by Lauren Royal
“He didn’t.” Sounding wickedly intrigued, Rose read aloud.
“Here lies a great and mighty king,
Whose promise none relied on.
He never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.”
Their collective laughter rang through the empty quadrangle.
“Was the king angry?” Lily wondered.
“To the contrary,” Rand said, “he found it quite amusing. He claimed his words were his own, while his deeds were those of his ministers.”
In high spirits, they left Wadham and walked the unpaved streets. Lily already loved this city, a city so steeped in tradition that new buildings were built in old styles. She nearly burst out laughing when she noticed Lady flitting along from tree to tree, then glanced around and found Beatrix stalking them in the shadows. She decided to keep quiet about that, given that Rand was uneasy around her constant companions. But her heart sang to see that her animal friends would be comfortable here in Oxford, too.
Of course, that was assuming she and Rand ended up living here.
“The Sheldonian Theatre,” Kit announced. They all stopped to gaze up at the cupola atop its domed roof. “A friend built it,” he added, sidling closer to Rose. “Christopher Wren. His first large public building.”
Rose failed to look impressed with either the building or Kit’s friendship with the celebrated architect. “I’ve met Mr. Wren,” she said. “He attended my sister’s wedding.”
Seemingly undiscouraged, Kit tried the doors and looked disappointed to find them locked. “The ceiling inside is amazing.”
Rand nodded. “It’s painted to look like the sky.”
“But that’s just ornamentation.” Kit leaned against the double doors. “The ceiling itself is a wonder of advanced construction, designed with no columns to spoil the view. An apparent defiance of gravity, because Wren contrived all the weight to be supported from above.”
“It’s a beautiful building.” Lily paced its columned front, trying to focus on the tour and put tomorrow out of her mind. “What is it used for?”
“Ceremonies, mostly.” Rand caught up to her and took her hand. His palm felt cool and dry. “Matriculation, graduation, and the like. And the university’s printing presses are housed in the basement.”
“Can you see,” Kit put in, “the street-level windows that let in light? Wren greatly values natural light. He told me he based this building on the Theatre of Marcellus in Rome.”
Despite her unease, Lily didn’t miss the admiration in Kit’s voice. Or the touch of longing. “Have you seen the Theatre of Marcellus?”
“Sadly, I haven’t.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I’d be thrilled to study the great buildings on the Continent, but I’m afraid I’m hopeless with foreign tongues. I have nightmares of never finding my way home.”
“Rose has an excellent head for languages,” Lily told him.
Her sister swung to glare at her. If looks could kill, Lily thought, she’d be deader than the sculptured heads on the railing around the building.
And things had been going so well. Lily bit her lip. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a random object in a graceless bid to smooth things over.
“The Tower of the Five Orders,” Kit enthused. “It’s the most unusual structure in all of Oxford.”
He led them through an archway, a short tunnel through a plain building, and into an open quadrangle. The buildings surrounding it were more imposing than the austere exterior would suggest. Many doors gave entrance, each with a Latin inscription in gold letters on a blue background.
Rose turned slowly, translating them all. “Grammar and history, logic, rhetoric. Music, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy. Philosophy.” And at the far end, “School of Medicine, School of Law, School of Theology.”
“Those three are the superior schools,” Rand explained. “Before attending any of those, one must pass each of the other schools first and receive his Master of Arts.”
Kit wandered closer to Rose again. “You are good at languages.”
She shrugged, but looked pleased. Kit was making progress, Lily thought. Flattery was one sure way to Rose’s heart.
He cleared his throat as he looked to Lily. “You asked about the tower.” It was a wondrous sight in the otherwise rather sobering surroundings. “The Five Orders display the different styles of classical architecture, distinguished by differing columns, bases, and pedestals. From the bottom to the top, oldest to newest, we have Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, and Composite.”
Rose looked more interested than Lily would have expected. “Who is sitting up there?”
“The statue? King James. Can you see that he’s holding a book? The Bodleian Library is behind you—it receives a copy of every new book ever published. As for the rest of the building…”
Lily listened with half an ear as Kit talked about the Gothic carving and pinnacles. Bells began ringing from the various towers of Oxford’s many colleges, their chimes all different yet harmonious. A beautiful sound. A sound she looked forward to hearing day after day, night after night, when she lived here with Rand, alone in their lovely, brand-new house.
For both their sakes, she hoped everything would work out so they could.
As though sensing her thoughts, he moved closer. When he took her hand again, she felt his thumb drawing circles on her palm, making her shiver. He smiled, not an inscrutable smile but one full of gentle teasing and unbridled affection. A smile that made her long to stay with him in this enchanting town forever. No matter what happened, she knew Oxford would always hold a special place in her heart, because it was so special to him.
He deserved to stay here. He’d already lost one home, one family. How unfair that a second home should be ripped from him, too. Lily wished passionately for Rand to build bridges with his father, but was it worth giving up everything he’d built here?
And yet, how could he have both?
THIRTY-TWO
THE ALLEY THAT separated the Spotted Cow inn from Rand’s property was dark and narrow. Lily clutched her cloak tighter around herself and glanced up at the clouds covering the moon.
