Was the man that blinded by stubborn pride? Rand felt anger boiling up from his gut, choking him. In frustration, he turned and yanked the knife from his father’s hand and tossed it back into the box. “Were you aware there is a secret space off this chamber?” he asked in a tight voice.
The one thing he’d vowed to avoid bringing into this.
In front of Margery, no less.
But had he any choice? Better shocked and disgusted than married to the wrong man.
“Of course I know that,” his father scoffed. “I built the place.”
Though the room was flooded with daylight, Rand lit a candle. “Then I suppose you also know what is in it?”
“No. What Alban kept in his chambers was his concern alone.” Though the marquess sounded adamant, trepidation laced his voice. His gaze flickered to the fireplace.
“Will you never learn that a man is entitled to privacy, Randal? How many times did I tell you not to snoop in your brother’s diaries?”
Halfway to the fireplace, Rand whirled. “How many times did you beat me for it?”
“Too many to count,” the man snapped.
“Yes, too many times I tried to alert you to your son’s evilness and still you continued to ignore it.” He shoved the candle into his father’s hand and knelt to work the latch near the floor. “Here, at last, is your proof,” he gritted out. “Try to tell me I’m mistranslating
this
to my advantage.” He stood and swung open the door.
The marquess stepped into the small space. And his face went white.
As though in a daze, Margery moved closer.
“No!” Rand reached to stop her and turned her into his chest. His arms went around her protectively. “Take a good look,” he told his father over his shoulder. “Perhaps there have been no murders in the vicinity, but that only means he stopped short of killing. You will not convince me all those implements were meant for hunting. Or even animals.”
Silence settled over the chamber, so profound Rand could hear both his own heart and Margery’s. And the marquess’s harsh breathing. Despite his convictions, the man was clearly shaken.
Suddenly he stepped back and slammed the door, the sound shattering the stillness. For a moment, he just stood in place, swaying on his feet as an odd sort of calmness settled over him. “This does not prove Alban meant to kill Bennett Armstrong.”
“No,” Rand agreed. “It only goes to show he was capable. His diaries are the proof.”
“I cannot read them. And I refuse to—”
“To take my word as to their translation? I’m not surprised, since you never have. But this time, I am prepared to sit with you, for days if necessary, and demonstrate, step-by-step, how the code was broken and exactly what that journal says.” To Rand’s mortification, his voice broke. “You owe me the chance to do that, Father. All my life you’ve dismissed me, and you’ve already admitted that was a mistake on your part.
You owe me.
”
It didn’t take days. Four hours later, his father slumped in his chair and buried his face in his hands.
Standing in her mother’s perfumery, Lily stared out the window and squinted into the distance. “Where on earth is he?”
At another time, Rose might have laughed, but she didn’t. “Poor Lily. Give him time.” She chose several cheerful yellow daffodils and added them to an arrangement. “He had to ride there and convince his father and then come all the way back . . . why, he likely won’t be here for hours.”
Mum plucked rose petals, tossing them into the clear glass bulb of the fancy distillery Ford had made for her while courting Violet. “Your sister is right, dear. Come and help me. ’Twill take your mind off the waiting.”
With a sigh, Lily walked to the table and idly picked up a rose. “I am sure Rand will convince his father,” she said, an attempt to assure herself as much as them.
“Of course he will,” Rose said. “If you’d seen that translation, you’d be certain of it. Rand’s brother intended murder. Their father will not be able to deny it.”
“But that doesn’t mean he’ll allow us to marry.”
That statement was greeted 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 is 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 be changing, will it not? You and Rand will be happy indeed, and that will rub off on everyone else. And I’m sure 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. But maybe—assuming they were allowed to marry—they could occupy Alban’s suite of rooms instead.
Of course, if that was 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 full-time, then? Will Rand have to give up his post at Oxford?”
“I imagine so, although the truth is, 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?”
“He’s focused on other things now. But I doubt he’ll be happy leaving Oxford.” She hoped he would accept whatever happened—she 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 is quite a bit 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. ’Twas 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.
