She watched Beatrix wander the room, poking her little black nose here and there as she searched for something familiar. Suddenly Lily wished for the old and familiar, too. “You should come home to sleep one night, Violet.”
“At Trentingham?” Violet stopped pacing, which meant tiny Rebecca started snuffling. The baby seemed to prefer constant motion.
“I’ll walk with her,” Lily offered. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on her niece.
When Rebecca was settled in Lily’s arms, Violet dropped onto one of the turquoise velvet chairs. She lifted her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Why should I stay the night at Trentingham?”
“A sleeping party. It would be like the old days.” As Lily walked back and forth cuddling Rebecca, her gaze swept over little Marc asleep in a cradle. She smiled to see Rose playing with Nicky on the floor, his miniature English warship in fierce conflict with her Dutch one. “I know you rarely let your children out of your sight, but you do have nursemaids. They could relieve you for one night, don’t you think?”
Violet seemed to contemplate that odd idea for a moment before she grinned. “Perhaps I could find time to read a book.”
“No,” Lily said, then reconsidered. If solitary time to read was what her sister needed, she wouldn’t deny her. “Of course you could read, if that’s what you want. But I was thinking we could spend the night together. The three of us, like we used to.”
Rose looked up with a wicked smile. “And read Aristotle’s Master-piece?”
“Not that,” Lily said quickly, remembering the hours they’d all spent together stealthily reading the scandalous marriage manual before Violet’s wedding.
Lily had found Aristotle’s Master-piece an uncomfortable combination of intriguing and embarrassing, and she hadn’t been sad when the book moved to Lakefield along with her sister. But that had been years ago, when she was only sixteen. The mysteries of the bedchamber, which had seemed frightening and unimaginable then, were easier to imagine now.
In fact, lately her imagination seemed to be working overtime.
Still, dragging the Master-piece back out wasn’t what she had in mind. “I just thought…I thought it would be nice to talk.”
“Bang!” Nicky sailed his ship closer to Rose’s. Beatrix’s small head whipped back and forth, following the battle. “Bang, bang!”
“Quieter,” Violet cautioned. “Your sister’s sleeping.”
Rebecca had nodded off in Lily’s arms. Violet gazed at her daughter tenderly. “Of course I’ll come sleep at Trentingham. Someday soon. It will be great fun.” Though she sounded enthusiastic, her brown eyes were filled with concern. “Is there something in particular you’d like to talk about?”
“Nothing special. Just…life.”
Rose aimed a tiny Dutch cannon. “I want to talk about Lord Randal.”
The one thing Lily didn’t want to talk about. Despite her promise, she felt she’d heard her sister gush over the man quite enough. Especially because, regardless of all their plotting, Rose seemed to be making no headway.
“How many times,” she said, more peevishly than was her nature, “do you suppose he’s asked you to call him Rand?”
“Oh, about a million,” Rose answered gaily. “But I like to think of him as a lord. My lord.”
Lily feared Rand would never be Rose’s lord. He’d made it clear, with words and a kiss, which sister he preferred. And while she had no intention of going back on her word by allowing him to get closer, she’d seen nothing to make her believe he’d turn to Rose instead.
She met Violet’s gaze, sending her a silent message.
“Has he shown interest?” Violet asked Rose carefully.
Their sister’s lovely nose went into the air. “He walked with me in the garden today. He’s been very kind.”
“Bang, bang!” Nicky yelled. “Auntie Rose, you’re not watching. You’re going to sink!”
“Quieter,” Violet repeated—rather patiently, Lily thought, considering she’d probably heard her sister utter that word a thousand times or more.
Lily lowered herself to a chair, being careful not to wake the baby. “Rand is kind,” she said, more dreamily than she’d intended.
Beatrix started hiccuping.
“That silly cat.” Rose stood, abandoning her ship to the mercy of the English. She narrowed her eyes at Lily. “You made a promise. Are you intending to break it?”
Violet looked between them curiously. “What promise?”
“Well…” Lily began.
“She promised,” Rose finished for her, “to stay away from Lord Randal.” Her gaze whipped back to Lily. “And to help me win him.”
Lily swallowed hard. She’d been helping her, hadn’t she? Every way she knew how. “Have you ever known me to break a promise?”
Rose appeared to give that some thought. “No,” she said at last. “You always do the right thing.”
She said it as though always doing the right thing were a character flaw, which Lily was beginning to think might be true.
And how absurd was that?
FOURTEEN
LATER THAT afternoon, the notes wafting from the harpsichord did their magic as always, transporting Lily from her family’s cream-and-gold-toned drawing room to a much more peaceful place.
At the moment Trentingham was far from peaceful. The drive was crammed with carriages waiting to take friends and family home. Uncles and cousins were busy seeing that their things were properly packed and loaded onto the correct vehicles. Children ran through the corridors, their feet pounding on the planked floor as they chased one another in last-minute games.
Lily knew she should join everyone and say good-bye. And she would, after a few more minutes of playing behind the drawing room’s thick oak doors. The music was too soothing to resist. Her fingers glided over the keys, picking out a tune of her own creation, one that matched her mood.
Pensive. Confused. Longing—although for what, she wasn’t sure.
The door opened, and her mother slid gracefully into the chamber. Chrystabel waited for her to finish. “Dear,” she started as the last note faded, “that was lovely, but you
