Lily

by Lauren Royal

  She fluffed at her filthy blue gown. “If he believed Margery needed grooming, he must think I’m a veritable fustilug.”

  He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “He wasn’t looking at you; he was listening. Miraculously. And he only said that to Margery as an excuse to drag her off. He doesn’t want us talking and figuring a way around his plans.”

  “But we will, won’t we?”

  “Absolutely. He’s unaware of your inheritance. And although he’s stood firm on her betrothal, it seems Margery doesn’t fear him. Perhaps he’s softened in his old age.”

  He didn’t look like he actually believed that, but Lily drew hope from his words. “An hour,” she said. “I’ll need that time to bathe and change.”

  He shrugged out of his surcoat and handed it to her. “Take this inside for me, will you? I’m going for a run.”

  “A run? Now?”

  “I’ll just have time.” His fingers worked the knot in his cravat, then stilled as he met her gaze. “It’s just a run, Lily. I like to do that. To—”

  “To think. I know.”

  Then why did she feel shut out?

  Not understanding, he smiled as he handed her the lace-trimmed linen. “Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  All through her bath Lily told herself that Rand’s running didn’t equate to running away—at least not from her. By the time Etta laced her into a fresh peach gown, she almost believed it.

  FORTY-FOUR

  “JEROME, YOU may leave us now. And inform the others they are not to enter the dining room unless I ring.”

  The aging footman bowed and backed away, looking grateful to escape as he shut the door behind him. Rand watched his father pick up his fork and stab a piece of buttered and sugared turnip. The staff was still wary of the man’s moods, he thought with an internal sigh. If employment were easier to come by, he imagined most of the old-timers would have left long ago.

  “Now,” the marquess said, looking pointedly at Rand and then Margery. “You’re both here. It’s time to seal this betrothal and get on with our lives.”

  “My lord,” Lily started.

  “No.” The man waved his fork. “You’re not part of this family, my lady, and there is nothing you can add to this discussion.”

  She shared a look with Rand, then set to silently picking at her food.

  Seething, Rand lifted his goblet. “You’re wrong,” he said tightly. “Lily does have something to contribute—an inheritance that she’s prepared to put at your disposal in exchange for your blessing on our marriage. Ten thousand pounds, plus her dowry, which brings the total to thirteen. I believe that adds quite a bit to this discussion.”

  Regardless of the fact that it was an enormous sum of money, the marquess barely blinked. “And where do you suppose that leaves Margery? Your foster sister, promised to my heir on her father’s deathbed?”

  “Free to marry Bennett Armstrong.” Rand sipped smugly.

  The man’s face turned red as his fork clattered to his plate. “Bennett Armstrong?” he bellowed. “I’ve forbidden that name to be mentioned in this house!”

  Seeing Lily shudder beside him, Rand reached to squeeze her hand.

  It seemed Margery, however, was used to this sort of tirade. “Uncle William—”

  “Don’t ‘Uncle William’ me, young lady. I’ve raised you like my own daughter, and I would think you’d have accepted by now that no amount of pleading on your part will make me consider marrying you to a murderer.”

  Rand’s jaw dropped open. “Murderer?”

  Margery turned apologetic eyes on him. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “Bennett Armstrong is a murderer?”

  “No!” Margery said at the same time the marquess snapped, “Yes!”

  When Lily gasped, Rand tightened his hold on her hand. But his gaze was fixed on the marquess.

  “He murdered my son and heir,” the man said. “And I intend to see him hang.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  “BENNETT IS NOT a murderer!” Margery burst out. “He did it in self-defense!” She turned to Rand, her eyes frantic. “Alban came after him in the first place.”

  But all Rand could absorb at the moment was that the man Margery wanted to marry had killed his brother. The hows and whys were beyond him. And where does that leave Margery? the marquess had asked. Where, indeed? Even Rand could understand his father’s unwillingness to wed his ward to the man at whose hands his own son had died.

  Lily’s money wasn’t going to solve all their problems, after all.

