“Hs’s right,” Ford broke in, apparently having finished his investigation. “It was the fault of my design—a problem with the tank mechanism.” Looking rather pained to admit that, he ran a hand back through his long brown hair. “I expect it began flooding the moment I turned my back. I never considered…it never occurred to me…”
“Never say never,” Rand interjected dryly.
Jewel went to the window. “Everyone else has gone outside.”
“Of course, you goose.” Rowan snorted. “The floor is wet all over the house.”
“The women wouldn’t want to ruin their fashionable satin slippers,” Rand added, glancing down at the water-stained shoes on Lily’s feet, visible since she was holding up her skirts.
“There are more important things than shoes,” she pointed out. “Like Violet’s carpeting. She’s going to be furious.”
“No, I’m not,” Violet said, walking in with a squish-squash sound. She went on her toes to grace her husband with a light kiss. “I’m used to catastrophes,” she declared with an exaggerated sigh. “Part and parcel of my marriage. Besides, we must only remove the carpets and spread them outside to dry. A few rain-free days and they’ll be good as new.”
“Are you sure?” Jewel asked dubiously.
“About it not raining? No,” Violet said in her practical way. “But they will eventually dry. I’m afraid, though, that this room will be uninhabitable for a day or two, at the least.” She cast Rand a regretful look.
“I can ride home,” he assured her. “Oxford is but a few hours.”
“Wait.” Ford held up a hand. “What about the translation? There’s no need for you to leave. We’ll move someone. The nursemaids—”
“I won’t have you upsetting your whole household,” Rand interrupted. Unlike the sprawling mansion Lily lived in, Lakefield was a typical L-shaped manor house. Enough rooms to sleep the family, a few servants, and a guest, but that was all.
Ford crossed his arms. “Well, I won’t have you leaving. Your house is a wreck at the moment.”
A smile twitched on Rand’s lips as he pointedly scanned the chamber. Lily bit back a laugh.
“Rowan!” Her mother’s voice floated up the stairs. “Rowan, have you and Jewel—” A gasp chopped off her sentence as she stepped into the room. “Heavens, this is—”
“A blasted mess,” Ford finished for her. “And my fault, not your son’s.”
“See?” Rowan said with a grin of vindication. “It’s not my fault Lord Randal cannot stay here.”
“It’s nobody’s fault.” Rand strode to the bed, his shoes making a sucking sound as he went. “I should probably be home badgering Kit anyway, if the house is to be finished this decade.” He reached for his luggage.
“Don’t you want to finish the translation?” Ford looked frantic. “We’ll find a place—”
“Lord Randal is welcome to stay with us,” Mum interrupted with a smile. “We’ve more guest rooms than we know what to do with.”
Lily’s mouth hung open. Why, they hardly knew the fellow.
But apparently that made no difference to Mum. “You’ll be close to Lakefield,” she added. They were naught but a quarter-hour’s carriage ride down the road. “By tomorrow, perhaps this room will once again be habitable.”
Violet glanced around mournfully. “I doubt it.”
Looking a bit dubious, Rand set down the luggage. “If I overnight at Trentingham,” he said slowly, “I can return tomorrow and help put the place to rights.”
“A generous offer,” Ford said.
Violet pushed up on her spectacles. “There’s no need for Rand to wrestle with soggy carpeting.”
“The boards underneath must be dried, lest they warp.”
“We have servants to do that sort of thing.”
“But if we had extra help…” Ford pressed.
Violet rolled her eyes. “Rand can ‘help’ you in the bone-dry laboratory upstairs, huddled over that ancient alchemy text.”
Her husband’s expression made it clear that sounded good to him.
And so it was settled. Rand would sleep at Trentingham and return in the morning.
Lily supposed it was well done of Mum to offer the hospitality, but she hoped it didn’t mean she was trying to match Rand with Rose.
That would ruin her sister’s plan.
SIX
TRENTINGHAM Manor was teeming with family and friends who had come to attend the twins’ baptism, so Rand’s addition to the mix was clearly little imposition. But he was grateful for the countess’s kind invitation. She seemed a true lady.
Although perhaps a bit overly attentive.
“Lily, dear,” she said as they walked into the linenfold-paneled dining room for supper, “I’d prefer it if you’d sit beside Rand, since he isn’t acquainted with our other guests.”
Which would have made sense if Rose hadn’t already planted herself on his other side.
“Lord Randal,” Rose gushed, laying a hand on her chest, her fingertips suggestively grazing the skin revealed by her wide, fashionable neckline. “What a pleasure to have you as a dining partner.”
“Rand,” he corrected her. So far as he was concerned, Lord was nothing more than a reminder of his unpleasant childhood. He chose to think of himself as a professor now, not a marquess’s son. “And the pleasure is mine,” he assured her, meaning it. This civilized supper was far more agreeable than riding home to all the hammering and sawing at his house in Oxford.
“Cousin Rose.” A gentleman on her other side begged her attention, waving a bejeweled hand at the floral arrangements—enormous vases of colorful posies that graced each end of the table, flanking a towering centerpiece. “Have we you to thank for these magnificent works of art?”
“Why, yes,” Rose said warmly. “I’m pleased, cousin, that you’re enjoying them.” She turned back to Rand, fluttering her eyelashes so hard that he feared they might be spasming. “I love arranging flowers.”
“They’re stunning.” They were. She had an artist’s eye, a flair for color and balance. He turned to Lily. “Do you work with flowers as well?”
“Oh, no. I’ve no skill with plants.”
Rose shook her head, as though she felt sorry for her poor, talentless sister.
