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 it was obvious there wouldn’t be a 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 the contraption 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. “What with the disappointing weather, I decided to set it up the summerhouse. I was nearly 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. Though it was a bit hard to tell in the gloom of the dreary day, there seemed to be items inside that hadn’t been there the day before.
“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 nearly 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, and sweets. A bottle of champagne and two goblets.
Only two?
He stared at them, puzzled, until Lily blew in through the same door, wearing a summery apricot gown that belied the rainy day.
Lily’s mother stood on the threshold, the front of her umbrella dripping onto the bricks. “Well, then, will you two be wanting anything else?”
Rand glanced at Lily, but she looked as confused as he felt. “Where is the rest of the family?” he asked.
The countess waved a hand. “Sadly, there’s not enough room.” She didn’t look particularly sad. “I didn’t want you and Lily to miss your betrothal picnic, but the summerhouse is rather cramped, don’t you think?”
“We could take everything into the house,” Rand suggested.
“Heavens, no. It wouldn’t be a picnic in the house.”
He couldn’t see why that should signify, but as this new arrangement was rather to his liking, he kept silent.
“All the doors are open,” Lily said slowly, and Rand glanced around to see that all four entrances to the round structure were indeed flung wide. Passersby on any side would be able to observe their picnic.
“Yes, isn’t the sound of the rain lovely? Well,” Lady Trentingham concluded, retreating with a gracious smile, “pray enjoy yourselves! I shall pop by in a few minutes to see how you get on.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Rand began.
“It’s no trouble,” she said brightly. “Though I beg leave to excuse myself from the party, I mean not to neglect the guests of honor!”
And with that she was gone.
Removing his wide-brimmed hat, Rand shook his head, impressed by how artfully the countess had ensured their good behavior. “Clever woman,” he muttered to himself.
“You’ll get used to it,” Lily chimed in, plucking a grape off a bunch.
Startled when something moved against his leg, Rand glanced down to see Beatrix winding between his feet. He looked about in expectation, and sure enough, found Lady perched up in the rafters and Jasper under a bench.
They would take some getting used to, as well.
Made uneasy by both the animal audience and the anticipated return of Lily’s mother, Rand stood awkwardly for a moment. The only sound in the summerhouse was the rain tapping on the copper-domed roof and the gravel path outside. “Do you picnic in here often?” he asked at length.
“Never,” Lily said, hesitating over a platter of strawberries. “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. It’s 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.”
“Preserves your lily-white complexion, does it?”
She smiled at his play on words. “That it does.” Finally settling on a strawberry, she turned to offer it to him. “Are you not hungry?”
Her thoughtfulness immediately dispersed all his uncomfortable feelings, and he accepted with pleasure. He couldn’t help but be put at ease by Lily’s sweetness. He popped the fruit into his mouth, found she had chosen well, and reached for another.
She laughed when he lifted the whole platter and took it with him to the middle of the room, where a handsome rug had been spread over the brick floor for their picnicking.
Taking a tray of bread and cheese, she joined him on the rug, tucking her legs beneath her with movements graceful as a swan. “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?” Wiping strawberry-sticky fingers on his handkerchief, he eyed the small area. “They must have been minuscule.”
“When you’re tiny, even little spaces feel large.”
He helped himself to a hunk of hard yellow cheese. “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 attentive to me, perhaps taking my part…I was young…I don’t remember.” He shook his head. “I remember only how it felt after she was gone.”
“Lonely,” Lily said softly.
He nodded, thinking that loneliness was a feeling he’d carried with him 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? Or hear from them? Ever?”
“Not in several 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 the beloved foster sister who had followed him around with hero worship in her eyes. “But my father has a ward, a girl named Margery Maybanks who was brought to our home very young. 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 the best circles.”
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.”
Her acceptance meant the world to him. Gratitude formed a lump in his throat, and he was overcome in a most unmanly fashion. Embarrassed, he excused himself and rose to fetch the rest of the food.
Lily crumbled some bread for her animals while Rand delivered plates of cherries, sweets, and cold beef. Lastly he returned with the champagne, and she smiled, sitting back on her heels and dusting her fingers. ”I thought you’d be deathly ill today. I was certain you’d send your regrets, and here you are, all recovered it seems.”
Rand knelt on the rug, warily watching Jasper scurry over to claim his portion. “I’m surprised I fell ill at all, actually. You’ll find I’m of a strong constitution—perhaps due to all the running.”
“It’s Beatrix you’ll want to keep an eye on.”
“Pardon?”
