Lily (Flower Trilogy) (31 page)

While a pink-cheeked Judith learned the facts from Violet, Rose flipped pages in the book, looking for another song. “Here’s one for women to sing,” she said when Violet was finished. “‘A Tenement to Let.’”

Lily set the book back up on the harpsichord and began to play.

I have a tenement to let,

I hope will please you all—

And if you’d know the name of it,

’Tis called Cunny Hall

The place is very dark by night And so it is by day:

But when you once are entered in, You cannot lose your way.

And when you’re in, go boldly on, As far as e’er you can:

And if you reach to the housetop You’ll be where ne’er was a man!

Even Judith understood that one, as her rapidly reddening cheeks proved. As Rose started turning pages again, Judith sipped more wine. “‘Tom Tinker,’” she said, staying Rose’s hand. “That one sounds good.”

“Innocent, you mean?” Violet’s brown eyes sparkled behind her spectacles. “I can promise you, it isn’t.”

This time, they all sang together.

Tom Tinker’s my true-love, and I am his dear, and I will go with him, his toolkit to bear.

He calls me his jewel, his delicate duck, And then he will take up my chemise to—

“That is ever so—” Judith interrupted loudly, then seemed unable to continue.

Lily stopped playing and looked up into her friend’s bright red face. “What is your problem
this
time, Judith?”

Despite everything, she was beginning to have fun. Perhaps it was the wine. Or the companionship. Or perhaps one could be woebegone, as Violet had put it, for only so long before needing to forget for a spell—even if only a very short one. “That is ever so
what
?”

“That word there that is missing—the one that rhymes with ‘duck.’ Why, I do believe . . .” Judith trailed off, her face turning even redder.

“Yes,” Violet said dryly. “The word begins with
f
and we all know what it is now, don’t we? But the point, dear Judith, is that it
is
missing. See here, the last printed word is ‘to,’ and after that comes the chorus.”

Judith gulped more wine, clearly getting a little tipsy.

“You said that so matter-of-factly,” she observed, admiration lacing her voice. “You’re so practical and calm, even discussing . . .”

“Lovemaking?” Rose finished for her with a grin.

“That comes of being an old married lady.”

“I am
not
old!” Violet protested, reaching to shove Rose’s shoulder, but Rose just laughed and launched into the chorus. The others joined, even Lily, even though she couldn’t carry a tune. Tonight that didn’t seem to matter.

This way, that way, which way you will, I am sure I say nothing that you can take ill!

“See?” Violet said while Lily continued playing.

“We’re all proper ladies, are we not? We’d never say a word that could be taken ill!”

And amid laughter, they kept singing.

Tom Tinker I say was a jolly stout lad, He tickled young Nancy and made her stark mad To play a new game with him on the grass, By reason she knew that he had a good—

“Ass!” Judith crowed, filling in the word they all thought even though it wasn’t meant to be sung.

This way, that way, which way you will, I am sure I say nothing. . . .

•

•

•

“. . . that you can take ill!” Chrystabel sang under her breath.

Stretched out beside her on their bed, Joseph couldn’t hear the words filtering through the thick stone walls.

“What’s that, Chrysanthemum?”

“Nothing, darling. I was just talking to myself.” She sipped from her goblet of wine. “I am so happy that Lily is enjoying herself.”

He drank with one hand while inching his other fingers under her night rail. “What are they singing?”

“Oh, I cannot make out the tunes.” He’d die if he knew.

Joseph liked to think his daughters much too ladylike for bawdy fun, and she wouldn’t be the one to disabuse him of the notion. “I am sure the others are just trying to cheer Lily up. And doing an excellent job, from the sound of it.”

She stifled a laugh as she heard them rhyme
five
with the supposed-to-be-unspoken
swive
, and then launch into

“This way, that way” again. “’Twas good of Rose to plan the sleeping party. Thoughtful, was it not?”

Setting down his empty goblet, Joseph nodded. “Perhaps she has finally grown up.”

“Perhaps she has.” Chrystabel finished her own wine and sighed. “Our children are
all
growing up.”

“Too fast,” he agreed. His hand on her body stilled as his green eyes turned troubled. He hesitated. “About Lily—”

“I’m concerned, yes. Worried sick, truth be told.

