by Lauren Royal
Lily nodded her understanding. “If Hawkridge is so near Trentingham, I wonder that I never met you before Violet met Ford. I thought I’d been to every house within a day’s driving distance with my mother and her gifts of perfume.”
“There were no women at Hawkridge,” he reminded her. “My mother died before you were born.”
“But surely your father entertains.”
“Not since the death of my mother. Even Christmas at Hawkridge is a rather dreary affair, more of a duty to the servants and tenants than a real celebration.”
“It does sound a bit dull,” she allowed. “Did no children ever visit Hawkridge, then? How did you make friends?”
“It wasn’t easy. If Kit hadn’t lived so nearby, I likely wouldn’t have had any friends at all.”
“No wonder you enjoy the bustle of Oxford.” She gazed up at him. “I enjoy it, too. Thank you for bringing me here. And my family. We all had a lovely time.”
“Up until I received the blasted letter and Rowan fell off the scaffolding.”
“It was nice after that, too,” she protested.
He shrugged, then grew thoughtful, running his tongue over his teeth. “You’re right,” he said. “The afternoon went very smoothly, once your mother calmed down. Your parents don’t seem angry with Rowan.”
“Events occur. You take them in stride.”
Rand snorted. “My family didn’t. Your parents also don’t seem upset that you’re marrying a professor.”
“You’re a baron now, too.”
“But I wasn’t, and they never seemed to care.”
“They trust my choice. Besides, they admire you and what you’ve done with your life.”
He smiled, and something seemed to shift in his eyes, in his posture. He looked more content than he had in days. “You have a wonderful family,” he said with fervent warmth.
“My father is half deaf, my mother is an unrepentant gossip, my brother thinks tricking people is a laudable achievement, my sister loathes the very sight of me—”
“They’re wonderful,” he repeated firmly, and she was secretly pleased. If he was learning to appreciate her imperfect family, perhaps there was hope for him reconciling with his own.
THIRTY-FOUR
RAND WAS LONG gone by the time the Ashcrofts were set to depart. A valet and two maids had had to stuff the family’s first carriage with a surprising amount of luggage, considering they’d left home for just one night. Then there was the matter of conveying Rowan downstairs and settling him in the second carriage with his parents, as Mum wished to watch over him during the bumpy journey. This left Lily and Rose alone in the third carriage.
The ride was predictably quiet, each sister staring out opposite windows. Lily sat with Beatrix in her lap, barely seeing the scenery and certainly not enjoying it. Between her concern for Rand and the tension with Rose, her stomach was tying itself in knots. She wished she could say something to lighten the mood. She wished they could be as close as they used to be.
But they were nearing Trentingham and she still hadn’t worked up the courage to speak when the carriage bounced over a particularly deep rut. Lily was sent careening into Rose, and Beatrix tumbled to the floor with an angry shriek.
“Sorry, Rose!” Lily gasped, scrambling off her. She rubbed her forehead where it had bumped Rose’s shoulder. “And my apologies to you, too, Beatrix.”
Picking herself up with as much dignity as she could muster, the disgruntled cat curled up in the furthest corner of the carriage, her back turned to Lily.
Lily must have looked forlorn indeed, because Rose finally spoke. “She’ll forgive you.” Tidying her hair, she jerked her head to indicate Beatrix. “She’s just nursing her pride.”
Lily knew that; in truth, she’d been wondering whether Rose would ever forgive her, not Beatrix. But she was so happy they were talking, she didn’t much care what was said.
Now, how to keep Rose talking?
Flattery, of course, was the obvious choice. “Kit admired you yesterday. Did you notice?”
“Of course,” Rose said haughtily, arranging a plump, dark curl over one shoulder.
“Did you admire him?”
Rose shrugged. “He’s handsome enough. It’s unfortunate he’s not titled.”
Lily frowned. “He’s a successful architect. Goodness, he gets commissions from the king himself! I imagine he can afford to live in a grand style. Why should it matter that he’s not titled?”
