Lily (Flower Trilogy) (3 page)

Inside the guest chamber, everyone including the cat squeezed into a tiny room that Ford had hired a man to construct in the corner—Ford was an accomplished inventor, but less than talented when it came to anything requiring sweat or a ladder. They gathered around the water closet, peering down at it in wonder.

’Twas a padded box with a round opening in the top, rather like a closestool. But instead of a removable chamber pot inside, there was a permanent alabaster bowl. “Back here,” Ford pointed out, “this copper pipe leads down from it.” The pipe disappeared into the wall.

“The system works as a siphon.”

They all nodded, since he’d explained siphons to them years ago, along with other scientific marvels.

“I suppose it empties into the river?” Rose asked, demonstrating her intelligence.

“It does. And there will be more pipes—eventually all over the house. I mean to put a water closet in every bedchamber. And my laboratory.”

Leaning to pick up Beatrix, Lily hid a smile. The man practically lived in his laboratory.

Another pipe ran up from the back of the seat, ending at a tank affixed to the wall. “The water.” Ford gestured toward a third pipe that disappeared into the ceiling. “’Tis fed from a cistern on the roof.”

“How does it work?” Lily asked.

“Well, first you use it—”

“No need to demonstrate that,” Rose rushed to say.

“Of course not.” Her brother-in-law rolled his eyes, but

’twas a good-natured roll. Lily suspected there had been a time he’d disapproved of Rose’s forthright nature, but those days were long past.

Rose was Rose.

“After you use it, you pull on this lever.” Ford grabbed a handle attached to the tank. “It releases the water to wash the waste out to the river.”

There was a rushing sound. Startled, Beatrix leapt from Lily’s arms and streaked from the room. Almost bumping heads, everyone leaned over the alabaster bowl to watch the water flow down the pipe.

“Goodness,” Lily said. “ ’Tis wonderful. There’s nothing to take out, nothing to clean.”

“As though you’ve ever scrubbed a chamber pot,”

Rose teased.

“Oh, hush.” Lily playfully shoved her sister’s shoulder.

While it was true there was no lack of servants at Trentingham Manor, that was beside the point.

Used to their squabbling, Ford simply pushed back up on the lever. “When it’s clean, you stop the water.”

“That’s it?” Mum asked.

“That’s it,” Ford said with a smile. “To deal with the, um, unpleasant odors in the pipes, I have curved the one below the bowl into an S shape. Clean water fills it and forms a seal.”

Chrystabel beamed. “Brilliant, as usual.”

“Very impressive,” Rand allowed.

The demonstration over, they all squeezed out through the narrow doorway into the pale green bedchamber.

Luggage—Rand’s, Lily assumed—sat in the corner.

“Why did you build the first one here?” she asked Ford.

“I wanted to make certain everything worked right before I started punching holes in the walls of rooms we regularly use.” He waved them back toward the corridor.

“Come along, now. I’d like to show you the pipes outside, and others are waiting for a demonstration.”

“Everyone, I’d wager.” Rose maneuvered to descend beside Rand. “I wish they’d all leave. I cannot wait to use it.”

Rand appeared to be smothering a laugh.

Mum released a sigh but let the improper comment pass. “Me, too,” she whispered to Lily as they followed the others downstairs.

“Me three,” Lily murmured.

Once outdoors, Ford hurried them through the garden and around the side of the white-painted house. Bright new copper pipe shone in the sun, making its way down the wall before disappearing into the ground. A tidy trail of newly turned earth traced the pipe’s path to the nearby Thames.

Amusement glittering in her eyes, Rose raised one perfect brow. “I see you’ve become handier with a shovel.”

“Harry did the digging,” Ford said, referring to his ancient man-of-all-work—and apparently either taking Rose’s observation as a jest or failing to recognize her subtle sarcasm.

Probably the latter, Lily decided. The man was known to be rather oblivious.

An orange kitten came up and wound around her, ducking beneath her skirts to tickle her ankles. With a giggle, she bent to fish it out. “This is all so very impressive,” she told her brother-in-law, smiling as she stroked the kitty’s fur and felt it begin to purr. “Can you put some water closets in Trentingham, too?”

