“Exactly,” she said, curling a hand behind his neck. “And after that, there will be no more thoughts of ending the betrothal, will there?”
“My love, you have a devious mind.”
“And you adore me for it,” she assured him, tugging him close for the kiss they both craved.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE SOFT drizzle of the night before had given way to real rain today, but Rand borrowed Ford’s old carriage and rode to Trentingham even though it was obvious there wouldn’t be a picnic.
He was surprised when Lady Trentingham came to meet him, carrying one of the new umbrellas imported from France. As he climbed down, she stepped closer than he would have expected and held the contraption over both of their heads. “Come along!” she said. “My skirts are getting wet.”
Obediently he walked beside her, feeling silly under the expanse of oiled canvas. Only women carried umbrellas—only wealthy women, come to that. Rich or poor, men wore hats and got drenched. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“To the picnic, of course.” Both her hands clenched on the curved ebony handle, she hurried him through the gardens. “Lily was so disappointed that it was raining, I decided to set up the picnic in the summerhouse. I was nearly finished when I heard your carriage arrive. Here we are.” She stopped before one of the four arched oak doors.
He opened it, blinking at the dimness beneath the dome. It was empty—of people, in any case. Though it was a bit hard to tell in the gloom of the dreary day, there seemed to be items inside that hadn’t been there the day before.
“Go on in,” she told him, shifting the umbrella to one hand to fish a little paper package out of her pocket with the other. She gave it to him. “Light the candles. I’ll go fetch Lily.”
As she went back through the gardens, almost but not quite running in her fashionable Louis heels, he unfolded the package and found a few more of Mr. Boyle’s fire-making things. He drew one of the sulfured sticks through a fold of the paper and began lighting candles.
There seemed to be dozens of them spaced out on the benches along the wall. After nearly tripping over something in the center of the summerhouse, he decided to skirt the perimeter instead.
When he was finished, the little circular chamber was alight with a cheerful glow. Plenty enough to illuminate the “picnic” Lady Trentingham had set out on the benches. Platters of fruit, bread, sliced cheese, and sweets. A bottle of champagne and two goblets.
Only two?
And the thing that had almost tripped him turned out to be a pallet set in the center of the brick floor. He stared at it, dumbfounded, until Lily blew in through the door, wearing a summery apricot gown that belied the rainy day.
Lady Trentingham stood on the threshold, the front of her umbrella dripping onto the bricks. “Well, then, I’ll leave you two to enjoy your picnic.”
Rand glanced at Lily, but she looked as confused as he felt. “Where is everyone else?” he asked.
Lady Trentingham waved a hand. “Unfortunately, there’s not enough room.” She didn’t look particularly sad about that. “I didn’t want you and Lily to miss your betrothal picnic, but the summerhouse is rather cramped, don’t you think?”
“We could take everything into the house,” Rand suggested. “Or we could get rid of this.” He indicated the pallet, which covered most of the floor.
“Heavens, no. It wouldn’t be a picnic in the house. Nor if you’re sitting upright on a bench, now, would it? And unlike the grass in Joseph’s gardens, the bricks are entirely too hard to make do with a blanket or rug.”
While that was true enough, Rand eyed the pallet warily. Although there were no covers or pillows, it reminded him too much of a bed.
A bed he’d be tempted to use.
Lily was an earl’s daughter, a sheltered country girl. He respected that. He respected himself for doing the right thing yesterday. For not seducing her before they were wed.
“Don’t you think we should have a chaperone?” he asked her mother.
“Of course not.” Her laughter sounded a bit forced. “You’re betrothed, and it’s the middle of the day. Besides, you have Lily’s menagerie to watch over you.”
He hadn’t noticed them wander in after her, but now he looked around. Lady was perched up in the rafters, Jasper was under a bench, and Beatrix was winding between his feet.
They would likely make very good chaperones, Rand thought wryly.
Since he had run out of protests, Lady Trentingham wished them a good picnic again and took her leave. When the door banged shut behind her, all was quiet save for the sound of the rain on the copper that capped the domed roof.
For a moment Rand just gazed at Lily. “Were you that disappointed to miss the picnic?”
“What are you talking about? Mum said you were disappointed.”
They both began laughing.
It felt good to laugh, Rand thought. His life had been all too serious up until now.
He removed his wide-brimmed hat and set it on a bench. “So, do you picnic in here often?” he asked, reaching for a strawberry. He popped it into his mouth and moved the platter to the pallet.
“Never.” She pulled a grape off a bunch, but stood rooted in place. “It really is too small, as Mum said. When we entertain in the garden, though, we sometimes use it to shelter the food. And my sisters and I like to come out here in the summertime. It’s a nice place to sit and read or play a game. If you open all four doors, the breeze flows through, yet it keeps the sun off our faces.”
He moved the platters of cheeses and sweets. “Preserves your lily-white complexion, does it?”
She smiled at his play on words. “When we were young, Violet and Rose and I could spend
