by Lauren Royal
“Zounds, it’s bigger than big.” Rowan swung back and forth, looking up at the cloudy sky through the canopy of leaves. “This tree has been here for more than three hundred years. And Father says we must never chop it down, even though it destroys the symmetry of his gardens.”
“Symmetry.” Rand raised a brow. “That’s a big word for a lad your age.”
Hauling his feet up, Rowan crouched on the big branch and began climbing. “I know,” he said proudly, his voice drifting from above. “What does it mean?”
Rand and Lily both laughed.
“What’s that?” Father demanded, noticing all of them at last. Lily laughed even harder, her amusement ending in a volley of coughs.
“It means balanced proportions,” Rand said loudly enough for even her father to hear.
“Ah, symmetry,” Father said. “You know, I’ve been advised to chop down this twenty-guinea oak for the sake of symmetry.”
Amid more laughter, Rand moved closer to Lily’s father so the man could hear him better. Rand was patient with him, she thought. Not many men would be.
Yet another reason to love Rand Nesbitt.
He raised his voice. “Why do you call it the twenty-guinea oak?”
Father smiled, always eager to answer that question, eager to tell the story that Lily had heard countless times. “A passing timber merchant once offered me ten guineas for the wood, saying it was quite the most enormous tree he’d ever seen.”
“Ten guineas, not twenty?”
“I’m getting to that,” Father said. “Well, the truth was, I’d been thinking of chopping the old boy down anyway, seeing as it impairs the symmetry of this garden. But I’m not one to act too rashly, you see, and so I told the merchant I’d like to think about his offer overnight. Next morning, bright and early, the fellow was at my door, increasing his offer to twenty guineas.” Father waved the long, pointed fork in his hand. “I figured that if the wood’s value could increase by a hundred percent overnight, the tree was an investment worth keeping.”
Rand laughed out loud, and Father grinned. Lily was glad they seemed to get along. But her smile faded when her mother arrived with Rose and Judith.
The gray sky might be threatening a gentle summer rain, but Rose’s expression looked like thunder.
Fresh sympathy tightened Lily’s sore throat.
Rowan dropped from the tree. “What is it? You can tell us now. Is it something happy?”
It was, for her and Rand. Lily felt like her emotions were riding a seesaw, but she couldn’t help the smile that returned to her face. “Lord Randal has asked me to marry him.”
Suddenly everyone was talking at once.
Chrystabel threw her arms around her. “I knew it! Congratulations, dear.”
“Can Jewel come to the wedding?” Rowan asked.
“No,” their mother said. “Jewel is related to Violet’s husband, not Lily’s.” She kissed both of Lily’s cheeks, then pulled back and winked. “Even though I didn’t arrange the marriage, I wish you every happiness.” Not one to stand on ceremony, she turned into Rand’s arms next. “Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you,” he said, hugging her back rather awkwardly. Lily gave him credit for trying, knowing her family could be overwhelming.
Rowan tugged on her gown. “Lily?”
She kissed his forehead, laughing when he blushed and pulled away. “Jewel may attend,” she told him, “if her parents agree.” She wanted her brother to be happy, too, and after all, it was her wedding. She ought to have a say in the guest list.
Her wedding, she thought in a daze. It still didn’t seem real.
“What’s all this?” Father asked.
Rand cleared his throat and raised his voice. “With your permission, sir, I’d like the honor of wedding your daughter.”
“If you know my daughter well enough to wed her,” the earl bellowed back, “you know she’s not about to ask my permission. None of my flowers ask me before doing anything.”
“We can all hear, darling,” Chrystabel reminded him. But he had Lily wrapped in a hug and wasn’t paying attention. When he released her, he turned to shake Rand’s hand.
“Well done,” he yelled, and Lily just smiled and shook her head. If Rand could get through this day with her family, she reckoned he would learn to fit in just fine.
Judith tapped her on the shoulder, her pretty face lit up with a grin. “We’re going to become old married ladies together!”
