by Lauren Royal
Lily shot her a warning glance, then turned to her brother. “Did Ford give you these things?”
His face reddened. “He showed them to me. Mr. Boyle is thinking about selling them. It’s a good idea, isn’t it? I’m thinking he could make a lot of money.”
“I’m thinking Ford would be unhappy if he knew you’d taken such dangerous things home.” Her brother shuffled his feet. “I’m thinking,” she added softly, “that Ford would feel terrible if you burned yourself because he made the mistake of showing you something interesting, believing you were old enough to know better than to play with it.”
“I guess I should give the things back,” Rowan muttered.
Rand drew the wooden sliver against the paper, smiling as it sparked. “I’ll return them.” He reached out a hand. “Have you any more of the sticks?”
Rowan dug in his pocket, handed over a few more slivers, then turned and ran for the house.
ELEVEN
AN HOUR LATER, Rose banged on Lily’s door. “Lily? Lord Randal wants to leave.”
Lord Randal again. Dismissing her maid, Lily went to admit her sister. “May I suggest, Rose, that if you wish to win Rand, you might call him by the name he prefers?”
Rose shrugged. “I think Lord Randal has a nice ring to it. But I know you’re trying to help, Lily, and I do appreciate it.”
Lily wished her sister’s words sounded more convincing.
“Are you ready?” Rose added.
“Nearly.” Beatrix at her heels, Lily went back to her dressing table to fetch the hat that matched her blue wool riding habit. “Aren’t you going to change?” she asked, eyeing her sister’s elegant satin gown.
“I like this dress. I told Lord Randal I’d prefer to take the carriage.”
“Oh.” Lily set down the hat. “Shall I change, then?”
“Good God, why should it matter what you wear? I told you, he’s growing impatient. Now, you must let him climb in first—”
“He’s the man. He’s going to hand us in.”
“Just leave it to me. Then you must allow me to enter next so that I can sit beside him. You’ll sit across.”
“You’re trying too hard.” Beatrix jumped up onto the dressing table, and Lily stroked her fur. “Just be your usual beautiful, charming self—”
“I cannot leave this to chance,” Rose interrupted. “Lord Randal is the only man I’ve ever truly loved.”
From where Lily was standing, her sister’s emotions ran more to desperation than love—though Lily felt guilty for thinking such uncharitable thoughts. “Whatever you say, Rose. I’ll follow your lead.”
Beatrix went with them and was first into the carriage. Rand, of course, insisted the ladies get in next. He settled himself beside Lily, and for a few awkward minutes, Rose alternately glared at her and aimed flirtatious smiles at him.
Rand appeared to be avoiding Rose’s gaze, staring out the window instead. He hummed to himself, a tune Lily didn’t recognize.
Suddenly Rose sniffed the air. “Sulfur,” she said disapprovingly. Maternally. True, she was displaying her intelligence by recognizing the chemical, but hadn’t she said men didn’t care to be mothered?
Lily nudged her with a foot and gave a little shake of her head.
Apparently getting the message, Rose softened her expression into one of good-natured indulgence. “While you were waiting for us, did you play with the fire-making things? After you told Rowan you’d return them?”
Rand appeared anything but chastised. “What does Ford need with a scrap of paper and a few bits of wood? I’m sure he has more, and I think Rowan has learned his lesson.”
Boys would be boys, Lily thought, then rushed to change the subject before her sister made the mistake of saying that again out loud. “How is it that a marquess’s son became an Oxford professor?”
“Yes,” Rose put in, “how on earth did that happen?” Lily heard a hint of disapproval in her tone, and hoped Rand didn’t yet know her well enough to detect it.
”I’m a second son,” he said simply, and left it at that.
But Rose couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Surely your family would prefer to have you home?”
Rand snorted under his breath. “Not likely.”
Sensing they’d touched on a sensitive subject, Lily tried to signal her sister to back off, but it seemed Rose was finished listening to her. “Do you not get along with them?”
