Lily (Flower Trilogy) (37 page)

“Yes. My father has agreed to your marriage.”

“How—why—”

“Margery will explain,” Rand said. “Later.”

She had stopped roaming, simply frozen in place and staring at Bennett as though she couldn’t believe he would be hers. When he took a step toward her, she came to life and rushed into his arms.

Their lips met, and Rand smiled. ’Twould be he and Lily soon, and he was sure their reunion would be even better. In fact, he couldn’t imagine why he was standing here watching the two lovers kiss when he could be kissing his own love himself.

“I’m leaving,” he announced.

Margery drew her mouth from Bennett’s with a heartfelt sigh. “Good-bye, Randy,” she said, gazing into the other man’s eyes.

“I’m leaving you two alone.”

“I know,” she murmured, her words directed to Bennett along with a wide smile.

“Be good,” Rand said, knowing they wouldn’t.

Lily’s fingers ran over the keys in an unceasing pattern.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“About five minutes after the last time I told you,”

Rose said without bothering to look at a clock. “I thought you found music calming.”

“Well, today it’s not.”

“Perhaps it would help if you’d play something besides scales.” Rose set down her needlework and pulled a dead bloom from the flower arrangement beside her.

“You’re making
me
nervous.”

“Sorry.” The music stopped abruptly as Lily folded her hands in her lap. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be patient. “That ’tis taking this long, ’tis a good sign, is it not?” She heard her sister rise and walk across the drawing room. “It must mean his father is listening.”

“It must,” Rose said in a soothing way, but Lily heard laughter bubbling underneath.

Her eyes popped open. “This isn’t easy, you know. My entire life is hanging in the balance.”

“Of course it is not easy.” Rose plucked three browning leaves off some flowers on the wide windowsill. “But surely, Lily, not your entire life. If it all works out badly, you’ll go on—”

“You’ve never been in love,” Lily said.

The leaves crunched in her sister’s fisted hand. “No,”

she admitted, “I haven’t. And given what you’re going through, I believe that’s just as well.”

“No.” Lily’s voice came a whisper. “I wouldn’t trade love for tranquility.”

“Some of us,” Rose said, “do not seem to have a choice.”

“Oh, Rose.” Lily’s eyes met her sister’s dark ones.

“Someday . . .”

You’ll find someone.
The words hung between them, unsaid, until Rose looked away and out the window.

“Someone’s riding up the road, Lily.”

“Rand!” Lily jumped up and brushed at her sky blue skirts.

Rose frowned. “No, two someones. But I cannot tell who they are.”

“Two?” Lily pulled forward a few curls to frame her face. “How do I look?”

“He’s not going to care,” said the sister that took the most care with her own appearance. “Go to him, Lily.”

As she hurried to the entry hall, it occurred to Lily the rider might be someone other than Rand. After all, there were two, and he’d set out for Hawkridge Hall alone . . .

she braced herself for disappointment as Parkinson opened the door.

Rand stood on the other side, a smile stretching his face. Her heart leapt in response; then she looked beyond him and froze.

“Lord Hawkridge. How, um, how very nice to see you.”

“Lady Lily.” He bowed, for once looking at a loss for words.

“Rand,” her mother said warmly, glossing over the awkward moment as she appeared from seemingly nowhere. “Come in, please. And you,” she said to Lord Hawkridge, “must be this young man’s father. The resemblance is unmistakable.”

Rand didn’t look particularly pleased at that observation. Lily stared at him, caught in his compelling gray gaze, wondering . . .

“Pleased to meet you,” the marquess told her mother.

“I have come to welcome your daughter into my family.”

It took a moment for those words to register, and when they did, Lily was embarrassed to feel tears spring to her eyes.

“Rand,” she whispered.

His gaze flicked over his father, her mother, and Rose standing at the bottom of Trentingham’s wide stairs. He reached abruptly to take Lily’s hand.

“Come,” he said, “I feel a need to take a run.” He glanced at her fashionable heeled shoes. “I mean a walk.”

That old, rude habit, but Lily didn’t care, so long as he wanted her with him this time. Her mother and the marquess would do fine—Rand’s father might be on the curmudgeonly side, but Chrystabel had never met a man she couldn’t wrap around her finger.

