by Lauren Royal
“A blasted mess,” Ford finished for her. “And my fault, not your son’s.”
“See?” Rowan said with a grin of vindication. “It’s not my fault Lord Randal cannot stay here.”
“It’s nobody’s fault.” Rand strode to the bed, his shoes making a sucking sound as he went. “I should probably be home badgering Kit anyway, if the house is to be finished this decade.” He reached for his luggage.
“Don’t you want to finish the translation?” Ford looked frantic. “We’ll find a place—”
“Lord Randal is welcome to stay with us,” Mum interrupted with a smile. “We’ve more guest rooms than we know what to do with.”
Lily’s mouth hung open. Why, they hardly knew the fellow.
But apparently that made no difference to Mum. “You’ll be close to Lakefield,” she added. They were naught but a quarter-hour’s carriage ride down the road. “By tomorrow, perhaps this room will once again be habitable.”
Violet glanced around mournfully. “I doubt it.”
Looking a bit dubious, Rand set down the luggage. “If I overnight at Trentingham,” he said slowly, “I can return tomorrow and help put the place to rights.”
“A generous offer,” Ford said.
Violet pushed up on her spectacles. “There’s no need for Rand to wrestle with soggy carpeting.”
“The boards underneath must be dried, lest they warp.”
“We have servants to do that sort of thing.”
“But if we had extra help…” Ford pressed.
Violet rolled her eyes. “Rand can ‘help’ you in the bone-dry laboratory upstairs, huddled over that ancient alchemy text.”
Her husband’s expression made it clear that sounded good to him.
And so it was settled. Rand would sleep at Trentingham and return in the morning.
Lily supposed it was well done of Mum to offer the hospitality, but she hoped it didn’t mean she was trying to match Rand with Rose.
That would ruin her sister’s plan.
SIX
TRENTINGHAM Manor was teeming with family and friends who had come to attend the twins’ baptism, so Rand’s addition to the mix was clearly little imposition. But he was grateful for the countess’s kind invitation. She seemed a true lady.
Although perhaps a bit overly attentive.
“Lily, dear,” she said as they walked into the linenfold-paneled dining room for supper, “I’d prefer it if you’d sit beside Rand, since he isn’t acquainted with our other guests.”
Which would have made sense if Rose hadn’t already planted herself on his other side.
“Lord Randal,” Rose gushed, laying a hand on her chest, her fingertips suggestively grazing the skin revealed by her wide, fashionable neckline. “What a pleasure to have you as a dining partner.”
“Rand,” he corrected her. So far as he was concerned, Lord was nothing more than a reminder of his unpleasant childhood. He chose to think of himself as a professor now, not a marquess’s son. “And the pleasure is mine,” he assured her, meaning it. This civilized supper was far more agreeable than riding home to all the hammering and sawing at his house in Oxford.
“Cousin Rose.” A gentleman on her other side begged her attention, waving a bejeweled hand at the floral arrangements—enormous vases of colorful posies that graced each end of the table, flanking a towering centerpiece. “Have we you to thank for these magnificent works of art?”
“Why, yes,” Rose said warmly. “I’m pleased, cousin, that you’re enjoying them.” She turned back to Rand, fluttering her eyelashes so hard that he feared they might be spasming. “I love arranging flowers.”
“They’re stunning.” They were. She had an artist’s eye, a flair for color and balance. He turned to Lily. “Do you work with flowers as well?”
“Oh, no. I’ve no skill with plants.”
Rose shook her head, as though she felt sorry for her poor, talentless sister. “She cares only for her animals.”
As if on cue, a sparrow flew into the room and landed smack on the table, right in front of Lily.
“Holy Hades,” Rowan said. “Not again.”
“Rowan,” Lady Trentingham hissed.
“Well, someone should shut the windows.”
Rose fanned herself with a languid hand. “With all these people, it would be too hot if we shut the windows.”
“Cut the hedgerows?” Her father nodded sagely. “Yes, I’ve asked the groundskeepers to start on the morrow.”
