Lily

by Lauren Royal

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  BY THE TIME Rand told the whole story, he and Kit had long since finished dinner and were nursing tankards of ale.

  Last night’s rain had ceased, but the day had dawned depressingly gray. The dark paneling inside the King’s Arms made it dreary, and the crackling fire near their table did little to warm the room or lighten Rand’s mood.

  “Of all the rotten things your father has ever done to you, this wins the prize.” Kit shook his head. “Margery. Is she all grown-up, then?”

  “Very much so at twenty-one, and she’s a beautiful woman, too. But I cannot imagine myself married to her.”

  “For all intents and purposes, she’s your little sister.” Looking thoughtful, Kit signaled for another round. “Margery was always very sweet.”

  “I’d say you’re welcome to her, but I’m afraid Bennett Armstrong would have something to say about that. Especially considering she’s carrying his child.”

  Kit blinked. “On top of everything else, she’s with child?”

  “Yes, and she’s asked me to raise the babe as my own.”

  “You will, of course, should it come to that.” Kit knew Rand inside out. “But we must find a way to fix this.” He paused, musing as he drained his tankard. “Skinny old Bennett, huh?”

  Despite the gravity of his situation, a ghost of a grin materialized on Rand’s face. Bennett had been rather scrawny when they were all lads. “He’s not skinny anymore. I wouldn’t challenge him were I you. Remember, he’s killed once already, even if it was in self-defense.”

  “True, but the man he killed was Alban. He did the world a favor.” A serving maid set down two fresh tankards, and Kit flipped her a coin. “Some of my most amusing childhood memories are of Alban’s fury whenever you deciphered his diary.”

  “It was never amusing when my father found out.” Rand took a deep swallow; then his mouth dropped open as his tankard hit the table. “That’s it!”

  “Pardon?”

  “The evidence I’ve been looking for to prove Bennett Armstrong’s innocence. Alban’s diary.”

  Kit frowned. “I must’ve had one ale too many. What evidence?”

  Ales notwithstanding, quite suddenly Rand’s head felt crystal clear. “You know that Alban always kept a diary—he was obsessed with putting his thoughts on paper. If he’d planned to kill Armstrong, there’s an excellent chance he’d have recorded that fact. The marquess cannot refute proof written in Alban’s own hand. All I have to do is find it.”

  “All you have to do is find it? That could turn out to be a tall order, my friend.”

  “It’s my only hope.” He drained his ale and stood, a new energy singing through his veins. “I must collect some things, talk to some people. I’ll leave for Hawkridge at dawn.”

  Kit rose, too. “I’m coming with you. Your house can wait.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  “I’M WORRIED.” Chrystabel sighed as she shut the bedchamber door. “After all I did to push Lily and Rand together, it’s frustrating to find them in this predicament with seemingly nothing we can do to help.”

  Joseph sat in a chair and set An Antidote Against Melancholy on his lap. “You cannot fix everything wrong with the world, my Chrysanthemum. If they’re meant to be together, Rand will find a solution.”

  “Oh, I suppose you’re right.” She started toward him. “But as a mother, it’s hard to stand by and watch our Lily suffer.”

  “I hurt for our daughter, too, but the boy will come through.” Looking down, he opened the book. “You picked a bright one in Rand.”

  “I intend for all of our girls to wed highly intelligent men.”

  “Our girls…” His head jerked up. “Our girls were reading this?”

  “Certainly not,” she fibbed, closing the distance between them to distract him with a kiss. “They barely glanced at it. Didn’t you hear Violet say they misunderstood what An Antidote Against Melancholy was about? They took the title to mean it was a treatise on how to cheer a poor girl like Lily. When they found otherwise, they shut the book immediately.”

  He looked puzzled. “I didn’t hear this.”

  “So sad that you cannot hear better.” She sighed prettily and sat herself on his lap, turning to run her fingernails down his shirtfront. “Will you sing me one of these songs? I do imagine it could put me in the mood.”

  “In the middle of the afternoon?” He laughed, reaching around her to flip the pages. “I shall sing, then, yes indeed.”