“Of course it matters. Violet is a viscountess, and you—soon you’ll be a baroness and eventually a marchioness. Why should I settle for less?”
“You’re the Earl of Trentingham’s daughter, which means you could marry a guttersnipe and you’d still be Lady Rose. Besides, if you’re in love with the man, it’s not settling.”
“Well, I’m not in love with Kit, am I? I’ve just met him, and I’ve no intention of getting to know him better when he’s not what I want.” Rose averted her gaze, looking out at the rolling countryside.
End of discussion. Lily could swear she felt the temperature in the carriage drop.
So much for growing closer.
A few minutes later, Rose surprised her sister by speaking again. “Why are you even here?” She kept her gaze on the view.
Lily traced the scars on the back of her hand. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, when you sneaked out of your room last night, I figured you meant to abscond with your betrothed to Hawkridge.”
Lily’s jaw dropped. “You knew I sneaked out?”
“Of course.” Lily could hear the scorn in her voice. “My room was next door to yours. What did you think, the walls were ten feet thick?”
“No, I just—” Lily swallowed hard. “Did you tell Mum and Father?”
Silently, Rose shook her head. It had begun raining outside, and the carriage passed by a flock of wet, bedraggled-looking sheep. When the last of the herd was out of view, she turned to Lily, her eyes dark and unreadable. “I know that you won. I’ll never like it, but I do know it. And I don’t intend to put myself in your way.”
Lily looked at her hands, unsure of her response. This seemed like progress—didn’t it?—but her sister’s voice held no trace of understanding or affection. She’d almost rather have Rose’s contempt than this cool, businesslike acceptance.
“Why did you come back?” Rose asked again.
“He didn’t want to take me with him. He said Hawkridge isn’t a good place for me.”
“Do you think he’s right?”
Lily shrugged. She didn’t know what to think. “Maybe.”
Rose moved across the carriage to sit beside her sister. “Then you have to go,” she said strongly.
Lily’s head jerked up. “What?”
“If you marry him, sooner or later Hawkridge will be your home. You can’t run away from that. You must go there and show that you belong—with him, and at Hawkridge. You mustn’t begin a marriage with doubts.”
“Do you really think so?” Lily was astonished to hear Rose offering words of support, but they did agree with her own views. She’d let Rand go alone because it was what he wanted, and she wouldn’t presume to tag along uninvited. But that didn’t mean she’d felt it was for the best. “It’s too late, anyway,” she said with a sigh. “Rand’s already gone, and I’ve no one else to travel with. Mum won’t take me until Rowan’s ankle is mended, and by then Rand will probably be back.”
“What about Violet?”
“With two newborns on her hands? She wouldn’t leave them if the King himself commanded it.”
Rose heaved a sigh that put Lily’s to shame. Resignation seemed to age her features. “Then I suppose I’ll have to go with you.”
“What?” Lily’s screech made Beatrix jump. “Why would you do that?”
“What other option is there? You cannot go alone.” Lily opened her mouth, but Rose continued, “I know what you’re going to say, and yes, it’s true that an unmarried sister is not an ide
al chaperone. But I’m better than nothing, and you said yourself Mum won’t leave Rowan until he’s mended. By the time she learns our whereabouts, there’ll be nothing she can do.”
“‘By the time she learns our whereabouts’?”
Rose almost smiled. “I have a plan.”
Lily wanted to laugh, thinking it sounded an awful lot like the plan she herself had described to Rand. Perhaps the two sisters were more alike than they’d realized.
But then her amusement faded as doubt flooded in. She searched Rose’s eyes carefully, but their black depths betrayed nothing. “Why are you doing this for me, Rose?
Looking solemn, Rose touched Lily’s arm, a fairly affectionate gesture for her. She wasn’t the cuddly type. “I’ve been angry with you, Lily. And I haven’t quite forgiven you yet.” A hint of warmth seemed to creep into that cool tone of voice. “But you’re still my sister.”
