“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”
“Oh, I imagine you’re just as relieved as I am to hear it from you.” Turning to walk back toward the house, she slanted him a sidelong glance. “Did you truly believe I love you that way?”
“I didn’t think so,” he said. “But I wasn’t sure, and many wed for alliance, not love, and the marquess wanted—and Lily worried—”
He stopped, humiliated to find himself babbling.
When a student babbled, he accused the ninnyhammer of being unprepared. Which Rand was, at the moment. Woefully unprepared to deal with this—love, pressure from his family, responsibilities he’d never wanted nor thought would be his…all of it.
They reentered the formal gardens, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes. “Well,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood for both of their sakes, “you cannot blame me for wondering if you might, after all, be besotted. I did, if you’ll remember, grace you with your first kiss.”
That earned a good-natured smirk. “I don’t remember ‘grace’ being an applicable description. And if I recall correctly, it was your first kiss as well. You seemed to be concerned about going off into the world an inexperienced man.” Her green eyes perhaps a bit more lively than before, she glanced over at him. “Have you gained any experience, Randal Nesbitt?”
“Oh, in the past ten years I’ve kissed a lady or two. And you?”
“Besides your loathsome brother at his insistence?” She looked as though the memory made her gag. But then her features softened. “I’m in love with Bennett Armstrong.”
“Bennett Armstrong?” He frowned, trying to remember. “Is he not a scrawny boy of twelve?”
In spite of her despondency, a little chuckle bubbled up. “He was when you left at thirteen. He’s twenty-two now. And not scrawny, I can assure you.”
The warmth in her voice told Rand she had the same feelings for Bennett that he had for Lily. Or a likeness of them, anyway. He had a hard time believing most people lived with these strong emotions.
He attempted to picture a grown-up Bennett Armstrong. “His father is a baron, yes?”
“Bennett is the baron now. His father died when the smallpox swept through the county. Three years ago, that was.”
That explained Etta’s new scars, and the ones he’d seen on other old family retainers. “You never wrote me about the smallpox.”
Margery shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d care.”
He hadn’t cared, not then. Guilt ate at his insides.
“Bennett is a wealthy baron,” she continued. “His father left him gold and estates. I’m certain my own rich but untitled father would have been pleased to see me happily wed to such a gentleman, no matter that Bennett won’t be a marquess like Alban. Like you,” she corrected herself. “Yet I argued with Uncle William until I was blue in the face, and he refused to let us marry.” As they drew closer to the house, Margery’s feet dragged. “And now there’s the complication…”
She seemed reticent to continue. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “The money? He told me about that. The way the marquess sees it, this is a matter of honor and finances. Love doesn’t figure into the equation.”
“Money doesn’t figure into it, either.” She frowned. “I told you, Bennett is a wealthy man. With land, and—”
“It’s not your wealth the marquess is concerned with, but his own.”
They’d reached the edge of the garden, and Margery plopped down on a bench. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t he discuss this with you?”
“No. You think he’d deign to explain himself to a woman? He prefers to be dictatorial. It’s how he gets his jollies.”
With a sour laugh, he sat beside her. “You’re not wrong about that,” he said and explained about Hawkridge’s dependence on her property and the repercussions of losing that income.
“No wonder he didn’t want to admit it!” Margery burst out when he was finished. “He kept mumbling about honor and the promise to my father. And now, of course, since it happened, he has the perfect excuse to refuse Bennett—”
“Lily,” Rand interrupted her, “has a solution for Hawkridge’s finances.”
“Does she?” Margery blinked. “But that doesn’t solve—”
“She has an inheritance. Ten thousand pounds. Plus another three thousand from her marriage portion. That ought to be enough to set the marquess on the road to solvency, and then everyone can wed whomever they want.”
Margery toyed with her black skirts. “No, Randy,” she started.
A booming bark drew their attention to the river. In the distance Rand saw Lily toss a stick, and a big, wet mastiff jump into the water to retrieve it. Beatrix sat nearby, placidly watching. Apparently the monsters didn’t eat cats, after all.
“What are you looking at?” Margery asked.
“Lily.” The hound scrambled up the bank and shook violently, spraying her with water that left big dark splotches on her light blue gown. He laughed aloud. “She’s playing fetch in the river with one of the marquess’s dogs!”
The sight of her, being so very Lily, lightened his heart. She caught him watching and waved. Waving back, he turned to Margery. “I must go tell her you want Bennett, not me. She’ll be so happy.”
“Rand—”
“Don’t worry, Margery.” She looked so distressed. “We’ll make it right.” Sudden impulse made him lean and give her a quick, chaste kiss on the lips. “For old times’ sake,” he said lightly, rising from the bench. “Was it better than last time?”
He was gratified to see the ghost of a smile return. “Perhaps. But not as good as Bennett’s.”
“No? I’m not sure whether I’m happy to hear that or gravely insulted.” He grinned. “I need to talk to Lily; then we’ll speak with the marquess.”
He started off.
“Wait, Rand, there’s more—”
But he was already walking away, and Lily had spotted him. Whatever else Margery wanted to talk about could wait.
FORTY-FIVE
THE SMILE FROZE on Lily’s face.
He’d kissed Margery. On the lips.
He’d walked with his arm around her, too. Lily knew that, because although she’d been