No one looked confused or surprised. Apparently they were all well enough acquainted with Lord Trentingham to know that along with his passion for gardening, the man was half deaf.
“Excellent, darling,” the countess said loudly, flicking a crumb off his cravat. She looked to Lily, who was busy feeding bits of bread to the sparrow. “Not at supper, dear.”
Lily sighed. “Go, Lady.” She tossed the gray-brown bird a final nibble. “Outside now.”
Amazingly, the bird gobbled the last of its feast and then took flight, heading for one of the windows where a squirrel sat on the sill, seemingly watching the proceedings. With a flutter of feathers, the sparrow landed beside the squirrel with a pointed twitter. The squirrel chattered back, for all the world as if they were having a conversation.
Rand had never seen a wild bird that obeyed, let alone a squirrel that didn’t run at the sight of humans. He turned to Lily. “You do have a way with animals.”
“Oh, there’s more to Lily than that,” her mother informed him from down the table. “She plays the harpsichord like an angel.”
Lily blushed. She looked fetching when she blushed. Not that he would make the mistake of telling her so—not again. You’re beautiful when you laugh…he wanted to blush, too, just remembering his words. Had he ever in his life said anything so muttonheaded to a girl?
Well, he’d just have to redeem himself. Luckily, he now had an entire evening in which to do so.
His fingers itched to touch the tiny dent in her chin. “Will you play after supper?” he asked her.
“Eh?” the earl shook his dark head. “Everyone will stay after supper. They’ve all been assigned rooms, have they not, Chrysanthemum love?”
“Of course, darling.” Lady Trentingham smiled her ever-patient smile. “And Lily will play,” she told Rand.
“And I shall sing,” Rose announced as she reached for some bread, grazing Rand’s arm in the process.
By now it was obvious that she fancied him. He’d suspected as much four years ago, and apparently her feelings remained unchanged. Back then he’d felt flattered by her attentions, but now all he felt was uncomfortable.
Which was odd, to say the least. Rose was lovely—tall and willowy, with a flawless, creamy complexion, glossy deep brown locks, and eyes so mysteriously dark they could be mistaken for black. A classic beauty. And not an icy one. Though still as bold as ever, Rose had grown up. She was much kinder and warmer than he remembered.
But none of her warmth seemed to penetrate his skin. While on his other side sat Lily, scorching him like the Tuscan sun.
Chatting with the guest on her right, she seemed to sense Rand’s gaze and turned slightly to meet his eyes, then looked away to continue her conversation.
“I should like to hear you sing,” he told Rose, wondering if she had the voice for it.
Her slow smile revealed charming dimples. If she were one of Lily’s cats, she’d have been purring.
And after supper, when she raised her voice in song, he was indeed impressed. Singing of love, her words floated through the air, rich and resonant.
But he found Lily’s playing even more splendid. Despite the audience of various Ashcroft relatives seated decorously in the cream-and-gold-toned formal drawing room, Rand found himself rising and wandering toward the harpsichord.
While Beatrix dozed on her lap, Lily’s fingers sailed over the ivory keys. She glanced up and smiled at him without missing a beat, and his mind went blank. Before he realized his mouth was
open, he found himself harmonizing with her sister.
“Go tell her to make me a cambric shirt,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,
Without a stitch of a seamster’s work,
And then she will be a true love of mine.”
Only when the verse ended did he notice that Rose had stopped singing to listen to him. His face burning, he nodded at her to take the next verse. Back and forth they went until the song ended and the chamber burst into applause.
Rand jammed his hands in his pockets, wondering what the two sisters must think of him, barging into their performance uninvited. He’d never done anything like this before. What could have got into him?
But Lily’s eyes were shining. “Your voice is beautiful!”
His face went hot again. “Your playing is exquisite.”
“I practice often.” Her shrug was as graceful as her fingers. “It’s a way to pass the time.”
