppose I cannot ignore his summons entirely.”

  “Indeed,” Lily said gently, “you cannot. But you don’t have to go alone.”

  “Good heavens,” Mum cried, turning on Lily. “You are not thinking of going with him?”

  “Why not?” Lily’s brow knitted in genuine confusion. “As Rand and I are to be married, this matter will affect my life, too. Besides, shouldn’t I meet Lord Hawkridge before the wedding?”

  Rand grimaced. “If I have my way, you’ll never meet him at all.”

  Lily rose and moved close to him. “Rand…” Much as she loved and admired him, his attitude toward his family was one area she thought could see improvement. Especially now that his father was the only family he had left.

  Glancing at her own dear parents, her heart ached for him. “Of course I want to meet your
father,” she told him. “He’s part of what made you the man I love.”

  “Whatever I’ve made of myself, it was despite him, not because of him.” Rand’s eyes were hard as steel. “Trust me, Lily. The farther you stay from Hawkridge, the better.”

  “Gemini,” Rose sneered, “is your father such a troll you fear he’ll send your bride packing?”

  “Rose!” Mum admonished. “That’s quite enough from you.”

  Lily was so angry, she couldn’t even look at her sister.

  Rand reclaimed her hand. “I’ll only be gone a few nights,” he said in a consoling tone. “Come, let’s enjoy the rest of the day. Did I not promise you all a tour of the town?”

  Lily gave him a pointed look. “Isn’t your father awaiting your arrival?”

  “The letter was written early last week; he can wait another day.”

  Searching his eyes, she saw the steel in them soften. She turned to her mother. “Mum, may I please go?”

  Mum’s mouth pinched with regret. “I wish I could give my consent. But you two are not married yet, and it would be highly improper for you, Lily, to stay at Hawkridge unchaperoned, much less travel all alone with a single man.” She nodded to Rand. “I know your betrothed is a gentleman, but I’ve your reputation to think of, too.”

  “Then come with us,” Lily begged. “Chaperone us if you must.”

  Mum glanced from Lily to Rand to her husband, looking thoughtful. Lily’s heart swelled with hope—then lurched when sounds of a crash reached them from below. Knowing her brother, Lily looked about the room in panic. “Where’s Rowan?”

  Mum lead the charge downstairs, but Lily, nearly as frantic and more nimble, outpaced her. She flew out the front door and found Rowan sprawled on the ground, splattered with white paint from a bucket lying nearby, its contents splashed all over the bare dirt yard. Above him, the scaffolding tilted at a crazy angle.

  He pushed to his feet—or rather, he tried to. “Ouch!” he hollered and collapsed back to the dirt.

  She rushed to kneel beside him. “Is it your ankle? Rand told you the scaffolds weren’t safe!” She tugged off his boot.

  “Ouch, it hurts!“ Tears sprang to his eyes. “This is God’s reckoning for my stupid mistake; I just know it.”

  Gently she probed his ankle, looking for indications of a break. “Yes, you really should have listened to Rand,” she said sympathetically.

  “No—ouch!” he wailed. “I’m talking about the barn! I told you about the joke going wrong, but I didn’t have Mr. Boyle’s fire-making things. It was a mistake,” he finished weakly.

  “A mistake? You set it? You set the fire?” Anger made her voice shrill. They’d talked about mistakes, but she’d never realized…but she should have realized. She liked to think she was smart enough to put two and two together. She’d been too focused on her own problems, her own mistakes, her love for Rand and her promise to Rose.

  “Rowan!” Mum called as she raced outside. “What happened? You’re covered in paint!”

  Rowan just stared at his sister, tears leaking out of his eyes. Eyes that silently willed her to keep his secret.

  When he didn’t say anything, Mum shifted her attention to Lily. “Is he hurt? Or is it something else?”

  Lily watched Rowan swallow hard. Inside her, a sense of duty battled with sibling loyalty. By not telling Mum, was she as good as a party to the crime? The fire was a serious thing, not some minor offense like straying too far from home on a fishing outing with a friend. Rand and her animals could have perished in that fire. Or someone else.

  But in the end she held her tongue. Rowan knew he had done wrong, and he was sorry. And he was certainly paying for his mistakes now. She nodded to let him know his secret was safe.

  “It’s his ankle, Mum.” Lily’s voice held no anger now; only sympathy. Once the shock wore off, she suspected, her little brother would be in a good deal more pain. “I think his ankle may be broken.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  AFTER A ROUND of hysterics from Lily’s mother—which her future son-in-law found rather gratifying, for he was relieved to discover the formidable woman did occasionally suffer from bouts of human weakness—Lord and Lady Trentingham gratefully accepted Rand’s offer to send for one of his colleagues, a Wadham College lecturer and physician.

