Lily (Flower Trilogy) (29 page)

Rand looked up. “No. Instead you ignored me, mistreated me, drove me from your home—”

“And you managed to survive regardless. And to”—

the man shifted on his feet—“make a life for yourself.”

Rand Nesbitt’s many accomplishments meant less than nothing to the Marquess of Hawkridge. “Not a life you’ll ever approve of. In the world where I belong, I’m called Professor, not my lord.”

The man’s jaw tightened. “You are an earl now and will someday be a marquess. That is another matter we need to discuss. Which we will, just as soon as you wed Margery and set up residence here.”

“I have no intention of living here. I’m not in such a hurry to put myself back in range of your disapproval and abuse.”

“I’ve said I was sorry,” the marquess muttered. He glanced through the open door. “I’ve dogs to attend to.”

“By all means,” Rand said, waving him off.

The man always had valued his dogs over his son.

The ride to Trentingham was awkward, Rand subdued, Lily trying to sustain both sides of the conversation. The worst of it was that for the first time since the baptism, she found herself wracking her brain to find anything to discuss. Their ease with one another was gone, their relationship changing already.

’Twas naught but two hours between the estates, yet the time passed like the carriage’s wheels were mired in mud.

Beatrix rode inside, but her warm softness on Lily’s lap failed to provide any comfort. When they finally rolled up before the manor, she couldn’t wait to get into the house.

Was it only three days since she’d been home? A day in Oxford and two at Hawkridge. In that short span of time, her entire life had spun upside down.

Just inside the door, Chrystabel met her and wrapped her in a hug. “That was a short visit.”

Lily clung to her mother for a moment, inhaling her familiar floral scent. “It felt like a lifetime.” When she finally pulled away, she looked around as though seeing her home for the first time. So light and bright, the staircase off the entry fashioned of classical white balustrades instead of heavy, dark carved wood. The atmosphere warm and loving, not cold and full of resentment. “’Tis good to be home.”

Concern flooded her mother’s brown eyes. “Do you not like Hawkridge Hall? Will you not want to live there?”

“Oh, Mum, it seems I won’t be living there even if I did want to!” Here, finally, was someone who cared.

She’d felt invisible at Hawkridge Hall—worse than invisible, in fact. A burden to Rand and
persona non grata
to everyone else. “Things have changed—” Spotting Rand standing in the doorway, she broke off.

“Rand.” Chrystabel smiled at him, but the expression in her eyes said she knew something was wrong. “How very nice to see you again. You’ll stay for supper, will you not? Or does your father expect you back at Hawkridge this afternoon?”

“No,” he said dully. “I’m going home to Oxford for a few days.”

“The sun sets late this time of year, so you can stay for dinner, then, at least.”

He shrugged as though he didn’t care. “I’m going for a run,” he said to Lily, already struggling out of his surcoat.

“I’ll be back in a while.”

“No,” she said. “Oh, no.”

As he turned and walked away, Chrystabel put a gentle hand on Lily’s arm. “I can see that things did not go well with his father. Leave him be, Lily.”

“No.” She started toward the door. “I’ve let him be quite enough. I’ll be back and explain later.”

“Lily!” Mum called.

But she was already out the door and down the steps.

“Wait!” Lily called.MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

But Rand didn’t, even though she was sure he had heard her. In fact, he shoved his coat and cravat into the carriage and then began to run, putting more distance between them.

She hurried past blue and yellow flower beds, hoping not to twist an ankle in the soft grass, wishing she hadn’t dressed so fashionably this morning. The high-heeled shoes and the lavender gown with the heavy overskirt had been a final attempt to impress her future father-in-law.

If she wasn’t so upset, she’d laugh at herself for her characteristic optimism. The fact was, there was nothing she could do to make the man like her. He wanted his son to marry Margery, and that was that. He’d probably sent up a cheer when he saw her climb into the carriage this morning.

Lily had never really disliked anyone in her life, but she disliked Rand’s father immensely. Not for the way he treated her—he didn’t know her, after all—but for the way he treated Rand.

Rand. There he was, crossing the bridge to the other side of the river.

