Wouldn’t it be fun to be newly wedded together? Judith’s voice echoed in her head.
For a moment she dreamed of wedded bliss, of waking every morning to more of Rand’s kisses. But then she mentally shook herself. It didn’t matter that his kiss had made her heart flip over. It didn’t matter that he supported her ambitions.
Rose wanted him. Rose was older and should marry first. Rose and Rand shared an interest in languages. They both sang like the angels. Such music they could make together, such academic heights they could reach.
But moreover, Lily had made a promise to Rose, and she wouldn’t betray her. Not only would she never forgive herself; she just couldn’t hurt her sister.
Lily never wanted to hurt anyone. Or anything. Ever.
“Lily?” Rand queried softly.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“You didn’t fight it,” he pointed out calmly. “In fact, I would swear you participated.”
“I…how…” She raised her chin, determined to stop sputtering. She never sputtered. She’d always been comfortable around men, and she couldn’t fathom why it wasn’t the same with this one. “I couldn’t possibly have participated. I wouldn’t know how. I’ve never before been kissed.”
He looked pleased at that news. “Well, then, you must have a natural talent.”
Her face was turning hot, and she was on the verge of sputtering again when her mother and Rose stepped into the room. Lily couldn’t remember ever being happier to see her family.
“Your chamber is ready,” Rose announced to Rand, frowning to see them together on the harpsichord’s bench.
Rand didn’t stand up, so Lily did. Quickly.
Mum’s lips curved in a smile. “Come, Rand. I’ll show you the way.”
He finally rose—rather reluctantly, Lily thought. Still smiling, Mum led him from the room. As the two of them made their way up Trentingham’s grand staircase, Lily heard Rand humming a jaunty tune.
Even his humming sounded rich and beautiful.
When that faded into the distance, an uneasy silence descended. Lily dropped back to the bench.
Rose’s dark eyes narrowed. “What were you doing with him?”
“Singing,” Lily lied, shocked to hear the word pass her lips. She never lied to her sister. She never lied to anybody. “I mean, he was singing. I was playing. We were playing and sing—”
“All right.” Rose waved an impatient hand. “As long as you’re not going after him. You promised he could be mine.”
Despite that promise, Lily bristled. “He might have something to say about that.”
For a woman who’d so far failed to catch a husband, her sister looked awfully smug. “Oh, I’m sure I can make him want me.”
“You know nothing about him. Has it even occurred to you that he might already be interested in someone else?” Like me, Lily added silently.
Hopefully?
No, that kiss hadn’t meant anything. It had been a mistake.
And Rose wouldn’t hear of any obstacles. “You let me worry about other women,” she said, apparently unconcerned that Lily might be one of them. “My new strategy of demonstrating my intelligence along with flirtation is going to work just fine.”
“Fine,” Lily echoed a little shortly, then chided herself. There was no call for such an attitude. Hadn’t she already decided her sister was entitled to Rand should she prove able to win him? “About the flirtation—” she began.
“I don’t want to hear it. It’s not as though you’ve won a man for yourself. I know what I’m doing.”
“Of course you do,” Lily said quickly, absently rubbing the faint scars on the back of her hand. Her fingers stilled when Rose’s gaze settled on them.
Rose slid onto the bench seat beside her and placed a hand over hers. “No one notices,” she said softly. “And it doesn’t look bad anyway. After all these years, the marks are almost gone. Honestly, Lily—”
“I know.” She turned to grasp both her sister’s hands. So what if she wasn’t perfect? A few narrow, faded white scars…most people were much more imperfect than that.
And most people weren’t fortunate enough to have such a loving, caring sister. Lily still couldn’t believe she’d gone back on her promise by allowing Rand to kiss her.
Well, it wouldn’t happen again.
“Lily?”
Freeing her hands, she gave Rose a shaky smile as she raised them to the harpsichord. Her fingers began moving over the keys. Music always soothed her. Even when, like now, she chose a melancholy tune.
After a moment, her sister’s lovely voice rose in song to match the notes. “Alas, my love, you do me wrong, to cast me out discourteously…And I have loved you for so long, delighting in your company…”
A fitting lyric, Lily thought with an internal sigh. Then she tried to look on the bright side. At least Mum didn’t seem to be trying to match Rose and Rand.
They should be happy for small favors.
EIGHT
RAND’S BEDCHAMBER was filled with flowers. Lovely arrangements sat atop the bedside table, the clothes press, the washstand. Smiling to himself, he walked around the room, pacing off nervous energy as he skimmed his fingers over colorful, velvet-soft petals.
It was quite obvious Rose excelled at arranging flowers, and while he had been kissing Lily, evidently she’d been busy. And so had their mother, by all appearances, because the dressing table was lined with bottles of scent. Her hobby, he suddenly remembered, was making perfume.
No wonder her daughter smelled so delicious.
The small, clear bottles all looked the same—plain with silver-topped stoppers—but the liquids inside them were different hues, ranging from nearly colorless, to yellowish, to brownish. Humming a tune, he lifted a bottle, opened it, and waved it under his nose. Finding the fragrance spicy and masculine, he dabbed some on his face, then sniffed his fingers. Shrugging, he took another bottle. More citrusy, this scent. He patted some on his jaw and decided he liked the first one better.
He shrugged out of his surcoat and tossed it on the bed, followed by his cravat. Despite the long day and the sort of bone weariness that naturally followed, he wasn’t at all sleepy.