Should Rand not find a way out of this, Lily will be left devastated.”

“And perhaps with child,” he added in a rush.

“Oh, Lily is not with child.” Turning to face him, she reached to caress one whisker-roughened cheek. “I suppose I should have told you, but it never occurred to me that you would worry.” She always expected him to be oblivious to such things, like other men. But sometimes he surprised her. And he did love his children very much.

’Twas only one of the many reasons she loved
him
so very much.

“You’re still convinced they’ve not shared a bed?” He frowned. “How do you know? A mother’s intuition? Because I’ve told you before, my love, you cannot tell these things just by looking—”

She laughed, a sound of amusement mixed with relief.

“I know because Lily’s maid told me her courses are upon her.”

“Oh.” He reddened, as he usually did when confronted by womanly things. But she felt his body relax into the mattress.

“I do think, though,” she continued, “that perhaps it is not such a good idea, after all, to allow young people such privacy. No matter how perfect they are for one another. If things had gone differently, we might have had a disaster on our hands. I . . . well, in plotting the best way to match Lily together with Rand, I think in this one matter I may have been wrong.”

“Wrong?” His mouth dropped open.

Before he had a chance to close it and elaborate on her innocent miscalculation, she rushed to cover it with a kiss.

To her vast relief—and delight—nothing more was said that night.

Halfway to Oxford, rain had begun falling, turning the roads to mush and Rand’s journey to a snail-paced nightmare. He’d arrived home and trudged through the empty house to the one furnished room, his bedchamber, where he’d promptly fallen into bed and passed a restless night.

Morning found him in a foul mood. Another day gone and no closer to finding a solution. He scrubbed up and pulled on some clothes, then opened his door, intending to inspect the house.

A measuring tape in one hand, Kit stopped and turned.

“Rand. When did you get home?”

“Last night. Late.” Rand rubbed his aching head.

“How is the job progressing?”

“All but done—have you not noticed?”

“Is it?” He followed Kit along the corridor, peeking into beautifully finished rooms. “My apologies. You’ve worked wonders.”

“I’ve stayed here in Oxford since you left. Amazing how a few days overseeing will motivate craftsmen to work.” He grinned, then suddenly frowned. “Hey, Rand, you’re going to break your teeth.”

Rand consciously relaxed his jaw, which had been clenched to the point of pain.

“What’s got your dander up?” Kit asked.

“The mental image of my father at Hawkridge, planning a wedding for five days hence.”

“I thought you wanted to get married.”

“To Lily, not Margery Maybanks.”

“Margery?” Kit’s green-brown eyes widened. “Margery!

Why the hell would he want you to marry Margery?”

Rand sighed. “’Tis a long story.”

“Best told over a tankard of ale, I’d guess. Come along. ’Tis a bit early yet, but the King’s Arms is always open.”

“Chin up, dear,” Lily’s father bellowed across the table.

“You cannot give up hope,” Chrystabel added more gently, pointedly handing Lily a spoon. “There must be something that can be done.”

“Rand. Rand will have to come up with something.”

Unable to eat, Lily pushed her dinner around on her plate and sighed. Rand was her only hope.

The lighthearted camaraderie of last night was gone. In the wee hours of the morning, the young women had all giggled their way upstairs to share Lily’s big bed. It had been a tight fit with four instead of three, but worth it for the comfort she’d felt, surrounded by people who cared.

Yet today there was no comfort to be found. They’d awakened too late for breakfast and spent most of dinner revisiting all their useless suggestions, reviewing them with Father and Mum.

No one had any new ideas to contribute, and Lily’s predicament seemed more hopeless than ever.

“Violet? Are you ready to come home?” They all looked over to see Ford had appeared in the doorway.

“Did you have a fine time?”

Violet gave him a wan smile. “Last night we did.” She pushed back her chair and rose. “While I go get my things, Lily will fill you in on what’s happened. Perhaps you will see a solution we haven’t.”

But brilliant as Ford was, he had no solution, either. No new plan to change Lord Hawkridge’s mind. They would have to prove Bennett’s innocence. “Maybe one of the other hunters witnessed it,” he suggested. “Or someone else. Just because no one’s come forward—”

“Rand is planning to interview everyone in the vicinity.” Lily bit her lip. “But I’m afraid if anyone knew anything, they’d have come forward long before now.”