“Rand!”

Thanks to living with her father, Lily knew how to make her voice carry. But although Rand stopped running, he didn’t stop altogether, instead pacing determinedly along the far bank.

Hopping on one foot and then the other, she pulled off her shoes and left them jumbled on the daisy-strewn lawn. Then she picked up her skirts and ran—across the lawn, over the bridge, along the path with the river on one side and grazing fields on the other.

Her face heated and her lungs burned. She developed a searing stitch in her side. But she wouldn’t stop running.

She would never give up on Rand Nesbitt.

In the woods beyond, she spotted him in the distance and pushed herself to close the gap. “Rand,” she called breathlessly.

He slowed, stopped, and turned, looking defeated.

“You’ll cut your feet,” he said in a dead voice.

Panting, she looked down to the forest floor, littered with twigs and leaves. Her silk stockings were torn, but she hadn’t noticed that happen. “I—care—not,” she said between gasping attempts to catch her breath. She bent at the waist, hugging the pain in her side. “All I care for, Rand, is you.”

If she’d hoped he’d melt at those words, she was disappointed. “Sometimes,” he said, “I need to be by myself.

Can you not leave a body alone?”

“I’ve tried that. It hasn’t worked.”

“I need to think. I cannot think.”

She straightened and met his gaze. She had something she needed to tell him, and she knew he needed to share something, too. A piece of the puzzle was missing—the piece she suspected had made him run. “Maybe two heads are better than one.”

His jaw tightened as though he was forcibly holding back words. He crossed his arms, shutting her out. His gaze drifted up to the canopy of leaves overhead.

The solitude he wanted would solve nothing. “I’m staying here, Rand. I will not leave you. Do you hear me?” She shouted it to the trees. “I will not leave you, no matter what your father says!”

Slowly he lowered his eyes. “Do you believe in fate?”

“I believe you’re my fate.”

“Oh, Lily.” He shook his head, opening his arms.

“Come here.”

His arms felt so good around her, so solid and sure. He kissed her, kissed her until she was more breathless than she’d been from running, until she felt boneless and lightheaded. He put one hundred percent of himself into the wordless promise of that kiss.

And she knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was that made him run away, time after time, had nothing to do with a lack of love for her. Perhaps he simply did not know how to share. He’d spent so very much of his life on his own.

Well, she would show him how. Two heads
were
better than one, two hearts even stronger.

When he finally drew back, she searched his intense gray eyes. “What happened? ’Tis something else, is it not? Besides Margery and your father’s ultimatum?” He tried to look away, but she moved to the side, keeping her gaze locked on his. “What happened?” she repeated.

“What new complication is there now to pile on top of the others?”

He sighed, looking reluctant to confide in her, but at least he didn’t run.

With both hands, she propelled him toward a stump and pushed down on his shoulders until he sat. “Tell me,”

she said.

He gathered her onto his lap. Leaves rustled overhead, and a sparrow fluttered from one tree to another.

Lady, found her way back home. Jasper blinked his little squirrel eyes at them, then darted up a tree. Lily rubbed her scarred hand and stared at her stockinged toes, waiting.

“The marquess,” Rand said at last, “has claimed he had an excuse for the way he’s treated me all of these years.”

“You were a child. There was no excuse.”

“He blamed me for the death of my mother.”

“What?” She shifted to face him. “How did she die?

You never told me.”

“I never knew. It seems, as a child, I had a habit of running off.” He paused as though waiting for her to agree or to chide him. When she didn’t, he went on. “I was six when it happened. She couldn’t find me and went out looking.”

“And died?”

“A riding mishap. She broke her neck.”

“Oh, Rand.” Sensing his pain, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

“’Twas not your fault.”

“I’d disappeared.”

“You were six. You were not responsible for her accident. It could have happened another day, another time—”

“But it didn’t.” The guilt rolled off of him in waves. “It happened when I ran off. I killed her.”

She lifted her head. “No. You didn’t.”

“My father thinks I did. I left her, and she died. And look at me. I’m still running off and hurting the people I love.”

