Lily (Flower Trilogy) (18 page)

She squirmed on the seat, ordering herself to concentrate on the scenery as they crossed a river. “Oh, look.”

She stared at a beautiful square bell tower built of mellow stone. “It looks so old.”

“Charmingly old, I hope.” Rand’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “I hope you’ll not mind living here.”

“’Tis beautiful,” she breathed.

“We’re on Magdalen Bridge, and that tower is part of Magdalen College. ’Twas built by Cardinal Wolsey.

Every May Day since 1501, the college’s choir ascends the tower at dawn to greet the coming of spring with hymns.”

“Oh,” she said, “I imagine that is lovely.” Beyond Magdalen, they passed through the low-arched East Gate, and then they were within the city wall, its battlements interspersed with turrets. Towers of Oxford’s many other colleges rose to punctuate the horizon, monuments to centuries of education. Among the huge buildings of the university, townspeople lived and worked in smaller homes and shops under steep, sloping roofs.

Few people walked the streets, but those that did looked prosperous, unlike in London where the poor slept in the gutters. “’Tis a quiet town in the summer months,”

Rand said, “but ’twill be bustling come October, full of students in their billowing black gowns.”

“Can we climb all the towers?” Rowan asked, nearly bouncing on the seat.

“Sit still,” Rose muttered.

“Not
all
of the towers, but perhaps one or two,” Rand promised. “I’ll take you all on a walking tour later.”

Following the instructions Rand had given the coachmen earlier, they turned onto New College Lane, a narrow street that ran between New College and Hart Hall.

Behind a small rectangular courtyard, his new house rose three stories, the left side still cloaked in scaffolding.

“Here we are,” he said, somewhat unnecessarily given that the carriage had stopped behind the one holding Lord and Lady Trentingham.

The door opened, and the driver let down the steps.

Upon exiting, Rand waved at Lily’s parents, noting that they looked particularly happy and, in Lady Trentingham’s case, perhaps a bit flushed.

Smiling to himself, he prayed to find such long-lasting companionship with Lily.

Looking lovely in a cornflower blue traveling gown, Lily stepped out and stared up at the rows of Palladian windows. “’Tis very big!”

“Did you think I’d expect Lady Lily Ashcroft to live in a cottage?” he teased. But his heart warmed to see she approved of her home-to-be. He crossed to inspect the scaffolding, reaching a quick hand to grab Rowan’s arm.

“Holy Chr—I mean zounds, I just wanted to climb it.”

“It does not appear at all safe for young men,” Rand said. “Come, let me see if I can find Kit. I’ll introduce you all—and take him to task for not finishing as promised.”

A workman came out the front door, burdened with two buckets of paint. He smiled and bowed awkwardly.

“Lord Randal.”

“Henry. How goes the job?”

“All but done. Mr. Martyn should be back soon. He was called away—”

“Of course he was,” Rand interrupted with an amused cock of one brow. “Is he not always?” With a short laugh, he waved the man and his paint toward the scaffolding and ushered Lily’s family inside the house.

Even though Kit was off-site, the interior swarmed with industrious men, a testament to the man’s skill as a builder.

“The house is designed in the classical style that Kit favors,” Rand explained as he led the Ashcrofts through an impressive entry and into the first chamber, a drawing room where a man was noisily installing a marble fireplace surround. “I admired many homes like this while touring Italy, so when Kit started sketching elevations of what he had in mind, we were in complete accord.”

“It looks different,” Chrystabel observed. “Plainer than other homes, but somehow more elegant, too.”

“Kit and I designed it together.” Rand clearly loved this house; Lily could hear the pride in his voice. “I wanted the decorative elements understated, not so grandiose as in most new homes today. And Kit has an eye for grace and balance.”

“Come along!” Rowan yelled. A bundle of young energy after having been pent up in the carriage, he led a whirlwind tour through the main rooms and the kitchen—no matter that he knew not where he was going.

Upstairs, he led them all on a merry chase down a narrow hallway between the five bedchambers.

“We designed the house with corridors,” Rand explained, “so there’s no need to go through one room to get to another.”

Since the master bedchamber was the only room in the house with any furniture, their footsteps and voices echoed in the empty spaces. When Rowan had finished racing in and out of every chamber, he slid down the slick new banisters to the bottom. The others followed more sedately and gathered in the entrance hall on the ground floor.

