Margery’s mouth dropped open. “Uncle William, those aren’t hunting knives.”
The marquess bent and drew one out. “This one is.”
How could anyone be so blinded by stubborn pride? Rand felt anger boiling up from his gut, choking him. In frustration, he yanked the knife from his father’s hand and tossed it back into the box. “Were you aware there’s a secret space off this chamber?” he asked in a tight voice.
The one thing he’d vowed to avoid bringing into this. And in front of Margery, no less. But had he any choice? Better shocked and disturbed than married to the wrong man.
“Of course I know that,” his father scoffed. “I built the place.”
Though the room was flooded with daylight, Rand lit a candle. “Then I suppose you also know what’s in it?”
“No, I don’t. What Alban kept in his chambers was his concern alone.” Though the marquess sounded adamant, trepidation laced his voice. His gaze flickered to the fireplace. “Will you never learn that a man is entitled to privacy, Randal? How many times did I tell you not to snoop in your brother’s journals?”
Halfway to the fireplace, Rand whirled. “How many times did you beat me for it?”
“Too many to count,” the man snapped.
“Yes, too many times I tried to show you who your son was, and still you continued to deny it.” Shoving the candle into his father’s hand, Rand knelt to work the latch near the floor. “Here, at last, is your proof,” he gritted out. “Try to tell me I’m mistranslating this to my advantage.”
He stood and swung open the panel.
The marquess stepped into the small space. And his face went white.
As though in a daze, Margery moved closer.
“No!” Rand reached to stop her and turned her into his chest. His arms went around her protectively. “Take a good look,” he told his father over his shoulder. “Perhaps there have been no murders in the vicinity, but that only means he stopped short of killing. You won’t convince me all those implements were meant for hunting. Or even animals.”
Silence settled over the chamber, so profound Rand could hear both his own heart and Margery’s. And the marquess’s harsh breathing. Despite his convictions, the older man was clearly shaken.
Suddenly he stepped back and slammed the panel, the sound shattering the stillness. For a moment, he just stood in place, swaying on his feet as an odd sort of calmness settled over him. “This doesn’t prove Alban meant to kill Bennett Armstrong.”
“No,” Rand agreed. “It only goes to show he was capable. His journal is the proof.”
“I cannot read it. And I refuse to—”
“To take my word as to its translation? I’m not surprised, since you never have. But this time, I’m prepared to sit with you, for days if necessary, and demonstrate, step-by-step, how the code was broken and exactly what that journal says.” To Rand’s mortification, his voice broke. “You owe me the chance to do that, Father. All my life you’ve dismissed me, and you’ve already admitted that was a mistake on your part. You owe me.”
It didn’t take days.
Four hours later, his father slumped in his chair and buried his face in his hands.
SIXTY-EIGHT
STANDING IN HER mother’s perfumery, Lily gazed out the window and squinted into the distance. “Where on earth is he?”
On another day, Rose might have laughed, but she didn’t. “Poor Lily. Give him time.” She chose several cheerful yellow daffodils and added them to an arrangement. “He had to ride there and convince his father and then come all the way back…why, he likely won’t be here for hours.”
Mum plucked rose petals, tossing them into the clear glass bulb of the fancy distillery Ford had made for her while courting Violet. “Your sister’s right, dear. Come and help me. It will take your mind off the waiting.”
With a sigh, Lily walked to the table and idly picked up a rose. “I know Rand will convince his father,” she said, as much to assure herself as them.
“Of course he will,” Rose said. “If you’d seen that translation, you’d be even more certain. Rand’s brother intended murder. The marquess won’t be able to deny it.”
“But that doesn’t mean he’ll allow us to wed.”
That statement was met with silence, because, unfortunately, there was no arguing with it. No guarantees that proof of Alban’s intent would lead to the marquess changing his mind.
“Tell me about Hawkridge,” Mum said at last. “I’ve never been there myself. Is it beautiful?”
“Very.” Lily absently plucked rose petals. “Much newer than Trentingham—Rand’s father built it just before the war—and every room is exquisite.” Except for Rand’s, which was rather plain, but she didn’t feel up to explaining that. “Why, the dining room even has leather on the walls, with designs stamped in pure gold. But the place is eerie, I think. Or perhaps it’s just cold. It feels as though no one there has been happy for a long, long time.”
“Perhaps they haven’t,” Mum suggested. “But that will change, of course. You and Rand will be happy indeed, and your happiness will rub off on everyone else. And I imagine that after you move there you’ll be able to make improvements, make Hawkridge Hall feel warmer and more like home. If you cannot redecorate the whole house, you should at least have a say in the rooms assigned to you and Rand.”
Picturing Rand’s tiny chamber, Lily sighed. Maybe—assuming they were allowed to marry—they could occupy Alban’s suite of rooms instead. But if that were the case, a complete overhaul would be necessary before she’d agree to sleep there even once.
Rose added several carnations to the colorful spray she was creating. “Will you live at Hawkridge after you marry, then? Will Rand have to give up his post at Oxford?”
“I don’t know. As far as I’m aware, Rand and his father have yet to discuss any of those details.” She tossed the last of the rose petals into the glass bulb. “All