“Not really.” Impassive, his eyes remained on the world outside the window. “I couldn’t wait to get away from home, and now that I’ve made my own way, I’ve no reason to return.”
Rose’s brow furrowed with genuine concern. “Were your parents unkind?”
“From what I can remember of her, my mother was very kind. But she died in a riding accident when I was six, and the marquess…well, suffice it to say that he showed more regard for his dogs than he ever showed me.”
“He ignored you?”
“Unless I was in trouble.”
A new edge in his voice made Lily’s spine tingle. She imagined him young, fresh-faced, misbehaving…afraid. “Were you often in trouble?” she heard herself asking.
He shrugged. “Only when my older brother was nearby.”
“Was your brother naughty like Rowan?” Rose asked.
“Rowan?” A strange expression passed over Rand’s face. “No, he was nothing like Rowan.”
Lily lifted Beatrix into her lap and hugged her. She had a hunch she didn’t want to know more about this brother. With such unpleasantness awaiting him at home, who could blame Rand for staying far away? Still, the thought of not seeing one’s family for years and years…Lily couldn’t fathom it.
She saw a loneliness in Rand that made her chest constrict. He was like one of her stray animals, abandoned, hurt, and forgotten. But a splint wouldn’t fix Rand’s hurts. Lily hated seeing his pain, but there was nothing she could do except be kind to him and wish for the best.
And, perhaps, help him find happiness with someone who loved him. With someone who would marry him and give him the sort of family he deserved.
With Rose.
TWELVE
NO SOONER HAD the carriage door opened than Ford whisked Rand upstairs to the attic. “How was your stay at Trentingham?”
“Fine.” Rand looked around at the chaotic jumble of scientific instruments that littered Ford’s laboratory. “Is there nothing I can do downstairs, where the damage—”
“It’s all being handled. I’m in the middle of something here—I’ll be with you in a minute.” Ford added a noxious-smelling substance to some cloudy fluid in a beaker. “Fine, was it?”
“Actually,” Rand admitted, “it was rather awkward. Will the guest room be ready for me to sleep here tonight?”
Ford stirred the mess with a stick made of glass. “If you can live with a bare, damp floor.”
“Bare and damp won’t deter me.”
“Very well, then.” Ford nodded. “I must let this sit until tomorrow. Let me go get the book.”
Rand plopped onto a chair and rubbed his face, feeling enormously relieved to be moving back here this afternoon. Trentingham Manor was lovely, but at Lakefield he ran less risk of making an utter fool of himself.
He was no longer certain Lily found him repulsive—despite last night’s scene in the parlor, she was acting as friendly and kind as ever—but that didn’t mean he was comfortable living under one roof with two Ashcroft daughters. He felt much safer at Ford’s house. More in control. Less likely to find himself seducing someone, being seduced, or saying something stupid.
I’ve thought about you for four years…
“Here it is,” Ford said, setting the book on the table and taking a seat beside him.
“It” was Secrets of the Emerald Tablet, a small, brown leather volume that appeared to be of little consequence. Ancient and handwritten in a cryptic code, it looked like a simple diary. But it was much more than that. It was purported to hold the key to the Philosoph
er’s Stone—the secret of how to make gold.
Ford had found the book years earlier and brought it to Rand to translate. When the task had proved a difficult one, they’d set it aside for a time. Now Rand looked forward to the challenge.
It would take his mind off…things. People. One person in particular.
“Awkward,” Ford echoed thoughtfully, moving closer with a scrape of his chair. His laboratory was a homely space, huge but hardly luxurious, cluttered as it was with every toy a scientist and alchemist could desire. “Violet’s mother is generally expert at setting her guests at ease.”
“And her daughter is expert at upsetting them.”
“Rose?” Ford chuckled. “She can be rather forward, but I assure you she’s ultimately harmless.”
“Rather forward hardly begins to define Rose. But I meant Lily.”
“Lily? But Lily’s so nice. What could she possibly have done to upset you?”
