by Lauren Royal
“And you must be Lady Trentingham. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” the marquess told her mother. “I’ve come to welcome your daughter into my family.”
It took a moment for Lily to register those words, and when she did, she was embarrassed to feel tears spring to her eyes.
“Rand,” she whispered.
His gaze flicked over to his father, then her mother, and finally Rose standing at the bottom of Trentingham’s wide staircase. He stepped forward to take Lily’s hand.
“Come,” he said, “I feel a need to take a run.” He glanced at her fashionable heeled shoes. “I mean a walk.”
That old, rude habit, but Lily didn’t care, so long as he wanted her with him this time. Her mother and the marquess would do fine—Rand’s father might be on the curmudgeonly side, but Mum had never met a man she couldn’t wrap around her finger.
Without saying a word, Rand hurried her through the house, out the back into the gardens, and along the paths to the summerhouse. He dropped her hand long enough to shut the door behind them, enclosing them in the cool dimness of the small, round brick building. Then he turned and gathered her into his arms.
“Rand, how did you convince—”
“Hush,” he said as his mouth crushed down on hers.
She was hushed, very effectively, by a kiss so intense it rattled her to her toes. His lips slanted over hers again and again until she couldn’t remember where his mouth stopped and hers started, until her knees were so weak she needed his arms to hold her up.
“When can we marry?” he asked, dropping little kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her chin. “When? Today?”
“No.” She laughed, rising on her toes to allow him better access. He felt so very good—especially knowing that finally, miraculously, he was going to be hers.
“Tomorrow?” he asked, his lips dancing over her skin, slow and sweet.
“Not tomorrow.”
“The next day, then. Or the day after that. Saturday. A perfect day for a wedding.”
“No.” She shivered, and not only from the sensual assault. “You and Margery were supposed to marry on Saturday.”
“Her birthday. The day she’ll wed Bennett Armstrong.” His hand moved to cup her cheek.
“Oh,” she breathed, ”they must be so happy.”
“Mmm.” His agreement was muffled by his lips taking hers. “Margery will want us at her wedding,” he murmured against her mouth. “So ours will have to be the day after that.”
“No.” Pulling back, she laughed again. “Two weeks. When Violet and Ford wished to marry in a rush, Mum insisted on two weeks to plan the wedding.”
“Two weeks?” he said on a groan. “After all we’ve gone through, two more weeks seems a lifetime.”
She smiled softly, basking in the candid sentiment. “Two weeks is entirely survivable—as long as nothing else gets in our way.” But it didn’t seem real. “Even so, I don’t think I’ll believe this is happening until we’re married. Until you’re mine, heart, body, and soul, and no one can threaten otherwise.”
The adoration in his eyes transformed to steel. “Nothing can endanger us, Lily. Nothing. We’ve survived a nightmare, and there is nothing I will allow to come between us.”
“I know,” she said. And she did. After too many hours and days when she’d thought he was lost to her, the agony was finally at an end. All would be well. She knew that.
She just couldn’t quite believe it.
“Nothing,” he repeated, that piercing gray gaze clearly seeing through her as usual. His hands came up to grip her shoulders. ”Fate may send us dragons, but I’ll slay them for you, fair Lily. Nothing will steal you from my side.”
Watching her closely, he pulled something from his pocket.
His mother’s pendant, on a delicate white gold chain.
“I’ve learned that my father gave this to my mother on their wedding day. I was planning to save it for our own wedding day, but I want you to have it now.”
“Oh, Rand.”
If this wasn’t proof that he was certain they’d stay together, she didn’t know what was. She heard beautiful music in her head as he clasped the chain around her neck. Looking down, she lifted the necklace, admiring all the diamonds and the beautiful enameled filigree design.
Her throat closed with emotion. “I’ll cherish it always,” she whispered.
It was all she could manage.
“Come, let’s walk,” he said, steering her out of the summerhouse with a hand at her back. “Perhaps if I tell you how this all came about, it will begin to feel more real.”
They strolled across the wide lawn and over the bridge and along the Thames. As his story poured out, Lily held on to his hand, reminding herself that he was truly here.
“You were brilliant,” she said when he’d told her everything.
“I was desperate.” He squeezed her hand and smiled.
“And how has your father taken it?”
“We spent over an hour riding here—maybe the longest time alone together ever. He expressed regret that he’d never seen Alban for who he was. He seems…repentant.”
“You like him more than you thought.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say like. We’ve a long history between us. But the idea of living with him isn’t nearly as abhorrent as I would have thought last month.”
Lily hugged that small victory to herself. It seemed there was hope for the Nesbitt family, after all.
“Will we have to? Live with him, I mean?”
He seemed surprised by the question. “Do you imagine we have a choice? He’s certainly assuming we will. Hawkridge will someday be mine, and I’ve a lot to learn about handling it.”
“But you, Professor Nesbitt, can handle anything you put your mind to. Your father has years left to live. Why should you give up the life you love now?”
He looked as though he wanted to believe her—but couldn’t. “It’s a matter of responsibility. Once I would have agreed with you, but now that I’ve been home…well, there’s Margery—”
“Margery will be at Armstrong House.”
