by Lauren Royal
When that faded into the distance, an uneasy silence descended. Lily dropped back to the bench.
Rose’s dark eyes narrowed. “What were you doing with him?”
“Singing,” Lily lied, shocked to hear the word pass her lips. She never lied to her sister. She never lied to anybody. “I mean, he was singing. I was playing. We were playing and sing—”
“All right.” Rose waved an impatient hand. “As long as you’re not going after him. You promised he could be mine.”
Despite that promise, Lily bristled. “He might have something to say about that.”
For a woman who’d so far failed to catch a husband, her sister looked awfully smug. “Oh, I’m sure I can make him want me.”
“You know nothing about him. Has it even occurred to you that he might already be interested in someone else?” Like me, Lily added silently.
Hopefully?
No, that kiss hadn’t meant anything. It had been a mistake.
And Rose wouldn’t hear of any obstacles. “You let me worry about other women,” she said, apparently unconcerned that Lily might be one of them. “My new strategy of demonstrating my intelligence along with flirtation is going to work just fine.”
“Fine,” Lily echoed a little shortly, then chided herself. There was no call for such an attitude. Hadn’t she already decided her sister was entitled to Rand should she prove able to win him? “About the flirtation—” she began.
“I don’t want to hear it. It’s not as though you’ve won a man for yourself. I know what I’m doing.”
“Of course you do,” Lily said quickly, absently rubbing the faint scars on the back of her hand. Her fingers stilled when Rose’s gaze settled on them.
Rose slid onto the bench seat beside her and placed a hand over hers. “No one notices,” she said softly. “And it doesn’t look bad anyway. After all these years, the marks are almost gone. Honestly, Lily—”
“I know.” She turned to grasp both her sister’s hands. So what if she wasn’t perfect? A few narrow, faded white scars…most people were much more imperfect than that.
And most people weren’t fortunate enough to have such a loving, caring sister. Lily still couldn’t believe she’d gone back on her promise by allowing Rand to kiss her.
Well, it wouldn’t happen again.
“Lily?”
Freeing her hands, she gave Rose a shaky smile as she raised them to the harpsichord. Her fingers began moving over the keys. Music always soothed her. Even when, like now, she chose a melancholy tune.
After a moment, her sister’s lovely voice rose in song to match the notes. “Alas, my love, you do me wrong, to cast me out discourteously…And I have loved you for so long, delighting in your company…”
A fitting lyric, Lily thought with an internal sigh. Then she tried to look on the bright side. At least Mum didn’t seem to be trying to match Rose and Rand.
They should be happy for small favors.
EIGHT
RAND’S BEDCHAMBER was filled with flowers. Lovely arrangements sat atop the bedside table, the clothes press, the washstand. Smiling to himself, he walked around the room, pacing off nervous energy as he skimmed his fingers over colorful, velvet-soft petals.
It was quite obvious Rose excelled at arranging flowers, and while he had been kissing Lily, evidently she’d been busy. And so had their mother, by all appearances, because the dressing table was lined with bottles of scent. Her hobby, he suddenly remembered, was making perfume.
No wonder her daughter smelled so delicious.
The small, clear bottles all looked the same—plain with silver-topped stoppers—but the liquids inside them were different hues, ranging from nearly colorless, to yellowish, to brownish. Humming a tune, he lifted a bottle, opened it, and waved it under his nose. Finding the fragrance spicy and masculine, he dabbed some on his face, then sniffed his fingers. Shrugging, he took another bottle. More citrusy, this scent. He patted some on his jaw and decided he liked the first one better.
He shrugged out of his surcoat and tossed it on the bed, followed by his cravat. Despite the long day and the sort of bone weariness that naturally followed, he wasn’t at all sleepy. Being here felt too strange, as did his feelings for a certain daughter of the house.