  “My Alban,” the marquess said, glaring at Margery, “was not a man capable of killing. Your lover murdered my son in cold blood. Of course he would claim otherwise, and I’ve no doubt that a besotted, addlebrained female like you would believe him.”

  “Alban would kill,” she shot back. “I saw him kill, time and time again. A rabbit, a lamb. My very own cat when she pounced on him as he was forcing me to kiss him.”

  Lily hid her face in her hands, and Rand reached to rub her back.

  “It’s Bennett who’s incapable of killing without just provocation,” Margery added.

  “And he doubtless considered a man determined to wed his lover as ‘just provocation.’” The marquess pointed his knife at her, emphasizing each syllable. “Unfortunately, with only his word against a dead man’s, I don’t have enough evidence for an arrest. Yet. But I intend to get it.”

  “He’s offered a reward for information,” Margery told Rand in a voice made high by rising panic. “A hundred pounds.”

  Lily looked up at that. “A hundred pounds?”

  “A hundred pounds,” Margery repeated, her eyes filling with tears. “Bennett’s as good as dead.”

  Rand couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with her. To do so would be a lie. A footman wouldn’t earn a hundred pounds in ten years, let alone a groom or coachman or maid. For that kind of money, someone would come forward with damning evidence, honestly acquired or not.

  The marquess wielded a lot of power in this small piece of England, and if he meant to see Armstrong hang, Rand had no doubt he would accomplish it.

  Plainly seeing the truth in Rand’s eyes, Margery let out a pathetic moan and rose from her chair, rushing to kneel at the marquess’s knees. Her black gown pooled around her. “I beg you, Uncle William, don’t do this. I’ll have no will to go on should Bennett die. Let him live long enough for me to prove his innocence.”

  “Impossible,” the man snapped, “given that he’s guilty.”

  She gazed up at him, the tears overflowing, making tracks down her pale cheeks. “Then you’ll be killing me along with him.”

  Just then, she looked entirely too capable of doing herself in, and Rand watched, amazed, as the marquess’s features softened with compassion.

  But it wasn’t long before they hardened again. “He’s not dead yet, girl, but I mean to see him pay for murdering my son. In the meantime, should the two of you think to plan anything, I’ll be sending a contingent of men to keep the whoreson under house arrest.”

  A bell sat by his elbow, and now he raised it and jingled it fiercely, as though venting his frustration on the sterling silver might help him obtain vengeance.

  “Jerome!” he called, and the man rushed in.

  In moments, it was done. A dozen men were on their way to surround Bennett Armstrong’s home.

  An hour later, Rand, Lily, and Margery were on their way there, too.

  FORTY-SIX

  LORD BENNETT Armstrong’s house was smaller than Hawkridge Hall and Trentingham Manor, and from the mishmash of styles and the way the house sprawled this way and that, Lily surmised it was older than Hawkridge and Trentingham as well. Sections looked medieval, other parts Tudor, still other portions modern. But regardless of all that, it was obviously the home of a wealthy man.

  Each of the three doors had one of Hawkridge’s men assigned to guard it, and two more men were posted on every side of the house—i
n case Lord Armstrong tried to lower himself from a window.

  At first, the guard at the front door had no intention of allowing their party to enter. But Rand remembered the man, and soon he was pumping his hand and asking after his wife and children. Rand swore on his mother’s grave that he wasn’t there to break Lord Armstrong out, and—since the man had apparently adored Rand’s mother—in no time at all, they were ushered into the dark, paneled house.

  That, Lily knew, was because of Rand’s innate charm. She also knew it was because he still had strong ties with the people at Hawkridge. Strong ties that would make it impossible for him to return to Oxford if doing so meant the folks left behind would suffer.

  A butler directed them to a study, where they found Lord Armstrong writing a letter.

  “Bennett!” Margery streaked across the chamber and threw herself at him. “Oh, Bennett, Uncle William means to see you hang!”

  “I know, love.” He cupped her face in both his hands. “I was just writing to my uncle with instructions of what to do should that come to pass.”

  “Oh, Bennett.”