“And have pipes running down the outside of the house?” Now Rose’s perfect brows drew together. “That wouldn’t look well at all.”

Mum shrugged. “I could accept the unsightliness for the convenience.”

“Father would never allow it,” Rose said.

To the contrary, Lily doubted their father would even notice—he rarely took note of much beyond his beloved flowers. If a thing didn’t grow, he wasn’t apt to pay it much attention.

“What is your cat’s name?” Rand asked.

Lily gazed down at the ball of fluff vibrating against her middle. “This is not my cat. I’ve never seen it before in my life.” Still stroking the soft apricot fur, she looked up at Ford. “Is it yours?”

He shrugged. “Not that I’m aware.”

Of course,
he
wasn’t apt to pay much attention to anything that
did
grow, unless it was some sort of muck in a beaker in his laboratory.

“Cats just come to Lily,” Rose told Rand. “All animals, in fact.”

Her words were spoken in a loving, teasing way, and Rand grinned. “They must be able to tell she’s the nurturing sort.”

Lily’s cheeks heated. “I adore animals,” she said. “All animals.”

“She’s the
mothering
sort.” Rose sidled closer to Rand.

“Rose,” Mum said softly.

But that didn’t deter Lily’s sister. “Men don’t care to be mothered,” she purred, laying a hand on Rand’s arm and narrowing her eyes until she looked rather catlike herself.

“Do they, Lord Randal?”

“I cannot speak for other men,” he said tactfully, leaving it at that. In keeping with the careful wording, he gently extricated himself from her grip by crossing to his friend. “Ford, I do believe your other guests are getting impatient.”

“And Violet asked if you’d freshen some of her flower arrangements,” Chrystabel reminded Rose.

Although Rose truly did enjoy turning flowers into towering works of art, she was clearly reluctant to leave Rand’s side. “Violet can wait awhile.”

“Now, dear, that is not very sisterly.” Mum smiled at the men. “Please excuse us,” she said as she took Rose by the arm and led her off.

“I must give others the tour,” Ford said and followed them.

And just like that, Lily found herself alone with Rand, wondering what she should say.

’Twas not that Lily had no experience talking to men.

She could hardly remember a time when men—or boys, when she was younger—hadn’t pestered her and Rose for precious time in their company. None of them had ever made her nervous. But for some reason butterflies seemed to be battling one another in her stomach.

And Rand’s piercing eyes seemed to see it. He smiled in a way surely intended to set her at ease, gesturing toward three oak trees hung with swings. Two children sat on a broad one built for a couple. “Is that your brother, all grown-up? He was an imp of seven when last I saw him.”

Lily smiled. “Yes, that’s Rowan. And he may be growing tall, dark, and handsome, but there is still a bit of the imp left in him, I assure you.”

“And is that Ford’s niece with him? Jewel? She’s showing every sign of developing into a beauty.” A frown appeared between Rand’s eyes. “Are they not sitting rather close on that swing?”

Their raven heads
were
rather close together. But Lily wasn’t worried.

“They’re longtime friends, and Rowan thinks of her as a sister. Or a brother, more like.” As they watched, the two children slipped off the swing and headed toward the house. Jewel reached for Rowan’s hand, but he hid it behind his back.

Rand laughed. “Apparently Jewel doesn’t feel quite so sisterly toward your brother. And I reckon Rowan will wake up someday and notice how she looks.”

“She’s pretty.”

“Not nearly as pretty as you.”

Lily had certainly received compliments before. But most men were glib, flattery tripping off their tongues with little thought and many flowery phrases. Rand’s words were simple and soft-spoken.

And he should be saying them to Rose.

Taken aback, Lily clutched the kitten tighter, her fingers tightening in its fur. The feline squeaked and leapt from her arms, landing by Rand’s feet. It looked up at her with an almost comically hurt expression before scampering away.

Lily stared at Rand’s black shoes, long-tongued with stiff ribbon bows. The heels were black, too, not red as was the fashion. Her gaze meandered up his lean, muscled form, noting that his slate blue velvet suit wasn’t dripping with ribbons and baubles. He was well dressed, but not a fop.

Perfect. No wonder Rose was so taken with the man.