He sat at the dressing table—a lady’s dressing table, it was, much too delicate for his tastes—and idly unstoppered another bottle. None of the specific ingredients were identifiable, but this one smelled like it could be used to season a pie. A Christmas pie. He watched himself in the mirror as he slapped some on both cheeks and tried to remember the last time he’d really enjoyed Christmas.
He didn’t have fond memories of Christmas, so he moved on to the next scent.
Musky. This one put him in mind of a hot tumble beneath the sheets. Much better than thinking about his family. Since he’d never found himself lacking for female companionship, the fragrance brought a smile back to his face. He layered it over the others, thinking about the last mistress he’d had in Oxford. A pleasant tumble she’d been, but they’d parted last month on amiable terms, she having found another man, one willing to take her to wife. And if she’d left with a bit of regret in her eyes, his own emotions had leaned more toward relief.
He wasn’t interested in marriage.
At least, he’d thought he wasn’t. Dons, the teaching fellows at Oxford, weren’t allowed to wed. Although professors weren’t similarly restricted, very few fellows were ever elevated to that lofty stature, especially at his age. Professorship had always been a goal, but he’d never counted on it, never stopped to think about the fact that as things now stood, he could have a wife and children should he want them.
The chamber seemed overly warm. He rose to pace the room, loosening the laces at his neck, untying his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves. Catching a glance of himself in the mirror, he halted. Implacable gray eyes gazed back at him.
Marriage had crossed his mind more than once today, rather uncomfortably. But whatever could have changed to make him suddenly picture children…a whole family?
His new home, perhaps? It had, after all, five bedchambers. As he and Kit had planned it, had he been thinking, somewhere deep inside, that he might someday want to begin filling all those many rooms?
Hell, no.
Holding Ford’s son might have jarred his emotions, but he’d never seen himself as a family man. He had no idea how to raise a child, no good example from which to work. He wasn’t ready for that sort of responsibility; perhaps he never would be. The concept of marriage was frightening enough, but children…the mere idea made him shudder.
From the far reaches of the mansion, notes wafted up and through his door. “Greensleeves.” A traditional tune, played, he thought, by a nurturing, traditional sort of woman.
Perhaps the only woman who could make him change his mind.
NINE
“ROSE, DON’T!” Lily admonished in a whisper.
“Whyever not? It’s a kind gesture to see to a guest’s welfare.” Ignoring her sister, Rose knocked on the door. “Lord Randal?” She raised her voice—and an Ashcroft’s raised voice was no timid thing, living as they did with the half-deaf earl. “Lord Randal, are you quite all right? Will you be needing anything more this evening?”
Lily huffed, then caught her breath when the door suddenly swung open. Rand stood there in shirtsleeves, and those rolled up. His forearms looked a healthy brown. The top of his shirt was unlaced as well, revealing a bronzed triangle of skin.
How was it that a professor saw the sun? Didn’t academics spend their days secluded in research?
Once again, she found herself staring. Although he was handsome—arresting, even—his wasn’t a pretty face. The jaw was a mite too strong, the nose too long, the brows too heavy and straight. But there was something about those eyes, that smile…
“Yes?” he said, amusement in his gaze as he examined her quite as boldly as she’d been examining him.
She released the breath she hadn’t realized she
’d been holding. “I—”
“I only wanted to inquire as to your welfare,” Rose hurried to put in, so quickly Lily wondered if she sensed something between the two of them.
“I’m quite fine,” he said, stepping closer to the doorway.
A cloud of scent moved with him. Not a subtle cloud. “Have you been testing Mum’s perfumes?” Rose wrinkled her nose. “I apologize, my lord. Evidently one of my mother’s creations is less than pleasing.”
Very tactful wording for Rose, Lily thought with admiration. She really seemed to be watching herself in this quest to win Rand for a husband.
He waved a hand, releasing another burst of cloying fragrance. “Oh, I’ve quite enjoyed the perfumes,” he assured them.
“I expect you have,” Lily said, biting her lip to stifle the smile that threatened. It wasn’t a bad bottle, if she didn’t miss her guess, but rather an unfortunate mixture of several. “How many scents have you sampled?”
