by Lauren Royal
WHEN RAND returned from his run, he headed straight for his old room to wash his face and change his shirt. Then he went in search of Lily. Hoping to hear soothing music as he approached the Queen’s Bedchamber, he was dismayed to find the room empty.
Damnation, he should never have left her alone. If the marquess was even now interrogating her…
Rand’s stomach went queasy at the thought.
Steeling himself to go find out, he grabbed his surcoat off the bed and shoved his arms into the sleeves. He slipped his cravat back around his neck and strode over to a massive gilt-framed mirror to tie the neat knot he knew the marquess expected. In his rush, his fingers refused to cooperate. He swore at himself.
“Trouble, my lord?” The mirror reflected a woman poking her head through the doorway.
“Hmm?” He turned and, seeing it was Etta, experienced an absurd rush of nostalgia. She’d aged, of course, and she was newly scarred since he’d last seen her, though not too badly. She seemed shorter than he’d remembered. But the placid green eyes were the same.
Those were eyes one could count on. He hadn’t thought about Etta in years, and he felt a wave of shame for that. But he hadn’t wanted to remember the people here who’d cared for him.
The people who could be hurt if he failed to figure something out.
“Oh, please don’t call me my lord, Nurse Etta. You’re supposed to call me Randal in a stern tone of voice.”
When she laughed, it wasn’t an old lady’s laugh—it was the one he remembered from his childhood. Nurse Etta may have been stern when it was required, but most times she had been kindly and good-natured.
“Then don’t call me Nurse Etta.” She came close and took over tying the cravat. “My word, that makes me feel as though I’m still responsible for you three young hellions.” She smiled up at him, looking much like the younger woman he remembered, despite the smallpox scars. “I’ve been plain Etta for years.”
“How did that happen?”
“Why so disapproving?” Finished, she patted his chest and stepped back. “When Margery grew into a young lady, I faced the choice of finding another household with small children elsewhere, or taking a different position here. Your father was kind enough to let me stay on.”
He’d never expected to hear the words your father and kind in the same sentence, and his expression must have shown it.
“Circumstances change, Randal,” she added in that old Nurse Etta tone of voice. “It’s up to us to accept them and move on.”
He suspected those words were directed to him and his current situation, but he didn’t want to hear them right now. “I’m looking for Lady Lily.”
“A lovely young woman.” She bustled over to the bed and began straightening a coverlet that didn’t need to be straightened. “She’s outside playing with the dogs.”
“What dogs? You cannot mean…no…”
She plumped a pillow, then looked up. “Yes. The marquess’s dogs.”
That was worse than learning Lily was with his father. His heart pounding, Rand headed outside at a run.
But when he reached the enclosure, he told himself he should have known better. He stood for a moment just watching. Lily was fine, if covered in dog slobber. In fact, she seemed to be in her element.
She had a fawn-colored dog fetching a short stick and a brindle dog playing tug-of-war with a longer one. Two more dogs seemed, miraculously, to be waiting their turns for attention. Another few were simply ignoring her, but that in itself was a wonder.
Some of the hounds stood as tall as her shoulder, and they were all trained to fight, bred mainly for their fierceness. Except the marquess, everyone on the estate was wary of the beasts, Rand included.
Thinking it might be more dangerous than running into a burning barn, he climbed into the enclosure and wove his way through the excited animals to Lily.
She glanced over at his approach, then focused on the brindle dog. “Let go,” she commanded. The canine dropped his end of the stick, ending the playful tug-of-war.
Rand was unsurprised. Animals always listened to Lily. “Thank you for your patience,” he said, drawing near.
She shrugged, clearly unhappy that he’d run off. But she seemed unwilling to make trouble, either. She tossed the shorter stick and watched the fawn-colored dog chase after it. “I understand,” she said quietly.
Hurrying back with the wood, the mastiff sideswiped Rand and made him stagger. The mass of these beasts was amazing; not a one of them weighed less than he did. “This isn’t really safe,” he told her. “They’re very aggressive.”
