Lily (Flower Trilogy) (2 page)

Her family was different. The Ashcroft motto—
Interroga Conformationem
, translated as Question Convention—said it all.

The Carringtons, on the other hand, were as conventional as roast goose on Christmas Day. Judith forced a smile and pushed back a lock of bright yellow hair that had escaped her careful coiffure. “Who was that handsome man who stood as godfather?”

Lily sat back. “One of Ford’s old friends. Lord Randal Nesbitt.”

“Would it not be fun to be newly wedded together, have babies together?” Some of the color returned to Judith’s cheeks. “You should marry
him
.”

“Wherever did you get that idea?” Lily crossed her arms over the long, stiff stomacher that covered the laces on the front of her gown. “I hardly know Rand.”

“Rand,” Judith repeated significantly, making it clear she’d noticed Lily’s familiar use of the name. “What does that matter? I hardly know Lord Grenville, either. And believe me, he doesn’t look at me the way
Rand
was looking at you.”

“Looking at me?” Lily echoed weakly. She’d hardly looked at him at all. She’d been focused on the cooing baby in her arms, her sister’s first daughter. Her first niece. Nicky was great fun, of course, but here finally was a little girl to play house with, to fix her hair, to—

“Lord, he hardly took his eyes off you the entire time.”

Judith’s lips curved in an impish grin. “’Twas certainly more entertaining than the baptism.”

Lily felt her face heat and wondered if Judith could be right—if instead of watching the ceremony, everyone had been watching Rand watch her.

But no . . . why would Rand be interested in
her
? They had nothing in common. Her friend had been seeing something that wasn’t there. “You just have the wedding fever,” she said lightly, rubbing the faint scars on the back of her hand. “Besides, if he’s interested in anyone, I’m sure ’tis Rose. They share a passion for languages.”

“Ah,” Judith said with a smug tilt of her pert nose, “you know more about the man than you’re willing to admit.”

Ignoring that, Lily leaned to look out the window, but there was a long queue of carriages. They were going nowhere.

“Who is that?” her friend asked, following her line of sight. “The girl in pink, coming out of the barn with your brother?”

“Jewel, Ford’s niece. Rowan and she have been friends for years.”

“What sort of friends? And what do you suppose they were doing alone together in a barn?”

“Goodness, Rowan is only eleven and Jewel ten. Your mind is too much on romance these days. Knowing the two, they were probably planning a practical joke.”

“In a
barn
?”

Lily laughed at the expression on her friend’s face.

“Over the years, there’s hardly a building on either property they haven’t used to stage a prank.”

Judith looked likely to say more, but the door popped open and her mother poked her head in. “Were you leaving without me, dear?”

“Of course not, Mama. We just came inside to talk.”

Judith scooted over to make room.

A large, jolly woman, Lady Carrington wedged herself beside her daughter and tucked in her voluminous salmon skirts. Before her footman could shut the door, Lily’s striped cat nimbly leapt inside.

Lady Carrington sneezed. “Shoo!” she exclaimed, waving one manicured hand at the hapless feline.

“Beatrix,” Lily said softly, “you cannot ride in this carriage.”

The cat gave her a hurt look but leapt out.

“Much better,” Lady Carrington said as the door shut.

She turned to Lily. “This afternoon, I’m hoping your father will advise me about flowers for Judith’s wedding.”

The Earl of Trentingham was nothing if not an expert on flowers. “I’m certain Father will fancy being consulted,” Lily assured her. She smiled vaguely, listening with half an ear to the wedding plan chatter as the carriage started moving.

She wasn’t ready to think about weddings, or at least not her own. Rose was a year older—her wedding should come first.

When Lily arrived at Lakefield, Violet and Ford’s house, Rose motioned her into the drawing room and gestured with her eyes toward where Rand was in conversation.

“He keeps looking over here, Lily. He’s spotted me.”

Tall and willowy, Rose looked a pretty picture against the drawing room’s soft turquoise walls—and well she knew it. She straightened one of her glistening chestnut curls and smoothed her deep blue satin skirts. “He remembers me,” she added confidently.

“Of course he remembers you.” Lily glanced in Rand’s direction. “You worked with him translating that old alchemy book, did you not?” she continued slowly, finding herself staring.