He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “I sing whenever I’m alone.” Enjoying the admiration on her face, he reached to hit a key, letting the single note reverberate through the chamber. “I cannot play,” he admitted.
“I cannot sing.”
His smile stretched into a grin. “Play for us again, then, and your sister and I will accompany you. Together this time?” He looked to Rose, who nodded eagerly.
Lily thought for a moment, then the jaunty notes of “The Gypsy Rover” took air, and his voice rose along with it.
Rose waited until the chorus to join him.
“He whistled and he sang till the greenwoods rang,
And he won the heart of a lady.”
Rand wished he really could whistle and sing and win the heart of a lady. And by the way Rose was gazing at him, she had a similar goal in mind. But though their voices blended perfectly, it wasn’t she he was wishing to win.
They sang a third song, and a fourth, and then he lost count, relishing the way his words and Lily’s melodies intertwined. Whenever she glanced up from the harpsichord and caught his eye, it seemed that he and she were the only ones in the room.
When the gilt mantel clock struck midnight just as another tune ended, Lily blinked and jumped to her feet, letting Beatrix tumble to the floor with an outraged meow. “Do you think it’s time to retire, Mum?”
“Oh!” The countess stood as well. “Rose, you must come with me. We have yet to prepare a room for Rand.”
Rose frowned. “I’m sure the staff has taken care of that.”
“Not all our special welcoming details.” With a gracious smile, Lady Trentingham turned to her assorted family. “I wish you all a good night.” As they began drifting out, she addressed her older daughter. “Come along, dear. You’ll need to find flowers for Rand’s chamber.”
“But Mum—”
“Come along,” she repeated, more tersely than seemed to be her nature. “Lily, will you wait here and keep Rand company until his room is ready?”
“I need no flowers,” Rand interjected.
“Nonsense. Rose?” Lady Trentingham moved toward the door, herding the last lingering guests along with her. “I’ll be back in just a few moments!”
The chamber seemed so quiet after everyone had left. And Rand felt odd to find himself alone with Lily for the second time that day.
“Mum,” he said, mostly to ward off the sudden silence. “That’s a strange thing to call one’s mother.”
“I know.” Still by the harpsichord, she sat again and resumed playing, an unfamiliar but soothing piece she seemed to know by heart. Beatrix reclaimed her rightful place on her lap. “You know that my father raises flowers. Droves of them. He named us girls after his favorites—surely you’ll have noticed that—and Rowan after the tree. Mum’s given name is Chrystabel, but he calls her Chrysanthemum…and we call her Mum for short.” Her fingers stilled. “It’s silly, I know.”
“Keep playing.” He leaned against the carved wood instrument and waited until she did. “I don’t think it’s silly. You must be a close family.”
“We are.”
Her matter-of-fact tone made it obvious she took that closeness for granted. But he wouldn’t acknowledge the envy churning in his stomach. He’d long ago accepted that his family was happier without him. And life on his own was just fine. Better, in fact.
When Beatrix lifted her head, Rand followed her gaze to see a bird land gracefully atop the harpsichord.
“Hello, Lady,” Lily greeted softly, her fingers still gliding over the keys.
Confused, Rand ran his tongue across his teeth. “Do you call all sparrows Lady?”
“No. I don’t call most sparrows anything. But Lady is special.”
“Do you mean…” He peered at the nondescript bird. “Is this the same sparrow that flew in at supper, the same sparrow you fed at Ford’s house?”
“One and the same,” she said, playing a little faster. “I raised her after I found her in an abandoned nest, and now she follows me around. She and Jasper.”
“Jasper?”
“The squirrel.”
She nodded toward the sill. Sure enough, a red squirrel sat there, gnawing on an acorn. Rand supposed it must be the same squirrel that had appeared at supper, although hang it if he could tell for sure. Like sparrows, one squirrel looked much the same as another.
To him, anyway.
Beatrix settled back down on Lily’s lap, and Lady flew to join her friend at the window. Jasper chattered, his bushy tail flicking up and down. Rand felt as if all the animals were watching him. Talking about him.
