“I’ve made my apologies,” the marquess muttered. He glanced through the open door. “I’ve dogs to attend to.”
“By all means,” Rand said, waving him off.
The old goat always had valued his dogs over his son.
FIFTY-FOUR
THE RIDE TO Trentingham was awkward.
Rand was subdued while Rose was silent altogether, leaving Lily struggling to keep up a civil chatter more or less on her own. The worst of it was that for the first time since the baptism, she found herself wracking her brain to find anything to discuss with Rand. Their ease with each other was gone, their relationship changing already.
It was only two hours between the estates, yet the time passed like the carriage’s wheels were mired in mud. Though Beatrix rode inside, her warm softness on Lily’s lap failed to provide any comfort. When they finally rolled up before the manor, she couldn’t wait to get into the house.
Just inside the door, Mum met her and wrapped her in a hug. “That was a short visit.”
Lily clung to her mother for a moment, inhaling her familiar floral scent. “It felt like a lifetime.” When she pulled away, she looked around as though seeing her home for the first time. So light and bright, the staircase off the entry fashioned of classical white balustrades instead of heavy, dark carved wood. The atmosphere warm and loving, not cold and full of resentment. “It’s good to be home.”
Concern flooded her mother’s brown eyes. “Do you not like Hawkridge Hall? Will you not want to live there?”
“Oh, Mum, it seems I won’t be living there even if I did want to!” Here, finally, was someone who cared. Lily had felt invisible at Hawkridge Hall—no, worse than invisible. A burden to Rand and persona non grata to everyone else, including her own sister. “Things have changed—”
Spotting Rand standing in the doorway, she broke off.
“Rand.” Though Mum smiled at him, the expression in her eyes said she knew something was wrong. “How very nice to see you again. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you? Or does your father expect you back at Hawkridge this afternoon?”
“No,” he said dully. “I’m going home to Oxford for a few days.”
“The sun sets late this time of year, so you can stay for dinner, then, at least.”
He shrugged as though he didn’t care. “I’m going for a run,” he said to Lily, already struggling out of his surcoat. “I’ll be back in a while.”
“No,” she said. “Oh, no.”
As he turned and walked away, Mum laid a gentle hand on Lily’s arm. “I can see that things didn’t go well with his father. Leave him be, dear.”
“No.” Lily started toward the door. “I’ve let him be quite enough. I’ll be back and explain later.”
“Lily!” Mum called.
But she was already out the door and down the steps.
FIFTY-FIVE
“WAIT!” LILY called.
But Rand didn’t, even though she was sure he’d heard her. To the contrary, he shoved his coat and cravat into the carriage and then began to run, putting more distance between them.
She hurried past blue and yellow flower beds in her high Louis-heeled shoes. Hoping she wouldn’t twist an ankle in the soft grass, she wished she hadn’t dressed so fashionably this morning.
The shoes and the lavender gown with the heavy overskirt had been a final, half-hearted attempt to impress her future father-in-law. If she wasn’t so forlorn, she’d laugh at herself for her characteristic optimism. The fact was, there was nothing she could do to make Lord Hawkridge like her. He was bent on his son marrying Margery, and that was that.
He’d probably sent up a cheer when he saw her climb into the carriage and ride away.
There was Rand, crossing the bridge to the other side of the river.
“Rand!”
Thanks to living with her father, Lily knew how to make her voice carry. But although Rand stopped running, he didn’t stop altogether, instead pacing determinedly along the far bank.
Hopping on one foot and then the other, she pulled off her shoes and left them jumbled on the daisy-strewn lawn. Then she picked up her skirts and ran—across the grass, over the bridge, along the path with the river on one side and grazing fields on the other.
Her face heated and her lungs burned. She developed a searing stitch in her side. But she wouldn’t stop running.
She would never give up on Rand Nesbitt.
In the woods beyond, she spotted him in the distance and pushed herself to close the gap. “Rand,” she called breathlessly.
He slowed, stopped, and turned, looking defeated. “You’ll cut your feet,” he said in a dead voice.
Panting, she looked down to the forest floor, littered with twigs and leaves. Her silk stockings were torn, which was no surprise, but she hadn’t noticed when it happened.
“I—don’t—care,” she said between gasping attempts to catch her breath. She bent at the waist, hugging the pain in her side. “All I care for, Rand, is you.”
If she’d hoped he’d melt at those words, she was disappointed. “Sometimes,” he said, “I need to be by myself. Can you not leave a body alone?”
“I’ve tried that. It hasn’t worked.”
“I need to think. I cannot think.”
She straightened and met his gaze. She had something she needed to tell him, and she knew he needed to share something, too. A piece of the puzzle was missing—the piece she suspected had made him run. “We can think together. Maybe two heads are better than one.”
His jaw tensed as though he were forcibly holding back words. He crossed his arms, shutting her out. His gaze drifted up to the canopy of leaves overhead.
The solitude he wanted would solve nothing. “I’m staying here, Rand. I won’t leave you. Do you hear me?” She shouted it to the trees. “I won’t leave you, no matter what your father says!”
Slowly he lowered his eyes. “Do you believe in fate?”
“I believe you’re my fate.”
“Lily, my sweet.” He shook his head, reaching for her. “Come here.”
His arms
