by Lauren Royal
“Stay with me, then,” Rand murmured in her ear. He snuggled closer still, burying his nose in her soft curls. “And tomorrow, I’ll take you home.”
FIFTY-THREE
RAND SET THEIR luggage by the carriage and, leaving two outriders to deal with it, headed into the house to fetch Lily and Rose.
“You’ll be back, I presume? A week from yesterday?”
Rand pivoted to see the marquess standing outdoors, holding two dogs by their chain collars. “Yes, I’ll be back,” he forced through gritted teeth, hoping against hope that he’d be arriving with a solution to this dilemma.
“Sit,” the man told the dogs. “Stay.” He climbed the steps to Rand. “Margery told me you’re willing to wed her in order to save Armstrong’s life. She’s very grateful.”
Rand had nothing to say to that.
“Son,” the marquess started—and when Rand visibly flinched, his father sighed. “I suppose I deserve that. I just wanted to say I’m pleased that you’re willing to do the right thing and marry the girl. It’s admirable, considering you had other plans.”
Rand consciously unclenched his jaw. “Lily is more than plans; Lily is my life. And your approval means nothing to me. I don’t seek admiration from the man who’s despised me all my life.”
With that, he turned to head upstairs, but the marquess caught his arm. “I’m…I’m sorry for that.” Rand’s jaw dropped—had the word sorry just passed his father’s lips? “I was thinking, last night, about you and Alban and Margery.”
“And how you treated the two of them better than me?”
“Yes,” he bit out. “I did. I’m not proud of it, but there’s the truth. I always blamed you for your mother’s death. Whenever I looked at you, I was reminded, and—”
“Her death? However did your twisted mind come up with that? I wasn’t even here when she died!”
“Exactly. You’d run off somewhere, as was your habit in those days. She died searching for her precious younger son.”
Rand felt like all the air had been sucked right out of him. Run off, as was your habit. “She died searching?”
“She raced off on Queenie, her favorite mare. The animal failed to clear a fence. Broke two legs and had to be put down. Your mother broke her neck.”
“I…” Afraid his legs would give out, Rand retreated in search of somewhere to sit. The backs of his calves finally bumped into a hall chair, and he collapsed onto it.
He stared at the black-and-white floor between his limp, spread knees. “I just came home and she was…gone. You told me it was a riding accident, but you never said…”
The marquess followed him, looking down on him. “No point in telling a boy of six,” he said in clipped tones. “If I was wrong to blame you for her death, at least I wasn’t callous enough to accuse you out loud.”
Rand looked up. “No. Instead you ignored me, mistreated me, drove me from your home—”
“And you managed to survive regardless. And”—the marquess shifted on his feet—“to make something of yourself.”
Rand Nesbitt’s many accolades meant less than nothing to the Marquess of Hawkridge. “Not something you’ll ever approve. In the world where I belong, I’m called Professor, not my lord.”
His father’s jaw tightened. “You’re a baron now and will someday be a marquess. That’s another matter we need to discuss. Which we will, just as soon as you wed Margery and set up residence here.”
“I have no intention of living here. I’m not in such a hurry to put myself back in range of your disapproval and abuse.”
“I’ve made my apologies,” the marquess muttered. He glanced through the open door. “I’ve dogs to attend to.”
“By all means,” Rand said, waving him off.
The old goat always had valued his dogs over his son.
FIFTY-FOUR
THE RIDE TO Trentingham was awkward.
Rand was subdued while Rose was silent altogether, leaving Lily struggling to keep up a civil chatter more or less on her own. The worst of it was that for the first time since the baptism, she found herself wracking her brain to find anything to discuss with Rand. Their ease with each other was gone, their relationship changing already.
It was only two hours between the estates, yet the time passed like the carriage’s wheels were mired in mud. Though Beatrix rode inside, her warm softness on Lily’s lap failed to provide any comfort. When they finally rolled up before the manor, she couldn’t wait to get into the house.
