Rose didn’t deserve him.
But Lily didn’t want to think about Rose. Now that she could kiss Rand without so much as a twinge of guilt, all she wanted was to keep kissing Rand for as long as possible. Now that she could be close to him and touch him and taste him, untainted for the first time, she realized the truth.
He was all she wanted for the rest of her life. She was in love. And loving Rand was the most precious gift in all of God’s creation.
A laugh bubbled out of her, the noise joyous to her own ears. Her heart felt light enough to escape her chest and float away. How giddy and strange she felt. Rose had put Rand in a very awkward position, and Lily had witnessed it, and somehow, that had changed everything.
Lily’s laugh was a sound of pure, ringing happiness, a sound Rand hadn’t heard from her in weeks—maybe ever. It was a sound he perceived not with his ears, but with his heart. Though it startled him out of their kiss, it brought hope.
Love. Ford was right, this had to be love. It wasn’t a comfortable emotion—it was far too huge and overpowering—but it was there. And it wasn’t going away.
Now Rand just had to figure out what to do about it. Marry her, despite never having pictured himself marrying anyone? He thought of her sweetness, her faith in him, the way she made him feel.
Her essence.
Then he pictured letting that essence slip through his fingers, and the choice was obvious.
Never say never, he told himself ruefully, and took her hand. Lacing his fingers with hers, he drew a deep breath.
“Have you seen my ironclad spade?”
They both jumped, then turned to see Lily’s father standing in the doorway. She felt Rand had been about to say something important, and she was impatient to discover what. In haste and agitation, she scanned the dim summerhouse.
There was no spade. There wasn’t anything in here, in fact, save the narrow wooden benches attached to the circular wall. “It’s not here, Father. Why don’t you ask the head gardener?”
“Hmm,” he said. “I was hoping it would be in here. Perhaps I should ask the head gardener.” Muttering to himself, he turned and left.
Rand sneezed, using his free hand to block it. “Pardon me,” he said thickly.
“You are falling ill.”
He waved that away. “Your father didn’t hear your suggestion.”
She shrugged. ”If he hears one suggestion in ten, I consider myself lucky.”
“He wouldn’t have said a thing had he found me alone with Rose, would he?” Sounding incredulous, Rand raised their still-joined hands. “He didn’t even notice I was here.”
“Well, what did you expect? You’re not a flower.” Lily smiled up at him. “Now, what were you going to say before my father interrupted?”
He gave one of his inscrutable smiles in return. “Lily, can I ask you a favor?”
Her heart sped up. “Of course.”
“Will you play me a song?”
TWENTY-FIVE
“PARDON?” Lily blinked, unsure she’d heard right.
“I want you to play a song. On the harpsichord. And I’ll sing.”
“Now?”
“Now. Right now. In your family’s drawing room. Will you do that for me, Lily?”
She nodded, although she was confused. She’d been rather expecting—or perhaps just hoping—to hear a question of a different nature. But there was little Rand could ask that she would refuse.
He led her outside by the hand. In the fickle way of summer, the sky had clouded up while they were in the summerhouse. Beatrix, Lady, and Jasper appeared and followed them back to the house. Claiming he didn’t want an audience, Rand maneuvered to get through the door without allowing them inside.
The animals went around and entered through one of the drawing room’s windows instead.
Lily sat at the harpsichord and arched her fingers over the keys, then hesitated. Her nose was running. She pulled the handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed.
“Go ahead,” Rand said. “Blow.”
Love, she supposed, meant being able to blow your nose in front of the man. So she did, even though she was no timid nose-blower.
It didn’t seem to scare him away. In fact, in the middle of her blow, he sneezed again, and then he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his own nose, too.
“We’re wrecks,” Lily said, thinking it felt strangely wonderful to comfortably share an illness. She faced the keyboard again. “What do you want me to play?” She suspected the tune she’d been practicing for him wasn’t what he had in mind.
He thought for a moment. ”Do you know the one that starts ‘Let’s love and let’s laugh’?”
Like many popular songs, it had no title, but she did know it. She nodded.
He leaned against the harpsichord. “Then play it, please.”
When she did, he held her gaze as he began to sing.
“Let’s love and let’s laugh,
Let’s dance and let’s sing;
While shrill echoes ring;
Our wishes agree,
And from care we are free,
Then who is so happy, so happy as we?”
Although there were three more verses, he stopped singing. She played a few more bars and then stopped, too.
For a moment, the room was completely still, even the animals frozen like statues.
“Did you hear that, Lily?”
“The words?” she wondered.
“The words fit us, don’t they? But no, I didn’t mean the words. What did you hear?”
“What did I hear?” she echoed faintly, feeling bewildered. But her heart began pumping a little faster. “It sounded good. You sound good. You have a beautiful voice.”
He stepped closer. “But my voice doesn’t sound nearly as good alone as it does together with your music. It doesn’t sound as complete. What I mean to say is…” His face colored slightly, but he pressed on. “I want that with you, Lily. I want you to provide the melody for my songs. And I, the words to your tunes.”
She gathered he was talking about more than music. Her blood rushed even faster. She held her breath, afraid she might