It’s only fifty feet, she told herself. Should anyone approach you, Beatrix will draw blood with her claws, Jasper will nip off the poor soul’s toes, and Lady will peck out his eyes. Just go.
She made a run for it, careful of her footing on the slippery cobblestones, and arrived on his doorstep without incident. The house was dark and silent. She slammed the knocker against the big oak door, then waited, clutching her satchel and shivering in the damp, chilly air, until it finally creaked open.
“Lily?” Clearly baffled, Rand opened the door wider, then blinked as her three animal friends scampered in past him.
The expression on Rand’s face was priceless. The rest of him looked delicious, his hair tousled from sleep, his body wrapped in a dark brown brocade dressing gown tied loosely at his waist.
“May I come in?”
“Oh.” He blinked. “Of course.” Holding a candle with one hand, he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and drew her inside. As he shut the door, he eyed the assorted creatures. “How on earth did they get to Oxford?”
”I told you, they follow me.” She placed her satchel by the door and drew back her hood.
“They follow you,” he repeated dryly, as though that explained nothing at all. “What are you doing here?”
“I must speak with you.” She had the sudden urge to slip her hands beneath his silk dressing gown, but that was so shocking an idea that she instinctively moved from his grasp.
He looked suddenly grim. “Lily…if this is about Rose, please do not—”
“It’s not about Rose,” she interrupted, her teeth chattering.
“You’re cold.” He moved closer again and rubbed her arms and back with his free hand. “Then you’re not here to break out betrothal?”
“Beg pardon?” Distracted by the sensation of his hands on her, she
took a moment to grasp his meaning. “Goodness, of course not! Is that what you want?”
“It’s the last thing I want,” he said, then met her lips with his and proved it. She melted into his sleep-warmed body.
Her lids were drifting closed when she glimpsed the light guttering and quickly reached to steady the candle. A moment more and he would have dropped it, possibly burning down his brand new house. She smiled against his lips, pleased that she could make him lose his head the same way he did hers.
“Maybe we should go to your bedroom.”
“Beg pardon?” His eyes got so wide, the whites were visible all the way around.
“No, not for that.” She giggled. “Just to talk. It’s the only place we can sit down, remember?”
“Ah. Indeed.” He cleared his throat, and Lily choked back more giggles. “Well, then…shall we?” He raised the candle and motioned her toward the stairs.
They went up side by side, Rand holding the candle low to light her path. “I cannot believe you’re here,” he said, shaking his head. “Who ever thought sweet, saintly Lily Ashcroft would dare sneak out for a midnight rendezvous?”
“Is that how you see me—saintly?” They reached the top of the stairs and turned down a corridor. “Of late, I’ve acted anything but saintly.”
“Lily,” he began in a troubled tone.
“No, it’s a good thing. I think. I cannot be the nice girl all the time. At least that’s what Judith says.”
“Judith sounds like a good friend.” Rand had left his bedroom door open, and he ushered her in before following and closing the door.
It was brighter and cozier in here, with a cheerful fire in the hearth. Like the rest of the house, the chamber smelled of new wood and paint. Rand lit a branch of tapers near the four-poster bed, then set his candle on the desk. Lily’s eyes glanced off the bed with its disarrayed green counterpane, and she was grateful to see Rand setting the desk chair before the hearth and gesturing for her to sit.
As she settled herself, he warmed his hands at the fire, then leaned against the mantle. “So what would you like to talk about?”
She began without preamble. “I’m coming with you to Hawkridge.”
He sucked in his breath, opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then hesitated. Finally, “Has your mother volunteered to chaperone us?”
“No,” Lily admitted. “She might have done, but now she won’t leave poor Rowan. But I don’t care. I’m going with you anyway. This journey is far more important than my reputation.”
He belted his dressing gown tighter around his waist. “I’m not sure your mother would agree.”
“She certainly would not—thus I prefer not to give her a choice in the matter. If we leave tonight, we’ll be at Hawkridge before my family realizes I’m gone. By the time they catch up to me, we’ll have already met your father, and they may drag me back to Trentingham in chains if they like.”
“I don’t know if this business can be concluded in a single meeting.”
“Then I’ll figure out something later. Please, let’s just get there. We’ve only a few hours until sunrise.”
Rand’s hand jerked, as if he’d meant to swipe at his hair and then remembered most of it was gone. “You’ll add running away from your family to your list of un-saintly acts?”
Lily didn’t flinch. Right and wrong weren’t always clear, but in this case she had no doubts. She’d pledged herself to Rand, and he to her, and now they would face life’s challenges together. “I’ll do it for you,” she said simply. “For us.”
His expression softened—a bit. “I can handle the marquess on my own. Truly, I’ll be fine. I won’t pretend I’m not dreading it, or that I won’t miss you. But I’ll not have you subjected to that awful place.”
“Why?”
He frowned, looking into the fire. “Why…what?”
She could tell he was faking, was trying to avoid the question. “Why is Hawkridge so awful? Why do you hate your father and brother?” She chewed her lower lip, knowing these answers would be hard for him, but also knowing she needed to hear them. “What did they do to you, Rand?”
He stared into the fire for a long time.
