The Baron's Heiress Bride

by Lauren Royal

  The one thing he’d vowed to avoid bringing into this. And in front of Margery, no less. But had he any choice? Better shocked and disturbed than married to the wrong man.

  “Of course I know that,” his father scoffed. “I built the place.”

  Though the room was flooded with daylight, Rand lit a candle. “Then I suppose you also know what’s in it?”

  “No, I don’t. What Alban kept in his chambers was his concern alone.” Though the marquess sounded adamant, trepidation laced his voice. His gaze flickered to the fireplace. “Will you never learn that a man is entitled to privacy, Randal? How many times did I tell you not to snoop in your brother’s journals?”

  Halfway to the fireplace, Rand whirled. “How many times did you beat me for it?”

  “Too many to count,” the man snapped.

  “Yes, too many times I tried to show you who your son was, and still you continued to deny it.” Shoving the candle into his father’s hand, Rand knelt to work the latch near the floor. “Here, at last, is your proof,” he gritted out. “Try to tell me I’m mistranslating this to my advantage.”

  He stood and swung open the panel.

  The marquess stepped into the small space. And his face went white.

  As though in a daze, Margery moved closer.

  “No!” Rand reached to stop her and turned her into his chest. His arms went around her protectively. “Take a good look,” he told his father over his shoulder. “Perhaps there have been no murders in the vicinity, but that only means he stopped short of killing. You won’t convince me all those implements were meant for hunting. Or even animals.”

  Silence settled over the chamber, so profound Rand could hear both his own heart and Margery’s. And the marquess’s harsh breathing. Despite his convictions, the older man was clearly shaken.

  Suddenly he stepped back and slammed the panel, the sound shattering the stillness. For a moment, he just stood in place, swaying on his feet as an odd sort of calmness settled over him. “This doesn’t prove Alban meant to kill Bennett Armstrong.”

  “No,” Rand agreed. “It only goes to show he was capable. His journal is the proof.”

  “I cannot read it. And I refuse to—”

  “To take my word as to its translation? I’m not surprised, since you never have. But this time, I’m prepared to sit with you, for days if necessary, and demonstrate, step-by-step, how the code was broken and exactly what that journal says.” To Rand’s mortification, his voice broke. “You owe me the chance to do that, Father. All my life you’ve dismissed me, and you’ve already admitted that was a mistake on your part. You owe me.”

  It didn’t take days.

  Four hours later, his father slumped in his chair and buried his face in his hands.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  STANDING IN HER mother’s perfumery, Lily gazed out the window and squinted into the distance. “Where on earth is he?”

  On another day, Rose might have laughed, but she didn’t. “Poor Lily. Give him time.” She chose several cheerful yellow daffodils and added them to an arrangement. “He had to ride there and convince his father and then come all the way back…why, he likely won’t be here for hours.”

  Mum plucked rose petals, tossing them into the clear glass bulb of the fancy distillery Ford had made for her while courting Violet. “Your sister’s right, dear. Come and help me. It will take your mind off the waiting.”

  With a sigh, Lily walked to the table and idly picked up a rose. “I know Rand will convince his father,” she said, as much to assure herself as them.

  “Of course he will,” Rose said. “If you’d seen that translation, you’d be even more certain. Rand’s brother intended murder. The marquess won’t be able to deny it.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he’ll allow us to wed.”

  That statement was met with silence, because, unfortunately, there was no arguing with it. No guarantees that proof of Alban’s intent would lead to the marquess changing his mind.

  “Tell me about Hawkridge,” Mum said at last. “I’ve never been there myself. Is it beautiful?”

  “Very.” Lily absently plucked rose petals. “Much newer than Trentingham—Rand’s father built it just before the war—and every room is exquisite.” Except for Rand’s, which was rather plain, but she didn’t feel up to explaining that. “Why, the dining room even has leather on the walls, with designs stamped in pure gold. But the place is eerie, I think. Or perhaps it’s just cold. It feels as though no one there has been happy for a long, long time.”

