Lily (Flower Trilogy) (15 page)

“An inn,” Rowan breathed. “May we go, Mum?” He looked more excited about the journey than he had about the champagne—or the marriage, for that matter.

“We’ve stayed at an inn only once since Rowan was born,” Chrystabel explained to Rand, “and he was too young to remember.” She smiled at her son. “Yes, Rowan, I expect that we can go. I should like to see where my daughter will be living. And Rose always enjoys traveling, do you not, Rose?”

She looked to Rose, but Rose wasn’t there.

Lily turned just in time to see her march up the portico steps and slam into the house.

“I’ll go after her,” Judith said sympathetically.

“No, I’ll talk to her.” Mum started toward the house, then paused to look back at Lily. “Don’t worry, dear.

You’ve done nothing wrong, but she’s hurting now, and I can’t say I really blame her. She’ll come to terms with it sooner or later.”

“I hope it will be sooner,” Lily said with a sigh. Despite her love for Rand, if her own sister couldn’t be happy for her, she wondered if she could be truly happy herself.

“Well, Chrysanthemum,” Joseph said as she crawled into bed that night, “your daughter is betrothed as planned. Are you happy?”

“Happy? I’m not sure who’s more miserable, Rose or Lily. Or me.”

Rand and Judith had left. Rose had taken supper in her room. Chrystabel had spent over an hour trying to soothe her, then another trying to convince Lily that her sister wouldn’t hate her the rest of their lives.

Rain pattered on the window, spelling doom for her picnic, and a headache was brewing, relentlessly hammering her temples. She hated when everything didn’t go the way she had planned.

“Roll over,” Joseph said. “I’ll rub your back.”

She did, snuggling into the feather mattress and sighing when his hands began to work their magic. For a spell she just lay there, letting his fingers knead away her tension.

“Better?” he asked after a while.

“Getting there.” The pounding in her temples was fading to a mere annoyance. “I’m afraid Lily might change her mind.”

“No, she won’t.” He rubbed circles on the small of her back. “She’s in love.”

“You finally noticed?”

He snorted, running his thumbs down her spine. “I haven’t the talent you seem to possess of discerning a person’s feelings by the look in his or her eyes. I know she’s in love because you told me.”

“Ahhhh.” The sound was half agreement, half bliss.

“Lily is feeling very badly, though, that Rose is hurting.

I’m afraid she’ll push Rand away because her sister is unhappy. Choose her relationship with Rose over him.”

He trailed his fingertips lightly down her legs. “Have you no sympathy for Rose?”

“Of course I do. She’s my daughter, and I ache for her.

Although she had no right to bind her sister to that ridiculous promise, I understand that she feels betrayed. And yes, her words in the summerhouse were unwise, but I don’t believe for a minute that our Rose is truly that calculating. I suspect she sensed Rand slipping away and acted unthinkingly, out of desperation. Alas, our Rose never has been one to think before words leave her mouth. But she doesn’t truly love Rand, and Lily does, which is why I’m worried that Lily . . . um . . . Joseph?”

One hand was sneaking under the hem of her night rail.

“That is not my back.”

“Is it not?” he asked, his voice a study in innocence. “I expect I should rub up higher.” He did—higher on her bare legs. “I am sure Rose will recover.”

“Of course she will. She’ll be after another man by next week. Which is why I am more concerned about Lily at the moment.” She paused, listening to the soft rain, her body beginning to tingle as Joseph reached even higher. “I hope it’s still raining tomorrow,” she said suddenly.

“Hmm . . . ?” While his fingers sent pleasure spiraling through her, he began kissing the back of her neck, little kisses that made her shiver. “Will the rain not destroy your picnic?” His warm breath stirred the baby hairs on her nape.

She flipped over to look into his eyes. “Lily and Rand will still picnic. In the summerhouse. Alone. There isn’t room for us all in there, as you know . . . but it would be a shame for them to miss their betrothal picnic.”

Moving over her, he blinked. “Chrysanthemum, you know what happens when two people in love are left alone.”

“Exactly,” she said, curling a hand behind his neck.

“And after that, there will be no more thoughts of ending the betrothal, will there?”

“My love, you have a devious mind.”

“And you adore me for it,” she assured him, tugging him close for the kiss they both craved.