“Rand?”
He still didn’t look at her, but he did begin to speak. “It’s hard to explain. They didn’t…hurt me exactly. Well, my father beat me when he thought I misbehaved, but no worse than any child receives from his parents.”
Lily privately disagreed, but she knew her family was unusual in that respect. She didn’t interrupt.
“Most of my punishments were due to Alban, though. He transgressed and the blame fell on me. I could never convince my father that Alban was the guilty party. He was the exalted heir, the one who could do no wrong. And I was just…” His voice trailed off.
“Just what?” Lily asked gently.
Rand shook his head. “I don’t know. The marquess hates me, but I’ve never known why.”
“I’m sure your father doesn’t hate you—”
“Oh, yes, he does. I’ve always been able to see it on his face.” Rand’s voice sounded hollow, and Lily judged it best not to dwell on the point.
Just then, Beatrix vaulted onto her lap. Lily let out a yelp, having forgotten the animals’ presence, but she was soon comforted by the cat’s warm, vibrating body. Stroking her soft fur, she looked back to Rand. “And what of Alban? Did he seem to hate you, too?”
“Not particularly. At least, not more than he hated most people. He was just evil.”
Lily’s hand paused mid-stroke. “Evil?” Though she was careful not to betray any skepticism in her voice, the assertion sounded far-fetched to her. Surely few people in the world were truly evil. “Are you certain his intentions were evil? Perhaps the two of you were simply at odds, and he behaved selfishly, as most children do—”
“No, Lily, he was evil. He did things to people—and animals, too. He liked to hurt them.”
Lily shivered at the thought. She could scarcely imagine a relation of Rand’s intentionally causing harm. It didn’t seem possible. Could he have misunderstood? He’d been very young…
“Rand, I—”
“It’s all right,” Rand cut her off. “The marquess never believed me either.” His tone was brusque, but she could hear the hurt underneath. “If you had read Alban’s journal, though, you’d have been convinced.”
“You read his private journal?” No wonder the Nesbitt brothers hadn’t gotten along! If she’d read her sisters’ journals, or Rowan’s, they’d be out for her blood.
Not that any of them kept a journal, but that was beside the point.
Rand had the good grace to blush. “Yes, but only because I was hoping to expose him.”
“To get him in trouble?”
“Well, he deserved it. And I didn’t precisely read his journal,” he said, a bit defensively. “I transcribed it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I decoded it. He wrote in secret languages he invented. Because his writings were so incriminating.”
“And you broke the codes?”
“Every one he could devise.” Rand gave a bitter laugh, and Lily got the distinct impression this was the only part of his childhood he looked back on with any satisfaction. “Alban was flummoxed. Eventually he had to stop journaling.” Rand sobered. “One good thing came of it, though—I realized I had a skill for puzzling out languages. That aptitude allowed the marquess to gain me early entrance to Oxford, and he was nearly as happy for it as I.”
“He must have been proud of you,” Lily said hopefully.
“Not in the least. He was just grateful to see the back of me. The last time I visited was when I became a fellow, and he could hardly look at me. A Nesbitt, working for a living. He thinks me a disgrace.”
Lily wanted to protest, but now she hardly knew what to think. She was having a hard time imagining the Nesbitts by Rand’s description. Could they truly be as frightful as he remembered?
Did she want to fi
nd out?
She licked dry lips. “Thank you for telling me all of this. It means a lot that you trust me enough to confide in me.”
He crouched before her chair and took her hands, making Beatrix drop to the floor with an indignant mew. “I told you so you would understand why you cannot come with me. Hawkridge is not a nice place to visit. Especially for someone as sweet and gentle as you.”
Lily wasn’t sure she was all that sweet—not anymore—but she couldn’t deny that the name of Hawkridge now filled her with a certain amount of dread.
His hands slid up her arms, his thumbs stroking the sides of her neck. He kissed her forehead, though she’d have preferred her lips. “Now you must trust me. I know how to deal with the marquess, and I won’t let him deprive us of the life we’ve planned together—the life I promised you. I’d never let anything come between us. You know that, don’t you?”
His face was gilded by the firelight when he finally found her mouth with his, his fingertips dancing on the delicate skin of her cheeks. The doubts swirling in her mind were quickly drowned beneath a wave of tender sensation.
Never say never, a little voice in her head whispered. But this time, she kept it to herself.
THIRTY-THREE
THE NEXT MORNING, Rand stopped by the inn’s common room to make his farewells and give Lily a chaste peck on the cheek. Noticing his hair was damp from recent washing, she suspected he’d gone for an early morning run.
Then she looked closer and realized he must’ve made time for a visit to the barber, as well. His hair was properly trimmed and his cheeks fresh-shaven. He’d dressed himself in a dove gray velvet suit much finer than the wool suits he normally wore. Was he hoping to impress his father?
Well, his efforts were certainly working on Lily. He looked so tempting that she had to clasp her hands behind her back to keep them to herself.
“How far are you going?”
“Only a couple of hours downriver from Trentingham. I’d accompany you all as far as the mansion, but…” He gestured toward the chaos that was Lily’s family and servants preparing for their leave-taking. They were far from ready.