“Can you see,” Kit put in, “the street-level windows that let in light? Wren greatly values natural light. He told me he based this building on the Theatre of Marcellus in Rome.”
Despite Rand’s quite effective attempts to distract her, Lily didn’t miss the admiration in Kit’s voice. Or the touch of longing. “Have you seen the Theatre of Marcellus?”
“Sadly, I haven’t.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I aspire to study the great buildings on the Continent, but I’m afraid I’m hopeless with foreign languages. I have nightmares of never finding my way home.”
“Rose has an excellent head for languages,” Lily told him.
Her sister swung to glare at her. If looks could kill, Lily thought, she’d be deader than the sculptured heads on the railing around the building.
“What’s that?” Chrystabel asked, pointing to something up high in a transparent attempt to smooth things over.
“The Tower of the Five Orders,” Kit said enthusiastically. “It’s the most unusual structure in all of Oxford.”
He led them through an archway, a short tunnel through a plain building, and into an open quadrangle. The buildings surrounding it were more imposing than the austere exterior would suggest. Many doors gave entrance, each with a Latin inscription in gold letters on a blue background.
Rose turned slowly, translating them all. “Grammar and history, logic, rhetoric. Music, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy. Philosophy.” And at the far end, “School of Medicine, School of Law, School of Theology.”
“Those three are the superior schools,” Rand explained. “Before attending any of those, one must pass each of the other schools first and receive his Master of Arts.”
Kit wandered closer to Rose again. “You are good at languages.”
She shrugged, but looked pleased. Kit was making inroads, Lily thought. Flattery was one sure way to Rose’s heart.
He cleared his throat as he looked to their mother. “You asked about the tower.” It was a wondrous sight in the otherwise rather sobering surroundings. “The Five Orders display the different styles of classical architecture, distinguished by differing columns, bases, and pedestals. From the bottom to the top, oldest to newest, we have Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, and Composite.”
Rose looked more interested than Lily would have expected. “Who is sitting up there?”
“The statue? King James. Can you see that he’s holding a book? The Bodleian Library is behind you—it receives a copy of every new book ever published. As for the rest of the building…”
Lily listened with half an ear as everyone gathered around to hear Kit talk about the Gothic carving and pinnacles. Bells began ringing from the various towers of Oxford’s many colleges, their chimes all different yet harmonious. A beautiful sound. A sound she looked forward to hearing day after day, night after night, when she lived here with Rand, alone in their lovely, brand-new house.
For both their sakes, she hoped everything would work out so they could.
As though sensing her thoughts, he moved closer. When he took her hand again, excitement churned in the pit of her stomach. Though it was growing dark, it would still be hours before he could come to her, hours before they could properly kiss.
She wished she could kiss him properly right now. Or rather, improperly.
Goodness, it was fortunate her family was here in this otherwise empty quadrangle, or else she feared she might shove Rand to the grass and start ripping off his clothes.
One day in Rand’s arms and she was turning into a shameless wanton!
THIRTY-THREE
“LIE STILL,” ROSE muttered.
Wishing she were sharing the bed with Rand instead of her sister, Lily rolled onto her stomach and rearranged her pillow. “I’m just getting comfortable,” she said peevishly.
They’d arrived back at the inn to find a very apologetic proprietor. Apparently one of his clerks had miscalculated and rented out one too many rooms, leaving one too few for Lily’s family. The most logical pairing, of course, was Rose and Lily together. Rand certainly wouldn’t be able to join her here, nor could she join him—at least not without creating a scandal when Rose saw her leave.
Her body throbbed with newfound lust. She’d never imagined how it would feel to want a man, to wait all day, anticipating the night… and then end up aching and alone. It was torture.
Thinking she couldn’t wait to be married, she flipped onto her back and sighed. At the foot of the bed, Beatrix sat up and meowed.
“Lily, will you please lie still?”
“All right. I’m sorry.” She had to stop thinking about Rand. It had been a long time since she’d shared a bed with one of her sisters—since Violet had lived at home and the three of them had spent nights sharing their secrets. She had a whole lifetime ahead of her with Rand, and this night with Rose should be fun. Perhaps they could regain some of the closeness they’d recently lost.
“Kit is very nicely put together, isn’t he?” she asked into the darkness.
“He’s handsome enough,” Rose admitted in a vast understatement. “It’s unfortunate he’s not titled.”
Lily turned over again to search her sister’s face in the dim light from the fire. “He’s a famous architect. Goodness, he gets commissions from the king himself! I imagine he can afford to live in a grand style. Why should it matter that he’s not titled?”
“Of course it matters.” Rose averted her gaze, staring up at the old oak beams in the ceiling. “Violet is a viscountess, and you—soon you’ll be a countess and eventually a marchioness. Why should I settle for less?”
“You’re the Earl of Trentingham’s daughter, which means you could marry a guttersnipe and you’d still be Lady Rose. Besides, if you love a man, it’s not settling.”
“Well, I’m not in love with Kit, am I? I’ve barely met the man, and I’ve no intention