“’Tis beautiful.” Lily hugged herself and smiled, looking slowly round the square, high-ceilinged room. She loved all the architectural details, the niches built into the walls, the light that streamed through the many large windows to brighten the interior. Rather than being covered with heavy, dark paneling or a riot of intricate carving, the walls were smooth and white.

“Virginal,” Rand pointed out. “Like your bedchamber.”

Thinking she was virginal no more, she blushed and looked up at the classic coved cornice around the ceiling.

“Will all the rooms stay this way?”

“I certainly hope not. My last house came furnished and decorated in a style that never quite felt like home, but I hadn’t any idea how to fix it. For this one, I was planning to hire someone to choose fabrics and furnishings and wall coverings. But now that I have you—”

“She’ll leave it all white,” Rose interrupted.

“Rose,” her mother started.

But then someone walked in, silencing Rose more effectively than Chrystabel ever could.

Lily turned to see what so captured her sister’s attention. Or rather, who. Dressed in deep blue velvet with white linen and lace, the man was tall, lean, and had the carriage of someone used to being in charge. His hair was black, his eyes an odd mixture of green and brown.

A very pleasing mixture.

“My house is still unfinished,” Rand said without preamble, but Lily could tell he wasn’t really angry. His long-suffering sigh was only for show. “What might be your excuse this time?”

“Will King Charles do?” the man asked, a lazy smile curving his lips. Those unusual eyes narrowed. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

“A fire,” Rand said without elaborating. He turned to Lily’s father, raising his voice. “Lord Trentingham, may I present Christopher Martyn, distinguished recipient of the Procrastinating Architect Award.”

Lily’s father smiled vaguely, and then his ears seemed to perk up. “
The
Christopher Martyn?”

Kit bowed. “At your service, my lord.”

“Atchur—?”

“Lord Trentingham is hard of hearing,” Mum said warmly as she walked over to pull Rowan down off a ladder. “You’ll need to speak up.”

But apparently Kit didn’t need to speak at all. Father stepped closer. “I am looking for an architect to design one of those newfangled greenhouses—”

“Lord Martyn is busy,” Rose broke in loudly. “Working for the
King
.”

“I’m not a lord, my lady. Just plain Mr. Martyn. Although Kit will do.”

Rose looked very disappointed to hear that, and Lily took perverse pleasure in thinking her sister couldn’t call the man Lord against his wishes. Having decided she didn’t always have to be nice, she really was turning out to be rather bad. But it felt better than she’d expected.

Rand performed the rest of the introductions, and then, while Kit took over explaining the details of the building, he drew Lily aside.

“What do you think?”

“I think Rose likes your friend Kit.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He tapped her on the chin.

“What do you think of the house? Will you be able to stand living here?”

Feeling wickeder by the minute, Lily pretended to consider. “I only saw one master chamber. I’m not certain that is acceptable.”

He looked a bit startled. “When I built it, I was only considering myself. Besides, is it not large enough?

Would you not rather share—”

“Let me see,” she interrupted. “You’re asking me to give up living with my moody sister in the dull countryside and move to this busy, academic town . . . hmm . . . and then I’ll have to sleep with you every night.” Watching his alarm turn to amusement, she grinned. “It sounds perfect.”

“What about your menagerie?”

“Though I’ve yet to see the garden, I am sure it will do fine.” Perhaps it wouldn’t be ideal, but it would be much, much better than living without Rand. Even suffering her sister’s distemper was better than living without Rand.

Why hadn’t she been able to see that all along?

“Are you certain?” he pressed, moving closer. He ran his hands up her arms until they were resting on her shoulders.

Out of habit, she shot a glance to Rose, but she really, truly didn’t care what her sister thought. She, Lily, deserved happiness, too. “I’ve never been more certain in my life.”

Rand looked like he wanted to pull her against him and kiss her then and there. And she wouldn’t have minded, even right in front of Rose.

But Kit interrupted. “Oh, Rand, you have some mail.”

Rand was still gazing at Lily. “Later, Kit.”

“One thing looked important. A missive from Hawkridge.”

“Hawkridge?” That succeeded in seizing his attention.

He jerked his head around and squinted at Kit. “I
never
hear from my father.”

