Especially if all children talked as much as Lily’s brother.
“Do you know,” Lily said, dragging his thoughts back to the conversation, “we’ve never been much of anywhere besides London and the area that surrounds Trentingham. Oh, and Tremayne, but not for years.”
“Tremayne?”
“A castle and lands our family owns near Wales. We stayed there during Cromwell’s Protectorate, and again in ’65 when the Great Plague was a threat. Now that Grandpapa has passed on and Father become the earl, Rowan is Viscount Tremayne.”
“Are you?” Rand asked Rowan, smiling when Lily’s brother nodded and puffed out his narrow chest. “Well, then,” he told the boy, “you’re certainly more important than I. I’m a mere lord.”
“You’re important,” Lily protested.
Rand waved that away, though secretly pleased. “Have you never been out of Britain, then?” he asked Rowan.
“No.”
“None of us have.” When the carriage jounced in and out of a rut, Lily jostled against Rand. “Where have you been?”
“Rose said he’s traveled a lot,” Rowan chimed in importantly.
Rand shrugged. ”I’ve been lucky to spend time on the continent. Spain, France, Italy, Greece…” He turned to Lily. “I’ll take you those places, and more.”
Rowan was gazing out the window at the unfamiliar countryside. “Rose said Lily won’t be able to talk to anyone.”
It was obvious the boy had no idea his words might sting. Rand wrapped an arm around her. “I’ll be happy to communicate for your sister.”
Lily watched out the window, too. She rubbed the scars on her hand, determined not to let her Rose’s spite spoil this special day. As they descended toward Oxford, the grazing land gave way to water meadows, and now the road was peppered with charming houses, each with a lovely, well-tended garden.
Rand began humming, that same old tune she’d heard before, somehow both quiet and cheerful at the same time. Lily’s mind drifted, and she touched her fingertips to her lips, imagining them tender and a little bit puffy like they’d been yesterday after kissing Rand. Though surprised by her own daring at the picnic, she was glad she had…well, pounced on him. Remembering what it had felt like to go to him, to make him want her instead of just letting him want her, was far more pleasant than her other preoccupations. She’d gone to sleep last night with one hand on her mouth and awakened that way, too.
As they crossed a river to enter Oxford, she smiled at a beautiful square bell tower built of mellow stone. “It looks so old.”
“Charmingly old, I hope.” Rand’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “I hope you won’t mind living here.”
“It’s lovely,” she breathed.
“We’re on Magdalen Bridge, and that tower is part of Magdalen College. It was built by Cardinal Wolsey. Every May Day since 1501, the college’s choir ascends the tower at dawn to greet the coming of spring with hymns.”
“Oh,” she said, “I imagine that must be spectacular.” Beyond Magdalen, they passed through the low-arched East Gate, and then they were within the city wall, its battlements interspersed with turrets. Towers of Oxford’s many other colleges rose to punctuate the horizon, monuments to centuries of education.
Among the huge buildings of the university, townspeople lived and worked in smaller homes and shops under steep, sloping roofs. Few people walked the streets, but those that did looked prosperous, unlike in London where the poor slept in the gutters. “It’s a quiet town in the summer months,” Rand said, “but it will be bustling come October, full of students in their billowing black gowns.”
“Can we climb all the towers?” Rowan asked, bouncing on the seat.
“Not all of the towers, but certainly one or two,” Rand promised. “I’ll take you all on a walking tour later.”
Following instructions Rand had given the coachmen earlier, they turned onto New College Lane, a narrow street that ran between New College and Hart Hall. Behind a small rectangular courtyard, his new house rose three stories, the left side still cloaked in scaffolding.
“Here we are,” he said, somewhat unnecessarily given that their carriage had stopped behind the other two.
The door opened, and the driver lowered the steps. Upon exiting, Rand waved at Lily’s parents, noting that they looked a good deal more cheerful than stormy-eyed Rose.
He swallowed, hoping he could shield Lily from the worst of her sister’s ire.
Looking lovely in a cornflower blue traveling gown, Lily stepped out and stared up at the rows of Palladian windows. “It’s very big!”
“Did you think I’d expect Lady Lily Ashcroft to live in a cottage?” he teased. But he breathed easier knowing she so far approved of her home-to-be.
When Rowan emerged and made a beeline for the scaffolding, Rand reached a quick hand to grab the boy’s arm. “No, you don’t.”
“Holy Ha—I mean zounds, I just wanted to climb it.”
“It isn’t safe,” Rand said firmly, then turned back to the rest. “Come, let’s see if the architect is at hand. I’ll introduce you all—and find out why he hasn’t finished as promised.”
A workman came out the front door, burdened with two buckets of paint. He smiled and bowed awkwardly. “Lord Randal.”
“Henry. How goes the job?”
“All but done. Mr. Martyn should return soon. He was called away—”
“Of course he was,” Rand interrupted. “Isn’t he always?” With a short laugh, he waved the man and his paint toward the scaffolding and ushered Lily’s family inside the house.
Even though Kit was off-site, the interior swarmed with industrious men, a testament to the architect’s deft management. “The house is designed in the classical style Kit favors,” Rand explained as he led the Ashcrofts through an impressive entry and into the first chamber, a drawing room where a man was noisily installing a marble fireplace surround. “I admired many homes like this while touring Italy, so when he started sketching elevations of what he had in mind, we found ourselves in
