As she walked away, her fingertips went to her own smooth skin. Would Rand still love her if she succumbed to the pox?
She rubbed the scars on the back of her hand, telling herself not to be silly. She would love him no matter what disfigurement he might suffer, for better or worse, as the marriage vows said. And when she locked her eyes on his, she knew, for a fact, he felt the same.
Behind the dairy, another fenced yard was teeming with the dogs she’d heard earlier. Despite her worries, a grin spread on her face. She gathered her skirts to climb the rails.
“They’re dangerous,” someone said, not unkindly.
She turned to see Etta, the older woman who’d shown her to her room. Etta bore smallpox scars as well, but not nearly as many as the milkmaid, and her large green eyes and curly gray hair made Lily think she had probably been lovely as a young woman.
“I’ve been sent to look for you,” Etta explained.
“By whom?”
“The marquess. He wishes to know your whereabouts.”
“Well then, tell him I’m playing with the dogs,” Lily said, amazed at her own boldness.
Why, Rose would scarcely recognize her. Loving Rand had awakened her newfound strength.
A smile twitched at the corners of Etta’s mouth. “If you won’t mind my saying, my lady, nobody plays with those dogs.”
Lily turned and looked again. They were huge dogs—mastiffs—and there were more than a dozen. But she’d never met a dog she didn’t like. Or even more important, one who hadn’t liked her.
“Well, then,” she said blithely, “it’s about time someone did play with the poor creatures.”
And ignoring Etta’s gasp, she bunched her skirts and climbed over the fence.
THIRTY-NINE
WHEN RAND returned from his run, he headed straight for his old room to wash his face and change his shirt. Then he went in search of Lily, and was dismayed to find the Queen’s Bedchamber empty but for Rose napping on the opulent golden counterpane.
Not for the first time, he wondered why Rose was playing chaperone here. The Oxford excursion had seemed to take the edge off her fury, but she was still clearly hostile toward her sister. Why would she agree to do a favor for her?
Impatient to find Lily, Rand retreated to the antechamber, grabbed his surcoat off the chair, and shoved his arms into the sleeves. He slipped his cravat back around his neck and strode over to a massive gilt-framed mirror to tie the neat knot his father had always required of him. In his rush, his fingers refused to cooperate.
“Trouble, my lord?”
The mirror reflected a woman poking her head through the doorway.
“Hmm?” He turned and, seeing it was Etta, experienced an absurd rush of nostalgia. She’d aged, of course, and she was newly scarred since he’d last seen her, though not too badly. She seemed shorter than he’d remembered. But the placid green eyes were the same.
Those were eyes one could count on. He hadn’t thought about Etta in years, and he felt a wave of shame for that. But he hadn’t wanted to remember the people here who’d cared for him.
The people who could be hurt if he failed to figure something out.
“Oh, please don’t call me my lord, Nurse Etta. You’re supposed to call me Randal in a stern tone of voice.”
When she laughed, it wasn’t an old lady’s laugh—it was the one he remembered from his childhood. Nurse Etta may have been stern when it was required, but most times she had been kindly and good-natured.
“Then don’t call me Nurse Etta.” She came close and took over tying the cravat. “My word, that makes me feel as though I’m still responsible for you three young hellions.” She smiled up at him, looking much like the younger woman he remembered, despite the smallpox scars. “I’ve been plain Etta for years.”
“How did that happen?”
“Why so disapproving?” Finished, she patted his chest and stepped back. “When Margery grew into a young lady, I faced the choice of finding another household with small children elsewhere, or taking a different position here. Your father was kind enough to let me stay on.”
He’d never expected to hear the words your father and kind in the same sentence, and his expression must have shown it.
“Circumstances change, Randal,” she added in that old Nurse Etta tone of voice. “It’s up to us to accept them and move on.”
He suspected those words were directed to him and his current situation, but he didn’t want to hear them right now. “I’m looking for Lady Lily.”
“A lovely young woman.” She took out a cloth and rubbed at a smudge on the mirror. “She’s outside playing with the dogs.”
“What dogs? You cannot mean…no…”
She plumped a pillow, then looked up. “Yes. The marquess’s dogs.”
That was worse than learning Lily was with his father. His heart pounding, Rand headed outside at a run.
But when he reached the enclosure, he told himself he should have known better. He stood for a moment just watching. Lily was fine, if covered in dog slobber. In fact, she seemed to be in her element.
She had a fawn-colored dog fetching a short stick and a brindle dog playing tug-of-war with a longer one. Two more dogs seemed, miraculously, to be waiting their turns for attention. Another few were simply ignoring her, but that in itself was a wonder.
Some of the hounds stood as tall as her shoulder, and they were all trained to fight, bred mainly for their fierceness. Except the marquess, everyone on the estate was terrified of the beasts, Rand included.
Thinking it might be more dangerous than running into a burning barn, he climbed into the enclosure and wove his way through the excited animals to Lily.
She glanced