The marquess had made an excuse and gone off to his study, not the sort of man to indulge in self-pity for long, nor to accept blame. When Rand and Margery asked to talk to him half an hour later, 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 started, hoping the moniker might soften 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 will not. I am a reasonable man when presented with convincing 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’ve not 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 did not 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 she is willing to invest in Hawkridge’s future. Added to her dowry of three thousand, it should be a sufficient sum.”
At Lily’s name, his father’s eyes had softened. ’Twas amazing how much the man had apparently come to like her. He almost looked wistful.
But then his expression hardened again. “I vowed on Simon Maybanks’s deathbed that his daughter would wed my heir. Lady Lily’s inheritance does nothing to mitigate that.”
“Uncle William.” Margery rose and walked over to his desk, stepping up onto the raised dais. She leaned on her palms, her eyes pleading. “I was an infant when my father claimed that boon, and he was only attempting to provide for my future the best that he knew how. Do you not think he would have been thrilled to marry me to a baron with Bennett’s vast lands and income? Most especially one I love so very much, and who loves me in return. You must agree that if he’d had any way of foreseeing such an opportunity, my father would have given his blessing freely.”
In the silence that followed, Margery backed down the step and returned to her seat. She folded her hands in her black-skirted lap. A clock ticked on the mantel, unnaturally loud in the stillness. The marquess blinked but said nothing.
“Father,” Rand pressed, hoping the man’s lack of response meant he was considering Margery’s words,
“you’ve told me that your actions toward me, in years gone past, were because you blamed me for my mother’s death.”
The marquess’s mouth thinned. “I’ve also told you I’m sorry.”
“And I’ve accepted your apology—and your explanation.” Saying the words, Rand suddenly realized he had.
“But what I’m wondering now, or perhaps I should say what I’m assuming, is that you loved her very much.”
“Of course I did,” his father said, looking bewildered.
“I loved her with all of my heart.”
“Well, then, if you loved her enough to blame me, whyever would you wish to deprive your son and foster daughter of that same sort of love?”
The marquess blinked some more. Margery’s hands tightened in her lap. The clock kept ticking. Rand prayed silently, harder than he’d ever prayed in his life.
“Marry whom you wish,” his father said at last with a sigh.
Margery leapt up and rounded the desk to hug him.
“Thank you, Uncle William, thank you! You’ve always been so kind to me; I knew in the end you’d choose for my happiness.”
Rand’s father just grunted.
Rand sat immobile, his entire body seemingly gone boneless.
He’d done it.
He was going to marry Lily.
“I must go tell Bennett.”
Rand had never seen Margery’s eyes look so green, her face look so flushed. He smiled, picturing Lily looking that happy.
“I’ll take you to him,” he said, “on my way back to Trentingham. Lily will be anxious to hear this news, too.”
“I’m going with you,” his father said.
Halfway to rising, Rand dropped back onto his chair.
“Pardon?”
“What sort of a man do you take me for?” the marquess asked, then apparently decided he’d best not wait for an answer. “Not only has your Lily saved my dog’s life; she is also about to save Hawkridge from ruin. The least I can do is welcome her into our family.”
Rand wasn’t sure he was ready to think of himself and his father as a family—he suspected they would never truly be friends. But he grudgingly admitted that it seemed the man’s heart might be in the right place.
Or getting there, anyway.
While the marquess rode around Armstrong House dismissing all the guards, Rand dismounted and walked Margery to the door. The butler answered and showed them both into a sitting room, then went to fetch Lord Armstrong.
Rand sat on a red velvet chair watching Margery walk aimlessly around the chamber, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. She’d be happy here, he thought.
Though it wasn’t a massive home like what she was used to at Hawkridge, and it was centuries older, it was well kept and richly appointed. Besides, he knew Margery would be happy anywhere so long as she was with Bennett.
’Twas the same for him and Lily. Home would be where Lily lived, even if that was Hawkridge.
“Margery!” Bennett rushed into the room, then stopped short when he saw Rand.
Rand rose from the chair. “She’s yours, Armstrong.”
Long-lost hope leapt into the man’s eyes. “You mean . . .”