  Watching his eyes widen as he read some lyrics to himself, she smiled. “I’ve been thinking, darling.”

  “Hmm?” He turned another page, humming a tune under his breath.

  “I’m thinking we must keep Rand and Lily apart. They shouldn’t be allowed alone together, not until after they’re wed. You were right to be relieved she’s not with child, and we must take steps to see that doesn’t happen.” Her sigh this time was heartfelt. “I was so certain they would end up together, but heaven only knows how all of this will work out. Joseph, are you listening?”

  He looked up, his lips curving as his gaze trailed toward the bed. “Of course, my love, whatever you say.”

  Raising the book, he cleared his throat and began to sing.

  FIFTY-NINE

  RAND SHOWED UP in Trentingham’s entry hall days before Lily thought he would, and the moment she saw his face, she knew he had a new plan. Even from the top of the stairs, she could see hope shining in his eyes.

  Her heart leapt in response. Without a thought for her sister standing beside her, she lifted her skirts and ran down and into his arms. “You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?”

  “I have, yes.” He kissed her exuberantly before continuing. “There’s no guarantee, of course, that it will work out, or that even if it does, the evidence will convince the marquess, but—”

  “Bloody hell,” Kit Martyn interrupted from the doorway. “Tell her your idea already.”

  “Yes,” Rose yelled down the stairs. “Go on, tell us.” She began walking down to meet them. “I’m likely to die of curiosity. We’ve all been wracking our brains for a solution—Lily and I, Violet and our friend Judith—and I want to hear what you’ve come up with that our superior female minds missed.”

  Rand laughed. “It’s Alban’s diary.”

  “Pardon?” Lily and Rose said together.

  “As long as I knew him, Alban always kept a journal detailing all his nefarious doings. If he continued the habit, all I have to do is find it, and I’d wager his plans to kill Bennett Armstrong will be written there in his own hand. No matter how much the marquess wants to believe in his innocence, it will be impossible to refute that.”

  “If Bennett is telling the truth,” Rose put in.

  Yes, if, Lily thought. But he’d seemed so sincere. And she had to believe him, because proving his innocence was the only chance she and Rand had.

  “Finding the diary could work against you instead of helping,” Rose pointed out. “If it’s found and there’s no mention of ill will towards the man, the marquess will consider that to be proof Alban was innocent. Even should witnesses come forward, he’ll disbelieve them and insist on hanging Bennett—and Rand will have to marry Margery to save her love’s life.”

  It was an intelligent observation. Annoyingly intelligent. And depressingly true, but Lily couldn’t think about that now.

  Hope had taken flight and refused to be grounded.

  She clutched Rand’s arm. “Do you really think you can find Alban’s journal?”

  “For all we know, it could be sitting in plain view in his bedchamber.” Rand crossed his fingers. “If not, I’ll turn the house upside down if need be.”

  “And inside out,” Kit added. “I’m going along to help.”

  “Thank you,” Lily said, impulsively giving him a hug. “I’m going, too.”

  “Lily.” Rand stared at the oak-planked floor for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet hers. “I came to tell you my plans as I
had promised, not to take you with me. Before I left, the marquess specifically instructed me not to bring you back.”

  Although she wasn’t really surprised, Lily felt crushed. Had the man hated her that much?

  “Nonsense,” said Rose. “The Ashcroft motto is Question Convention, and Lily will do as she likes. You cannot leave her here languishing while you men have all the fun. Besides, she could very well notice something you miss. Women’s minds work in different ways than men’s.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” Kit put in dryly, but Lily noticed that he looked toward Rose with approval. “She’s right, Rand. Lily should come along. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

  “But I never—” Rand started.

  “Never say never.” Kit raised a dark, meaningful brow. “Didn’t you declare your father was done dictating your life? Fourteen years ago.”

  Rand’s shoulders went back. “My concern is Lily, not myself. She’s going to receive a rather chilly welcome.”

  “Then I’d best bring my cloak,” she said, smiling when Rose laughed.