“Balderdash. They were starving for attention.” With a swipe of its huge pink tongue, the hound licked her smack on the face. She tossed the stick again. “You should put some thick, knotted rope in here. They’d enjoy playing with it, chewing on it. And that tree is a hazard.” She waved toward one corner. “Those apples are exactly the right size to get lodged in their throats. I’m surprised none of them have choked.”
He shifted on his feet. “I’m sure my father knows what he’s about. He’s been breeding the monsters for years.”
“Monsters? I thought you said you were a dog person.”
He felt himself turning red. “These don’t count. I prefer the small, fluffy sort.”
Reclaiming the stick from between the dog’s big teeth, she appeared to be suppressing a laugh. “Have you ever had a small, fluffy dog?”
“No. But I used to look at these and wish for one.”
“They can be meaner than these. We shall have to try to locate a sweet one for you.” She dropped the wood to the ground and finally met his gaze. “So tell me the rest.”
“Can we get out of here first?”
“I suppose.” She patted a couple of hounds on their heads before bunching her skirts in a hand. As she climbed the fence, the dogs began howling. When Rand went to follow, one beast whacked him with its tail, a stinging blow he half suspected was deliberate.
He supposed he deserved it.
When they were safely beyond the fence, he took Lily’s face in both hands and kissed her, relieved when he felt her melt against his body. “I’m sorry for running off,” he told her. “It’s a bad habit.”
Apparently having forgiven him, she smiled. “I hope it’s your worst.”
“Oh, it is, I assure you. Other than this one oddity, I’m a perfect companion.”
“Those are perfect companions.” She gestured toward the dogs. But she was still smiling. “Tell me everything.”
Feeling better than he had in hours, he slipped an arm around her waist and walked her into the gardens. “I don’t care what my father wants, Lily. I won’t give you up for anything. Anything.”
She snuggled closer against him. “Tell me the rest. Your father has pledged to marry Margery to his heir, and now you are his heir. What else?”
“Margery’s a commoner, but an heiress. She inherited a vast estate. Land that my father has been managing for twenty years.”
“And?”
“He claims that Hawkridge will bankrupt without the income from that land. He contends he was close to losing everything when Margery came along. He said he mortgaged Hawkridge to the hilt to support Charles during the war.”
“Would he have?”
“What?”
“Risked his estate for the king?”
He blinked. “Of course. Did your father not do the same?”
“It was my grandfather at the time. And no.” Her father’s daughter, she plucked dead leaves off the hedges as they walked. “Grandpapa sent money, but no more than he felt he could spare. And he never went off to fight, nor did he send his son. While we waited out the war and Protectorate at Tremayne, they were both right there along with us. Grandpapa always said he valued family above the monarchy.”
A different way of thinking, but Rand liked it. “I suspect the marquess would have called him a coward. But if he hadn’t gone off to war, he would never have been indebted to Marg
ery’s father. And I wouldn’t be in this mess today.”
“We wouldn’t be in this mess,” she corrected gently. “We’ll find a way out together.”
In that moment, his love for her increased tenfold. He couldn’t remember when anyone had supported him so unconditionally. In order to persevere, he’d always needed to find the strength within himself. But now he could depend on—lean on—Lily. Those narrow shoulders were deceptively strong.
In the shade of a spreading tree he stopped, turning her toward him to meet her mouth. “I love you, Lily Ashcroft,” he murmured against her lips.
“And I, you.” Her hands slipped under his coat, and she leaned back to look up at him. “What else? There’s more, I can tell.”
“You’re a dangerous woman.” He chuckled and kissed her on the nose before sobering. “The maid the marquess assigned to you, Etta…”
She frowned and took his arm to resume walking. “She’s a kind sort.”
“She used to be my nurse, and yes, she’s very kind.” He hadn’t expected to find anything he cared for here at Hawkridge. Or anyone. “She—and others—made my childhood here bearable.”