How had she managed to ignore him in the chapel?

Rand was not a man to whom women would be indifferent. His physique was lean and athletic, and his hair, a million mixed colors of blond and brown, was longer than hers and gorgeous enough to make her jealous.

As though sensing Lily studying him, he turned his head while still talking. For a split second, his intense gray eyes blazed into hers.

Or she thought they had. She blinked, clearing her vision. Now Judith had
her
imagining things.

“I’ve been dreaming about this day for weeks,” Rose said, reclaiming her attention.

“The baptism?”

“No, you goose. Seeing Lord Randal again. Ever since I danced with him at Violet’s wedding, I’ve known he is the man for me.”

Suddenly Lily remembered that Rand had danced with her, too, at that wedding. Not to mention, of course, that Rose lusted after every handsome, eligible man who crossed her path.

But Lily had to admit that Rand could be the one for Rose. Good looks aside, he was more suited to her sister than most men were. They were both academically minded and shared mutual interests. “I had no idea you’d been thinking about him all these years.”

“Dreaming,” Rose repeated on a sigh.

“Four years is a long time to dream.” Lily cast him another quick glance, then smiled. “I suppose he is the memorable sort.”

Her sister looked at her sharply. “You’re not interested in him yourself, are you?”

“Of course not!” First Judith, now Rose? Was something in the air today? “Whatever would make you think that?”

“You said he’s the memorable sort.”

“That doesn’t mean I want him. A man like Rand would never be interested in someone like me. He’d want someone like you, Rose. You’re both fascinated with languages. Rand and I have nothing in common. And he’s too tall.” Lily drew herself up to her full height of five foot two and figured she stood to about his shoulders.

Looking down at her, Rose snorted. “There is no such thing as a man who is too tall. Will you promise?”

“Promise what?”

“Promise me you won’t pursue him. Promise me you’ll not get in my way.”

The entire idea was so absurd, Lily laughed. “I promise. In fact, I’ll do better than that. I’ll help you land him.”

“Would you?” Rose breathed.

“Of course. You’re my sister. I love you, and I want to see you happy.”

Rose’s dark eyes actually misted. “You’re so good, Lily. You want everyone to be happy.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Of course not,” Rose said, and then in the next breath,

“What will you do to help?”

Rose would be Rose, Lily thought with an inward smile. “Whatever I can. But you must do your part, too.

And that means, for once, not pretending that your head is filled with pudding. I wish I could speak half the languages you do. You’re an intelligent woman, and hiding that makes no sense.”

“For Lord Randal, perhaps it doesn’t, because we have similar interests. But for other men—”

“For any man. Why would you want a man who doesn’t value your strengths?”

“You don’t understand men, sister dear. Most of them thrive on feeling superior.” When Lily opened her mouth, Rose held up a hand. “But we were talking about Lord Randal, who is not most men—” She broke off, her eyes widening. “Gemini, here he comes!”

As Rand approached, their mother seemed to appear out of nowhere—a habit Lily and her sisters found vexing. Chrystabel Ashcroft gave him a brilliant smile.

“Lord Randal. How very nice to see you again.” Her brown eyes shone with genuine warmth. “We missed you at my first grandson’s christening.”

“She means Nicky, my godchild,” Rose put in. “I shared the honor with Ford’s two brothers.”

Rand shrugged one shoulder, a half smile curving his lips. “I was sorry to miss the occasion, but I’m afraid I was in Greece.”

“Greece!” Rose laid a graceful hand on her embroidered stomacher. “I would so adore traveling the world. I could make use of all my languages.”

Lily did a little mental dance, so happy to see that her sister was doing as she’d suggested—as the entire family had been suggesting for years. For once in her life, Rose was going to reveal her intelligence to a man instead of pretending to be empty-headed.

It would work, Lily was sure. Rose’s bad luck with men would finally come to an end. And then, she couldn’t help thinking, with her sister safely wed, she’d feel free to find love for herself.

Chrystabel cleared her throat. “You’ll remember my daughter Rose?” she asked Rand. “And Lily, her younger sister.”

