He sighed, looking reluctant to confide in her.
But at least he didn’t run.
With both hands, she propelled him toward a stump and pushed down on his shoulders until he sat. “Tell me,” she said.
He gathered her onto his lap. Leaves rustled overhead, and a sparrow fluttered from one branch to another. Lady, found her way back home. Jasper blinked his little squirrel eyes at them, then darted up a tree. Lily rubbed her scarred hand and stared at her stockinged toes, waiting.
“The marquess,” Rand said at last, “has claimed he had an excuse for the way he’s treated me all of these years.”
“You were a child. There was no excuse.”
“He blamed me for the death of my mother.”
“What?” She shifted to face him. “How did she die? You never told me.”
“I never knew. It seems, as a child, I had a habit of running off.” He paused as though waiting for her to agree or to chide him. When she didn’t, he went on. “I was six when it happened. She couldn’t find me and went out looking.”
“And died?”
“A riding mishap. She broke her neck.”
“Oh, Rand.” Sensing his pain, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’d disappeared.”
“You were six. You weren’t responsible for her accident. It could have happened another day, another time—”
“But it didn’t.” The guilt rolled off of him in waves. “It happened when I ran off. I killed her.”
She lifted her head. “No. You’re not to blame.”
“My father thinks I am. I left her, and she died. And look at me. I’m still running off and hurting the people I love.”
She offered him a wan smile. “I believe I just put a stop to that. And Rand, you didn’t kill her. Your father saying so doesn’t make it true. You were six years old. Events happen. This one was tragic, but you cannot believe it’s your fault.”
“My father believes I’m to blame.”
“Not really,” she argued. “Or he’d have voiced that blame aloud long ago. And he never did, did he? Or you would have known how she died before now.”
He appeared to consider that for a moment, and Lily felt a little of the tightness ease from his body. “You won’t convince me the man is good,” he finally said.
“No, and I wouldn’t try. His treatment of you was unpardonable, but perhaps natural, for all that. He was hurting—”
“Hurting?” Rand interrupted in a tone of patent disbelief.
She nodded. “He must have loved her very much to react in such a strong manner, even if it was wrong.”
“Love? I cannot picture that man in love. I doubt he even believes in such a fine emotion.”
She decided to drop that for now. “Regardless, he was wrong to treat you that way. Not only because you were—are—his child, but also because—”
“I was only six,” he finished softly, as though really hearing that for the first time.
“Yes, you were only six.”
An invisible burden seemed to roll off his shoulders, and he sat there a long while, silent, rubbing her back.
“I need time to think,” he said at last.
“About your mother?”
He shook his head, a slow, mournful motion. “About Margery. I cannot marry her, loving you. I cannot. And yet…can I condemn another man to die?”
Of course he couldn’t; he wouldn’t be the man she loved if he could. Lily swallowed hard. “Would it make it any easier if I told you I’m not with child?”
His hand stilled on her back. “What do you mean?”
“I…I awakened this morning, and…” She felt her cheeks flood with color. She’d never discussed anything like this with a man, but she’d known since this morning that she had to. She’d run all the way out here to tell him. “My courses are upon me,” she said quietly. “I’m not with child.”
“Oh,” he said; then his arms wrapped around her and held her close. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you? Truly?” Her first feelings this morning had been of sorrow, although she knew she should have been relieved. And truthfully, a large part of her was relieved. “Your father, you know—it would have made no difference. We had no hope of using it to our favor.”
“I know. But…well, I was picturing her already. She looked like you. I’d be the first to admit that mere days ago I’d have quailed at the thought of fatherhood, but now that I’ve had time to get used to the idea, damn if I wasn’t looking forward to it.”
“I was picturing a boy. A gray-eyed boy with long, dark gold hair.”
His lips curved in a half smile. “Twins. They run in your family, don’t they?”
Despite everything, she had to laugh. “If you’d seen my sister heavy with twins, you wouldn’t wish that on me. Besides, it’s Ford’s family that runs to twins. Surely you know he’s a twin himself.”
“Ah, yes. Kendra.” For a moment, Rand looked far away, lost in the past. Then the faint smile faded from his face and he hugged her even tighter. “One child, twins, triplets—I don’t care, so long as they’re ours. More than anything, Lily, I want you to have my children.”
“Oh, Rand, I want your baby, too.” She laid a hand over her empty womb, thinking about what might have been, what might never be. “There must be another way,” she said, using his words. “You’re right—we both need to think.”
He put his bigger hand over hers. “Not now. I’m sorry, but I must go to Oxford. I need more clothes, and other—”
“I didn’t mean you’re never allowed to go off alone. You’ll think in Oxford, and I’ll think here.”
By unspoken agreement, they rose and began walking in the direction of Trentingham. Rand took her hand. “After Oxford, I must go back to
