“Yes,” Rose said, “I’m the one who’s old.”
Finally, having put it off as long as she could, Lily turned to her sister.
Rose’s dark eyes were black with fury. “How could you?”
How could she what? Lily wondered.
What did her sister mean by those three words? How could she break her promise? How could she marry before her older sister? How could she steal the husband Rose had wanted? How could she be so selfish as to secure her own happiness?
All of it, undoubtedly, Lily thought with a resigned sigh. But while her heart grieved for her sister’s pain, and she regretted her part in causing it, she refused to accept the guilt. In her view, Rose had forfeited whatever claim she had on Rand by her abusive treatment of him earlier that afternoon.
And though Lily loved her no less, and would forgive her in time, she would not reward her sister’s folly with deference. Rose’s misery was of her own making, and though it aroused Lily’s compassion, she would not end that misery with a sacrifice.
Wanting to explain—in language softer than her present feelings, if she could manage it—Lily took her sister’s arm to draw her aside.
Rose shook her off. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, though she did move away from the others, closer to the oak. “You promised! You said you’d help, and then you told me to do the wrong thing on purpose.” As she talked, she advanced on Lily, backing her into the oak. “I went to Lakefield every day to offer my assistance with the translation, but he wouldn’t even see me.” Her face was right in Lily’s, her eyes flashing fire. “I always knew showing my intellect was the wrong way to get a gentleman worth having!”
The rough bark bit into Lily’s back, and she hit her head against it, trying to gain some distance from Rose’s venom. “No, it isn’t,” she protested. “It’s the right way. Rand was just the wrong gentleman.”
“Oh, and I’m supposed to trust your word?” With a huff and a swish of her skirts, Rose whirled away.
Shaking, Lily walked back to the others.
“I think we shall have a picnic tomorrow to celebrate,” Mum was saying brightly. “With champagne.”
Rowan made a face. “No champagne.”
“You don’t have to drink any,” Lily said woodenly, rubbing her head where it hurt. She looked up at the sky and wished she felt more like celebrating. “It will probably be raining anyway.”
“Nonsense,” Mum said. “If it rains tonight, it shall be clear and beautiful tomorrow.”
“A picnic sounds very nice.” Shooting Rose a concerned glance where she still stood near the tree, Rand moved to take Lily’s hand. “Thank you, Lady Trentingham. And I shall venture to invite your family to Oxford the day after, if you’re amenable. Lily ought to see her new home, don’t you think? I’ll give you all the grand tour, and you can stay overnight. I’ve no furniture yet in my house, save in the one room I’ve been using to sleep, but a respectable inn lies directly behind it.”
“An inn,” Rowan breathed. “May we go, Mum?” He looked more excited about the journey than he had about the picnic—or the marriage, for that matter.
“We’ve stayed at an inn only once since Rowan was born,” Mum explained to Rand, “and he was too young to remember.” She smiled at her son. “Yes, Rowan, I expect that we can go. I should like to see where my daughter will be living. And Rose always enjoys traveling, don’t you, Rose?”
She looked to Rose, but Rose wasn’t there.
Lily turned just in time to see her march up the portico steps and slam into the house.
“I’ll go after her,” Judith said fretfully.
“No, I’ll talk to her.” Mum started toward the house, then paused to look back at Lily. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ve done nothing wrong, but she’s hurting now, and I can’t say I really blame her. She’ll come to terms with it sooner or later.”
“I hope it will be sooner,” Lily said in a small voice.
She loved Rand. But if her own sister couldn’t be happy for her, could she be truly happy herself?
TWENTY-SEVEN
“WELL, Chrysanthemum,” Joseph said as she crawled into bed that night, “your daughter is betrothed as planned. Are you happy?”
“Happy? I’m not sure who’s more miserable, Rose or Lily. Or me.”
Rand and Judith had left. Rose had taken supper in her room. Chrystabel had spent over an hour trying to soothe her, then another trying to assure Lily that her sister wasn’t lost to her forever.
Rain pattered on the window, spelling doom for her picnic, and a headache was brewing, relentlessly hammering her temples. She hated when everything didn’t go as she’d planned.
“Move closer,” Joseph said. “I’ll rub your shoulders.”
She did, snuggling into the feather mattress and sighing when his hands went to work. For a spell she just lay there, letting his fingers knead away her tension.
“Better?” he asked after a while.
“Getting there.” The pounding in her temples was fading to a mere annoyance. “I’m afraid Lily might change her mind.”
“No, she won’t.” He rubbed circles on the small of her back. “She’s in love.”
“You finally noticed?”
Running his thumbs down her spine, he snorted. “I haven’t the talent you seem to possess of discerning a person’s feelings by the look in his or her eyes. I know she’s in love because you told me.”
“Ahh.” The sound was half agreement, half bliss. “Lily is feeling very badly, though, that Rose is in pain. I’m afraid she’ll break the betrothal because her sister is unhappy. Choose her relationship with Rose over Rand.”
“Have you no sympathy for Rose?”
“Of course I do. She’s my daughter, and I ache for her, never mind that she and Rand were all wrong for each other. I understand why she feels betrayed. And yes, her actions in the summerhouse were shameful, but I don’t believe for a minute that she’s truly that calculating.