  With a heartfelt groan, he crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her as though he would never let her go. Margery cooperated fully, running her fingers through his longish dark hair and wrapping her arms around his middle. As Lily watched, Margery worked her hands down Bennett’s body, pressing herself against him.

  Rand’s jaw dropped. “Apparently she’s not as proper as I thought,” he whispered to Lily.

  “Hmm?” She knew she shouldn’t watch, and in truth, she felt like a peeper. But seeing them made her want to do the same with Rand. And sadly, with the new developments, she felt nearly as desperate as the other lovers looked.

  Well, at least Rand’s life wasn’t in danger. Only their lives together. She turned and pretended to study a shelf of books, trying to convince herself that things weren’t that bad.

  At last the couple parted and Lord Armstrong noticed Rand and Lily. His pale green eyes widened. “Randy? Is that you?”

  “I’m called Rand these days.” He strode forward to shake the man’s hand. “And this is my betrothed, Lady Lily Ashcroft.”

  She curtsied, trying to dredge up a smile. “Lord Armstrong.”

  Although his gaze didn’t make her melt like Rand’s did, he was quite good-looking. He managed a grim smile in return. “Let’s not stand on ceremony,” he said. “I’ve known your intended all my life. Call me Bennett, please.”

  “Oh, Bennett.” Margery’s bottom lip quivered. “I thought that while I was gone, Uncle William would come to his senses. But if anything, he’s become even more determined.”

  “I’ve seen evidence of that,” Bennett muttered, striding to a window to glare down at the guards.

  “He’s offered a hundred pounds for information that leads to proving your guilt.”

  “Bloody hell.” Bennett shut his eyes, then opened them and sent Lily an apologetic glance. “Pardon the language, my lady.”

  “I’ve heard worse,” she assured him. “Is there no way to prove your innocence?” She didn’t know him, most especially whether or not he might be innocent, but she was praying he was. Clearing him as an acceptable husband for Margery seemed the only hope for her and Rand.

  But Bennett just gave a helpless shrug and dropped back onto his bulky wooden desk chair. “There were no witnesses.”

  Rand began pacing. “Tell me what happened.”

  Bennett pulled Margery onto his lap and played with a lock of her pale hair while he talked. “I was hunting and, as sometimes happens, had become separated from my companions. Alban rode up almost immediately, as though he had been following and waiting for such an opportunity. He dismounted, pointed a pistol at me, and accused me of plotting to steal his bride.”

  Rand turned and leveled him with a stare. “Were you?”

  Bennett looked to Margery for help. She met Rand’s gaze. “Your father wouldn’t allow us to marry, so we were planning to elope. I have no idea, however, how Alban could have found out.”

  “Alban had his ways,” Rand said darkly. “So then what happened?”

  Bennett’s swallow was audible from across the room. “I dived off my horse to knock the gun from his grasp, and it went off. Then he drew his sword, and I panicked. Alban was known for his swordsmanship, and he wasn’t looking for a duel of honor—he’d made it clear he wanted me dead. I swiped a stout branch off the ground and bashed him over the head. He went down like a sack of flour.”

  Rand still paced. “And he was dead.”

  “Dead as a doornail, I’m afraid. I didn’t mean to kill him—I could have shot him if I’d wanted that. I was hunting and had a musket, after all. But I wasn’t sorry. He didn’t deserve my Margery—he treated her abominably.”

  “Don’t you see?” Margery slid off Bennett’s lap and went over to Rand, halting him with a hand on his arm. “It was self-defense. If he hadn’t done Alban in, Bennett would’ve been dead instead.”

  “But how to prove it?” Lily asked.

  “I don’t know.” Margery looked toward her pleadingly. “But you must help me find a way.”

  “We will,” Lily promised softly.

  Rand had too many problems for Lily to burden him with her own, but without her sisters here for support, she’d been feeling adrift and alone. She and Margery had a common goal. Together, with Rand’s help, they would fight to keep their men.