Without saying a word, Rand hurried her through the house, out the back into the gardens, and along the paths to the summerhouse. He dropped her hand long enough to shut the door behind them, enclosing them in the cool dimness of the small, round brick building. Then he turned and gathered her into his arms.

“Rand, how did you convince—”

“Hush,” he said as his mouth crushed down on hers.

She was hushed, very effectively, by a kiss so intense it rattled her to her toes. His lips slanted over hers again and again until she couldn’t tell where his mouth stopped and hers started, until her knees were so weak she needed his arms to hold her up.

“When can we marry?” he asked, dropping little kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her chin. His mouth trailed down the side of her throat. “When? Today?”

“No.” She laughed, arching her neck to allow him better access. He felt so very
good
—especially knowing that finally, miraculously, he was going to be hers.

“Tomorrow?” he asked, his lips dancing over her skin.

“Not tomorrow.”

“The next day, then. Or the day after that. Saturday. A perfect day for a wedding.”

“No.” She shivered, not only from his sensual assault.

“You and Margery were supposed to marry on Saturday.”

“Her birthday. The day she’ll wed Bennett.” He worked his way back toward her mouth.

“Oh,” she breathed, “they must be so happy.”

“Mmm.” His agreement was muffled by his lips claiming hers, his tongue meeting hers in a heady swirl of sensation. He tasted divine. “Margery will want us at her wedding,” he murmured against her mouth. “So ours will have to be the day after that.”

“No.” Pulling back, she laughed again. “Two weeks.

When Violet and Ford wished to marry in a hurry, Mum insisted on two weeks to plan the wedding.”

“Two weeks?” he groaned. “After all we’ve gone through, two more weeks seems a lifetime.”

She smiled softly, basking in those heartfelt words.

“Two weeks is entirely survivable.”

“As long,” he said, his fingers moving to the tabs on her stomacher, “as we don’t have to wait that long for the wedding night.”

His eyes smoldered, and something inside her responded to that heat. But something else held her back.

She reached to still his hands. “Rand.”

“Hmm?” He kissed her again, almost melting her resolve.

But she’d thought about this. “I want to wait. Until we’re married. Until you’re mine, heart, body, and soul, and no one can threaten otherwise.”

The heat in his eyes transformed to disbelief. “Nothing can threaten us, Lily.
Nothing
. We’ve been to hell and back again, and there is nothing I will allow to come between us.”

Under the force of his gaze, she was weakening. She’d already given herself to this man, and she’d not been sorry, and more than anything, she burned to share that again.

But it was hard to believe that all would be well. There had been too many hours and days when she’d thought he was lost to her.

“Nothing,” he repeated. The earnestness in his voice went a long way toward breaking her will. “Fate may send us dragons, but I’ll slay them for you, fair Lily.

Nothing will steal you from my side.”

Still . . . when he reached for her again, she pushed away his hands. “Not here,” she said, not an outright rejection nor an unreasonable one, either. The summerhouse had a brick floor and only the narrowest of wooden benches. “This is all so sudden and unbelievable to me, Rand. I want to hear how you convinced your father.”

He drew a deep breath, clearly struggling for control, then glanced around as though he felt trapped. “All right, then. But let us walk.”

They strolled across the wide lawn and over the bridge and along the Thames. As his story poured out, Lily felt his hand in hers slowly relax. “You were brilliant,” she said when he’d told her everything.

“I was desperate.” He squeezed her hand and smiled.

“And how has your father taken it?”

“We spent over an hour riding here together—probably the longest time alone together ever. He expressed regret that he’d never seen Alban for the evil man he was. He seems . . . repentant.”

“You like him more than you thought.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say
like
. We’ve a long history between us. But the idea of living with him is not nearly as repugnant as I would have thought last month.”

“Will we have to? Live with him, I mean?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “Do you imagine we have a choice? He is certainly assuming we will.

Hawkridge will someday be mine, and I’ve a lot to learn about handling it.”

“Oh, Rand, you can handle anything you put your mind to. Your father is not ancient yet. Why should you give up the life you love now?”