She offered him a wan smile. “I believe I just put a stop to that. And Rand, you didn’t kill her. Your father saying so does not make it true. You were six years old. Events happen. This one was tragic, but you cannot take the blame.”

“My father believes I’m to blame.”

“Not really,” she argued. “Or he’d have voiced that blame aloud long ago. And he never did, did he? Or you would have known how she died before now.”

He appeared to consider that for a moment, and Lily felt a little of the tightness ease from his body. “You will not convince me the man is good.”

“No, and I wouldn’t try. His treatment of you was unpardonable, but perhaps natural, for all that. He was hurting—”

“Hurting?” Rand interrupted in a tone of patent disbelief.

She nodded. “He must have loved her very much to react in such a strong manner, even if it was wrong.”

“Love? I cannot picture that man in love. I doubt he even believes in such a fine emotion.”

She decided to drop that for now. “Regardless, he was wrong to treat you that way. Not only because you were—are—his child, but also because—”

“I was only six,” he finished softly, as though really hearing that for the first time.

“Yes, you were only six.”

An invisible burden seemed to drop from his shoulders, and he sat there a long while, silent, rubbing her back.

“I need time to think,” he said at last.

“About your mother?”

He shook his head, a slow, mournful motion. “About Margery. I cannot marry her, loving you. I cannot. And yet . . . can I condemn another man to die?”

Of course he couldn’t; he wouldn’t be the man she loved if he could. Lily swallowed hard. “Would it make it any easier if I told you I’m not with child?”

His hand stilled on her back. “What do you mean?”

“I . . . I awakened this morning, and . . .” She felt her cheeks flood with color. She’d never discussed anything like this with a man, but she’d known since this morning that she had to. She’d run all the way out here to tell him.

“My courses are upon me,” she said quietly. “I am not with child.”

“Oh,” he said; then his arm came around her and held her close. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Truly?” Her first feelings this morning had been of sorrow, although she knew she should have been relieved. And truthfully, a large part of her
was
relieved.

“Your father, you know—it would have made no difference. We had no hope of using it to our favor.”

“I know. But . . . well, I was picturing her already. She looked like you. I’d be the first to admit that mere days ago I’d have quailed at the thought of fatherhood, but now that I’ve had time to get used to the idea, damn if I wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“I was picturing a boy. A gray-eyed boy with long, dark gold hair.”

His lips curved in a half smile. “Twins. They run in your family, do they not?”

Despite everything, she had to laugh. “If you’d seen my sister heavy with twins, you wouldn’t wish that on me. Besides, ’tis Ford’s family that runs to twins. Surely you know he’s a twin himself.”

“Ah, yes. Kendra.” For a moment, Rand looked far away, lost in the past. Then the faint smile faded from his face and he hugged her even tighter. “One child, twins, triplets—I care not, so long as they’re ours. More than anything, Lily, I want you to have my children.”

“Oh, Rand, I want your baby, too.” She laid a hand over her empty womb, thinking about what might have been, what might never be. “There must be another way,”

she said, using his words. “You’re right—we both need to think.”

He put his bigger hand over hers. “Not now. I’m sorry, but I must go to Oxford. I need more clothes, and other—”

“I didn’t mean you are never allowed to go off alone.

You’ll think in Oxford, and I’ll think here.”

By unspoken agreement, they rose and began walking in the direction of Trentingham. “After Oxford, I must go back to Hawkridge. ’Tis my only hope of finding any evidence to free Bennett. He said he was hunting with a party; one of the other men might have seen something.

Or someone else. If need be, I will interview every soul in a ten-mile radius.”

Leaves crunched beneath Lily’s stockinged feet, and when a twig snapped with a loud
crack
, Rand swept her up into his arms. She linked her hands behind his neck. “I shall come and help you.”

She saw the telltale hesitation before he decided to come out with it, felt the slight tightening of his arms.

“Let me talk to my father first. You’ll be but two hours away, and I’ll come for you, I promise, once I ascertain you’ll be accepted.” His gray eyes pleaded for her to understand, and she did, but it was frustrating to feel so helpless. “Trust me on this, sweetheart,” he said softly.