As if on cue, a sparrow flew into the room and landed smack on the table, right in front of Lily.
“Holy Hades,” Rowan said. “Not again.”
“Rowan,” Lady Trentingham hissed.
“Well, someone should shut the windows.”
Rose fanned herself with a languid hand. “With all these people, it would be too hot if we shut the windows.”
“Cut the hedgerows?” Her father nodded sagely. “Yes, I’ve asked the groundskeepers to start on the morrow.”
No one looked confused or surprised. Apparently they were all well enough acquainted with Lord Trentingham to know that along with his passion for gardening, the man was half deaf.
“Excellent, darling,” the countess said loudly, flicking a crumb off his cravat. She looked to Lily, who was busy feeding bits of bread to the sparrow. “Not at supper, dear.”
Lily sighed. “Go, Lady.” She tossed the gray-brown bird a final nibble. “Outside now.”
Amazingly, the bird gobbled the last of its feast and then took flight, heading for one of the windows where a squirrel sat on the sill, seemingly watching the proceedings. With a flutter of feathers, the sparrow landed beside the squirrel with a pointed twitter. The squirrel chattered back, for all the world as if they were having a conversation.
Rand had never seen a wild bird that obeyed, let alone a squirrel that didn’t run at the sight of humans. He turned to Lily. “You do have a way with animals.”
“Oh, there’s more to Lily than that,” her mother informed him from down the table. “She plays the harpsichord like an angel.”
Lily blushed. She looked fetching when she blushed. Not that he would make the mistake of telling her so—not again. You’re beautiful when you laugh…he wanted to blush, too, just remembering his words. Had he ever in his life said anything so muttonheaded to a girl?
Well, he’d just have to redeem himself. Luckily, he now had an entire evening in which to do so.
His fingers itched to touch the tiny dent in her chin. “Will you play after supper?” he asked her.
“Eh?” the earl shook his dark head. “Everyone will stay after supper. They’ve all been assigned rooms, have they not, Chrysanthemum love?”
“Of course, darling.” Lady Trentingham smiled her ever-patient smile. “And Lily will play,” she told Rand.
“And I shall sing,” Rose announced as she reached for some bread, grazing Rand’s arm in the process.
By now it was obvious that she fancied him. He’d suspected as much four years ago, and apparently her feelings remained unchanged. Back then he’d felt flattered by her attentions, but now all he felt was uncomfortable.
Which was odd, to say the least. Rose was lovely—tall and willowy, with a flawless, creamy complexion, glossy deep brown locks, and eyes so mysteriously dark they could be mistaken for black. A classic beauty. And not an icy one. Though still as bold as ever, Rose had grown up. She was much kinder and warmer than he remembered.
But none of her warmth seemed to penetrate his skin. While on his other side sat Lily, scorching him like the Tuscan sun.
Chatting with the guest on her right, she seemed to sense Rand’s gaze and turned slightly to meet his eyes, then looked away to continue her conversation.
“I should like to hear you sing,” he told Rose, wondering if she had the voice for it.
Her slow smile revealed charming dimples. If she were one of Lily’s cats, she’d have been purring.
And after supper, when she raised her voice in song, he was indeed impressed. Singing of love, her words floated through the air, rich and resonant.
But he found Lily’s playing even more splendid. Despite the audience of various Ashcroft relatives seated decorously in the cream-and-gold-toned formal drawing room, Rand found himself rising and wandering toward the harpsichord.
While Beatrix dozed on her lap, Lily’s fingers sailed over the ivory keys. She glanced up and smiled at him without missing a beat, and his mind went blank. Before he realized his mouth was open, he found himself harmonizing with her sister.
“Go tell her to make me a cambric shirt,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,
Without a stitch of a seamster’s work,
And then she will be a true love of mine.”
Only when the verse ended did he notice that Rose had stopped singing to listen to him. His face burning, he nodded at her to take the next verse. Back and forth they went until the song ended and the chamber burst into applause.
Rand jammed his hands in his pockets, wondering what the two sisters must think of him, barging into their performance uninvited. He’d never done anything like this before. What could have got into him?
But Lily’s eyes were shining. “Your voice is beautiful!”
His face went hot again. “Your playing is exquisite.”
“I practice often.” Her shrug was as graceful as her fingers. “It’s a way to pass the time.”
He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “I sing whenever I’m alone.” Enjoying the admiration on her face, he reached to hit a key, letting the single note reverberate through the chamber. “I cannot play,” he admitted.
“I cannot sing.”
His smile stretched into a grin. “Play for us again, then, and your sister and I will accompany you. Together this time?” He looked to Rose, who nodded eagerly.
Lily thought for a moment, then the jaunty notes of “The Gypsy Rover” took air, and his voice rose along with it.
Rose waited until the chorus to join him.
“He whistled and he sang till the greenwoods rang,
And he won the heart of a lady.”
Rand wished he really could whistle and sing and win the heart of a lady. And by the way Rose was gazing at him, she had a similar goal in mind. But though their voices blended perfectly, it wasn’t she he was wishing to win.
They sang a third song, and a fourth, and then he lost count, relishing the way his words and Lily’s melodies intertwined. Whenever she glanced up from the harpsichord and caught his eye, it seemed that he and she were the only ones