Before he’d grasped her meaning, a brown and white blur sailed over his left shoulder and pounced on the bread.
Lily laughed. “Share, Beatrix.”
Though the cat’s tail twitched in protest, she relented and let her squirrel friend approach.
The animals well occupied, Rand judged it safe to pour the champagne. He dropped a strawberry into Lily’s and watched the drink fizz, remembering the first time he’d tasted this new beverage, at Ford and Violet’s wedding. Where he’d also first danced with Lily…and Rose. “How is Rose faring?”
Lily accepted her goblet and took a big gulp, looking as if she needed it. “Rose is very angry with me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Violet told Ford you’d never consent to wed me, for fear of hurting your sister.” He raised his goblet in a toast. “I’m glad she was wrong.”
They drank, solemnly, gazing at each other over the goblets’ rims—and Rand berated himself for bringing up Rose. He wished he could kiss away the shadow over Lily’s face, but his gaze darted to one of the open doors, leery of her mother’s return.
To his surprise, it was innocent Lily who set down her champagne, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his, rising on her knees to reach him. It was a slow, consoling kiss, though whether she was drawing consolation or offering it, he didn’t know—with Lily they seemed to be the same thing. Tasting of champagne, she held his head in both hands, unexpectedly strong. Trying to kiss her back with all the tenderness he felt, he thanked God for sending her to him.
Rain pattered on the roof far above. “I love you,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he returned, his voice filled with wonder. Sweet mercy, how incredible to have never had love in his life—and then to suddenly have it. What a difference love made! In the space of a fortnight, his entire life had changed. As if years of shadow had given way to full sun.
He clasped Lily to him like some precious object, tucking her head gently under his chin. ”When shall we be married?”
She gave a contented sigh. “Violet and Ford were wed two weeks after they became betrothed, and—”
“Two weeks?” His fingers played with a lock of her hair. “It won’t be easy, but I suppose I can wait that long.”
“That long? Mum has been complaining about the rushed wedding ever since. She wishes to make a proper job of it this time. Six months, she said—”
“Six months! You can’t be serious.”
He felt her smile against his chest. “Those were my words exactly. That is why I talked her into six weeks.”
“Oh. I suppose six weeks is survivable.”
“It will pass quickly enough. I’ll be busy with wedding plans, and you with your house. We’ll be married before Michaelmas term starts in mid-October. And I hope that in the meantime Rose will come around…”
Her voice trailed off sadly, and she sat back on her heels, not meeting his eyes.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
She took a minute to answer, a minute during which he neither moved nor drew breath. “No,” she said at last. “Not really.”
The words had come too slowly, too reluctantly. Rand’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Lily—”
“I’m not having second thoughts,” she repeated and then launched herself at him, knocking him back to the rug as she crushed her mouth to his.
He kissed her and laughed, sheer joy mixed with relief, keeping just enough presence of mind to steady the champagne bottle she’d nearly toppled…before losing himself completely in the sensation of her slight, warm body sprawled over his. He could have kept kissing her the whole afternoon, spectators or no.
Until he felt sandpaper rubbing his fingers. “What on earth—”
Lily giggled, a sound of pure merriment that drowned out the rain. “Beatrix, stop licking Rand’s hand.” Leaning on an elbow, she held up a bite of cheese, and the cat wandered over to take it with its delicate pink tongue.
At least it looked delicate. “I thought it would feel wet,” he said. “And soft.”
“Has a cat never licked you?” Lily’s eyes danced, and Beatrix hiccuped.
“Does she always hiccup so much?” Rand asked.
“No. Or at least she didn’t used to. She’s been acting a bit odd lately. I suppose it’s a good thing she stopped us, though.” With a rueful glance at the nearest door, Lily sighed and sat up. “Are you still hungry? Try a nun’s biscuit. They’re my favorites.”
Biting into the offered sweet, he tasted almonds and lemon and smiled. But beneath the smile, a twinge of uneasiness returned.
A nun’s biscuit, of all things. Well, he hoped the image of chaste nuns would remind both Lily and himself that that they weren’t married yet, and ought not to be engaging in improper intimacies. It wasn’t worth risking her parents’ ire, on top of Rose’s wrath.
Nothing was worth risking the wedding going forward as planned.
Lady Trentingham soon returned to an innocent scene of two young people munching on nun’s biscuits. Lily was apparently back in all good spirits, and the sight warmed Rand from the inside out. He told himself there was no danger, that their feelings for each other were too strong to be foiled. Not her parents, nor Rose, nor the king himself could come between them.
But all of a sudden, six weeks seemed like a very, very long time.