“There’s Etta and all the others. They’re depending on me, and I cannot let them down. Oxford…” His voice turned wistful for a moment before he straightened his shoulders, his hand gripping hers tighter. “This is the way it must be.”
“But your research, your house.”
“There’s nothing for it. I’ll have to sell the house.”
“After you worked months designing it with Kit? The two of you put your hearts and souls into that house.”
He gave her a wan smile. “Kit liked some of my ideas so much, he’s planning changes to his own home in Windsor.”
“You cannot just sell it, Rand.”
“Well, it makes no sense to keep it if I’ll never be using it, does it? I can put the money into Hawkridge, help it recover from the loss of Margery’s land that much sooner. Or…wait…”
A light had entered his eyes. “What?” Lily asked.
“The money can be yours,” he said softly, looking pleased with himself. “For your animal home.”
It would mean she’d have the best of both worlds—Rand and her dream—but she said, “No.”
“Yes.” He nodded emphatically. “It’s my house, after all, built with income that had nothing to do with Hawkridge. My father and the estate have no claim on it whatsoever.”
“No, Rand.” She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him give up his house in Oxford—and the life he’d made for himself there—for an old childhood dream. “I won’t hear of it.”
It was a silly dream, anyway, a childish dream for a child. Her strays had no need of a fancy, custom-built home and a staff of trained caretakers. She’d done just fine by them so far, all by herself with makeshift pens in a corner of a barn, and surely the marquess would have no objection to her doing the same at Hawkridge.
True, she dreamed of helping more animals—hundreds more, possibly even in several hom
es spread across the country—but who knew if she’d ever find such a large number of needful creatures? Her strays had always found her.
They’d reached the woods, and Rand apparently decided not to argue, instead pulling her into his arms. “Are you really going to make me wait two weeks?” he asked, lowering his lips to hers, for an unhurried, teasing, coaxing kiss.
She wasn’t thrilled about the wait either. All she wanted was to know—no, to believe—that he was truly hers. He felt so warm and solid against her body, she could almost see them staying together forever.
She sighed against his mouth. “Let’s go back,” she said. “There’s much to settle. Our wedding date, for one.”
“And then?”
“And then maybe I’ll believe it.”
SEVENTY-ONE
THE NEGOTIATIONS took place over a dinner that had gone cold while waiting for their return.
“Two weeks,” Lily told her mother.
“Two weeks! I cannot plan a wedding in two weeks.”
“You did for Violet and Ford,” Lily reminded her, and that was that.
Looking victorious, Lily turned to Rand’s father. “Now I would like to discuss our living arrangements.”
His gaze landed on the diamond pendant she wore. Though he’d granted Rand permission to give it to her, Rand still held his breath, waiting for a reaction.
At last the marquess nodded his approval, a small smile curving his lips. “I realize Randal’s chamber is small,” he told her. “Perhaps we can refurbish—”
“That would be nice, but I meant where we will live and when.”
The man picked up his fork, his smile becoming a slight frown. “You’ll live at Hawkridge, of course. Where did you think you would live?”
“Oxford, at least part of the year. Rand’s position there is important to him. His research—”
“Lily,” Rand started.
“He can research at home,” his father cut in. “He’ll be the marquess someday, which means he has responsibilities.”
She smiled sweetly. “Certainly he does—”
“Lily,” Rand interrupted.
“—but that doesn’t mean he must be at Hawkridge all the time. Many landowners have more than one estate, and a man cannot be two or three places at once. Why, Father visits Tremayne but once a year, and it thrives quite well without his constant presence.”
“Lily,” Rand tried to put in.
But she wasn’t finished. “Oxford has three terms a year of eight weeks each. Twenty-four weeks out of fifty-two. There are long breaks between those terms and the whole summer free…if Rand agrees to spend the remaining twenty-eight weeks at Hawkridge learning his responsibilities, surely you can survive without him during term times.”
“Lily—”
“Just until he’s needed at Hawkridge year-round,” she said by way of conclusion. “But given your excellent state of health, we’re both hoping that won’t be for a long, long time.”
She topped off her arguments with a sweet smile that the marquess apparently found bemusing, given he seemed to be frozen in place with his fork halfway to his mouth.
But Rand was not similarly charmed. “Lily,” he repeated and paused for a moment, expecting her to interrupt. When she didn’t, he sighed. “I truly want to sell my house so you’ll have the money for your animal home. It’s the least I can do after you so generously offered to save my family.”
Rose clapped. Lady Trentingham smiled.
Rand’s father came to life. “Animal home?”
“Lily’s lifelong dream,” the countess explained. “She’s rather fond of animals—”
“This isn’t news to me,” his father said with a smile that looked out of place on his face.
“And she had planned, upon coming into her inheritance, to build a home where strays could be sheltered and, if necessary, nursed to health.”
“With a staff,” Lily added. “But truly, my lord, I don’t mind investing in Hawkridge instead. It will be my children’s legacy, after all. And I especially don’t want Rand to sell his Oxford house. As proud as you are of building Hawkridge, he feels the same of his home. And—”
“Enough.” The marquess waved his fork. “You will talk my ear off, child. Randal shall keep his house, and if his responsibilities at Oxford can be fulfilled in twenty-four weeks a year, they may have him for that time. But I get him the rest,” he warned.