  “Perhaps they haven’t,” Mum suggested. “But that will change, of course. You and Rand will be happy indeed, and your happiness will rub off on everyone else. And I imagine that after you move there you’ll be able to make improvements, make Hawkridge Hall feel warmer and more like home. If you cannot redecorate the whole house, you should at least have a say in the rooms assigned to you and Rand.”

  Picturing Rand’s tiny chamber, Lily sighed. Maybe—assuming they were allowed to marry—they could occupy Alban’s suite of rooms instead. But if that were the case, a complete overhaul would be necessary before she’d agree to sleep there even once.

  Rose added several carnations to the colorful spray she was creating. “Will you live at Hawkridge after you marry, then? Will Rand have to give up his post at Oxford?”

  “I don’t know. As far as I’m aware, Rand and his father have yet to discuss any of those details.” She tossed the last of the rose petals into the glass bulb. “All of their energies have been focused on the question of who he will marry.”

  Mum fitted the lid on the distillery. “Has Rand resigned himself to leaving his position?”

  “I don’t think he’s had enough time to think about it. But I doubt he’ll be happy leaving Oxford.” Lily hoped he’d be happy just being with her, whether at Oxford or Hawkridge or somewhere else entirely. But she knew better. “He worked very hard to attain that professorship. And he enjoys that life. He’s never fancied himself a baron, let alone a marquess.”

  Finished, Rose stepped back to eye her masterpiece. “I shouldn’t think that would be hard to get used to.”

  Rose might have matured a bit, but she was still Rose.

  “How about you?” Mum asked. “Will you be happy at Hawkridge?”

  “I’ll be happy wherever Rand is,” she said, knowing it was true. “I’ll have him, and my animals…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  Mum looked up sharply. “What is it, dear? Are you afraid Lord Hawkridge won’t approve of your menagerie?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “He loves animals—more than people, truth be told. He raises mastiffs.”

  Mum smiled. “Well, then, it sounds like Hawkridge will be the perfect place to build your animal home.”

  Rose tweaked a few flowers, balancing the arrangement. “From what I saw, Hawkridge has plenty of space.”

  “No. I mean, yes, as you know, there are acres and acres of land.” Lily took a deep breath and decided to come out with it. “But you might as well know that if the marquess blesses this marriage, it will be with the stipulation that my inheritance goes to him.”

  Rose gasped. “How dare he demand such a thing!”

  “There was no demand. I offered of my own free will. Hawkridge was mortgaged during the war, you see, to provide funds for King Charles. The marquess was on the verge of losing it when Margery was dropped in his lap, along with her considerable fortune. Hawkridge would face bankruptcy without her land and money.”

  “Or your money,” Rose said darkly.

  “Exactly. Don’t look so sour, Rose. It was my idea to offer my inheritance in exchange for the right to wed Rand, and I’ll gladly do so, if only the marquess will allow it.”

  Rose plucked a daisy from the vase and pointed it at Lily. “All your life, you’ve dreamed of nothing but building a home for your strays.” She shook the flower, emphasizing her words. “Maybe sometimes I’ve laughed at that, but I know how important it is t
o you. How can you give that up so cavalierly?”

  “I’m in love,” Lily said simply.

  But she caught Mum’s gaze on her and knew her mother hadn’t missed the wistfulness in her voice.

  SIXTY-NINE

  NOT THE SORT of man to indulge in self-pity for long, nor to accept blame, the marquess had made an excuse and gone off to his study. Half an hour later, when Rand and Margery asked to talk to him, he readily—if gruffly—invited them in.

  They sat in two chairs facing him, gazing up at him seated behind his desk on the raised dais. A few awkward moments passed before Rand cleared his throat.

  “Father,” he began, hoping calling him such might diffuse a bit of the tension, “we would like your assurance that, under the circumstances, you will no longer pursue the conviction of Bennett Armstrong for murder.”

  “Of course I won’t. I’m a reasonable man when presented with persuasive evidence.”

  “Well, then, Margery respectfully requests permission to marry him.”