“All of them,” he said blithely, rubbing his jaw, then sniffing his fingers. He stepped back, perhaps belatedly realizing he reeked. “I suppose that wasn’t such a good idea?”
“One doesn’t mix fragrances. That’s the perfumer’s job,” Rose informed him, sounding both intelligent and instructor-like.
A professor should admire that tone, Lily thought.
But he only shrugged. “I did it rather absently, I expect. My mind was elsewhere.”
His eyes met Lily’s, implying exactly where his mind had been.
“I…I must see to my animals before bed,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks heat. Wondering if that was because of his hot gaze or her mention of the word bed, she hoped he hadn’t noticed her blush. “Shall I order you up a bath first?”
Judging from the way Rand’s lips curved—knowingly—he’d noticed. “I expect that would be an excellent idea.”
“Go ahead, Lily,” Rose said. “Your menagerie needs attending.” She waved a graceful arm. “I’ll wait here until the bath arrives, so I can see to Lord Randal’s comfort.”
He looked amused at that, as though Rose was so transparent he could see right through her. “I can see to my own comfort,” he said dryly. “But I thank you ladies for your kindness.”
Then he caught Lily’s gaze and grinned before shutting the door, leaving both girls outside.
TEN
SHE’D OVERSLEPT. She never overslept. Moving to the last animal’s bowl to fill it with fresh water, Lily yawned, still blinking away the cobwebs of a restless night—a night filled with dreams of silvery gray eyes and warm, bronzed skin.
She looked around the barn, happy that her chores were finished. The enclosures were clean; all the creatures had been fed, splints checked, matted fur brushed out till it shone. In comparison, she imagined she looked like something the cat had dragged in, but now that she was done, she would sneak back into the house through a servants’ entrance to make herself presentable.
She set down the water pitcher and brushed straw off the plain green gown she’d thrown on upon awakening—then froze when she heard voices outside the barn.
“The knot garden is over there,” Rose was saying, her tone honeyed and cajoling.
“Ah, but your sister keeps her animals in here, doesn’t she?” Rand countered. “I’d as soon take a peek at them.”
And peek in on Lily, too, Lily fancied him adding silently—then bit her lip.
Well, she couldn’t control her thoughts, could she? She couldn’t help the ideas that jumped into her head, no matter that she didn’t really want Rand to be thinking any such thing.
Rose wanted him, and Lily had promised to keep her distance. Moreover, she wanted Rose to be happy. Life was so much more pleasant when the people around one were content.
Light flooded the dim, cavernous building when the double doors opened. As Rand and Rose stepped inside, Lily shoved her unkempt hair farther under the hat she’d jammed on her head to cover it. She managed to resist pinching color into her cheeks.
“Good morning,” she said brightly.
Rand grinned. “Yes, it is.”
Avoiding Rose’s scowl, Lily knelt beside one of the pens to pet a fox cub.
“I’ve never seen one hold still before.” Rand’s footsteps crunched on the straw as he walked nearer and crouched close by. “They always run from people. They even run if they catch you watching them from a window.”
“This one cannot run.” She showed him the small broken leg she’d splinted.
“But she doesn’t seem frightened.”
“He,” Lily corrected. The small fox wagged its white-tipped tail. “And why should he be frightened?”
A spell of silence followed, filled only by rustling and the assorted grunts of animals, as Rand tilted his head and studied her. “No reason,” he conceded finally. “You’re very gentle.”
The tone of his voice made her heart turn over. “Anyone can be.”
“Not anyone.” He stood. “What else do you have in your care?”
She walked along the pens that crowded a corner of the barn, stopping where a spotted fawn nuzzled her with his nose. “Meet Timothy—”
“Timothy?”
