“Yes, isn’t the sound of the rain lovely? Well,” Lady Trentingham concluded, retreating with a gracious smile, “pray enjoy yourselves! I shall pop by in a few minutes to see how you get on.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Rand began.
“It’s no trouble,” she said brightly. “Though I beg leave to excuse myself from the party, I mean not to neglect the guests of honor!”
And with that she was gone.
Removing his wide-brimmed hat, Rand shook his head, impressed by how artfully the countess had ensured their good behavior. “Clever woman,” he muttered to himself.
“You’ll get used to it,” Lily chimed in, plucking a grape off a bunch.
Startled when something moved against his leg, Rand glanced down to see Beatrix winding between his feet. He looked about in expectation, and sure enough, found Lady perched up in the rafters and Jasper under a bench.
They would take some getting used to, as well.
Made uneasy by both the animal audience and the anticipated return of Lily’s mother, Rand stood awkwardly for a moment. The only sound in the summerhouse was the rain tapping on the copper-domed roof and the gravel path outside. “Do you picnic in here often?” he asked at length.
“Never,” Lily said, hesitating over a platter of strawberries. “It really is too small, as Mum said. When we entertain in the garden, though, we sometimes use it to shelter the food. And my sisters and I like to come out here in the summertime. It’s a nice place to sit and read or play a game. If you open all four doors, the breeze flows through, yet it keeps the sun off our faces.”
“Preserves your lily-white complexion, does it?”
She smiled at his play on words. “That it does.” Finally settling on a strawberry, she turned to offer it to him. “Are you not hungry?”
Her thoughtfulness immediately dispersed all his uncomfortable feelings, and he accepted with pleasure. He couldn’t help but be put at ease by Lily’s sweetness. He popped the fruit into his mouth, found she had chosen well, and reached for another.
She laughed when he lifted the whole platter and took it with him to the middle of the room, where a handsome rug had been spread over the brick floor for their picnicking.
Taking a tray of bread and cheese, she joined him on the rug, tucking her legs beneath her with movements graceful as a swan. “When we were young, Violet and Rose and I could spend days in here. We used to take playing cards and lay them out end-to-end on the floor to divide the space into pretend rooms. Then we’d play house.”
“Divide it into rooms?” Wiping strawberry-sticky fingers on his handkerchief, he eyed the small area. “They must have been minuscule.”
“When you’re tiny, even little spaces feel large.”
He helped himself to a hunk of hard yellow cheese. “It sounds as though you had a happy childhood here at Trentingham.”
“I did.” She swallowed, concern darkening her eyes. “Was there no happiness in your childhood at all?”
“Oh, yes, until I was six. Then my mother died and my father…changed. Or maybe he’d been that way all along, but I hadn’t noticed. Mother had always been attentive to me, perhaps taking my part…I was young…I don’t remember.” He shook his head. “I remember only how it felt after she was gone.”
“Lonely,” Lily said softly.
He nodded, thinking that loneliness was a feeling he’d carried with him far too long. But now, with her, it was gone. “I don’t feel lonely now.”
Her smile was a little bit sad. “Do you never see them, then?” she asked. “Your father and your brother? Or hear from them? Ever?”
“Not in several years.” He’d thought that if he forgot about them the anger would disappear, but there were others at Hawkridge he’d done an all-too-good job of ignoring as well. Like the beloved foster sister who had followed him around with hero worship in her eyes. “But my father has a ward, a girl named Margery Maybanks who was brought to our home very young. She writes to me sometimes.”
Not nearly often enough, and he missed her. Of course, that was his fault. Reading news of his family made ripples in the nice calm life he’d made for himself—so much so that he often went months before answering Margery’s letters.
“Does she tell them about you, then? Does your father know you’re now a professor?”
“Oh, he knows. According to Margery, he said that just went to prove I never belonged in the best circles.”
Her heart leapt into her eyes. “I cannot imagine what it would be like if my parents weren’t proud of my accomplishments. And my sisters and brother, too. That’s what family is all about, why we need them around us.”
“I’ve done all right without family.”
“Because you didn’t have one,” she said stoutly. “But you will now.”
Her acceptance meant the world to him. Gratitude formed a lump in his throat, and he was overcome in a most unmanly fashion. Embarrassed, he excused himself and rose to fetch the rest of the food.
Lily crumbled some bread for her animals while Rand delivered plates of cherries, sweets, and cold beef. Lastly he returned with the champagne, and she smiled, sitting back on her heels and dusting her fingers. ”I thought you’d be deathly ill today. I was certain you’d send your regrets, and here you are, all recovered it seems.”
Rand knelt on the rug, warily watching Jasper scurry over to claim his portion. “I’m surprised I fell ill at all, actually. You’ll find I’m of a strong constitution—perhaps due to all the running.”
“It’s Beatrix you’ll want to keep an eye on.”
“Pardon?”
Before he’d grasped her meaning, a brown and white blur sailed over his left shoulder and pounced on the bread.
Lily laughed. “Share, Beatrix.”
Though the cat’s tail twitched in protest, she relented and let her squirrel friend approach.
The animals well occupied, Rand judged it safe to pour the champagne. He dropped a strawberry into Lily’s and watched the