A bee buzzed over their heads, then flew off. “You worry for them,” she said with the sort of compassion that made her Lily. “Not for your father, not for Hawkridge the estate, but for Hawkridge’s people.”
“The old family retainers.”
“And the tenants and villagers, too, I imagine. There must be dozens of people who depend on Hawkridge for their livelihoods.”
“Hundreds.” Pulling her close, he buried his face in her fragrant hair. “Oh God, Lily. As much as I don’t want to jump to the marquess’s command, as much as I cannot imagine giving up my hard-won professorship, as much as I cannot stand to think of losing you—absolutely won’t consider losing you—”
His voice broke.
“You also cannot imagine letting all these people down,” Lily finished for him, drawing back.
Capturing his gaze, she caught his hands in both of hers.
Devastation.
There was no other word to describe the way she felt. A hole had opened in her middle, a bottomless pit, sucking every shred of her newfound happiness into its void.
Tears threatened as she squeezed his fingers, trying to draw strength from his very bones.
He pulled one thumb from her grip to rub it over the scars on the back of her hand. She searched his eyes, dark gray with pain. “There must be another way,” she said. He looked so steady. He was her rock. Rocks did not up and disappear. “Besides meek acceptance of your father’s dictates, there must be another way.”
Clearly wanting to believe her, he nodded—but he didn’t look convinced. “I meant what I said, Lily. I won’t give you up for anything. But I ran, and then I walked, and yet I couldn’t think—”
“There’s my marriage portion.” She drew him to sit beside her on a wooden bench.
“I told him about that,” Rand admitted, looking guilty.
“As you should have. It will be yours as soon as we wed.”
With a gentle hand, he pushed her hair off her face. “I don’t feel as though it necessarily should be. I didn’t earn it. Everything else I have, I’ve earned.”
“It’s the way the world works, Rand. I vow, you’re one of the few men I’ve met who wouldn’t run to the altar for that sort of money.” Yet more proof he was special. “What did he say?”
“He said, and I quote, it ‘wouldn’t make a dent in Hawkridge’s needs.’”
She nodded, unsurprised. Three thousand pounds was a respectable sum for a dowry, but a man of the marquess’s stature wouldn’t face bankruptcy for a lack of that amount. “Do you expect an additional ten thousand would make a difference?”
He blinked. “Ten thousand?”
“My inheritance. I’ve told you about it, remember? Grandpapa left me ten thousand pounds—”
“Ten thousand pounds?” The look on his face made her realize she’d never mentioned the amount, only discussed what she planned to do with it. “I never thought about…I remember now that Violet was left that much money, but she’s the eldest…it never occurred to me…”
Sudden understanding stole over his expression.
“Is that what Rose was talking about that day in the summerhouse?” he said, looking incredulous. “Her inheritance? I assumed she was counting on her dowry and planning to wheedle the rest out of your father. I never for a minute believed she’d actually deliver on such a sum.”
“Not even Rose makes promises she cannot keep,” Lily said, feeling a fresh stab of guilt when she remembered her own broken promise. But it was a little stab, because she knew she and Rand belonged together, and because she also knew that all her anguish of the past few weeks was inconsequential compared to what they were facing now. “Yes, we were each left ten thousand pounds. The money won’t be mine until I turn twenty-one, but perhaps…no, I’m certain my father will allow me to have it early. We can give it to your father, to save Hawkridge, and then we’ll be able to marry.”
Rand looked stunned. “You had plans for that money. You were going to build a home for stray animals. And use the rest of your funds to run it for many years.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat. “So I’ll find another way,” she whispered. “I love animals, but I love you more.”
His eyes grew suspiciously glossy. She’d never seen a man cry. She moved onto his lap, kissing those eyes, his nose, his cheeks. “How much is Margery’s fortune?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe more. But if the marquess cannot save Hawkridge with thirteen thousand pounds, he’s not the man he pretends to be.” When he kissed her back, she felt his lips curve into a smile. “It should certainly keep Hawkridge from ruin and set it on the road to recovery, and then I’ll be able to persuade him to bless our marriage.”
