“You’re going for a run? Now?”
His fingers, working the knot in his cravat, stilled as he met her gaze. “It’s just a run, Lily. I like to do that. To—“
“To think. I know.”
Then why did she feel shut out?
Not understanding, he smiled as he handed her the lace-trimmed linen. “Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner.”
All through her bath Lily told herself that Rand’s running didn’t equate to running away—at least not from her. By the time Etta laced her into a fresh peach gown, she almost believed it.
FORTY-SIX
“JEROME, YOU may leave us now. And inform the others they are not to enter the dining room unless I ring.”
The aging footman bowed and backed away, his face betraying relief. Rand watched the marquess pick up his fork and stab a piece of buttered and sugared turnip. The staff was still wary of his father’s moods, he thought with an internal sigh. If employment were easier to come by, he imagined most of the old-timers would have left long ago.
“Now,” the marquess said, looking pointedly at Rand and then Margery. “You’re both here. It’s time to seal this betrothal and get on with our lives.”
“My lord,” Lily started.
“No.” The man waved his fork. “You’re not part of this family, my lady, and there is nothing you can add to this discussion.”
She shared a look with Rand, then set to silently picking at her food.
Seething, Rand lifted his goblet. “You’re wrong,” he said tightly. “Lily does have something to contribute—an inheritance that she’s prepared to put at your disposal in exchange for your blessing on our marriage. Ten thousand pounds, plus her dowry, which brings the total to thirteen. I believe that adds quite a bit to this discussion.”
Regardless of the fact that it was an enormous sum of money, the marquess barely blinked. “And where do you suppose that leaves Margery? Your foster sister, promised to my heir on her father’s deathbed?”
“Free to marry Bennett Armstrong.” Rand sipped smugly.
The marquess’s fork clattered to his plate. “Bennett Armstrong!” he bellowed, his face turning red. “How dare you utter that name in my house?“
Feeling Lily shudder beside him, Rand reached to squeeze her hand.
What color was left in Margery’s cheeks had vanished. “Uncle William—“
“Am I to understand,” he interrupted her in a low, dangerous voice, “that you still wish to marry that boy?”
Her lower lip quivered. “Uncle, you don’t know him. He’s a good man—“
“He’s a murderer!”
Rand’s jaw dropped open. “Murderer?”
Margery turned glistening, sorrowful eyes on him. “I tried to tell you earlier.”
“Bennett Armstrong is a murderer?”
“No!” Margery cried at the same time the marquess snapped, “Yes!”
When Lily gasped, Rand tightened his hold on her hand. But his gaze was fixed on his father.
“He murdered my son and heir,” the marquess seethed, “and I intend to see him hang.”
FORTY-SEVEN
“BENNETT IS NOT a murderer!” Margery burst out. “He did it in self-defense!” She turned to Rand, looking frantic. “Alban came after him in the first place.”
But all Rand could absorb at the moment was that Margery’s sweetheart had killed his brother.
No wonder his father was dead set against the match—it would effectively make him father-in-law to his son’s killer. Rand couldn’t blame him for abhorring the thought, no matter the whys and hows of Alban’s demise.
“My son,” the marquess said, pointing his knife at Margery, “was not a man capable of killing. Your paramour murdered him in cold blood. Of course the blackguard would feign innocence.” He bared his teeth. “Surely even a besotted, addlebrained female like you can see through his lies?”
“Alban would kill,” she shot back. “I saw him kill, time and time again. A rabbit, a lamb. My very own cat when she pounced on him as he was trying to force himself on me.”
Lily hid her face in her hands.
“It’s Bennett who’s incapable of killing without just provocation,” Margery added hotly.
The marquess bristled. ”And he doubtless considered someone determined to wed his bride as ‘just provocation.’”
“Stop it, both of you!” Rand broke in. “This squabbling gets us no closer to the truth.” Ignoring his father’s thunderous expression, he asked in a calm, reasonable tone, “Was there an inquest?”
“Yes,” Margery crowed, “and the bailiff made no arrest—because the accused is innocent.”
“You foolish girl.” Her guardian’s eyes blazed. “It came down to his word against a dead man’s. Unhappily, there wasn’t enough evidence for an indictment. But there will be soon. I’ve offered a hundred pound reward for information confirming his guilt.”
Lily looked up at that. “A hundred pounds?”
“You cannot!” Margery gripped the table, her voice rising in panic. “Uncle William—”
“I certainly can. And I have. The messengers were sent out yesterday morning.”
Margery’s eyes filled with tears. “Then Bennett’s as good as dead.”
Rand couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with her. To do so would be a lie. A footman wouldn’t earn a hundred pounds in ten years, let alone a groom or coachman or maid. For that kind of money, someone would come forward with incriminating evidence, truthful or not.
The marquess wielded a lot of power in this small piece of England, and if he meant to see the fellow hang, Rand had no doubt he would see it done.
Plainly seeing the truth in Rand’s eyes, Margery let out a pathetic moan and rose from her chair, rushing to kneel at the marquess’s knees. Her black gown pooled around her. “I beg you, Uncle William, don’t do this. I’ll have no will to go on should Bennett die. Let him live long enough for me to prove his innocence.”
“Impossible,” his father snapped, “given that he’s guilty.”
She gazed up at him, the tears overflowing, making tracks down her pale cheeks. “Then you’ll be killing me along with him.”
Just then, she looked entirely too capable of doing herself in, and Rand watched, amazed, as his father’s features softened with compassion.
But it wasn’t long before they hardened again. “The blackguard must pay for