  “Does she?” the marquess asked with a raised brow. He shifted his gaze to his foster daughter. “I haven’t heard such a respectful request.”

  “Uncle William…” Margery’s voice shook, and she paused to control it. “May I please wed Bennett?”

  “No,” the man snapped. “I didn’t agree before Alban’s death, and nothing has changed between then and now. Marriage is primarily a business arrangement, and an alliance of Hawkridge with the Maybanks estates is best for both parties.”

  “You mean Hawkridge requires Margery’s money,” Rand said, struggling to remain calm. “As I’ve told you, Lily has ten thousand pounds that she’s willing to invest in Hawkridge’s future. Added to her dowry of three thousand, it should be a sufficient sum.”

  At Lily’s name, the marquess’s eyes had softened. It was amazing how much his father had apparently come to like her. He almost looked wistful.

  But his expression swiftly hardened again. “I vowed on Simon Maybanks’s deathbed that his daughter would wed my heir. Lady Lily’s inheritance does nothing to mitigate that.”

  “Uncle William.” Margery rose and walked over to him, stepping up onto the raised dais. She placed her palms on his desk and leaned toward him, her eyes pleading. “I was an infant when my father claimed that boon, and he was only attempting to provide for my future the best that he knew how. Don’t you think he would have been thrilled to marry me to a baron with Bennett’s vast lands and income? Most especially because I love Bennett so very much, and he loves me in return. You must agree that if my father had had any way of foreseeing such an opportunity, he would have given his blessing freely.”

  In the silence that followed, Margery backed down the step and returned to her seat. She folded her hands on her black-skirted lap. A clock ticked on the mantel, unnaturally loud in the stillness. The marquess blinked but said nothing.

  “Father,” Rand pressed, hoping the man’s lack of response meant he was considering Margery’s words, “you’ve told me that your treatment of me, in years gone past, was because you blamed me for my mother’s death.”

  The marquess’s lips thinned. “I’ve also told you I’m sorry.”

  “And I’ve accepted your apology—and your explanation.” Saying the words, Rand suddenly realized he had. “But what I’m wondering now, or perhaps I should say what I’m assuming, is that you loved her very much.”

  “Of course I did,” his father said, looking bewildered. “I loved her with all my heart.”

  “Then whyever would you wish to deprive your son and foster daughter of that same sort of love?”

  The marquess blinked some more. Margery’s hands clenched in her lap. The clock kept ticking. Rand prayed silently, harder than he’d ever prayed in his life.

  “Marry whom you wish,” his father said at last with a sigh.

  Margery leapt up and rounded the desk to hug him. “Thank you, Uncle William, thank you! You’ve always been so kind to me, I knew in the end you’d choose for my happiness.”

  Rand’s father just grunted.

  Rand sat immobile, his entire body seemingly gone boneless.

  He’d done it.

  He was going to marry Lily.

  “I must go tell Bennett!”

  Rand had never seen Margery’s eyes look so green, her face look so flushed. He smiled, picturing Lily looking that happy.

  “I’ll take you to him,” he said, “on my way back to Trentingham. Lily will be anxious to hear this news, too.”

  “I’m going with you,” his father said.

  Halfway to rising, Rand dropped back onto his chair. “Pardon?”

  “What sort of a man do you take me for?” the marquess asked, then apparently decided he’d best not wait for an answer. “Not only has your Lily saved my dog’s life, she is also about to save Hawkridge from ruin. The least I can do is welcome her into our family.”

  Rand wasn’t sure he was ready to think of himself and his father as a family—he suspected they might never truly be friends. But he grudgingly admitted that it seemed the man’s heart might be in the right place.

  Or getting there, anyway.

  SEVENTY

  WHILE THE marquess rode around Armstrong House dismissing all the guards, Rand dismounted and walked Margery to the door. The butler answered and showed them both into a sitting room, then went to fetch Lord Armstrong.