Rand just shrugged, not feeling up to sharing his humiliation just yet.
Besides, the question of what Lily had done to him—was doing to him—was still up for debate.
THIRTEEN
DOWNSTAIRS, LILY and Rose had joined their oldest sister in her cheerful turquoise drawing room. With the three of them together, it felt just like old times.
Almost. Violet, of course, was married now, and a mother of three herself. Although she lived close by and they got together often, Lily did miss the nights when they’d all gathered in one of their chambers, gossiping and giggling away the hours.
She watched Beatrix wander the room, poking her little black nose here and there as she searched for something familiar. Suddenly Lily wished for the old and familiar, too. “You should come home to sleep one night, Violet.”
“At Trentingham?” Violet stopped pacing, which meant tiny Rebecca started snuffling. The babe seemed to prefer constant motion.
“I’ll walk with her,” Lily offered. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on her niece.
When Rebecca was settled in Lily’s arms, Violet dropped onto one of the turquoise velvet chairs. She lifted her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Why should I stay the night at Trentingham?”
“A sleeping party. It would be like the old days.” As Lily walked back and forth with Rebecca, her gaze swept over little Marc asleep in a cradle. She smiled to see Rose playing with Nicky on the floor, his miniature English warship in fierce conflict with her Dutch one. “I know you rarely let your children out of your sight, but you do have nursemaids. They could relieve you for one night, don’t you think?”
Violet seemed to contemplate that odd idea for a moment before she grinned. “Perhaps I could find time to read a book.”
“No,” Lily said, then reconsidered. If solitary time to read was what her sister needed, she wouldn’t deny her. “Of course you could read, if that’s what you want. But I was thinking we could spend the night together. The three of us, like we used to.”
Rose looked up with a wicked smile. “And read Aristotle’s Master-piece?”
“Not that,” Lily said quickly, remembering the hours they’d all spent together stealthily reading the scandalous marriage manual before Violet’s wedding. She’d found Aristotle’s Master-piece an uncomfortable combination of intriguing and embarrassing, and she hadn’t been sad when the book moved to Lakefield along with her sister. “I just thought…I thought it would be nice to talk.”
“Bang!” Nicky sailed his ship closer to Rose’s. Beatrix’s small head whipped back and forth, following the battle. “Bang, bang!”
“Quieter,” Violet cautioned. “Your sister’s sleeping.”
Rebecca had nodded off in Lily’s arms. Violet gazed at her daughter fondly. “Of course I’ll come sleep at Trentingham. Someday soon. It will be great fun.” Though she sounded enthusiastic, her brown eyes were filled with concern. “Is there something in particular you’d like to talk about?”
“Nothing special. Just…life.”
Rose aimed a tiny Dutch cannon. “I want to talk about Lord Randal.”
The one thing Lily didn’t want to talk about. Though she dearly wished for Rose and Rand’s happiness together, she couldn’t help growing weary of her sister’s gushing. She might be the sweetest of the Ashcroft sisters, but it made her want to gag.
“How many times,” she said with uncharacteristic scorn, “do you suppose he’s asked you to call him Rand?”
“Oh, about a million,” Rose answered gaily. “But I like to think of him as a lord. My lord.”
Lily mentally rolled her eyes.
“Has he shown interest?” Violet asked Rose.
Their sister’s perfect nose went into the air. “He walked with me in the garden today. He’s been very kind.”
“Bang, bang!” Nicky yelled. “Auntie Rose, you’re not watching. You’re going to sink!”
“Quieter,” Violet repeated—rather patiently, Lily thought, considering she’d probably heard her sister utter that word a thousand times or more.
Lily lowered herself to a chair slowly, so as not to wake the baby she held. “Still, he’s hardly about to propose to you, Rose, and now that he’s moving to Lakefield, things will only get more difficult.”
Beatrix began hiccuping.
“That silly cat.” Rose stood, abandoning her ship to the mercy of the English. She narrowed her eyes at Lily. “You made a promise. Do you mean to break it?”