“Never say never,” Lily said softly, and Kit burst into laughter. “What?” she asked, half distracted by Rand’s distress but unable to ignore his friend. “What is so amusing?”

“That is Rand’s saying. He’s been dogging me with that phrase ever since we were wee lads.”

“I think my mother used to say it,” Rand said absently.

“Where is this letter?”

Kit nodded. “I’ll get it.”

“Come upstairs to my bedchamber.” Rand led the way while Kit went off to fetch the mail. “’Tis the only room where we can sit.”

Even there, the seating was lacking. Rose took the single chair at his desk, and Rand waved the rest of them toward his huge bed, a heavy oak four-poster with hunter green bed hangings. “I’m sorry there are no other chairs,”

he said, perching himself on a matching oak chest. “All my furniture is in storage, and in any case, it needs replacing.” He forced a distracted smile. “I’m hoping my new wife will help with that.”

“I’ll be honored to.” Lily sat beside him. “And I promise not to choose white.”

“Nothing white?” Rose looked disbelieving. “Nothing at all?”

“White is not a good color for a home with children.”

The mention of children made color of another sort flood Lily’s cheeks, but she lifted her chin. Surely nobody knew what had happened in the summerhouse. They couldn’t tell just by looking at her and Rand, could they?

Her heart seized when she saw her parents exchange a knowing glance. But then Kit returned with a stack of mail, and her attention was drawn when Rand reluctantly took it.

He flipped through the letters and slowly pulled one out. “Here it is.” Forgotten, the rest of the mail fluttered to the floor.

Kit bent to retrieve it. “You didn’t believe me?”

“I was hoping you were wrong.” Rand shrugged as he broke the seal. A big, black one. Then he just sat there with the paper in his hands. “Word from my father cannot be good.”

Lily scooted closer. “Perhaps ’tis not from your father, Rand. Could it be from his ward instead?”

“I’ve yet to answer Margery’s last letter.”

“Does your brother never send letters?”

“Alban has nothing to say to me.” He stared at his name on the front. “No, this is the marquess’s writing.”

Finally, he unfolded the paper. As he scanned the single page, an expectant silence descended on the room.

Impatient, Lily leaned to peer at the letter. The writer had a heavy hand. The ink was dark and decisive.

She looked up to Rand. His face matched the plain white walls, all the color drained, his eyes lifeless.

“What is it?”

Both his hands dropped to his sides, the paper dangling from one. “Alban has died,” he said disbelievingly. “At the hands of another man.”

The air left Lily in a rush. She knew Rand had harbored no love for his brother, but if she felt this shocked, she could only imagine how the news made him feel. Unsure what to say under the circumstances, she reached for his free hand and quietly laced her fingers with his.

“I’m so sorry,” her mother murmured.

“What—” her husband started.

“Hush, darling.” Chrystabel laid a firm hand on his arm. “Rand’s brother has died.”

Rand shook his head as though he was regaining his senses. The paper crackled when he waved off the sympathy. “I never liked the man, so condolences are unnecessary. But it seems I’m now my father’s heir—and the old goat wants to see me at once.”

“You’re going to be a marquess?” Rose looked between him and Lily, her eyes dark with envy. “The Marquess of Hawkridge? And what are you now that your brother is gone? The Earl of Something?”

“The Earl of Newcliffe,” Kit said. “But none of that matters.”

Rose’s expression said it mattered a lot, as well as displaying disdain that a commoner like Kit wouldn’t think so.

Releasing Lily’s hand, Rand stood and began pacing.

“I’ve no wish to be a marquess. Or even an earl. I like my life.”

“Your life may not have to change, Rand. Or at least not right now.” Lily watched his agitated movements, feeling helpless to soothe him. He looked like a penned animal. She suspected that if it would not be so impolite, he’d leave Kit and her family here and set off running through the streets. “How old is your father?”

“Only fifty-two,” he admitted. “And last I saw him, healthy as a horse.”

“Well, then . . .”

He waved the letter again. “He wants me at Hawkridge. He expects me to leave the life I’ve built and learn how to run his damned estate. I don’t want to do that. I was happy with my life here, even before . . .” He finally stopped pacing and turned to meet Lily’s gaze. “I’m even happier with my life now.”