“Of course.”
His jaw set, Rand shook his head. “No. I said—”
“She shall have her animal home,” the marquess interrupted, “at Hawkridge. I have staff enough to spare, and if nothing else, it will ensure you two stay there on a regular basis. Now, if everyone’s concerns have been addressed to their satisfaction, I had better be off. Margery’s wedding day approaches, and although it surely won’t be the extravaganza the countess has in mind for yours, there are details to which I must attend.”
Half an hour later, Rand found himself dragged out of the house, drafted into helping his father, since, as Lady Trentingham pointed out, it wasn’t term time at Oxford.
No sooner was he riding away than Lily’s mother started a guest list.
“WELL, DARLING,” Joseph said that night, “that was very cleanly done, although I suspect the poor lad might die of longing if there were such a disease. And I don’t expect our daughter was very happy, either.”
“Nonsense,” Chrystabel said as she climbed into bed. “They can survive two weeks.”
“Two weeks entirely apart? I’d like to see someone try to keep me from you for that space of time. That someone would not survive long.”
“They won’t be entirely apart. We’re all attending Margery’s wedding on Saturday.”
“Well then, we had better be especially vigilant that day, my pretty Chrysanthemum. They’re bound to try to sneak away.” Drawing her to him, Joseph kissed her soundly. “It’s what I would do in their situation, after all.”
Chrystabel knew he was right, but she put those concerns aside for now. Tonight she had no inclination to worry or plot. Tonight she could only thank God, from the bottom of her heart, that her daughter’s happiness was secured at last.
SEVENTY-TWO
“SOON,” RAND whispered, “it will be our turn.”
Lily watched the starry-eyed bride and groom exit Hawkridge’s grand red-and-gold private chapel as though they were walking on air. Tears had welled in her eyes more than once during the emotional ceremony. “I cannot wait,” she whispered back, reaching up to touch the pendant Rand had given her.
The past few days without him had felt so empty.
Holding his hand, she walked sedately from the chapel, following the other guests to the great hall. Once there, she rushed to hug her soon-to-be sister-in-law. “The wedding was beautiful! You both look so happy.”
“We are,” Margery and Bennett said together, sharing a joyful smile.
Rand hugged Margery, too, while Lily watched, not at all jealous this time.
“Your gown is gorgeous,” she told her.
“Thank you.” Margery’s fingers skimmed the pearls and embroidery that covered her pale green satin overskirt. “It’s my best.”
Standing nearby, the marquess narrowed his eyes. “What happened to the gown you ordered in Windsor?”
“Oh.” Color flooded her cheeks. “Well. I—I…it wasn’t quite ready, after all. You didn’t give the seamstress much time, Uncle William.”
“Hmmph,” he said and walked away.
Rand waited until the man was out of earshot and then grinned at his foster sister. “You never ordered a wedding gown, did you? I suspected you were with Bennett that night.”
“It’s the vows that count,” she said evasively. “Not the clothes.”
Her groom laughed and gave her a kiss. As other guests pressed close to offer felicitations, Rand turned to Lily, a silvery glint in his eyes. “Come. I have something to show you.”
He led her from the great hall, grab
bing a pewter goblet off a sideboard and handing it to her as they went.
She sipped, then smiled when she tasted what was in it. “Your father poured the champagne my parents brought.”
“He likes your parents.” His shrug encompassed all the bafflement she knew he felt at his father’s recent behavior. Beatrix appeared and padded at their heels as Rand entered the corridor that led to his room. But instead of turning left, he walked straight ahead into Alban’s bedchamber.
Only it wasn’t Alban’s bedchamber anymore. It wasn’t a bedchamber at all.
She stared. “What happened?”
“You’ll be living here the week after next. I told my father we needed more room. He didn’t argue, so I sent a message to Kit. The day after that, a crew of men showed up to begin the remodel. They’ll resume tomorrow, once all the wedding guests go home.”
The dark paneling had been stripped and was half refinished in a warm, honey tone that lightened the whole chamber. The door to the secret space stood open, and she could see it had been emptied. The rest of the room was empty, too.
“Even the bed is gone,” she said.
“This will be our sitting room.” The drapes had been removed, and soft summer rain blew against the naked windows. Taking her hand, Rand drew her into Alban’s old sitting room, now dominated by a huge four-poster bed draped in yellow silk. “I had it brought from another chamber. Just until you choose a new one. Something without a history. I thought we could go to London, and—”
“Thank you,” she whispered past a sudden lump in her throat. She knew Rand didn’t care whether he slept in the same room that Alban had, or even in the same bed. He’d done this for her. “Where are Alban’s things?”
“I had them sent to a foundling home. Every last item. I asked Father, and he didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either. I think he wants to forget that Alban ever existed. He even had his portrait removed from the long gallery.”
In an effort to steady herself, she took a sip of champagne. “Did he send that to the foundling home, too?”
“No.” Again, that baffled shrug. “He burned it.”