Half an hour later, Rand found himself dragged out of the house, drafted into helping his father, since, as Lady Trentingham pointed out, it wasn’t term time at Oxford.
No sooner was he riding away than Lily’s mother started a guest list.
“WELL, DARLING,” Joseph said that night, “that was very cleanly done, although I suspect the poor lad might die of longing if there were such a disease. And I don’t expect our daughter was very happy, either.”
“Nonsense,” Chrystabel said as she climbed into bed. “They can survive two weeks.”
“Two weeks entirely apart? I’d like to see someone try to keep me from you for that space of time. That someone would not survive long.”
“They won’t be entirely apart. We’re all attending Margery’s wedding on Saturday.”
“Well then, we had better be especially vigilant that day, my pretty Chrysanthemum. They’re bound to try to sneak away.” Drawing her to him, Joseph kissed her soundly. “It’s what I would do in their situation, after all.”
Chrystabel knew he was right, but she put those concerns aside for now. Tonight she had no inclination to worry or plot. Tonight she could only thank God, from the bottom of her heart, that her daughter’s happiness was secured at last.
SEVENTY-TWO
“SOON,” RAND whispered, “it will be our turn.”
Lily watched the starry-eyed bride and groom exit Hawkridge’s grand red-and-gold private chapel as though they were walking on air. Tears had welled in her eyes more than once during the emotional ceremony. “I cannot wait,” she whispered back, reaching up to touch the pendant Rand had given her.
The past few days without him had felt so empty.
Holding his hand, she walked sedately from the chapel, following the other guests to the great hall. Once there, she rushed to hug her soon-to-be sister-in-law. “The wedding was beautiful! You both look so happy.”
“We are,” Margery and Bennett said together, sharing a joyful smile.
Rand hugged Margery, too, while Lily watched, not at all jealous this time.
“Your gown is gorgeous,” she told her.
“Thank you.” Margery’s fingers skimmed the pearls and embroidery that covered her pale green satin overskirt. “It’s my best.”
Standing nearby, the marquess narrowed his eyes. “What happened to the gown you ordered in Windsor?”
“Oh.” Color flooded her cheeks. “Well. I—I…it wasn’t quite ready, after all. You didn’t give the seamstress much time, Uncle William.”
“Hmmph,” he said and walked away.
Rand waited until the man was out of earshot and then grinned at his foster sister. “You never ordered a wedding gown, did you? I suspected you were with Bennett that night.”
“It’s the vows that count,” she said evasively. “Not the clothes.”
Her groom laughed and gave her a kiss. As other guests pressed close to offer felicitations, Rand turned to Lily, a silvery glint in his eyes. “Come. I have something to show you.”
He led her from the great hall, grabbing a pewter goblet off a sideboard and handing it to her as they went.
She sipped, then smiled when she tasted what was in it. “Your father poured the champagne my parents brought.”
“He likes your parents.” His shrug encompassed all the bafflement she knew he felt at his father’s recent behavior. Beatrix appeared and padded at their heels as Rand entered the corridor that led to his room. But instead of turning left, he walked straight ahead into Alban’s bedchamber.
Only it wasn’t Alban’s bedchamber anymore. It wasn’t a bedchamber at all.
She stared. “What happened?”
“You’ll be living here the week after next. I told my father we needed more room. He didn’t argue, so I sent a message to Kit. The day after that, a crew of men showed up to begin the remodel. They’ll resume tomorrow, once all the wedding guests go home.”
The dark paneling had been stripped and was half refinished in a warm, honey tone that lightened the whole chamber. The door to the secret space stood open, and she could see it had been emptied. The rest of the room was empty, too.
“Even the bed is gone,” she said.
“This will be our sitting room.” The drapes had been removed, and soft summer rain blew against the naked windows. Taking her hand, Rand drew her into Alban’s old sitting room, now dominated by a huge four-poster bed draped in yellow silk. “I had it brought from another chamber. Just until you choose a new one. Something without a history. I thought we could go to London, and—”
“Thank you,” she whispered past a sudden lump in her throat. She knew Rand didn’t care whether he slept in the same room that Alban had, or even in the same bed. He’d done this for her. “Where are Alban’s things?”
“I had them sent to a foundling home. Every last item. I asked Father, and he didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either. I think he wants to forget that Alban ever existed. He even had his portrait removed from the long gallery.”
In an effort to steady herself, she took a sip of champagne. “Did he send that to the foundling home, too?”
“No.” Again, that baffled shrug. “He burned it.”
“Maybe he’ll have one painted of you to replace it.”
He gave a strangled laugh. ”I wouldn’t go so far as to assume that.”
Beatrix followed them back through the sitting room and into Alban’s old dressing room, and it was empty, too. The clothes presses were gone, the walls stripped and waiting to be finished. “Kit is arranging for someone to build cabinets.” Rand took the goblet from Lily’s hand. “Newfangled ones with drawers.”
She turned to him. “It all sounds wonderful. I love it. I love you.”
“And I love you.” A smile lit his eyes as he sipped, regarding her over the rim. Without swallowing, he bent and put his mouth to hers, giving her a sweet, cold, sparkly kiss as he shared the bubbly beverage.
She swallowed and laughed. “Eleven more days