THIRTY-FIVE
WHEN THE Ashcrofts arrived at Trentingham, the girls immediately asked their mother’s permission to visit Violet and the twins. Mum raised a brow, perhaps wondering at the abrupt restoration of Lily and Rose’s friendship, but only bid them return in time for supper.
Then came Rose’s role: sweet-talking Tilney, the young coachman who’d written her sonnets when she was sixteen, into readying a carriage and bringing it round to the end of the drive, where they could meet out of view of the mansion.
Meanwhile, Lily withdrew to her bedchamber to pack a fresh case; they’d be traveling light since they couldn’t ring for a footman without risking discovery. She was seated at her white dressing table, scribbling, when a light knock came at the door and Rose entered, hauling her own reduced luggage. “Nearly finished?” she puffed.
“Finished.” Lily placed the note on her bed, praying it wouldn’t be found until she and Rose failed to turn up for supper.
Hiding their small cases beneath their cloaks, the girls quit the house by way of the back door, then made a dash for their father’s orchards. Staying under tree cover made for a roundabout route, but it was far safer than cutting through the garden, where they’d be exposed to all the west-facing windows. Lily grew hot and out of breath, but they made it to the end of the drive soon enough, and without incident.
Except for the fact that their mother stood beside the carriage, chatting amiably with Tilney.
“Mum!” they both gasped, exchanging a panicked look.
Lily wiped sweat from her brow. “Are you off on a visit, too?” she asked in what she hoped was an airy manner.
“No,” Mum said pleasantly. “I was simply telling Tilney here that he ought to meet the blacksmith’s niece down in the village. She’s visiting from Kent, you know. Lovely girl.”
Tilney looked embarrassed, though not displeased.
“Well, we’d better be off,” Rose said, making a show of glancing at the sun. “It’s only a couple hours until supper time.”
But Mum didn’t budge, and she was blocking the carriage steps. “What’s that you’re carrying, my loves?”
The sisters exchanged another look. “Gifts,” Lily improvised. “Toys for Violet’s children. We did some shopping during our walking tour yesterday.”
“Exactly,” Rose put in.
“Oh, how darling! May I see?”
“Um…” While Rose’s cheeks slowly heated, Mum reached into her pocket and pulled out Lily’s note.
Lily’s case slipped from her fingers.
Mum turned to Tilney. “Would you be so good as to give us a moment alone?” When he was out of earshot, she looked back to her daughters. “I never imagined you would lie to me about something like this,” she said quietly.
Lily glanced up to see her mother’s eyes lingering on her, expressing particular disappointment in her youngest daughter. The sweet one. The good girl.
Or so she used to be.
Perhaps being bad wasn’t such a good thing, after all. She certainly didn’t feel good right now. Her eyes were itchy with threatening tears, her insides squirming with remorse.
When her daughters still held their silence, Mum sighed. “Well, I can see you’re bent on going to him, Lily. I just wish you’d felt you could tell me so yourself.”
Lily’s eyebrows shot up. Her mother couldn’t mean… “You’re letting me go?”
Mum gave a rueful laugh. “You’ve got two working legs and a cunning mind, so I can hardly stop you. I’ll not have you traveling alone, however. I’d take you myself if Rowan didn’t need me, but…” She frowned. “Rose, are you certain you don’t mind accompanying her?”
“Of course not.” Setting down her case, Rose flexed her fingers. “It was all my idea.”
“Was it?” Mum looked taken aback, then thoughtful. “All right, if you’re sure,” she said finally, and shifted to regard both of her daughters. “I feel terribly queer sending Hawkridge uninvited guests, but I trust Rand will take care of you—and see you safely home should the marquess take exception. You two will doubtless mind your manners”—here her eyes lingered on Rose—“and be gracious to your host.”
“Yes, Mum,” Rose muttered.
“And in return,” their mother continued earnestly, “you must both promise that you’ll talk to me from now on.” Eyes softening, she reached to tidy one of Lily’s curls. “I’m not thrilled about this little excursion of yours, but it’s still a thousand times better than your running away. You must know that? That the very last thing I want is to drive my children away from me?”