“And Lily,” Rand agreed, his eyes meeting hers. Capturing hers, like they had four years ago and again a few minutes earlier. In all of her twenty years, she had never seen another gaze as compelling as Rand’s. ’Twas as though he could see right into her, yet not in an uncomfortable way . . . in a way that warmed her and held her captive.

She’d forgotten about that. It seemed she’d forgotten a lot in those four years.

Rose—bold Rose—reached to touch him on the arm.

“Did you ever succeed in translating that alchemy book?”

“
Secrets of the Emerald Tablet
?” He smiled at Lily before shifting his attention to her sister. “No. A fine puzzle it is, very time-consuming, and Ford said that with the sale of his watch patent there was no longer any rush.”

At that, Ford broke into their little group. “You certainly took that to heart,” he said accusingly. “Four years is a bit longer than I had in mind.”

“I’m here now, am I not?” Rand countered, sounding defensive. “And ready to finish it.”

Ford grinned, revealing the heated exchange to have been nothing more than jesting between friends. “Only because you have nowhere to live.”

“That is not true. I have a beautiful new home.”

“Half built.”

Rand rubbed his forehead, then flashed a rueful smile.

“The hammering and sawing were driving me insane.”

“Rand has commissioned a new house,” Ford explained to the girls and their mother. “’Twas supposed to have been ready by now, so he’d already sold his old one.”

“And as a consequence,” Rand added, “I’ve been sleeping in a construction site.”

Rose nodded, her face a study in understanding.

“Where is your new home, my lord?”

“Rand,” he corrected her, having asked them four years ago to call him that. “And it’s in Oxford.”

“Rand is a professor of linguistics,” Ford reminded Rose, although Lily was sure her sister needed no reminding.

But apparently Rose decided to play as if she’d forgotten. She favored Rand with a wide smile—one Lily had seen her practice countless times in her dressing table mirror. “Oooh, my lord, that is soooo impressive.”

“A matter of determination and persistence,” Rand told her, looking oddly immune to that smile.

He wasn’t responding to the old, coquettish Rose. Lily would have to talk to her sister about that. Flirtation didn’t mesh well with her new, more intelligent image.

“How long will you be staying?” Chrystabel asked him.

“My house should be finished within a week or so—”

“As long as it takes,” Ford broke in, “to figure out whether the book indeed holds the secret to making gold.

Now, would you not all like to see the water closet?”

“It seems to me,” Rand said in the sort of needling tone that only a fast friend would put up with, “it’s taken you longer to build that water closet than I’ve spent on the translation.” He turned to Lily’s family. “I remember when his brother had water closets installed—”

“Colin,” Ford clarified.

“My friend here was so envious. Said he’d design one for Lakefield in no time. That was what, ten years ago?”

“Eleven. Come see.” As he talked, Ford led them out of the drawing room, threading his way through the many guests. “I’ve only finished one so far, but you’re a fortunate man since it’s in the room where you’ll be staying.”

Rand went with Ford up the square oak staircase, and Rose hurried to follow. Lily watched her sister’s swishing skirts as she and her mother trailed everyone else up the stairs, her striped cat, Beatrix, scampering behind.

Ford stepped onto the landing and started down the corridor. “Colin’s water closets were imported from France.”

“They must have been expensive,” Rose said.

“Absolutely. But I examined his thoroughly, and they seemed a simple enough design to build myself. In fact, I thought of improvements.”

“Of course,” Chrystabel put in. She thought her son-in-law was brilliant. In fact, she’d originally told Violet that Ford was too intellectual for her.

Funny how wrong she’d been about that, but it had been just as well. Mum was a renowned matchmaker, and although Violet and Ford were perfect for each other, if she had tried to match them up, their marriage would never have happened.

The three Ashcroft sisters loved their mother dearly, but they were determined to avoid becoming another page in the
Big Book of Weddings Arranged by Chrystabel.

Lily was watching, in fact, to see if Mum would try to match Rose with Rand. After all, they were an obvious fit, and at twenty-one, Rose was getting rather desperate.

When poor Violet turned that same age, Rose had pronounced her an official spinster.

But if Mum tried to push Rand on her, Rose would surely go looking elsewhere. And Lily would be honorbound to help. The girls had a long-standing pact to save one another from their mother’s matchmaking schemes.