It was incredible how much his friend had changed.
Ford was still holding his new daughter, her tiny fist tangled in his hair. Giving in this time, Rand skimmed his fingers over Rebecca’s dark curls. “They’re so soft,” he murmured.
Violet nodded. “All babies are soft.”
“I wouldn’t know. I cannot remember holding a baby before.”
”Really?” She looked surprised to hear that.
Rand shrugged. “I was never around younger children save for my father’s ward, who was five years old when she came to us.”
“Well, someday you’ll have babies of your own.”
“Perhaps,” he allowed. “I never say never. But should it happen, I can assure you it won’t be any time soon.”
Her laugh tinkled through the nearly empty chapel. “That’s always what a man says just before he falls in love.”
Ford rolled his eyes. “If you say so, my sweet.” He turned to his friend. “Now, come along—I want to show you the water closet I built. It’s much better than the ones imported from France.”
Rand smiled as he followed his friends out the door. Perhaps Ford hadn’t changed that much, after all.
TWO
“WHAT?” LILY demanded as her friend Judith Carrington pulled her toward a carriage. “What’s so important you couldn’t wait until we got to Violet’s house to tell me? So important you nearly made me drop my niece, not to mention almost dislocated my arm dragging me out of there?”
Before climbing inside, Lily searched for her family in the crowd. Her father was easiest to spot, tall and trim with deep green eyes, his real hair still as jet-black as the periwig he wore for his grandchildren’s baptism. Mum and Rose were both dark-haired and statuesque. They looked elegant in their best satin gowns, her mother’s a gleaming gold and Rose’s a rich, shimmering blue. Lily waved to them, then pointed at Judith, signaling that she would ride with her friend.
The Ashcrofts were a handsome family, in truth. Looking at them, one would never guess they were so eccentric.
Mum waved back distractedly, holding her two-year-old grandson, Nicky, as she busily ushered guests out the door to their waiting transportation.
Feeling Judith’s hand on her back, Lily laughed and lifted her peach silk skirts to duck inside the carriage. “What?” she repeated.
“Oh, just this.” Even though they weren’t ready to leave, Judith pulled the door shut. Then she settled herself with a flounce. “I’m betrothed.”
“Betrothed?” Lily seized her friend’s hands. “As in you’re planning to wed?”
“Well, Mama is doing the planning. But it’s ever so exciting. Come October, I’m going to be a married woman. Can you believe it, Lily?”
“No, I cannot believe it,” she confessed, squeezing Judith’s fingers. The third of her friends to marry this year. Yesterday they’d been children; now suddenly they were supposed to be all grown-up. “Who will be your groom?”
“Lord Grenville. Didn’t your mother tell you she’d suggested he offer for my hand? Father says it’s a brilliant match.”
Grenville was wealthy, but thirty-five years old to Judith’s nineteen. “Do you love him?” Lily wondered aloud. She hoped so. Judith was plump and pretty, but even more important, she was genuinely nice. A good friend who deserved happiness.
“We’ve met just twice. But Mama assures me we’ll grow to love each other—or get along tolerably, at least.” Her hands slipped out of Lily’s, moving to worry the embroidery on her turquoise underskirt. “It will all work out fine, I’m sure of it.”
“I’m sure of it, too,” Lily soothed, wishing she were as certain as she sounded. Lily’s parents had promised their daughters they could choose their own husbands, but she knew it didn’t work that way for most young women.
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 gentleman who stood as godfather?”
Lily sat back. “One of Ford’s old friends. Lord Randal Nesbitt.”
“Wouldn’t it 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 barely know Rand.”
“Rand?” Judith repeated significantly, and Lily blushed to be caught using the over-familiar name. But somehow she’d always thought of him as Rand, though she’d never realized it before. How odd.
“So what if you barely know him,” Judith argued. “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 now she’d have a little girl to play house with, to fix her hair, to—
“Upon my word, he didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time.” Judith’s lips curved in an impish grin. “Watching him was 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 surely that hadn’t been the case. Why would Rand be interested in her? The two of them had nothing in common. Her friend had seen something that wasn’t there. “You just have the wedding fever,” she said lightly, rubbing the back of her left hand. “Besides, if he’s interested in anyone, I’m sure it’s Rose. They share an interest in languages.”
“Ah,” Judith said with a tilt of her pert nose. “You know more about the fellow than you’re willing to admit.”
Ignoring that, Lily leaned to