Lily gave her friend a hard hug, wishing Judith could be as happy about her own wedding. “Let’s get married before we worry about growing old.”
“Yes,” Rose said, “I’m the one who’s old.”
Finally, having put it off as long as she could, Lily turned to her sister.
Rose’s dark eyes were black with fury. “How could you?” she asked.
How could she what? Lily wondered.
What did her sister mean by those three words? How could she break her promise? How could she marry before her older sister? How could she steal a man her sister wanted? How could she be so selfish as to see to her own happiness?
All of it, undoubtedly, Lily thought with a resigned sigh. But while her heart ached for her sister’s pain, and she regretted her part in causing it, she refused to accept the guilt.
Rose had no right to ask for that promise. She’d never had a prayer of winning Rand. Some things weren’t meant to be.
And others were meant to be, like Rand and Lily.
Wanting to explain, Lily took her sister’s arm to draw her aside.
Rose shook her off. “Don’t touch me. You promised.” She did move away from the others, though, closer to the oak. “How could you?” she repeated.
“Because I love him, and I should never have promised, and I couldn’t believe the way you treated him in the summerhouse—”
“You said you’d help,” Rose interrupted through gritted teeth, “and then you told me to do the wrong thing on purpose.” As she talked, she advanced on Lily, backing her into the oak. “I went over to Lakefield every day to try to assist with that translation, but he wouldn’t even hear of it.” Mindful of everyone else, she spoke in a harsh whisper, but her face was right in Lily’s, her eyes flashing fire. “I always knew showing my intelligence was the wrong way to win a man!”
The rough bark bit into Lily’s back, and she hit her head against it, trying to get some distance from Rose’s vehemence. “No, it isn’t,” she protested. “It’s the right way. Rand was just the wrong man.”
“Oh, I don’t want to talk to you!” With a swish of her skirts, Rose crossed her arms and turned away.
Shaking, Lily walked back to the others.
“I think we shall have a picnic tomorrow to celebrate,” Mum said brightly. “With champagne.”
Rowan made a face. “No champagne.”
“You don’t have to drink any,” Lily said woodenly, rubbing her head where it hurt. She looked up at the sky and wished she felt more like celebrating. “It will probably be raining anyway.”
“Nonsense,” Mum said. “If it rains tonight, it shall be clear and beautiful tomorrow.”
“A picnic sounds very nice.” Shooting Rose a concerned glance where she still stood near the tree, Rand moved to wrap an arm around Lily’s shoulders. “Thank you, Lady Trentingham. And I should like to invite your family to Oxford the day after that. Lily should see her new home. I’ll give you the grand tour, and you can all stay overnight. I’ve no furniture yet in my house, save in the one room I’ve been using to sleep, but an inn lies directly behind it.”
“An inn,” Rowan breathed. “May we go, Mum?” He looked more excited about the journey than he had about the champagne—or the marriage, for that matter.
“We’ve stayed at an inn only once since Rowan was born,” Chrystabel explained to Rand, “and he was too young to remember.” She smiled at her son. “Yes, Rowan, I expect that we can go. I should like to see where my daughter will be living. And Rose always
enjoys traveling, don’t you, Rose?”
She looked to Rose, but Rose wasn’t there.
Lily turned just in time to see her march up the portico steps and slam into the house.
“I’ll go after her,” Judith said sympathetically.
“No, I’ll talk to her.” Mum started toward the house, then paused to look back at Lily. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ve done nothing wrong, but she’s hurting now, and I can’t say I really blame her. She’ll come to terms with it sooner or later.”
“I hope it will be sooner,” Lily said with a sigh.
Despite her love for Rand, if her own sister couldn’t be happy for her, she wondered if she could be truly happy herself.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“WELL, Chrysanthemum,” Joseph said as she crawled into bed that night, “your daughter is betrothed as planned. Are you happy?”
“Happy? I’m not sure who’s more miserable, Rose or Lily. Or me.”