  Rand scribbled a note while Kit and Lord Trentingham brought the sniffling boy inside to the master bedroom. Almost as sore as his ankle was Rowan’s disappointment at missing the tour of Oxford and not getting to climb any towers. His parents both decided to stay behind and see to the patient, and so it happened that the two young men and two Ashcroft sisters set out as a foursome to explore the town. They left the others playing a game of draughts in the huge oak bed.

  Rand shook his head at Lily. “I thought you said he was a monkey.”

  “I should have said he’s an accident-prone monkey. He’s done worse to himself, though. He’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

  “King me!” Lily heard Rowan yell as they quit the house, much later than they’d originally planned. She imagined her family’s raised voices echoing through the home on top of the construction noise, and was thankful she would be elsewhere for the next few hours.

  Their walking tour started at Wadham, where Rand had begun his years here at Oxford. The college was on Parks Road, around the corner and down one street from his house. “You really live in the center of things,” Lily remarked.

  “We will, yes.” Clearly trying to set his troubles aside, he took her hand as they all crossed the smooth green lawn toward Wadham’s elegant facade. “I hope you’ll like it here.”

  “I love it already. This town feels so peaceful and alive, all at once.”

  “Wait until it’s teeming with students.” He nodded to the porter at the stone-vaulted gateway. “Good afternoon, Dickerson.”

  “Afternoon, Professor Nesbitt.”

  Rand led the party into a graveled quadrangle. “Do you not go by Lord?” Rose asked.

  He groaned. “Far too pretentious. Besides, I earned the title Professor.”

  “But now you’re a baron.”

  Lily saw Rand’s jaw set. “Here, I’m a professor.”

  It seemed he was determined to keep it that way. Not that Lily minded, but she wondered what sort of a struggle he’d be up against at Hawkridge. And she could tell from the tenseness in his body that in spite of his valiant effort to ignore the letter, he was worried about it, too.

  She looked around the quadrangle at the stately stone buildings, built in Oxford’s traditional Gothic style. All was quiet now, but she smiled as she pictured students hurrying to meet with their tutors, young Rand and Ford among them. “The architecture matches the old colleges, but somehow it looks new.”

  “Only Pembroke is newer,” Kit said. “Dorothy Wadham built this college in 1610.”

  Rose made a noise of surprise. ”A woman built Wadham? I thought Oxford was strictly for men.”

  Rand nodded. “It is—even the servants in the colleges are all male. But as Nicholas Wadham’s widow, Dorothy carried out his wishes. There are portraits of them both in the hall and statues just outside it. Come, I’ll show you.”

  Gravel crunched beneath their feet as he led them across the quiet quadrangle. The figures made a striking composition framing the door, King James on one side and the founders on the other. The statue of Nicholas Wadham was holding a model of the college.

  “He never actually saw it,” Rand said. “They began building after his death.” He tugged open the heavy door. “Go in. The hall is beautiful.”

  While the others went inside, he held Lily back, leaning close for a short, sweet kiss that left her feeling light-headed. “I think we’re going to be very happy here,” he murmured.

  “I think so, too…if we get to stay.” Lily felt his arm tense beneath her hand. “Are you certain you’ll be all right traveling to Hawkridge alone?”

  “I must be, since I’ve got no other choice.” He sighed,
pulling away slightly. “I own it won’t be pleasant. But you heard your mother—I’m grown now, and my father can no longer force his will upon me.”

  Though she couldn’t argue the truth of his statement, Lily knew that parents tended to have ways of influencing their children. She also knew Rand was harboring a great deal of resentment that might cloud his judgement where his father was concerned.

  She squeezed the tense arm, wishing she could be by his side when the meeting took place. His muscles relaxed, and she let him walk her inside. Passing an entrance screen of exquisite Jacobean woodwork, she gawked at the hall’s great hammerbeam roof before her gaze dropped to the portraits of the founders. Nicholas Wadham wore a tall black hat, Dorothy a flattish cap and an uncomfortable-looking neck ruff. “They look formidable,” she said.

  Kit smiled. “Considering all the pranks they’ve witnessed over the years, I suspect they’re disapproving.”

  Rose rotated in a circle, taking in the solemn stained-glass windows and the long rows of tables with candelabras spaced down their middles. “I cannot picture Ford here.”

  “He came three times a day,” Rand assured her, “dutifully wearing the required robe. Ford Chase was never one to miss a meal.”

  Rose nearly smiled, and Lily noted with pleasure that her sister hadn’t uttered a spiteful word since the start of the tour. Could she possibly be thawing? As they exited the hall, Lily saw Kit slanting Rose a sharp, appreciative look. Well, she always had been a beauty, so long as she wasn’t scowling.

  Rand took them to the chapel, so they could see its magnificent east window depicting Jonah’s whale, then turned to lead them out of the college.

  “What’s this?” Rose asked, stopping by an unassuming door to stare at four lines of lettering crudely carved into the wood.

  Rand smiled. “When King Charles slept in that room one night, the Earl of Rochester wrote that.”