Under those three sets of eyes, he shifted uneasily. Surely he was imagining things. ”Are you never alone?”
“Rarely,” Lily said blithely.
That seemed peculiar, but then, perhaps it was Rand’s love of solitude that was peculiar. In any case, he decided to ignore the animals as best he could. “What song is this?”
“Nothing, really. Just something I made up.”
“You compose music, too?” Slowly he lowered himself to the bench seat beside her. “Is there no end to your talents?”
As she scooted over to make room for him, her fingers faltered, then continued. He smiled to himself, thinking he’d managed to fluster her. Was it the compliment, or his nearness?
He hoped it was the latter. Her nearness was certainly flustering him. Her nearness and her fresh, flowery scent.
Beatrix began to hiccup. “I’m not talented,” Lily protested modestly. “Your singing is much better than my playing. I’ve never heard another voice like yours.”
He knew he had a fine voice, but it wasn’t a talent that had been valued in his family, so he usually kept it to himself. “Well, I’ve never heard anything like your music,” he said. “So we’re even. And I hope we’ll play and sing together again.”
At his words, her hands ceased moving for good. They went limp and dropped into her lap, eliciting an indignant cry from Beatrix, who leapt to the floor. In seconds, the cat had followed her animal friends out the window.
Lily cleared her throat. “If your room at Lakefield isn’t ready tomorrow night, perhaps Rose will sing with you again.”
She looked so earnest. He curled his fingers to keep from reaching to touch that irresistible dent in her chin. “I don’t care whether Rose sings with me again. As long as you play.”
“Wh-what?” She shifted, turning to face him, searching his eyes with her wide blue ones. “But you and Rose sing together so beautifully. And she knows languages—not ancient ones like you do, but many modern ones, and—”
“I don’t care about Rose,” he clarified. “But you…” Was he really going to tell her? He rushed on before he could change his mind. “I’ve thought about you for four years.”
The breath rushed out of her with a whoosh. Her eyes grew bigger and bluer in her lovely, fine-boned face. And when some invisible force seemed to draw the two of them closer, and his fingertips grazed her neck, he could have sworn her lips parted. He was near enough to feel the wa
rmth emanating from her body, and as he leaned to close the rest of the gap, a happy little thrill warmed him from the inside, too…
Until she jerked away.
He blinked at her, feeling like he’d been doused in cold water. And realizing that her round-eyed, openmouthed expression wasn’t a look of anticipation. It was a look of abject horror.
A look that made his hopes crumble to dust.
He felt sweet relief to hear her mother’s voice approaching. Rand was desperate to escape to the solitude of his chamber.
But Lakefield’s guest chamber had better be ready tomorrow, because one night at Trentingham had been more than enough.
SEVEN
BEFORE LILY had a chance to gather her wits, Mum and Rose appeared.
“Lord Randal’s chamber is ready,” her sister announced, frowning to see them together on the harpsichord’s bench.
“Rand,” he corrected patiently.
He was patient, Lily thought. And good-looking. And brilliant. And if he wasn’t quite the inveterate animal lover she’d always pictured marrying, at least he’d never laughed at her dreams. He’d even encouraged them.
But as quickly as these thoughts materialized, they were washed away by a tide of guilt that made Lily leap from the bench. Marriage? She was supposed to be bringing Rand together with Rose, yet here she was snuggling up to him herself and indulging in silly fantasies. How could she act so selfishly? Only a lucky stab of conscience had saved her from leaning in for a kiss, saved her from betraying her own sister.
And for what? One trifling kiss? Was a kiss worth the price of her relationship with Rose?
Of course it wasn’t.
Not that Lily could judge from experience.
Mum’s lips curved in a smile. “Come, Rand. I’ll show you the way.”
He rose rather reluctantly and allowed Mum to lead him from the room. An uneasy silence descended in their wake. Lily dropped back to the bench.
Rose’s dark eyes narrowed. “What were you doing with him?”
