“If Lord Armstrong is telling the truth,” Rose put in.
Yes, if, Lily thought. But he’d seemed so sincere. And she had to believe him, because proving his innocence was the only chance she and Rand had.
“Finding the journal could work against you instead of helping,” Rose pointed out. “If it’s found and there’s no mention of ill will towards the baron, your father will take that as proof of Alban’s innocence. Even should witnesses come forward, the journal will give him an excuse to disbelieve them and keep the noose around Armstrong’s neck, so that Rand and Margery will be forced to submit to his will.”
It was an intelligent observation. Annoyingly intelligent. And depressingly true, but Lily couldn’t think about that now.
Hope had taken flight and refused to be grounded.
She clutched Rand’s arm. “Do you really think you can find the journal?”
“For all we know, it could be sitting in plain view in his bedchamber.” Rand crossed his fingers. “After all, it’s been many years since he had to contend with my snooping. But otherwise, I’ll turn the house upside down if need be.”
“And inside out,” Kit added. “I’m going along to help.”
“Thank you,” Lily said, impulsively giving him a hug. “I’m going, too.”
“Lily.” Rand stared at the oak-planked floor for a moment, then raised his gaze to meet hers. “I came to tell you my plans as I had promised, not to take you with me. Before I left, the marquess specifically instructed me not to bring you back.”
Although she wasn’t really surprised, Lily felt crushed. Had Rand’s father hated her that much?
“Nonsense,” said Rose. “The Ashcroft motto is Question Convention, and Lily will do as she likes. You cannot leave her here languishing while you men have all the fun. Besides, she could very well notice something you miss. Women’s minds work in different ways than men’s.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Kit put in dryly, but Lily noticed him eyeing Rose with approval. “She’s right, Rand. Lily should come along. We’ll need all the help we can get.”
“But I never—” Rand started.
“Never say never.” Kit raised a dark, meaningful brow. “Didn’t you declare your father was done dictating your life? Ten years ago.”
Rand’s shoulders went back. “My concern is for Lily, not myself. She’s going to suffer a rather chilly welcome.”
“Then I’d best bring my cloak,” she said, smiling when Rose laughed.
“Wait!” Their mother appeared out of nowhere as usual. “Where do you suppose you’re off to?”
Apprehensive of letting her daughter intrude where she was unwelcome—and where, moreover, she’d been miserable—Mum at first refused to let Lily go. But earnest explanations from Rand and impassioned pleas from Lily slowly wore her down. Eventually it was decided that the three would travel on horseback for the sake of haste, then return to Trentingham overnight rather than trespass on Lord Hawkridge’s grudging hospitality.
Though Mum had granted her consent, Lily could see she was still anxious about the plan. She hated causing her mother strife, but she knew—and she’d figured it out for herself this time—that her place was at Hawkridge, with Rand. The intent behind Rose’s words may have been malicious, but the words themselves rang true: If she wanted to belong at Hawkridge, she needed to be at Hawkridge.
In fact, Lily couldn’t wait to leave, even knowing the marquess would be furious to see her. It felt good to do what was right instead of what was nice.
And it felt even better to be doing something to remedy her misfortunes instead of sitting here feeling frustrated while the hour moved ever closer to Rand and Margery’s wedding.
SIXTY-TWO
LILY QUICKLY changed her gown for her blue riding habit, and an hour and a half later, they arrived at Hawkridge Hall.
As they rode up the path from the river, Lily stared at the massive mansion. “It doesn’t look evil,” she said thoughtfully.
Rand leaned from the saddle to smooth her hair. “It won’t be,” he promised, “just as soon as we’ve exposed Alban for what he was.”
“Goodness, I hope we can find that journal.”
“We will. We have to.”
The stables were around the back. As they headed in that direction, past the dog enclosure, Lily gasped.
“Oh, my heavens!” She slid from the saddle and hit the grass running. “Rex!”
Gaping, Rand watched her scale the fence. By the time he dismounted and caught up with her, she was kneeling in the dirt, her hands on either side of one very agitated mastiff’s head.
“Hold him like this,” she ordered without looking up. Rand leaned down to comply, not a simple task since the animal was violently pawing at its face. It gasped and gulped, its stomach pumping as though it was trying to vomit.
Lily reached for the dog’s mouth and pried it open, ignoring all the foamy saliva that dripped from the canine’s black lips. Rand struggled to hold the animal still while she pulled out its long tongue.
“Up!” she yelled, her fingers moving the tongue this way and that. “I need to see!” Kit leapt to help, angling the mastiff’s head toward the sun while Lily peered down its throat. “I knew it!” she ground out through gritted teeth, calm and determined although she was clearly livid.
Heedless of the animal’s sharp teeth, she reached back into its mouth. But she couldn’t grasp whatever was choking the poor creature.
Only a whimper betrayed Lily’s distress. After that, she was all action. She stood and, leaving the dog’s front paws on the ground, went around to lift him from behind. Though the canine was easily twice her weight, she managed to raise both his legs. But she was too short to get them up high.
Rand and Kit both jumped to help, taking one hind leg each while Lily knelt again by the dog’s head. “Come on, Rex,” she pleaded. “Cough it up. Shake him!” she