“I do know that. I do.” Lily swiped at her damp eyes. “I’m sorry, Mum. I don’t know what came over me.”
Her mother smiled. “Love makes us do foolish things sometimes.”
Lily nodded gratefully.
“Now, where did Tilney get to?” Mum put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, and the coachman appeared at once. “Will you kindly drive us back to the house?”
“What?” Lily dropped the case she’d just picked up.
“Have you changed your mind?” Rose demanded.
Mum laughed and ushered them into the carriage. “We’re only returning to get the rest of your luggage. I expect you to represent Trentingham creditably.” She winked at Lily. “I hear Hawkridge Hall is very grand, and you’ll want to be looking your best.”
THIRTY-SIX
MUCH SOONER than he would have liked, Rand found his carriage turning away from the Thames and rolling up the wide drive to Hawkridge Hall.
His gaze swept over the three-story redbrick building. Although its symmetrical H shape was typical of houses built this century, the house was atypical in size and appointments. And the marquess spared no expense to keep it that way. The windows had been replaced since Rand moved away, now the new sash style with double-glazed glass. The mansion was the height of contemporary fashion.
But it sickened him. He had few happy memories of this place.
He was climbing out of the carriage when the mansion’s arched front door swung open to admit a maid and a footman. With a bow and a murmured “milord,” the footman took charge of Rand’s luggage.
“Welcome back, Lord Randal.” The maid curtseyed and touched a hand to the white cap that covered her gray curls.
“Nurse Etta?” Rand blinked in shock. His old nurse had been demoted to a housemaid.
“You’d best follow me.” Though her voice was kind, her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his. “Lord Hawkridge awaits you in his study.”
Of course the marquess wouldn’t come out to greet him.
“I know the way,” Rand said quietly, knowing any trace of pity in his voice would shame the old woman. He couldn’t quite manage to smile, but left her with a polite nod and made for the house.
Inside, he was surprised to discover he still recognized most of the servants bustling about Hawkridge’s imposing great hall. Friendly faces turned to him as he passed, and he acknowledged them with as much cheer as he could muster—which unfortunately wasn’t much. Pausing at the entrance to the study, he steeled his nerves and
entered.
The man behind the desk looked up. His body stiffened beneath his jet-black velvet suit, and his mouth thinned into a hard line. “What took you so long? Your brother is already buried.”
Just hearing that tone of voice, Rand felt, for a moment, like the small boy who’d always quavered in the face of his father’s disfavor. The frosty gray eyes missed nothing, assessing him as they used to—and with no more approval. If Rand had harbored a foolish hope that the loss of the marquess’s elder son would make him look anew at his younger one, those dreams were dead.
Never mind how carefully he’d dressed this morning; Rand felt slovenly under that gaze. For that moment he was ten again, thirsting for the man’s love, willing to do almost anything to gain his acceptance. But whatever he’d tried had always been for naught, and today was no different.
And he wasn’t that small boy anymore.
“I was unavoidably detained,” he said evenly, and offered no other explanation. While the desk sat on a raised dais toward the back of the study, the only other chairs were on the lower level. Rand took one, though he hadn’t been invited. Looking up at his father this way used to make him feel contrite and insignificant, but he’d come too far to fall for the man’s tricks.
The old goat harrumphed, his face shadowed beneath his luxuriant periwig. He was one of the few men Rand knew who wore a periwig every waking hour of every day, even tucked away out here in the countryside. Rand crossed his arms, bracing for his father to make mention of his uncovered, chopped-off hair. Then he chided himself. They’d been apart too long for the man to recognize the difference. Or he hadn’t noticed. Or he simply no longer cared.
Or all of the above.
The marquess wasted no time on preliminaries. “Your brother, as you know, had been betrothed since childhood to Margery. I swore to her father they would marry the day she turned one-and-twenty. That happens to be next week. I intend for you to fulfill that pledge.”