She smiled, too, and kissed him again, thrilling when he deepened the caress. She would never get enough of this, enough of him. Her worries fled and her head was filled with only Rand.
But then a thought intruded and her heart plunged. She broke the kiss. “What about Margery?”
“What about Margery?”
“We need to consider her, too, don’t you think? After all, she just lost her betrothed, and she’s expecting to marry you.”
He tensed for a moment, but then relaxed and kissed her again. “What my father expects and what Margery expects are two different things. She hasn’t seen me in eight years. I’m certain she will think me no great loss. With her fortune, she can find herself a much better man. Someone important.”
“You’re an earl,” she reminded him. “And someday you’ll be a marquess.”
“But at heart, I’m a professor.” He skimmed a finger over the dent in her chin. “That you would offer me your inheritance…” His eyes glazed over again. “It’s overwhelming. And in the face of that generosity, I just know that everything will turn out fine.”
Lily wished she could be so confident.
THIRTY-NINE
LIKE THE REST of the house, the dining room was beautiful. Lily had glimpsed an enormous, lavish banqueting hall upstairs, but this chamber was much more intimate.
As Rand walked her in, her heels clicked on the two-toned parquet floor. She stopped to run a hand over the patterned design on the walls, surprised to find it was gold stamped on brown leather. “It looks like gilded wood!” she exclaimed.
“The leather is supposed to absorb the smells of food.”
She’d never heard of such a thing. “It’s lovely. All of Hawkridge Hall is lovely.”
“It’s a lovely prison,” he muttered back darkly. “It was my prison for fourteen years, and I’ve no wish to return.”
In opposition to the prison that was Hawkridge Hall—a prison designed and paid for by his father—the Oxford house was one-hundred-percent Rand’s. A symbol, Lily suspected, of his hard-won independence.
“I want to live in your new house, too,” sh
e assured him. Kit had told her that he and Rand had spent months designing it before the cornerstone was laid, because Rand had wanted every square foot to be perfect. And it was. “It’s so modern, so simple and classic compared to this mansion. And so empty. I’m so looking forward to filling it over time, making it ours.” She was about to add more when Rand’s eyes widened in alarm. She swung around to see his father. “Oh! Good evening, my lord.”
“My lady,” he grunted. “Shall we be seated?”
Lily wondered how much the man had heard as they all took their places at the oval cedarwood table, the marquess seating himself at the opposite end from his son.
There were eighteen matching caned chairs around the table in this “family” dining room, and in Lily’s opinion, a family sat together to better enjoy each other’s company. At least her family did. Mentally shaking her head, she took a chair beside Rand rather than one in the middle—then pretended not to notice when two footmen had to scramble to move her table setting.
Being not so nice was feeling better and better.
Supper was an awkward affair. The marquess was dressed in black mourning and seemed offended that Rand was not. Other than a few minutes of desultory conversation about the man’s beloved mastiffs, Lily couldn’t get him to talk about anything. Both she and Rand were reluctant to bring up Margery or marriage, so the time passed mostly in silence punctuated by the clinking of Hawkridge’s custom-designed silverware.
Though the house was magnificent, there was something about it Lily didn’t like. Something dark and forbidding. Maybe it was the deep colors on the walls and all the somber, oak-framed paintings. Maybe it was the studied formality. Or maybe it was just that she’d never been anywhere before where she’d felt so very unwelcome.
When the meal finally drew to a close, Rand pushed back his chair. “Lily plays the harpsichord beautifully,” he said as a sort of invitation.
“I have work to do,” the marquess replied and left the room.
While Lily wished Rand and his father would act more like a family, in truth she felt mainly relief. “When are you going to tell him about my inheritance?” she asked.