  “Wait!” Chrystabel appeared out of nowhere as usual. “Where do you suppose you’re off to?”

  “Hawkridge Hall. Rand has a plan, and—”

  “Not overnight. I want you back here to sleep, Lily.”

  Lily frowned. Mum had never cared about such things before.

  “I know Lord Hawkridge will be less than welcoming,” Chrystabel explained rather unconvincingly. “I’d as soon not have to worry about you all the night long.”

  “I’ll bring her home,” Rand promised, and Rose began telling Mum about Rand’s idea, and the awkward moment passed.

  Regardless of her mother’s odd change of heart, Lily couldn’t wait to leave. Even knowing the marquess would be furious to see her. It felt good to do what was right instead of what was nice.

  And it felt even better to be doing something to remedy her situation instead of sitting here feeling frustrated while the hour moved ever closer to Rand and Margery’s wedding.

  SIXTY

  THE THREE OF them decided that, rather than take a carriage, they’d ride horseback to save time. Lily quickly changed her gown for her blue riding habit, and an hour and a half later, they arrived at Hawkridge Hall.

  As they rode up the path from the river, Lily stared at the massive mansion. “It doesn’t look evil,” she said thoughtfully.

  Rand leaned from the saddle to smooth her hair. “It won’t be,” he promised, “just as soon as we’ve exposed Alban for what he was.”

  “Goodness, I hope we can find that diary.”

  “We will. We have to.”

  The stables were around the back. As they headed in that direction, past the dog enclosure, Lily gasped.

  “Oh, my God!” She slid from the saddle and hit the grass running. “Rex!”

  Gaping, Rand watched her scale the fence. By the time he dismounted and caught up with her, she was kneeling in the dirt, her hands on either side of one very agitated mastiff’s head.

  “Hold him like this,” she ordered without looking up. Rand leaned down to comply, not a simple task since the animal was violently pawing at its face. It gasped and gulped, its stomach pumping as though it was trying to vomit.

  Lily reached for the dog’s mouth and pried it open, ignoring all the foamy saliva that dripped from the canine’s black lips. Rand struggled to hold the animal still while she pulled out its long tongue.

  “Up!” she yelled, her fingers moving the tongue this way and that. “I need to see!” Kit leapt to help, angling the mastiff’s head toward the sun while Lily peered down its throat. “I knew it!” she ground out through gritted teeth, calm and determined although she was clearly furious.

  Heedless of the animal’s sharp teeth, she reached back into its mouth. But she couldn’t grasp whatever was choking the poor creature.

  Only a whimper betrayed Lily’s distress. After that, she was all action. She stood and, leaving the dog’s front paws on the ground, went around to lift him from behind. Though the canine was easily twice her weight, she managed to raise both his legs. But she was too short to get them up high.

  Rand and Kit both jumped to help, taking one hind leg each while Lily knelt again by the dog’s head. “Come on, Rex,” she pleaded. “Cough it up. Shake him!” she told the men.

  They did, holding him up like a wheelbarrow, but though the dog jerked and made choking sounds, the object still remained lodged.

  “Dear God,” Lily moaned, panting as though she could breathe precious air for the animal. “Set him back down.”

  With the flat of her hand, she administered three sharp blows between the huge creature’s shoulder blades, but nothing happened. Finally she leaned over its back, wrapped her arms around its middle, and squeezed so hard her face turned red, pressing up on its belly with both fists.

  All at once, a slobbery red apple came shooting out of its mouth.

  “Oh, Rex!” The dog collapsed to the ground, and she hugged him around the neck, laying her cheek against his sweaty coat. Tears poured down her face. “I thought we were going to lose you!”

  The other dogs came closer to investigate, barking loudly and poking at Rex with their noses. Though he was clearly exhausted, Rex turned his head and licked Lily’s face, a big wet swath of love.

  She laughed, and Rand smiled, his own eyes embarrassingly damp. His legs felt shaky, as if he’d run miles. He was speechless.

