“I SWEAR, UNCLE Ford, we did nothing.” Jewel held her skirts up off the floor while she turned in a slow circle, assessing the destruction. “Oh,” she wailed, “look at my chamber!”
Rand gestured at his luggage sitting on the four-poster bed—as opposed to the floor, where it had been earlier. “I thought this was my chamber.”
“Uncle Ford had it painted green because that’s my favorite color. I sleep here when I visit. And now it’s all ruined.”
Ford poked his head out of the little room in the corner where he was examining his invention. “At least it’s clean water,” he pointed out defensively.
New water stains on Rand’s luggage were the least of the damage.
The oak floor was sopping. The wet went up the walls, the water having apparently been deeper before escaping the chamber and making its way down the corridor and stairs. Most of the ground floor had flooded as well, including all of the beautiful, expensive carpeting that Violet had had specially woven.
But this room, where the disaster had originated, was by far the worst. The pale green bedclothes dripped, the air held a chill, the carpet felt soggy beneath their feet, and Lily suspected that mildew was setting in already.
“We did nothing,” Rowan repeated. “We just came up to look, and when we opened the door—”
“Now, Rowan,” Lily began, knowing her brother all too well. Especially when he was with Jewel. The girl’s father was infamous for playing practical jokes, and she’d taught Rowan every trick the man had taught her. “Do you expect us to believe—”
“He’s right,” Ford broke in, apparently having finished his investigation. “It was the fault of my design—a problem with the tank mechanism.” Looking rather pained to admit that, he ran a hand back through his long brown hair. “I expect it began flooding the moment I turned my back. I never considered…it never occurred to me…”
“Never say never,” Rand interjected dryly.
Jewel went to the window. “Everyone else has gone outside.”
“Of course, you goose.” Rowan snorted. “The floor is wet all over the house.”
“The women wouldn’t want to ruin their fashionable satin slippers,” Rand added, glancing down at the water-stained shoes on Lily’s feet, visible since she was holding up her skirts.
“There are more important things than shoes,” she pointed out. “Like Violet’s carpeting. She’s going to be furious.”
“No, I’m not,” Violet said, walking in with a squish-squash sound. She went on her toes to grace her husband with a light kiss. “I’m used to catastrophes,” she declared with an exaggerated sigh. “Part and parcel of my marriage. Besides, we must only remove the carpets and spread them outside to dry. A few rain-free days and they’ll be good as new.”
“Are you sure?” Jewel asked dubiously.
“About it not raining? No,” Violet said in her practical way. “But they will eventually dry. I’m afraid, though, that this room will be uninhabitable for a day or two, at the least.” She looked toward Rand apologetically.
“I can ride home,” he assured her. “Oxford is but a few hours.”
“Wait.” Ford held up a hand. “What about the translation? There’s no need for you to leave. We’ll move someone. The nursemaids—”
“I won’t have you upsetting your whole household,” Rand interrupted. Unlike the sprawling mansion Lily lived in, Lakefield was a typical L-shaped manor house. Enough rooms to sleep the family, a few servants, and a guest, but that was all.
Ford crossed his arms. “I won’t have you leaving. Your house is a wreck at the moment.”
A smile twitched on Rand’s lips as he pointedly scanned the chamber. Lily choked back a laugh.
“Rowan!” Her mother’s voice floated up the stairs. “Rowan, have you and Jewel—” A gasp chopped off her sentence as she stepped into the room. “Heavens, this is—”
“A bloody mess,” Ford finished for her. “And my fault, not your son’s.”
“See?” Rowan said with a grin of vindication. “It’s not my fault Lord Randal cannot stay here.”
“It’s nobody’s fault.” Rand strode to the bed, his shoes making a sucking sound as he went. “I should probably be home badgering Kit anyway, if the house is to be finished this decade.” He reached for his luggage.
“Don’t you want to finish the translation?” Ford looked frantic. “We’ll find a place—”
“Lord Randal is welcome to stay with us,” Chrystabel interrupted with a smile. “We’ve more guest rooms than we know what to do with.”
Lily’s mouth hung open. Why, they hardly knew Lord Randal Nesbitt.
But apparently that made no difference to Mum. “You’ll be close to Lakefield,” she added. They were naught but a quarter-hour’s ride down the road. “By tomorrow, perhaps this room will once again be habitable.”
Violet glanced around mournfully. “I doubt it.”
Looking a mite dubious, Rand set down the luggage. “If I overnight at Trentingham,” he said slowly, “I can return tomorrow and help put the place to rights.”
“A generous offer,” Ford said.
Violet pushed up on her spectacles. “There’s no need for Rand to wrestle with soggy carpeting.”
“The boards underneath must be dried, lest they warp.”
“We have servants to do that sort of thing.”
“But if we had extra help—” Ford pressed.
Violet cut him off with a laugh. “Rand can ‘help’ you in the bone-dry laboratory upstairs, huddled over that ancient alchemy text.”
Her husband’s expression made clear that sounded good to him.
And so it was settled. Rand would sleep at Trentingham and return in the morning.
Lily supposed it was well done of Mum to offer the hospitality, but she hoped it didn’t mean she was trying to match Rand with Rose.
That would ruin her sister’s plan.