Just inside the door, Mum met her and wrapped her in a hug. “That was a short visit.”
Lily clung to her mother for a moment, inhaling her familiar floral scent. “It felt like a lifetime.” When she pulled away, she looked around as though seeing her home for the first time. So light and bright, the staircase off the entry fashioned of classical white balustrades instead of heavy, dark carved wood. The atmosphere warm and loving, not cold and full of resentment. “It’s good to be home.”
Concern flooded her mother’s brown eyes. “Do you not like Hawkridge Hall? Will you not want to live there?”
“Oh, Mum, it seems I won’t be living there even if I did want to!” Here, finally, was someone who cared. Lily had felt invisible at Hawkridge Hall—no, worse than invisible. A burden to Rand and persona non grata to everyone else, including her own sister. “Things have changed—”
Spotting Rand standing in the doorway, she broke off.
“Rand.” Though Mum smiled at him, the expression in her eyes said she knew something was wrong. “How very nice to see you again. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you? Or does your father expect you back at Hawkridge this afternoon?”
“No,” he said dully. “I’m going home to Oxford for a few days.”
“The sun sets late this time of year, so you can stay for dinner, then, at least.”
He shrugged as though he didn’t care. “I’m going for a run,” he said to Lily, already struggling out of his surcoat. “I’ll be back in a while.”
“No,” she said. “Oh, no.”
As he turned and walked away, Mum laid a gentle hand on Lily’s arm. “I can see that things didn’t go well with his father. Leave him be, dear.”
“No.” Lily started toward the door. “I’ve let him be quite enough. I’ll be back and explain later.”
“Lily!” Mum called.
But she was already out the door and down the steps.
FIFTY-FIVE
“WAIT!” LILY called.
But Rand didn’t, even though she was sure he’d heard her. To the contrary, he shoved his coat and cravat into the carriage and then began to run, putting more distance between them.
She hurried past blue and yellow flower beds in her high Louis-heeled shoes. Hoping she wouldn’t twist an ankle in the soft grass, she wished she hadn’t dressed so fashionably this morning.
The shoes and the lavender gown with the heavy overskirt had been a final, half-hearted attempt to impress her future father-in-law. If she wasn’t so forlorn, she’d laugh at herself for her characteristic optimism. The fact was, there was nothing she could do to make Lord Hawkridge like her. He was bent on his son marrying Margery, and that was that.
He’d probably sent up a cheer when he saw her climb into the carriage and ride away.
There was Rand, crossing the bridge to the other side of the river.
“Rand!”
Thanks to living with her father, Lily knew how to make her voice carry. But although Rand stopped running, he didn’t stop altogether, instead pacing determinedly along the far bank.
Hopping on one foot and then the other, she pulled off her shoes and left them jumbled on the daisy-strewn lawn. Then she picked up her skirts and ran—across the grass, over the bridge, along the path with the river on one side and grazing fields on the other.
Her face heated and her lungs burned. She developed a searing stitch in her side. But she wouldn’t stop running.
She would never give up on Rand Nesbitt.
<
br /> In the woods beyond, she spotted him in the distance and pushed herself to close the gap. “Rand,” she called breathlessly.
He slowed, stopped, and turned, looking defeated. “You’ll cut your feet,” he said in a dead voice.
Panting, she looked down to the forest floor, littered with twigs and leaves. Her silk stockings were torn, which was no surprise, but she hadn’t noticed when it happened.
“I—don’t—care,” she said between gasping attempts to catch her breath. She bent at the waist, hugging the pain in her side. “All I care for, Rand, is you.”
If she’d hoped he’d melt at those words, she was disappointed. “Sometimes,” he said, “I need to be by myself. Can you not leave a body alone?”
“I’ve tried that. It hasn’t worked.”
“I need to think. I cannot think.”
She straightened and met his gaze. She had something she needed to tell him, and she knew he needed to share something, too. A piece of the puzzle was missing—the piece she suspected had made him run. “We can think together. Maybe two heads are better than one.”