The soft drizzle of the night before had given way to real rain today, but Rand borrowed Ford’s old carriage and rode to Trentingham even though he knew there would be no picnic.

He was surprised when Lady Trentingham came to meet him, carrying one of the new umbrellas imported from France. As he climbed down, she stepped closer than he would have expected and held it over both of their heads. “Come along!” she said. “My skirts are getting wet.”

Obediently he walked beside her, feeling silly under the expanse of oiled canvas. Only women carried umbrellas—only wealthy women, come to that. Rich or poor, men wore hats and got drenched. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To the picnic, of course.” Both her hands clenched on the curved ebony handle, she hurried him through the gardens. “Lily was so disappointed that it was raining, I decided to set up the picnic in the summerhouse. I was almost finished when I heard your carriage arrive. Here we are.” She stopped before one of the four arched oak doors.

He opened it, blinking at the dimness beneath the dome. It was empty—of people, in any case. ’Twas a bit hard to tell in the gloom of the dreary day, but there seemed to be items inside that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“Go on in,” she told him, shifting the umbrella to one hand to fish a little paper package out of her pocket with the other. She gave it to him. “Light the candles. I’ll go fetch Lily.”

As she went back through the gardens, almost but not quite running in her fashionable Louis heels, he unfolded the package and found a few more of Mr. Boyle’s fire-making things. He drew one of the sulfured sticks through a fold of the paper and began lighting candles.

There seemed to be dozens of them spaced out on the benches along the wall. After almost tripping over something in the center of the summerhouse, he decided to skirt the perimeter instead.

When he was finished, the little circular chamber was alight with a cheerful glow. Plenty enough to illuminate the “picnic” Lady Trentingham had set out on the benches. Platters of fruit, bread, sliced cheese, sweets. A bottle of champagne and two goblets.

Only two?

And the thing that had almost tripped him turned out to be a pallet set in the center of the brick floor. He stared at it, dumbfounded, until Lily blew in through the door, wearing a summery apricot gown that belied the rainy day.

Lady Trentingham stood on the threshold, the front of her umbrella dripping onto the bricks. “Well, then, I’ll leave you two to enjoy your picnic.”

Rand glanced at Lily, but she looked as confused as he felt. “Where is everyone else?” he asked.

Lady Trentingham waved a hand. “Unfortunately, there is not enough room.” She didn’t look particularly sad about that. “I didn’t want you and Lily to miss your betrothal picnic, but the summerhouse is rather cramped, is it not?”

“We could take everything into the house,” Rand suggested. “Or we could get rid of this.” He indicated the pallet, which covered most of the floor.

“Heavens, no. ’Twould not be a picnic in the house.

Nor if you’re sitting upright on a bench, now, would it?

And unlike the grass in Joseph’s gardens, the bricks are entirely too hard to just use a blanket or rug.”

While that was true enough, Rand eyed the pallet warily. Although there were no covers or pillows, it reminded him too much of a bed.

A bed he’d be tempted to use.

Lily was an earl’s daughter, a sheltered country girl.

He respected that. He respected himself for doing the right thing yesterday. For not seducing her before they were wed.

“Do you not think we should have a chaperone?” he asked her mother.

“Of course not.” Her laughter sounded a bit forced.

“You’re betrothed, and ’tis the middle of the day. Besides, you have Lily’s menagerie to watch over you.”

He hadn’t noticed them wander in after her, but now he looked around. Lady was perched up in the rafters, Jasper was under a bench, and Beatrix was winding between his feet. They likely would make very good chaperones, Rand thought wryly.

Since he had run out of protests, Lady Trentingham wished them a good picnic again and took her leave.

When the door banged shut behind her, all was quiet save for the sound of the rain on the copper that capped the domed roof.

For a moment Rand just stared at Lily. “Were you
that
disappointed to miss the picnic?”

“What are you talking about? Mum said
you
were disappointed.”

They both started laughing.

It felt good to laugh, Rand thought. His life had been all too serious.

He removed his wide-brimmed hat and set it on a bench. “So, do you picnic in here often?” he asked, reaching for a strawberry. He popped it into his mouth and moved the platter to the pallet.

