Mum fitted the lid on the distillery. “Has Rand resigned himself to leaving his position?”
“I don’t think he’s had enough time to think about it. But I doubt he’ll be happy leaving Oxford.” Lily hoped he’d be happy just being with her, whether at Oxford or Hawkridge or somewhere else entirely. But she knew better. “He worked very hard to attain that professorship. And he enjoys that life. He’s never fancied himself a baron, let alone a marquess.”
Finished, Rose stepped back to eye her masterpiece. “I shouldn’t think that would be hard to get used to.”
Rose might have matured a bit, but she was still Rose.
“How about you?” Mum asked. “Will you be happy at Hawkridge?”
“I’ll be happy wherever Rand is,” she said, knowing it was true. “I’ll have him, and my animals…”
Her voice trailed off.
Mum looked up sharply. “What is it, dear? Are you afraid Lord Hawkridge won’t approve of your menagerie?”
“No,” she said slowly. “He loves animals—more than people, truth be told. He raises mastiffs.”
Mum smiled. “Well, then, it sounds like Hawkridge will be the perfect place to build your animal home.”
Rose tweaked a few flowers, balancing the arrangement. “From what I saw, Hawkridge has plenty of space.”
“No. I mean, yes, as you know, there are acres and acres of land.” Lily took a deep breath and decided to come out with it. “But you might as well know that if the marquess blesses this marriage, it will be with the stipulation that my inheritance goes to him.”
Rose gasped. “How dare he demand such a thing!”
“There was no demand. I offered of my own free will. Hawkridge was mortgaged during the war, you see, to provide funds for King Charles. The marquess was on the verge of losing it when Margery was dropped in his lap, along with her considerable fortune. Hawkridge would face bankruptcy without her land and money.”
“Or your money,” Rose said darkly.
“Exactly. Don’t look so sour, Rose. It was my idea to offer my inheritance in exchange for the right to wed Rand, and I’ll gladly do so, if only the marquess will allow it.”
Rose plucked a daisy from the vase and pointed it at Lily. “All your life, you’ve dreamed of nothing but building a home for your strays.” She shook the flower, emphasizing her words. “Maybe sometimes I’ve laughed at that, but I know how important it is to you. How can you give that up so cavalierly?”
“I’m in love,” Lily said simply.
But she caught Mum’s gaze on her and knew her mother hadn’t missed the wistfulness in her voice.
SIXTY-NINE
NOT THE SORT of man to indulge in self-pity for long, nor to accept blame, the marquess had made an excuse and gone off to his study. Half an hour later, when Rand and Margery asked to talk to him, he readily—if gruffly—invited them in.
They sat in two chairs facing him, gazing up at him seated behind his desk on the raised dais. A few awkward moments passed before Rand cleared his throat.
“Father,” he began, hoping calling him such might diffuse a bit of the tension, “we would like your assurance that, under the circumstances, you will no longer pursue the conviction of Bennett Armstrong for murder.”
“Of course I won’t. I’m a reasonable man when presented with persuasive evidence.”
“Well, then, Margery respectfully requests permission to marry him.”
“Does she?” the marquess asked with a raised brow. He shifted his gaze to his foster daughter. “I haven’t heard such a respectful request.”
“Uncle William…” Margery’s voice shook, and she paused to control it. “May I please wed Bennett?”
“No,” the man snapped. “I didn’t agree before Alban’s death, and nothing has changed between then and now. Marriage is primarily a business arrangement, and an alliance of Hawkridge with the Maybanks estates is best for both parties.”
“You mean Hawkridge requires Margery’s money,” Rand said, struggling to remain calm. “As I’ve told you, Lily has ten thousand pounds that she’s willing to invest in Hawkridge’s future. Added to her dowry of three thousand, it should be a sufficient sum.”
At Lily’s name, the marquess’s eyes had softened. It was amazing how much his father had apparently come to like her. He almost looked wistful.
But his expression swiftly hardened again. “I vowed on Simon Maybanks’s deathbed that his daughter would wed my heir. Lady Lily’s inheritance does nothing to mitigate that.”
“Uncle William.” Margery rose and walked over to him, stepping up onto the raised dais. She placed her palms on his desk and leaned toward him, her eyes pleading. “I was an infant when my father claimed that boon, and he was only attempting to provide for my future the best that he knew how. Don’t you think he would have been thrilled to marry me to a baron with Bennett’s vast lands and income? Most especially because I love Bennett so very much, and he loves me in return. You must agree that if my father had had any way of foreseeing such an opportunity, he would have given his blessing freely.”
In the silence that followed, Margery backed down the step and returned to her seat. She folded her hands on her black-skirted lap. A clock ticked on the mantel, unnaturally loud in the stillness. The marquess blinked but said nothing.
“Father,” Rand pressed, hoping the man’s lack of response meant he was considering Margery’s words, “you’ve told me that your treatment of me, in years gone past, was because you blamed me for my mother’s death.”
The marquess’s lips thinned. “I’ve also told you I’m sorry.”
“And I’ve accepted your apology—and your explanation.” Saying the words, Rand suddenly realized he had. “But what I’m wondering now, or perhaps I should say what I’m assuming, is that you loved her very much.”
“Of course I did,” his father said, looking bewildered. “I loved her with all my heart.”
“Then whyever would you wish to deprive your son and foster daughter of that same sort of