His jaw tensed as though he were forcibly holding back words. He crossed his arms, shutting her out. His gaze drifted up to the canopy of leaves overhead.
The solitude he wanted would solve nothing. “I’m staying here, Rand. I won’t leave you. Do you hear me?” She shouted it to the trees. “I won’t leave you, no matter what your father says!”
Slowly he lowered his eyes. “Do you believe in fate?”
“I believe you’re my fate.”
“Lily, my sweet.” He shook his head, reaching for her. “Come here.”
His arms felt so good around her, so solid and sure. He kissed her, kissed her until she was more breathless than she’d been from running, until she felt boneless and light-headed. He put one-hundred-percent of himself into the wordless promise of that kiss.
And she knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was that made him run away, time after time, had nothing to do with her presence burdening him. Perhaps he simply didn’t know how to share. He’d spent so very much of his life on his own.
Well, she’d show him how. Two heads were better than one, two hearts even stronger.
When he finally drew back, she searched his intense gray eyes. “What happened? It’s something else, isn’t it? Besides Margery and your father’s ultimatum?” He tried to look away, but she moved to the side, keeping her gaze locked on his. “What happened?” she repeated. “What new disaster has arisen to pile on top of the others?”
He sighed, looking reluctant to confide in her.
But at least he didn’t run.
With both hands, she propelled him toward a large stump and pushed down on his shoulders until he sat. “Talk to me,” she said, reminding herself of her mother.
Leaves rustled overhead, and a sparrow fluttered from one branch to another. Lady had found her way back home. Jasper blinked his little squirrel eyes at them, then darted up a tree. Lily rubbed her scarred hand and examined her ruined stockings, waiting.
“The marquess,” Rand said at last, “has revealed he had an excuse for the way he’s always mistreated me.”
”You were a child. There was no excuse.” But then a flash of insight made Lily wonder if this was the ‘troublesome’ incident Etta had mentioned.
Her curiosity piqued, she had to redouble her efforts at appearing patient. The last thing she wanted was to scare him off.
”He blamed me for the death of my mother.”
“What?” She dropped to sit beside him. “I thought it was a riding accident.“
“Yes, but I never knew the circumstances. It seems, as a child, I had a habit of running off.” He paused as though waiting for her to agree or to chide him. When she didn’t, he went on. “I was six when it happened. She couldn’t find me and went out looking.”
“Then fell off her horse?” Lily asked quietly.
“And broke her neck.”
“Oh, Rand.” Sensing his grief, she shifted to face him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’d disappeared.”
“You were six. You weren’t responsible for her accident. It could have happened another day, another time—”
“But it didn’t.” The guilt rolled off of him in waves. “It happened when I ran off. I killed her.”
With a hand on his chin, she turned his face to hers. “No. You’re not to blame.”
“My father thinks I am. I left her, and she died. And look at me. I’m still running off and hurting the people I love.”
She offered him a wan smile. “I believe I just put a stop to that. And Rand, you didn’t kill her. Your father saying so doesn’t make it true. You were six years old. Events happen. This one was tragic, but you cannot believe it’s your fault.”
“My father believes it.”
“Not really,” she argued. “Or he’d have voiced that blame aloud long ago. And he never did, did he? Or you would have known that’s why he was cruel to you.”
He appeared to consider that for a moment, and Lily felt a little of the tightness ease from his body. “You won’t convince me the old goat is good,” he finally said.
“No, and I wouldn’t try. His treatment of you was unpardonable, but perhaps natural, for all that. He was hurting—”
“Hurting?” Rand interrupted in a tone of patent disbelief.
She nodded. “He must have loved her very much to react in such a strong manner, even if it was wrong.”
“Love? I cannot picture the man in love. I doubt he even believes in such a fine emotion.”