Rand and Judith had left. Rose had taken supper in her room. Chrystabel had spent over an hour trying to soothe her, then another trying to convince Lily that her sister wouldn’t hate her the rest of their lives.
Rain pattered on the window, spelling doom for her picnic, and a headache was brewing, relentlessly hammering her temples. She hated when everything didn’t go the way she’d planned.
“Roll over,” Joseph said. “I’ll rub your back.”
She did, snuggling into the feather mattress and sighing when his hands began to work their magic. For a spell she just lay there, letting his fingers knead away her tension.
“Better?” he asked after a while.
“Getting there.” The pounding in her temples was fading to a mere annoyance. “I’m afraid Lily might change her mind.”
“No, she won’t.” He rubbed circles on the small of her back. “She’s in love.”
“You finally noticed?”
Running his thumbs down her spine, he snorted. “I haven’t the talent you seem to possess of discerning a person’s feelings by the look in his or her eyes. I know she’s in love because you told me.”
“Ahh.” The sound was half agreement, half bliss. “Lily is feeling very badly, though, that Rose is hurting. I’m afraid she’ll break the betrothal because her sister is unhappy. Choose her relationship with Rose over Rand.”
He trailed his fingertips lightly down her legs. “Have you no sympathy for Rose?”
“Of course I do. She’s my daughter, and I ache for her. Although she had no right to bind her sister to that ridiculous promise, I understand that she feels betrayed. And yes, her words in the summerhouse were unwise, but I don’t believe for a minute that our Rose is truly that calculating. I suspect she sensed Rand slipping away and acted unthinkingly, out of desperation. Alas, our Rose never has been one to think before words leave her mouth. But she doesn’t truly love Rand, and Lily does, which is why I’m worried that Lily…um…Joseph?” One hand was sneaking under the hem of her night rail. “That’s not my back.”
“Is it not?” he asked, his voice a study in innocence. “I expect I should rub up higher.” He did—higher on her bare legs. “I’m sure Rose will recover.”
“Of course she will. She’ll be after another man by next week. Which is why I’m more concerned about Lily at the moment.” She paused, listening to the soft rain, her body beginning to tingle as Joseph reached even higher. “I hope it’s still raining tomorrow,” she said suddenly.
“Hmm…?” While his fingers sent pleasure spiraling through her, he began kissing the back of her neck, little kisses that made her shiver. “Won’t the rain destroy your picnic?” His warm breath stirred the baby hairs on her nape.
She flipped over to look into his eyes. “Lily and Rand will still picnic. In the summerhouse. Alone. There isn’t room for all of us in there, as you know…but it would be a shame for them to miss their betrothal picnic.”
Moving over her, he blinked. “Chrysanthemum, you know what happens when two people in love are left alone.”
“Exactly,” she said, curling a hand behind his neck. “And after that, there will be no more thoughts of ending the betrothal, will there?”
“My love, you have a devious mind.”
“And you adore me for it,” she assured him, tugging him close for the kiss they both craved.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE SOFT drizzle of the night before had given way to real rain today, but Rand borrowed Ford’s old carriage and rode to Trentingham even though it was obvious there wouldn’t be a picnic.
He was surprised when Lady Trentingham came to meet him, carrying one of the new umbrellas imported from France. As he climbed down, she stepped closer than he would have expected and held the contraption over both of their heads. “Come along!” she said. “My skirts are getting wet.”
Obediently he walked beside her, feeling silly under the expanse of oiled canvas. Only women carried umbrellas—only wealthy women, come to that. Rich or poor, men wore hats and got drenched. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“To the picnic, of course.” Both her hands clenched on the curved ebony handle, she hurried him through the gardens. “Lily was so disappointed that it was raining, I decided to set up the picnic in the summerhouse. I was nearly finished when I heard your carriage arrive. Here we are.” She stopped before one of the four arched oak doors.
He opened it, blinking at the dimness beneath the dome. It was empty—of people, in any case. Though it was a bit hard to tell in the gloom of the dreary day, there seemed to be items inside that hadn’t been there the day before.