“Never.” She pulled a grape off a bunch, but stood rooted in place. “It really
is
too small, as Mum said.

When we entertain in the garden, though, we sometimes use it to shelter the food. And my sisters and I like to come out here in the summertime. ’Tis a nice place to sit and read or play a game. If you open all four doors, the breeze flows through, yet it keeps the sun off our faces.”

He moved the platters of cheeses and sweets. “Preserves your lily-white complexion, does it?”

She smiled at his play on words. “When we were young, Violet and Rose and I could spend days in here.

We used to take playing cards and lay them out end-to-end on the floor to divide the space into pretend rooms.

Then we’d play house.”

“Divide it into rooms?” He stopped setting up the picnic in order to eye the small area. “They must have been minuscule.”

“When you’re tiny, even little spaces feel large.” Her grin widened, but she looked awkward, tracing the scars on the back of her hand as though she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

“Come and sit by me,” he said, drawing her down beside him on the pallet. She tucked her legs beneath her, the movement graceful as a swan.

Lady Trentingham had neglected to supply any tableware, so he broke an apple slice in two and fed half to Lily, enjoying the way her eyes widened as his fingers brushed her mouth. “It sounds as though you had a happy childhood here at Trentingham.”

“I did.” She swallowed, concern darkening her eyes.

“Was there no happiness in your childhood at all?”

“Oh, yes, until I was six. Then my mother died and my father changed. Or maybe he’d been that way all along, but I hadn’t noticed. Mother had always been there for me, perhaps taking my part . . . I was young . . . I don’t remember.” He shook his head. “I only remember how it felt after she was gone.”

“Lonely,” Lily said softly.

He nodded, thinking that loneliness was a feeling he’d carried with him for far too long. But now, with her, it was gone. “I don’t feel lonely now.”

Her smile was a little bit sad. “Do you never see them, then?” she asked. “Your father and your brother? Ever?”

“Not in the last eight years.” He’d thought that if he forgot about them the anger would disappear, but there were others at Hawkridge he’d done an all-too-good job of ignoring as well. Like his endearing foster sister, who had followed him around with hero worship in her eyes.

“My father has a ward, a girl named Margery Maybanks who was brought to our home as an infant. She writes to me sometimes.”

Not nearly often enough, and he missed her. Of course, that was his fault. Reading news of his family made ripples in the nice calm life he’d made for himself—so much so that he often went months before answering Margery’s letters.

“Does she tell them about you, then? Does your father know you’re now a professor?”

“Oh, he knows. According to Margery, he said that just went to prove I never belonged in his privileged world.”

Her heart leapt into her eyes. “I cannot imagine what it would be like if my parents weren’t proud of my accomplishments. And my sisters and brother, too. That’s what family is all about, why we need them around us.”

“I’ve done all right without family.”

“Because you didn’t have one,” she said stoutly. “But you will now.”

Rand’s throat seemed to tighten. Her support meant the world to him. Although he’d decided long ago that his father and brother could go to the devil, he’d never realized how important it was to have someone who cared.

Lily crumbled some bread for the bird and the squirrel and broke up some cheese for the cat. “I thought you’d be deathly ill today. I was certain you’d send your regrets, and here you are, all recovered it seems.”

“I’m surprised I fell ill at all. You’ll find I’m of a strong constitution—perhaps it is all the running.” Rand watched warily as the animals came closer to claim their portions, and Lily laughed when Beatrix climbed right over him. “How is Rose doing?” he asked, pouring more champagne. He dropped a strawberry into Lily’s, watching the drink fizz and remembering the first time he’d tried this new beverage, at Ford and Violet’s wedding.

Lily sobered and took a big gulp of the bubbly wine.

“Rose is very angry with me.”

“I know. Violet told Ford that you’d never consent to wed me, for fear of hurting your sister.” He raised his own goblet in a toast. “I’m glad she was wrong.”

They drank, solemnly, gazing at each other over the goblets’ rims—and Rand’s heart seemed to swell with unaccustomed emotion. He set down both their goblets and gathered her into his arms.

She surprised him by pressing her lips to his in a kiss both sweet and seductive. He wondered if he’d ever get used to her coming to him for kisses. His heart melted as he kissed her back, thanking the Fates for sending her to him.