She decided to drop that for now. “Regardless, he was wrong to treat you poorly. Not only because you were—are—his child, but also because—”
“I was only six,” he finished softly, as though really hearing that for the first time.
“Yes, you were only six.”
An invisible weight seemed to roll off his shoulders, and he sat there a long while, silent, leaning his forehead against hers.
“I need time to think,” he said at last, pulling slightly away.
“About your mother?”
He shook his head, a slow, mournful motion. “About Margery. I cannot marry her, loving you. I cannot. But the baby—”
“The baby? What baby?”
“She’s with child,” he said miserably. “Margery is going to have the baron’s son. Or daughter. It wasn’t intentional. She claims she and Armstrong got carried away. Just once.”
Shock and dismay swirled in Lily’s stomach and made a lump rise in her throat. But having seen Margery and the baron together, she had no trouble imagining the two of them getting carried away.
She swallowed hard. “How do you feel about her being with child?”
“My baby sister is having a baby—she did what it takes to have a baby.” Rand’s mouth twisted ruefully. “I honestly don’t know how I feel about that. And…she asked me to raise it as my own. If we can’t find a way for her to wed Armstrong, that is.”
“And you agreed, of course,” she said softly. Picturing Rand raising another girl’s baby made Lily’s stomach continue roiling, but she was determined to maintain an outward calm. “Because what else can you do? The child oughtn’t to be punished for its parents’ indiscretion.”
“Yes, I agreed,” he admitted. “But I confess, as much as I can’t picture myself wed to Margery, I find that when I think of raising her child…I don’t mind. Which is odd.”
“You’re far too generous to refuse an innocent babe a good home. Why should you think it odd?”
“Because until very recently I found the thought of raising any child abhorrent. But now, when I close my eyes…” He did so, and a little crease appeared in his forehead. “I see a little girl with big blue eyes and dark curls.” He opened his eyes. “Our daughter.”
Lily’s heart skittered. “I see a boy. A gray-eyed boy with long, dark gold hair.”
His lips curved
in a half smile. “Twins. They run in your family, don’t they?”
Despite everything, she had to laugh. “If you’d seen my sister heavy with twins, you wouldn’t wish that on me. Besides, it’s Ford’s family that runs to twins. Surely you know he’s a twin himself.”
“Ah, yes. Kendra.” For a moment, Rand looked far away, lost in the past. Then the faint smile faded from his face. “One child, twins, triplets—I don’t care, so long as they’re ours. More than anything, Lily, I want you to have my children.”
“I want that, too, so very much.” Instinctively, Lily’s hand moved to her middle. Then it fell back to her lap. “But that would mean…not only Bennett Armstrong…”
Rand nodded stiffly. “Armstrong condemned to death, Margery tarnished as a fallen woman, and her child branded a bastard. Could I live with myself, having caused all of that?”
Of course he couldn’t; he wouldn’t be Rand if he could. The lump was rising in Lily’s throat again. “There must be another way,” she said, using his words. “You’re right—we both need to think.”
He put his bigger hand over hers. “Not now. I’m sorry, but I must go to Oxford. I need more clothes, and other—”
“I didn’t mean you’re never allowed to go off alone. You’ll think in Oxford, and I’ll think here.”
By unspoken agreement, they rose and began walking in the direction of Trentingham—without hurry this time. Rand took her hand. “After Oxford, I must go back to Hawkridge. Armstrong said he was hunting with a party; one of the other men might have seen something. Or someone else. If need be, I will interview every soul in a ten-mile radius. If there exists any evidence to exonerate the baron, I will find it.”
Leaves crunched beneath Lily’s stockinged feet, and when a twig snapped with a loud crack, Rand swept her up into his arms. She linked her hands behind his neck. “I shall come and help you.”
She saw the telltale hesitation, felt the slight tightening of his arms before he decided to come out with it. “Let me talk to my father first. You’ll be but two hours away, and I’ll come for you, I promise, once I’m convinced my father will be civil.” His gray eyes pleaded for her to understand.