“Go on in,” she told him, shifting the umbrella to one hand to fish a little paper package out of her pocket with the other. She gave it to him. “Light the candles. I’ll go fetch Lily.”
As she went back through the gardens, almost but not quite running in her fashionable Louis heels, he unfolded the package and found a few more of Mr. Boyle’s fire-making things. He drew one of the sulfured sticks through a fold of the paper and began lighting candles.
There seemed to be dozens of them spaced out on the benches along the wall. After nearly tripping over something in the center of the summerhouse, he decided to skirt the perimeter instead.
When he was finished, the little circular chamber was alight with a cheerful glow. Plenty enough to illuminate the “picnic” Lady Trentingham had set out on the benches. Platters of fruit, bread, sliced cheese, and sweets. A bottle of champagne and two goblets.
Only two?
And the thing that had almost tripped him turned out to be a pallet set in the center of the brick floor. He stared at it, dumbfounded, until Lily blew in through the door, wearing a summery apricot gown that belied the rainy day.
Lady Trentingham stood on the threshold, the front of her umbrella dripping onto the bricks. “Well, then, I’ll leave you two to enjoy your picnic.”
Rand glanced at Lily, but she looked as confused as he felt. “Where is everyone else?” he asked.
Lady Trentingham waved a hand. “Unfortunately, there’s not enough room.” She didn’t look particularly sad about that. “I didn’t want you and Lily to miss your betrothal picnic, but the summerhouse is rather cramped, don’t you think?”
“We could take everything into the house,” Rand suggested. “Or we could get rid of this.” He indicated the pallet, which covered most of the floor.
“Heavens, no. It wouldn’t be a picnic in the house. Nor if you’re sitting upright on a bench, now, would it? And unlike the grass in Joseph’s gardens, the bricks are entirely too hard to make do with a blanket or rug.”
While that was true enough, Rand eyed the pallet warily. Although there were no covers or pillows, it reminded him too much of a bed.
A bed he’d be tempted to use.
Lily was an earl’s daughter, a sheltered country girl. He respected that. He respected himself for doing the right thing yesterday. For not seducing her before they were wed.
“Don’t you think we should have a chape
rone?” he asked her mother.
“Of course not.” Her laughter sounded a bit forced. “You’re betrothed, and it’s the middle of the day. Besides, you have Lily’s menagerie to watch over you.”
He hadn’t noticed them wander in after her, but now he looked around. Lady was perched up in the rafters, Jasper was under a bench, and Beatrix was winding between his feet.
They would likely make very good chaperones, Rand thought wryly.
Since he had run out of protests, Lady Trentingham wished them a good picnic again and took her leave. When the door banged shut behind her, all was quiet save for the sound of the rain on the copper that capped the domed roof.
For a moment Rand just gazed at Lily. “Were you that disappointed to miss the picnic?”
“What are you talking about? Mum said you were disappointed.”
They both began laughing.
It felt good to laugh, Rand thought. His life had been all too serious up until now.
He removed his wide-brimmed hat and set it on a bench. “So, do you picnic in here often?” he asked, reaching for a strawberry. He popped it into his mouth and moved the platter to the pallet.
“Never.” She pulled a grape off a bunch, but stood rooted in place. “It really is too small, as Mum said. When we entertain in the garden, though, we sometimes use it to shelter the food. And my sisters and I like to come out here in the summertime. It’s a nice place to sit and read or play a game. If you open all four doors, the breeze flows through, yet it keeps the sun off our faces.”
He moved the platters of cheeses and sweets. “Preserves your lily-white complexion, does it?”
She smiled at his play on words. “When we were young, Violet and Rose and I could spend days in here. We used to take playing cards and lay them out end-to-end on the floor to divide the space into pretend rooms. Then we’d play house.”
“Divide it into rooms?” He stopped setting up the picnic in order to eye the small area. “They must have been minuscule.”
