“I love it already. This town feels so peaceful and alive, all at once.”
“Wait until it’s teeming with students.” He nodded to the porter at the stone-vaulted gateway. “Good afternoon, Dickerson.”
“Afternoon, Professor Nesbitt.”
Rand led Kit and Lily’s family into a graveled quadrangle. “Do you not go by Lord?” Rose asked.
“Too pretentious. Besides, I earned the title Professor.”
“But now you’re an earl.”
Lily saw Rand’s jaw set. “Here, I’m a professor.”
It seemed he was determined to keep it that way. Not that Lily minded, but she wondered what sort of a struggle he’d be up against tomorrow. And she could tell, from the tenseness in his body, that in spite of his valiant effort to ignore the letter he was worried about it, too.
She looked around the quadrangle at the stately stone buildings, built in Oxford’s traditional Gothic style. All was quiet now, but she smiled as she imagined students hurrying to meet with their tutors, young Rand and Ford among them. “The architecture matches the old colleges, but somehow it looks new.”
“Only Pembroke is newer,” Kit said. “Dorothy Wadham built this college in 1610.”
Rose’s eyes widened. “A woman built Wadham? I thought Oxford was strictly for men.”
Rand nodded. “It is—even the servants in the colleges are all male. But as Nicholas Wadham’s widow, Dorothy carried out his wishes. There are portraits of them both in the hall and statues just outside it. Come, I’ll show you.”
Gravel crunched beneath their feet as he led them across the quiet quadrangle. The figures made a striking composition framing the door, King James on one side and the founders on the other. The statue of Nicholas Wadham was holding a model of the college.
“He never actually saw it,” Rand said. “They began building after his death.” He tugged the heavy door open. “Go in. The hall is beautiful.”
While the others went inside, he held Lily back, leaning close. “With the exception of your parents,” he murmured, “I’ve reserved each of you separate rooms at the inn.”
His breath felt warm by her ear. “Hmm?” She turned her head to steal a quick kiss.
Evidently liking that, he gave a low laugh and kissed her again. “I have no intention of staying home alone all night long.”
A frisson of warmth shimmered through her. “Do you not?”
“If I happen to wander through the alley and end up outside your window, I trust you’ll let me in?”
The mere idea sounded wicked and wonderful. “I can hardly wait,” she whispered, her body thrumming already.
“Lily? Rand?” Her mother’s voice drifted from the hall.
Lily sighed. “We should go inside.”
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her close and gave her one more kiss for good measure—a kiss that left her light-headed. “Until tonight,” he said softly, turning her toward the door.
Feeling boneless, she let him walk her into the hall past an entrance screen of exquisite Jacobean woodwork. She gawked at the great hammerbeam roof before her gaze dropped to the portraits of the founders. Nicholas Wadham wore a tall black hat, Dorothy a flattish cap and an uncomfortable-looking neck ruff. “They look formidable,” she said.
Chrystabel smiled. “I’ve heard tales enough of the pranks here to suspect they’re disapproving.”
Rose spun in a circle, taking in the solemn stained-glass windows and the long rows of tables with candelabras spaced down their middles. “I cannot picture Ford here.”
“He came three times a day,” Rand assured her, “dutifully wearing the required robe. Ford Chase was never one to miss a meal.”
Rose laughed, looking more carefree than she had in weeks. As they exited the hall, Lily noticed Kit slanting her sister a sharp, appreciative look. Well, she always had been a beauty, so long as she wasn’t scowling.
Rand took them to the chapel, so they could see its magnificent east window depicting Jonah’s whale, then turned to lead them out of the college.
“What’s this?” Rose asked, stopping by an unassuming door to stare at four lines of lettering crudely carved into the wood.
Rand smiled. “When King Charles slept in that room one night, the Earl of Rochester wrote that.”
“He didn’t.” Sounding wickedly intrigued, Rose read aloud.
“Here lies a great and mighty king,
Whose promise none relied on.
He never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.”
Their collective laughter rang through the empty quadrangle.
“Charles must have been livid,” Chrystabel remarked.
“To the contrary,” Rand said, “he found it quite amusing. He claimed his words were his own, while his deeds were those of his ministers.”
In high spirits, they left Wadham and walked the unpaved streets. Lily already loved this city, a city so steeped in tradition that new buildings were built in old styles. She nearly burst out laughing when she noticed Lady flitting along from tree to tree, then glanced around and found Beatrix stalking them in the shadows. She decided to keep quiet about that, given that Rand was uneasy around her constant companions. But her heart sang to see that her animal friends would be comfortable here in Oxford, too.
Of course, that was assuming she and Rand ended up living here.
“The Sheldonian Theatre,” Kit announced. They all stopped to gaze up at the cupola atop its domed roof. “A friend built it,” he added, sidling closer to Rose. “Christopher Wren. His first large public building.”
Rose failed to look impressed with either the building or Kit’s friendship with the celebrated architect. “I’ve met Mr. Wren,” she said. “He came to my sister’s wedding.”
Seemingly undiscouraged, Kit tried the doors and looked disappointed to find them locked. “The ceiling inside is amazing.”
Rand nodded. “It’s painted to look like the sky.”
“But that’s just ornamentation.” Kit leaned against the double doors. “The ceiling itself is a wonder of advanced construction, designed with no columns to spoil the view. An apparent defiance of gravity, because Wren contrived all the weight to be supported from above.”
“It’s a beautiful building.” Lily paced its columned front, enjoying the tour but wishing she were alone with Rand. “What is it used for?”
“Ceremonies, mostly.” Rand caught up