  Rand sat on a red velvet chair watching Margery walk aimlessly around the chamber, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. She’d be happy here, he thought. Though the house was centuries older and much smaller than Hawkridge, it was well kept and richly appointed. Besides, he knew Margery would be happy anywhere so long as she was with Armstrong.

  It was the same for him and Lily. Home would be where Lily lived, even if that was Hawkridge.

  “Margery!” The baron rushed into the room, then stopped short when he saw Rand.

  Rand rose from the chair. “She’s yours, Armstrong.”

  Long-lost hope leapt into the man’s eyes. “You mean…”

  “Yes. My father has agreed to your marriage.”

  “How—why—”

  “Margery will explain,” Rand said. “Later.”

  She’d stopped roaming. Now she seemed simply frozen in place, gazing at the man she loved as though she couldn’t believe he would be hers. When he took a step toward her, she came to life and rushed into his arms.

  Their lips met, and Rand smiled. That would be he and Lily soon, and he knew their reunion would be even better. In fact, he couldn’t imagine why he was standing here watching such a scene when he could be participating in one of his own.

  “I’m leaving,” he announced.

  With a heartfelt sigh, Margery drew back—slightly. “Good-bye, Randy,” she said, though it was Armstrong’s eyes she was gazing into.

  “I’m leaving you two alone.”

  “I know,” she murmured, her mouth stretching into a wide smile.

  “Be good,” Rand said, knowing they wouldn’t.

  LILY’S FINGERS ran over the harpsichord keys in an unceasing pattern. “What time is it?” she asked.

  “About five minutes after the last time I told you.” Rose didn’t bother to look at a clock. “I thought you found music calming.”

  “Well, today it’s not.”

  “Perhaps it would help if you’d play something besides scales.” Rose set down her needlework and pulled a droopy bloom from the flower arrangement beside her. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “Sorry.” The music stopped abruptly as Lily folded her hands in her lap. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be patient. “That it’s taking this long, it’s a good sign, yes?” She heard her sister rise and walk across the drawing room. “It must mean his father is listening.”

  “It must,” Rose said in a soothing way.

  But Lily heard laughter bubbling underneath. Her eyes popped open. “This isn’t easy, you know. My entire life is hanging in the balance.”<
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  “Of course it’s not easy.” Rose plucked three browning leaves off some flowers on the wide windowsill. “But surely not your entire life. If it all ends badly, you’ll go on—”

  “You’ve never been in love,” Lily said.

  The leaves crunched in her sister’s fisted hand. “No,” she agreed, “I haven’t. And given what you’re going through, I believe that’s just as well.”

  “You’re wrong.” Lily’s voice came a whisper. “I wouldn’t trade love for tranquility.”

  “Some of us,” Rose said, “don’t seem to have a choice.”

  “Oh, Rose.” Lily’s eyes met her sister’s dark ones. “Someday…”

  You’ll find someone.

  The words hung between them, unsaid, until Rose looked away and out the window. “Someone’s riding up the road.”

  “Rand!” Lily jumped up and brushed at her sky blue skirts.

  Rose frowned. “No, two someones. I wonder who they could be?”

  “Two?” Lily pulled a few curls forward to frame her face. “How do I look?”

  “He’s not going to care,” said the sister that took the most care with her own appearance. “Go to him, Lily.”

  As she hurried to the entry hall, Lily wondered if one of the riders was indeed Rand. After all, there were two, and he’d set out for Hawkridge Hall alone. As Parkinson opened the door, she braced herself for disappointment.

  Rand stood on the other side, a wide smile on his face. Her heart leapt—until she looked beyond him.

  “Lord Hawkridge. How, um, how very nice to see you.”

  “Lady Lily.” Rand’s father bowed, for once looking at a loss for words.

  “Rand,” her mother said warmly, glossing over the awkward moment as she appeared from seemingly nowhere. “Come in, please. And you,” she said to Lord Hawkridge, “must be this young man’s father. The resemblance is unmistakable.”

  Rand didn’t look particularly pleased at that observation. Lily stared at him, caught in his compelling gray gaze, wondering…