When her eyes reached his face, he grinned in a fashion that made her wonder if he’d read her mind. But thankfully he chose not to comment, instead nodding toward where Jewel was following Rowan to the house—

by way of walking atop an eight-foot-high stone wall. “Is that wise?”

“My brother is a monkey,” she told him, relieved to be on another subject. She wasn’t the type to stare at men—

that was one of Rose’s seductive tricks.

Rand led her toward the formal garden, where refreshments were available. “Do you suppose Jewel is taking him to see the water closet?”

“Probably.” As they walked, she kept an eye on her brother. “I’m wondering if they are plotting a way to use it for a prank.”

“I would hope not,” he said. “I imagine they could make quite a mess.”

She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Chamber pots really weren’t appropriate conversational subject matter, no matter how new and fancy. “So you’re staying with Violet and Ford until the translation is finished?”

“Not necessarily. I’ll only be staying a week or two, until my house is ready. Although I do hope to make good progress on the translation in that time.” The refreshments were on a long buffet table beside the garden, a charming area divided by low hedges cut in geometric patterns, the flower beds dotted with cheerful reds, yellows, and purples. Rand handed her an empty plate and took another for himself. “The house was supposed to be completed long before now, but a friend is building it, and you know how that goes—when something else comes up, ’tis always easier to put off a friend’s job than a stranger’s.”

“He doesn’t sound like a very good friend,” she observed.

“Oh, but he is. We’ve known each other since we were knee-high lads in dresses. I’m afraid Kit is just busy, very in demand. You may have heard of him, in fact. Christopher Martyn.”

“The architect? Is he not working for King Charles?”

“So you
have
heard of him.” Piling fruit on his plate, Rand cast her a glance. “I suppose, then, you can understand how another client can take precedence.”

“When that client is the Crown, I suppose I can.” She selected a wedge of apple tart as she followed him down the long table. “Can you be away from Oxford for weeks?”

“’Tis summer,” he said blithely. “A four-month break. I usually travel the Continent, looking for lost languages”—

he gave her a lopsided grin at that—“but thought I’d stay home this year and settle into my new house.”

She followed him into the garden, stepping gingerly since Beatrix had reappeared and was padding along with her, batting at her swishing skirts. “It sounds like an exciting life.”

“I know not if I’d describe it as exciting, but I enjoy my life, yes. ’Tis interesting, and I am content.”

They skirted around a sundial, old but lovingly repaired. Tables were scattered around the garden, surrounded by chairs for the guests. Sitting with Lady Carrington, Lily’s friend Judith waved in invitation, her golden curls gleaming in the sun. Lily waved back and started over, but Rand stopped at a tiny square table and pulled out one of the two chairs. “Will you do me the honor?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She seated herself carefully, sending Judith an expressive shrug. Judith winked and waggled her brows, obviously misunderstanding why Lily was with Rand.

Lily didn’t quite understand that herself. It should be Rose here, she thought as Beatrix leapt onto her lap.

“This striped cat is yours, is it not?” Rand took the chair opposite. “The one you were holding in the house?

However did it find its way here from Trentingham?”

She found herself caught again in that astonishing gray gaze. “From that question, I surmise you don’t know much about cats.”

“My father raised dogs,” he told her, grabbing two pewter goblets of wine from a maid passing with a tray.

“Big, mean ones who would eat your cat for breakfast.”

She laughed. “Surely not.”

He smiled at both her and the purring cat. “He adores you.”

“Beatrix is female, actually.” Decidedly unladylike, the feline began hiccuping. “What made you think she was a male?”

He bit into a strawberry. “You’re a beautiful woman . . . all males would adore you.”

She looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice her choking on a bite of the tart. Ford was coming out of the house, leading another little group around to see the pipes to the river.

Swallowing the cinnamony apples and custard, she turned back to Rand. “Thank you, but being nice is much more important than being attractive. Although Rose is very attractive,” she added as an afterthought. “Do you not think so, my lord?”

“Rand,” he reminded her. “And yes, Rose is quite attractive
and
being nice is much more important. But
you’re
both attractive and nice.”

What on Earth was she supposed to say to that? He was impossible. Her fingers went to trace the scars on the back of her left hand before she realized and hid it beneath the table.

Rose would love this sort of attention. The two were definitely suited.