“We will, yes.” Clearly trying to set his troubles aside, he took her hand as they all crossed the smooth green lawn toward Wadham’s elegant facade. “I hope you’ll like it here.”
“I love it already. This town feels so peaceful and alive, all at once.”
“Wait until it’s teeming with students.” He nodded to the porter at the stone-vaulted gateway. “Good afternoon, Dickerson.”
“Afternoon, Professor Nesbitt.”
Rand led the party into a graveled quadrangle. “Do you not go by Lord?” Rose asked.
He groaned. “Far too pretentious. Besides, I earned the title Professor.”
“But now you’re a baron.”
Lily saw Rand’s jaw set. “Here, I’m a professor.”
It seemed he was determined to keep it that way. Not that Lily minded, but she wondered what sort of a struggle he’d be up against at Hawkridge. And she could tell from the tenseness in his body that in spite of his valiant effort to ignore the letter, he was worried about it, too.
She looked around the quadrangle at the stately stone buildings, built in Oxford’s traditional Gothic style. All was quiet now, but she smiled as she pictured students hurrying to meet with their tutors, young Rand and Ford among them. “The architecture matches the old colleges, but somehow it looks new.”
“Only Pembroke is newer,” Kit said. “Dorothy Wadham built this college in 1610.”
Rose made a noise of surprise. ”A woman built Wadham? I thought Oxford was strictly for men.”
Rand nodded. “It is—even the servants in the colleges are all male. But as Nicholas Wadham’s widow, Dorothy carried out his wishes. There are portraits of them both in the hall and statues just outside it. Come, I’ll show you.”
Gravel crunched beneath their feet as he led them across the quiet quadrangle. The figures made a striking composition framing the door, King James on one side and the founders on the other. The statue of Nicholas Wadham was holding a model of the college.
“He never actually saw it,” Rand said. “They began building after his death.” He tugged open the heavy door. “Go in. The hall is beautiful.”
While the others went inside, he held Lily back, leaning close for a short, sweet kiss that left her feeling light-headed. “I think we’re going to be very happy here,” he murmured.
“I think so, too…if we get to stay.” Lily felt his arm tense beneath her hand. “Are you certain you’ll be all right traveling to Hawkridge alone?”
“I must be, since I’ve got no other choice.” He sighed, pulling away slightly. “I own it won’t be pleasant. But you heard your mother—I’m grown now, and my father can no longer force his will upon me.”
Though she couldn’t argue the truth of his statement, Lily knew that parents tended to have ways of influencing their children. She also knew Rand was harboring a great deal of resentment that might cloud his judgement where his father was concerned.
She squeezed the tense arm, wishing she could be by his side when the meeting took place. His muscles relaxed, and she let him walk her inside. Passing an entrance screen of exquisite Jacobean woodwork, she gawked at the hall’s great hammerbeam roof before her gaze dropped to the portraits of the founders. Nicholas Wadham wore a tall black hat, Dorothy a flattish cap and an uncomfortable-looking neck ruff. “They look formidable,” she said.
Kit smiled. “Considering all the pranks they’ve witnessed over the years, I suspect they’re disapproving.”
Rose rotated in a circle, taking in the solemn stained-glass windows and the long rows of tables with candelabras spaced down their middles. “I cannot picture Ford here.”
“He came three times a day,” Rand assured her, “dutifully wearing the required robe. Ford Chase was never one to miss a meal.”
Rose nearly smiled, and Lily noted with pleasure that her sister hadn’t uttered a spiteful word since the start of the tour. Could she possibly be thawing? As they exited the hall, Lily saw Kit slanting Rose a sharp, appreciative look. Well, she always had been a beauty, so long as she wasn’t scowling.
Rand took them to the chapel, so they could see its magnificent east window depicting Jonah’s whale, then turned to lead them out of the college.
“What’s this?” Rose asked, stopping by an unassuming door to stare at four lines of lettering crudely carved into the wood.
Rand smiled. “When King Charles slept in that room one night, the Earl of Rochester wrote that.”
“He didn’t.” Sounding wickedly intrigued, Rose read aloud.
“Here lies a great and mighty king,
Whose promise none relied on.
He never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.”
Their collective laughter rang through the empty quadrangle.
“Was the king angry?” Lily wondered.
“To the contrary,” Rand said, “he found it quite amusing. He claimed his words were his own, while his deeds were those of his ministers.”
In high spirits, they left Wadham and walked the unpaved streets. Lily already loved this city, a city so steeped in tradition that new buildings were built in old styles. She nearly burst out laughing when she noticed Lady flitting along from tree to tree, then glanced around and found Beatrix stalking them in the shadows. She decided to keep quiet about that, given that Rand was uneasy around her constant companions. But her heart sang to see that her animal friends would be comfortable here in Oxford, too.
Of course, that was assuming she and Rand ended up living here.
“The Sheldonian Theatre,” Kit announced. They all stopped to gaze up at the cupola atop its domed roof. “A friend built it,” he added, sidling closer to Rose. “Christopher Wren. His first large public building.”
Rose failed to look impressed with either the building or Kit’s friendship with the celebrated architect. “I’ve met Mr. Wren,” she said. “He attended my sister’s wedding.”
Seemingly undiscouraged, Kit tried the doors and looked disappointed to find them locked. “The ceiling inside is amazing.”
Rand nodded. “It’s painted to look like the sky.”
“But that’s just ornamentation.” Kit leaned against the double doors. “The ceiling itself is a wonder of advanced construction,