He looked as though he wanted to believe her—but couldn’t. “’Tis a matter of responsibility. Once I would have agreed with you, but now that I’ve been home . . .

well, there’s Margery—”

“Margery will be with Bennett.”

“There’s Etta and all the others. They’re depending on me, and I cannot let them down. Oxford . . .” His voice turned wistful for a moment, but then he straightened his shoulders, his hand tightening on hers. “This is the way it must be.”

“But your professorship, your house.”

“There’s nothing for it. I’ll have to sell the house.”

“After you worked months designing it with Kit? The two of you put your hearts and souls into that house.”

He gave her a wan smile. “He liked some of my ideas so much, he’s planning changes to his own home in Windsor.”

“You cannot just sell it, Rand.”

“Well, it makes no sense to keep it if I’ll never be using it, does it? I can put the money into Hawkridge, help it recover from the loss of Margery’s land that much sooner.

Or, no . . .”

A light had entered those intense gray eyes. “What?”

Lily asked.

“The money can be
yours
,” he said softly, looking pleased with himself. “For your animal home.”

’Twould mean she’d have the best of both worlds—

Rand
and
her dream—but “No,” she said.

“Yes.” He nodded emphatically. “’Tis my house, after all, built with income that had nothing to do with Hawkridge. My father and the estate have no claim on it whatsoever.”

“No, Rand.” She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him give up his house in Oxford—and the life he’d made for himself—for an old childhood dream. “I’ll not hear of it.”

’Twas a silly dream, anyway, a childish dream for a child. Her strays had no need of a fancy, custom-built home and a staff of trained caretakers. She’d done just fine by them so far, all by herself with makeshift pens in a corner of a barn, and surely the marquess would have no objection to her doing the same at Hawkridge.

True, she dreamed of helping more animals—hundreds more, possibly even in several homes spread across the country—but who knew if she’d ever find such a large number of needful creatures? Her strays had always found
her
.

They’d reached the woods, and Rand apparently decided not to argue, pulling her into his arms instead.

“You’re not
really
going to make me wait two weeks for you?” he asked. “I’m burning for you, Lily. All these days and hours . . .”

She was burning for him, too. He felt so warm and solid against her body, she could almost believe they really would stay together forever.

She sighed against his mouth. “Let us go back,” she said. “There is much to settle. Our wedding date, for one.”

“And then?”

“And then maybe I’ll believe it.”

“If you don’t,” he warned playfully, “I’ll wear you down anyway.”

Since that wasn’t an altogether unpleasing thought, she let it slide by without a retort.

The negotiations took place over a dinner that had gone cold while waiting for their return.

“Two weeks,” Lily told her mother.

“Two weeks! I cannot plan a wedding in two weeks.”

“You did for Violet and Ford,” Lily reminded her, and that was that.

Feeling victorious, Lily turned to Lord Hawkridge.

“Now I would like to discuss our living arrangements.”

“I realize Randal’s chamber is small. Perhaps we can refurbish—”

“No, I meant where we will live and when.”

The man picked up his fork and frowned. “You’ll live at Hawkridge, of course. Where did you think you would live?”

“Oxford, at least part of the year. Rand’s position there is important to him. The research—”

“Lily,” Rand started.

“He can research at home,” his father cut in. “He will be the marquess someday and has responsibilities.”

She smiled sweetly. “Certainly he does—”

“Lily,” Rand interrupted.

“—but that does not mean he must be at Hawkridge all the time. Many men own more than one estate, and a man cannot be two or three places at once. Why, Father visits Tremayne but once a year, and it thrives quite well without his constant presence.”

“Lily—” Rand tried to put in.

But she wasn’t finished. “Oxford has three terms a year of eight weeks each. Twenty-four weeks out of fifty-two.

There are long breaks between those terms and the whole summer free . . . if Rand agrees to spend the remaining twenty-eight weeks at Hawkridge learning his responsibilities, surely you can survive without him during term times.”

“Lily—”

“Just until he’s needed at Hawkridge year-round,” she said by way of conclusion. “But given your excellent state of health, we are both hoping that won’t be for a long, long time.”