  The two women shared a sad, understanding smile, and Lily felt a little bit better.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  THE MARQUESS failed to appear for supper that evening, claiming a backlog of work due to Alban’s demise. He took a tray in his study instead.

  But later that night, when Rand, Lily, and Margery were passing the hours in the north drawing room, Lily playing gentle tunes while Rand and Margery sat nearby and puzzled over what could be done, the marquess appeared in the doorway. Lily’s fingers stilled on the keys, leaving an expectant silence.

  “No matter what you believe,” the marquess said, addressing himself to Margery, “I have raised you like my own daughter and care for you as though you were. Your pleas haven’t fallen on entirely deaf ears.”

  Rand saw Margery’s heart leap into her eyes and felt his own heart leap as well. “Yes?” he asked when she appeared unable to speak.

  The marquess swung his cold gray gaze on him. “I have a plan to spare her lover’s life.”

  “Thank heavens,” Margery breathed.

  “Thank me,” the man snapped. “The truth is I know better than to make this offer. You should be thankful I have a soft heart.”

  Rand bit back a retort. The marquess had claimed he cared for her as a daughter. For Margery’s sake, Rand hoped the man believed a daughter should be better treated than a son.

  She rose, her black skirts trembling as she slowly approached the doorway. “What is your plan, Uncle William?”

  The marquess straightened. “On your twenty-first birthday, one week hence, you will wed my son.”

  “Oh, no—”

  “Oh, yes. Should the two of you fail to marry, your lover will hang. Should the wedding take place, I shall see that he is granted a commutation of sentence and transported to the colonies instead.” He paused, drawing breath. “May God forgive me my weakness,” he said to no one in particular, then turned and strode from the chamber.

  As one, the three of them released their breaths.

  “This is unconscionable,” Rand gritted out.

  Margery’s face was even paler than usual. A pure, bloodless white. “We must marry,” she whispered, casting an apologetic glance to Lily. She focused back on Rand. “We must marry to save Bennett’s life.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  MARGERY TOOK a few faltering steps toward Rand, then dropped to her knees at his feet. “We must marry.” She clutched his ankles. “We must.”

  A dazed expression on his face, Rand reached for her shoulders and raised her to stand. “There must be another way.”
>
  Unable to believe this turn of events, Lily watched as Margery searched Rand’s eyes, her own green eyes frantic. She gripped his hands in both of hers. “But will you? To save his life? Tell me you will. From my earliest memories, I looked up to you, Rand. You were my big brother who could do no wrong. You won’t let me down, will you? Tell me you’ll marry me to save Bennett’s life.”

  Though a muscle in his jaw twitched, he nodded. “I won’t doom another man to die. But there must be another way.”

  Tears streaming down her face, Margery hugged him, hard. Then, without another word, she ran from the room.

  Lily released a deep, shuddering breath. “Rand—”

  “I’ve never seen her this selfish.” His gaze swung from the empty doorway to Lily. “She didn’t for a moment consider how I’d feel about this marriage. Or you.”

  “I’d feel the same way if your life were threatened. I’d ask anything of anyone.”

  After a moment of thought, he nodded. “I’d do the same for you. But there must be another way for Margery and Bennett. I won’t lose you.”

  She walked closer. “A man’s life is at stake.”

  “There must be another way.”

  It was becoming a litany, one Lily wished she could believe. “Does your father truly wield such power?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Rand took her elbow and began walking her toward her chamber. “You must realize that outside of London there is little if any provision for due process of the law. If the Marquess of Hawkridge wishes Bennett dead, he can make it happen. Is it not the same for the little area of the world where your father is the lord?”

  Reluctantly she nodded. “I suppose it is. But I’ve never seen him wish anyone dead. Life at Trentingham is generally peaceful.” A peace she hadn’t expected to miss, a peace she’d even equated with boredom at times.

  Oh, to live again that blessed, boring peace.

  “Life at Hawkridge has never been peaceful,” Rand said ruefully, stopping in front of the Queen’s Bedchamber. “But I hope to take you away from here to where we can live in peace. Soon.”