“He looks like a Timothy, doesn’t he? He lost his mother.” Feeding the baby deer a handful of grass, she leaned to the neighboring pen to lift the cloth draping a deep basket. “And here’s a rat—”
“A rat?” He stared at the creature in question, a fat, furry brown rodent that never failed to make her smile. “You would save a rat?”
“Randolph was hurt. But he’s recovered quite nicely. I may set him free later today.”
“To be eaten by a cat, no doubt.”
“Not my cats. My cats are his friends. Besides, it would be cruel to keep him confined when he’s well enough to roam.” Timothy had finished his treat, so she wiped her hand on her skirts and moved to the next enclosure. “Over here I have a badger, but he’s sleeping.” She indicated a black-and-white snout poking out from a pile of old blankets. “They’re nocturnal, you may know. And little Harold here is sleeping, too.”
“A hedgehog?” Rand’s eyes radiated amusement.
At the other end of the barn, a door opened. Lily’s brother started in, then spotted them and began backing out.
“I’m finished, Rowan,” she called. “You can come play with the animals.”
“Maybe later.” He slammed the door shut.
Rose laid a possessive hand on Rand’s arm. “Shall we go see the gardens now?” she asked sweetly.
“Your father’s gardens are quite extensive, aren’t they? I really must be getting to Ford’s house. I promised him help. If I might borrow a mount—”
“Of course,” Rose said with a smile. “Our stables are much more impressive than this old barn. And I shall ride with you to show you the way.”
“I think I can find Lakefield on my own.”
No doubt he could, since Lakefield’s lands bordered Trentingham, accessible by both the road and the river. But Rose wouldn’t be deterred. “I should like to come along. Perhaps I can help Violet. Twins are a handful.”
Lily suppressed a laugh. The twins had two nursemaids, and Rose had never shown interest in helping Violet before. But it was good, she decided, for Rose to appear parental. A man looking for a wife would also be thinking in terms of a mother for his children.
“Well, then,” Rand said easily, “we shall have a nice ride. You’ll join us, Lily, won’t you?”
“I—what?” she asked, taken off guard.
“Lily has yet to eat breakfast,” Rose pointed out, having doubtless noticed her absence at the morning meal. She did, at least, tactfully forgo mentioning that Lily wasn’t properly groomed for a visit, either. “She can join us later.”
“Nonsense,” Rand returned. “We’ll wait. In the meantime, you wanted to show me the gardens?”
A smile lit Rose’s eyes. Lily followed them out of the barn, turning toward the house while her sister led Rand in the other direction.
Mere seconds later, her sister’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Rowan Ashcroft, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
Rose sounded very parental. Lily hurried around the back of the barn, arriving just in time to see her brother tug a thin wooden stick through a fold of paper, the friction producing a hiss. As the wood burst into flame, he looked up and gave a grinning answer to Rose’s question. “I’m making fire.”
The grin vanished as the sliver of wood burned close to his fingers. He dropped it with a yelp.
Rand strode forward to stamp it out. “What is it you have there?”
Rose brushed at her red satin skirts. “It doesn’t matter,” she said even more parentally. “He’s well aware that he isn’t allowed to play with fire.”
Too parentally, Lily decided. It was one thing to display a love of children by offering to help Violet, quite another to scold like a shrew. Especially considering Rowan was Rose’s younger brother, not her child.
“But what is it?” Rand bent closer.
Rowan handed him the paper. “It has phosphorus on it.” If Rand looked surprised at hearing a boy of eleven use such a word, Lily wasn’t. Rowan spent hours every week in Ford’s laboratory. “And this,” he said, pulling another of the slim wooden sticks from his pocket, “has sulfur on one end. Ford’s friend, a man named Robert Boyle, has discovered that the two together make fire. Phosphorus has a very low burning point,” he added importantly.
Although Lily wasn’t at all sure what that had to do with making fire, Rand nodded thoughtfully. “Brilliant. May I try?”
“Boys will be boys. And apparently men will be boys, too,” Rose said in a tone Lily thought unwise for a woman hoping to marry one.
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.”