  Kit spoke for them both. “That was incredible, Lily.”

  She hugged Rex even harder. “It was only what had to be done.”

  “No,” came another voice, one filled with admiration. “It was an amazing display of quick thinking.” Rand turned to see his father unlocking the gate. The man walked right over to Lily and reached down a hand. “Thank you for saving Attila. I need to get rid of that apple tree.”

  Lily was too nice to say she’d told him so, but her lips curved in a smile that melted Rand’s heart. She unwound her arms from the hound’s neck and allowed the marquess to help her rise.

  As soon as she moved away, the other dogs pressed even closer. Lily brushed at her less-than-pristine riding habit. “Perhaps, my lord, you should take him into the house for a while. He needs some time to recover, and out here he will get no rest.”

  “My dogs are not allowed in—” the marquess started, then apparently had second thoughts. “An excellent suggestion, Lady Lily. Will you come with us and help me get him settled?”

  Rand watched, aghast, as his father and Lily headed for the house, the dog walking gingerly between them.

  After a moment, he and Kit exchanged glances and began following. “He didn’t even ask what she was doing here,” Rand whispered.

  “He didn’t notice me at all,” Kit said dryly. “He had eyes only for your lady.”

  “He’s grateful at the moment. It won’t last.”

  Kit shook his head. “She’s won him over.”

  “Perhaps,” Rand conceded, although it seemed more likely his father was temporarily bewitched. Lily, after all, was very good at casting spells, especially where Nesbitt men were concerned.

  But regardless, he’d best not forget that nothing had really changed. “This doesn’t mean he’ll assent to my wedding Lily instead of Margery.”

  “No,” Kit agreed. “We still need to find that diary.”

  In the back parlor, Lily settled Rex-Attila by the fireplace and requested a blanket. Without questioning her, the marquess rang for a footman and asked for one to be brought. Lily knelt by the dog, murmuring soothing nonsense while the marquess looked on, a bemused expression on his face.

  When he finally looked up, his features hardened. “Christopher,” he said, apparently noticing Kit for the first time. “It’s been years.”

  Kit nodded an acknowledgment. “Since Rand left for Oxford.”

  “What brings you here now?” the marquess asked rather suspiciously.

  Before Kit or Rand could answer, Lily s
poke up from where she knelt on the floor. “We’ve come to find Alban’s diary,” she said clearly, although they had all agreed they would claim they’d come to discuss Rand’s marriage and then perform their search on the sly. “Rand is of the opinion that it could clear Lord Armstrong’s name.”

  To Rand’s surprise, the man didn’t respond with one of his characteristic explosions. “My son hadn’t kept a diary in years.”

  Rand’s heart dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, but Lily seemed undaunted. “Are you certain, my lord?”

  “I knew my son,” he said shortly.

  Rubbing his dog’s back, she gave a graceful shrug. “Well, it couldn’t hurt for us to look, could it? You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

  Her tone could melt butter in a snowstorm, not to mention a man’s heart. In his current mood, Rand’s father was no exception. “Go ahead,” he said. “But it’s a waste of time. Even should you find my son’s writings, I’m certain there will be nothing in them that would exonerate Margery’s lover.” His gaze on Lily was almost apologetic. “My lady, I appreciate your care for my dog, but you cannot marry my heir.”

  “I understand, my lord,” she said softly. But as she rose to join Rand and Kit near the door, her eyes looked as determined as ever.

  Rand appreciated that determination more than words could say. As they turned to leave, he took her arm. “We’ll get Margery to help, too.”

  “She’s not here,” came his father’s voice behind him.

  More than a little concerned, Rand swung back. “Where is she?”

  The marquess waved a hand, apparently unaware that his son had assumed the worst. “In Windsor, with Etta. They went to choose fabric for her wedding gown.”

  As the vision faded of Margery locked in a dank dungeon somewhere—not that Hawkridge Hall had one—Rand’s shoulders slumped with relief. “They’ll return soon, then?”

  “First thing tomorrow morning.”

  “They’re staying overnight to choose fabric?”