When the gilt mantel clock struck midnight just as another tune ended, Lily blinked and jumped to her feet, letting Beatrix tumble to the floor with an outraged meow. “Do you think it’s time to retire, Mum?”
“Oh!” The countess stood as well. “Rose, you must come with me. We have yet to prepare a room for Rand.”
Rose frowned. “I’m sure the staff has taken care of that.”
“Not all our special welcoming details.” With a gracious smile, Lady Trentingham turned to her assorted family. “I wish you all a good night.” As they began drifting out, she addressed her older daughter. “Come along, dear. You’ll need to find flowers for Rand’s chamber.”
“But Mum—”
“Come along,” she repeated, more tersely than seemed to be her nature. “Lily, will you wait here and keep Rand company until his room is ready?”
“I need no flowers,” Rand interjected.
“Nonsense. Rose?” Lady Trentingham moved toward the door, herding the last lingering guests along with her. “I’ll be back in just a few moments!”
The chamber seemed so quiet after everyone had left. And Rand felt odd to find himself alone with Lily for the second time that day.
“Mum,” he said, mostly to ward off the sudden silence. “That’s a strange thing to call one’s mother.”
“I know.” Still by the harpsichord, she sat again and resumed playing, an unfamiliar but soothing piece she seemed to know by heart. Beatrix reclaimed her rightful place on her lap. “You know that my father raises flowers. Droves of them. He named us girls after his favorites—surely you’ll have noticed that—and Rowan after the tree. Mum’s given name is Chrystabel, but he calls her Chrysanthemum…and we call her Mum for short.” Her fingers stilled. “It’s silly, I know.”
“Keep playing.” He leaned against the carved wood instrument and waited until she did. “I don’t think it’s silly. You must be a close family.”
“We are.”
Her matter-of-fact tone made it obvious she took that closeness for granted. But he wouldn’t acknowledge the envy churning in his stomach. He’d long ago accepted that his family was happier without him. And life on his own was just fine. Better, in fact.
When Beatrix lifted her head, Rand followed her gaze to see a bird land gracefully atop the harpsichord.
“Hello, Lady,” Lily greeted softly, her fingers still gliding over the keys.
Confused, Rand ran his tongue across his teeth. “Do you call all sparrows Lady?”
“No. I don’t call most sparrows anything. But Lady is special.”
“Do you mean…” He peered at the nondescript bird. “Is this the same sparrow that flew in at supper, the same sparrow you fed at Ford’s house?”
“One and the same,” she said, playing a little faster. “I raised her after I found her in an abandoned nest, and now she follows me around. She and Jasper.”
“Jasper?”
“The squirrel.”
She nodded toward the sill. Sure enough, a red squirrel sat there, gnawing on an acorn. Rand supposed it must be the same squirrel that had appeared at supper, although hang it if he could tell for sure. Like sparrows, one squirrel looked much the same as another.
To him, anyway.
Beatrix settled back down on Lily’s lap, and Lady flew to join her friend at the window. Jasper chattered, his bushy tail flicking up and down. Rand felt as if all the animals were watching him. Talking about him.
Under those three sets of eyes, he shifted uneasily. Surely he was imagining things. ”Are you never alone?”
“Rarely,” Lily said blithely.
That seemed peculiar, but then, perhaps it was Rand’s love of solitude that was peculiar. In any case, he decided to ignore the animals as best he could. “What song is this?”
“Nothing, really. Just something I made up.”
“You compose music, too?” Slowly he lowered himself to the bench seat beside her. “Is there no end to your talents?”
As she scooted over to make room for him, her fingers faltered, then continued. He smiled to himself, thinking he’d managed to fluster her. Was it the compliment, or his nearness?
He hoped it was the latter. Her nearness was certainly flustering him. Her nearness and her fresh, flowery scent.
Beatrix began to hiccup. “I’m not talented,” Lily protested modestly. “Your singing is much better than my playing. I’ve never heard another voice like yours.”
He knew he had a fine voice, but it wasn’t a talent that had been valued in his family, so he usually kept it to himself. “Well, I’ve never heard anything like your music,” he said. “So we’re even. And I hope we’ll play and sing together again.”
At his words, her hands ceased moving for good. They went limp and dropped into her lap, eliciting an indignant cry from Beatrix, who leapt to the floor. In seconds, the cat had followed her animal friends out the window.
Lily cleared her throat. “If your room at Lakefield isn’t ready tomorrow night, perhaps Rose will sing with you again.”
She looked so earnest. He curled his fingers to keep from reaching to touch that irresistible dent in her chin. “I don’t care whether Rose sings with me again. As long as you play.”
“Wh-what?” She shifted, turning to face him, searching his eyes with her wide blue ones. “But you and Rose sing together so beautifully. And she knows languages—not ancient ones like you do, but many modern ones, and—”
“I don’t care about Rose,” he clarified. “But you…” Was he really going to tell her? He rushed on before he could change his mind. “I’ve thought about you for four years.”
The breath rushed out of her with a whoosh. Her eyes grew bigger and bluer in her lovely, fine-boned face. And when some invisible force seemed to draw the two of them closer, and his fingertips grazed her neck, he could have sworn her lips parted. He was near enough to feel the warmth emanating from her body, and as he leaned to close the rest of the gap, a happy little thrill warmed him from the inside, too…
Until she jerked away.
He blinked at her, feeling like he’d been doused in cold water. And realizing that her round-eyed, openmouthed