Violet gazed with curiosity at Lily. “What promise?”
“She promised,” Rose answered for her, “to help me win Lord Randal.”
Lily swallowed hard. Hadn’t she been helping? She looked to Violet for a reaction, but her sister’s face was impassive. Her gaze shifted back to Rose. ”Have you ever known me to break a promise?”
Rose appeared to give that some thought. “No,” she said at last. “You always do the right thing.” But she said it as though always doing the right thing were a character flaw.
And though it made no sense at all, Lily was beginning to think that might be true.
FOURTEEN
AFTER DINNER at Trentingham, Lily spent the afternoon tucked away in the drawing room, its thick oak doors shielding her from the chaos all around. Outside, the drive was crammed with carriages waiting to take friends and family home. Inside, uncles bellowed directions for packing and loading while children galloped about the corridors and nursemaids scurried after their charges.
But at the harpsichord in her family’s cream-and-gold drawing room, Lily felt at peace. The ivory keys were cool and smooth beneath her hands, the music rising and falling in perfect, predictable patterns. There was something satisfying in letting notes on a page direct her fingers through familiar motions—motions that produced the same sounds and silences every time, without fail.
Music always made sense.
Lily knew she should join the others and say good-bye. And she would, soon. Just one more song and she’d be ready to face the confusion of the household. Two songs at the most. Well, maybe three, but the third would be on the shorter side—
The door opened, and her mother glided gracefully into the chamber. Mum waited for her to finish. “Dear,” she began as the last note faded, “that was lovely, but you really should be—”
“I know, Mum.” Lily rose, forcing her lips to curve in a smile. “I’ll go make my farewells.”
“That’s my Lily.” Mum smiled in return. “Aunt Cecily could use some help bringing Lucy and Penelope downstairs.” Lucy and Penelope were Lily’s small cousins, aged two and three. “I’m afraid all our servants are engaged with the luggage.”
“Of course I’ll help.” With one last wistful look at the harpsichord, Lily quit the room and followed her mother upstairs, looking forward to hugging the two girls one more time.
But the nursery was empty. “Oh, well,” Mum said cheerfully. “Aunt Cecily must have managed to wrestle the little rapscallions downstairs by herself. Come along, then.” She turned back to the corridor.
If Lily hadn’t already known that, she would have figured it out by the singing that drifted from inside. Though the words were muffled, she recognized the same tune from the carriage this morning. Even muffled, his voice was gorgeous. It flowed through the gaps around the closed door, warm and rich like melted butter.
Mum knocked and called through the oak. “How do you fare, Rand?”
The door opened, and Rand stood there, a shirt dangling from one hand. “Very well, thank you,” he said, stepping back into the room to toss the garment into his trunk. He looked, Lily thought, like he was relieved to be departing Trentingham.
Well, she was relieved, too. The less she had to watch Rose fawning over him, the better.
A frown on her forehead, Mum pointedly scanned the room. “Where is the maid I arranged for? Did she never turn up?” She nodded to Lily. “Perhaps you can assist Rand with his packing for a few moments.”
“I—” Lily started.
“That’s my Lily.” Without waiting for her agreement, Mum turned to look down the stairwell. “Arabel!” she shouted. “Don’t you dare leave without a bottle of perfume!” And before Lily could say anything, she was gone.
Lily sighed and entered the room, suppressing a smile when she saw Rand’s sloppy method of folding breeches. “Let me help you with that.”
“I can manage it myself, although I cannot fathom why the maid unpacked everything. I brought enough for a two-week stay, but not here.”
“She wasn’t privy to your plans.” She took the garment and folded it neatly, thinking it felt a bit scandalous to be touching his clothes. “As soon as some of these people leave, more help will be available.”
Lady and Jasper watched from the sill, holding a noisy conversation. “What could a squirrel and a bird possibly be discussing?” Rand asked rather peevishly, then didn’t wait for her to answer. “I told Ford I’d be back in an hour. He wants to work some more on the translation.”
