“Of course he will,” Rose said. “If you’d seen that translation, you’d be even more certain. Rand’s brother intended murder. Their father won’t be able to deny it.”
“But that doesn’t mean he’ll allow us to wed.”
That statement was met with silence, because, unfortunately, there was no arguing with it. No guarantees that proof of Alban’s intent would lead to the marquess changing his mind.
“Tell me about Hawkridge,” Rose said at last. “Is it beautiful?”
“Very.” Lily absently plucked rose petals. “Much newer than Trentingham—Rand’s father built it just before the war—and every room is exquisite.” Except for Rand’s, which was rather plain, but she didn’t feel up to explaining that. “Why, the dining room even has leather on the walls, with designs stamped in pure gold. But the place is eerie, I think. Or perhaps it’s just cold. It feels as though no one there has been happy for a long, long time.”
“Perhaps they haven’t,” Mum suggested. “But that will change, of course. You and Rand will be happy indeed, and your happiness will rub off on everyone else. And I imagine that after you move there you’ll be able to make improvements, make Hawkridge Hall feel warmer and more like home. If you cannot redecorate the whole house, you should at least have a say in the rooms assigned to you and Rand.”
Picturing Rand’s tiny chamber, Lily sighed. Maybe—assuming they were allowed to marry—they could occupy Alban’s suite of rooms instead. But if that were the case, a complete overhaul would be necessary before she’d agree to sleep there even once.
Rose added several carnations to the colorful spray she was creating. “Will you live at Hawkridge all the time, then? Will Rand have to give up his post at Oxford?”
“I don’t know. He and his father have yet to discuss any details like that.” She tossed the last of the rose petals into the glass bulb. “All of their energies have been focused on the marquess’s insistence that Rand wed Margery.”
Mum fitted the lid on the distillery. “Has Rand resigned himself to leaving his position?”
“I don’t think he’s had enough time to think about it. But I doubt he’ll be happy leaving Oxford.” Lily hoped he’d be happy just being with her. Whether at Oxford or Hawkridge or somewhere else entirely. But she knew better. “He worked very hard to attain that professorship. And he enjoys that life. He’s never fancied himself an earl, let alone a marquess.”
Finished, Rose stepped back to eye her masterpiece. “I shouldn’t think that would be hard to get used to.”
Rose might have mellowed a bit, but she was still Rose.
“How about you?” Mum asked. “Will you be happy at Hawkridge?”
“I’ll be happy wherever Rand is,” she said, knowing it was true. “I’ll have him, and my animals…”
Her voice trailed off.
Mum looked up sharply. “What is it, dear? Are you afraid Lord Hawkridge won’t approve of your menagerie?”
“No,” she said slowly. “He loves animals—more than people, truth be told. He raises mastiffs.”
Mum smiled. “Well, then, it sounds like Hawkridge will be the perfect place to build your animal home.”
Rose tweaked a few flowers, balancing the arrangement. “I imagine Hawkridge has plenty of space.”
“No. I mean, yes, there are acres and acres of land.” Lily took a deep breath and decided to come out with it. “You might as well know that if the marquess blesses this marriage, it will be with the stipulation that my inheritance goes to him.”
Rose gasped. “How dare he demand such a thing!”
“There was no demand. I offered of my own free will. Hawkridge was mortgaged during the war, you see, to provide funds for King Charles. The marquess was on the verge of losing it when Margery was dropped in his lap, along with her considerable fortune. Hawkridge would face bankruptcy without her land and money.”
“Or your money,” Rose said darkly.
“Exactly. Don’t look so sour, Rose. It was my idea to offer my inheritance in exchange for the right to wed Rand, and I’ll gladly do so, if only the marquess will allow it.”
Rose plucked a daisy from the vase and pointed it at Lily. “All your life, you’ve dreamed of nothing but building a home for your strays.” She shook the flower, emphasizing her words. “Maybe sometimes I’ve laughed at that, but I know how important it is to you. How can you give that up so cavalierly?”
“I’m in love,” Lily said simply.
But she caught Chrystabel’s gaze on her and knew her mother hadn’t missed the wistfulness in her voice.
SIXTY-SEVEN
NOT THE SORT of man to indulge in self-pity for long, nor to accept blame, the marquess had made an excuse and gone off to his study. Half an hour later, when Rand and Margery asked to talk to him, he readily—if gruffly—invited them in.
They sat in two chairs facing him, gazing up at him seated behind his desk on the raised dais. A few awkward moments passed before Rand cleared his throat.
“Father,” he began, hoping calling him such might mellow the man, “we would like your assurance that, under the circumstances, you will no longer pursue the conviction of Bennett Armstrong for murder.”
“Of course I won’t. I’m a reasonable man when presented with persuasive evidence.”
“Well, then, Margery respectfully requests permission to marry him.”
“Does she?” the marquess asked with a raised brow. He shifted his gaze to his ward. “I haven’t heard such a respectful request.”
“Uncle William…” Margery’s voice shook, and she paused to control it. “May I please wed Bennett?”
“No,” the man snapped. “I didn’t agree before Alban’s death, and nothing has changed between then and now. Marriage is primarily a business arrangement, and an alliance of Hawkridge with the Maybanks estates is best for both parties.”
“You mean Hawkridge requires Margery’s money,” Rand said, struggling to remain calm. “As I’ve told you, Lily has ten thousand pounds that