Ford looked thoughtful. “Not if they were afraid of incurring the marquess’s wrath. He clearly doesn’t want to hear his son was at fault.”

“That is true,” she said, reluctant to succumb to the thread of hope that suddenly tugged at her heart. “A different way to look at this. He did, after all, offer an enormous reward for information that would prove Bennett guilty. Perhaps people are reluctant to approach him with anything that would prove the opposite.”

Her father nodded sagely. “’Tis wise to keep on top of it.”

Judith reached for more bread. “She said ‘the opposite,’ Lord Trentingham. Someone could be frightened to bring Lord Hawkridge evidence that proves the opposite.”

“Eh?”

Apparently giving up, Judith slathered butter on the bread. “You must trust Rand, then,” she told Lily, taking a big bite. The solemn atmosphere had failed to curb her appetite. “You love him, and you have to believe he’ll find proof.”

Yes, Rand had promised they would find a way. Lily gave Judith a shaky smile, then turned to Ford. “Thank you. You’ve given me hope.”

“’Twas nothing. Just another way to look at a solution that had already been offered—nothing has changed.”

While that was true, Lily was holding as tight as she could to that thin thread of hope. For the first time since she’d awakened this morning, she felt able to breathe.

Violet returned, her satchel in one hand and
An Antidote Against Melancholy
in the other. “I’m ready.”

“Why did you want that book?” Ford asked.

As her gaze flicked to their parents, Violet flushed a delicate pink. “Oh, I just thought it might help Lily.” She took his arm. “Come along. I cannot wait to see Nicky and the twins.”

“What is the book called?” Chrystabel asked.

Having failed to escape, Violet forced a smile. “
An Antidote Against Melancholy
. Lily was feeling a bit melancholy last night, you see, and—”

“Oh, then would you mind leaving it here? I expect she may feel a bit melancholy again the next few days.”

“We already read the whole thing,” Violet said, clutching the book possessively.

“Well, then.” Mum was nothing if not persistent.

“Leave it here for me. I adore helping people, as you know, and it seems to me I could learn a lot from a book called
An Antidote Against Melancholy
.”

Lily suspected Mum would learn more than she thought. In specific, she’d learn her daughters weren’t quite the innocents she imagined. And if she could judge by her sister’s face, Violet was thinking much the same.

Looking amused, Ford pried the book from his wife’s hands and set it on the table. “Here,” he told his mother-in-law with a grin that would do the devil proud. “I hope you and Lord Trentingham will enjoy it.”

As Chrystabel smiled and reached for it, he hustled Violet from the room, laughingly ignoring her protests.

“Come upstairs, Joseph,” Chrystabel purred in her husband’s ear. “We can read this educational book together.”

By the time Rand told the whole story, he and Kit had long finished dinner and were nursing tankards of ale.

Last night’s rain had ceased, but the day had dawned depressingly gray. The dark paneling inside the King’s Arms made it dreary, and the crackling fire near their table did little to warm the room or lighten Rand’s mood.

“Of all the rotten things your father has ever done to you, this wins the prize.” Kit shook his head. “Margery.

Is she all grown-up, then?”

“Very much so, and beautiful, too. But I cannot imagine myself married to her.”

“For all intents and purposes, she was your little sister.” Looking thoughtful, Kit signaled for another round.

“You say she’s beautiful?”

“I’d say you’re welcome to her, but I’m afraid Bennett Armstrong would have something to say about that. Especially considering she’s carrying his child.”

Kit blinked. “On top of everything else, she’s with child?”

“Yes, and she’s asked me to raise the babe as my own.”

“You will, of course, should it come to that.” Kit knew Rand inside out. “But we must find a way to fix this.” He paused, musing as he drained his tankard. “Skinny old Bennett, huh?”

Despite the gravity of his situation, a ghost of a grin materialized on Rand’s face. “He’s no longer skinny. I’d not challenge him were I you. Remember, he’s killed once already, even if it was in self-defense.”

“He only killed Alban. Good riddance.” A serving maid set down two fresh tankards, and Kit flipped her a coin. “One of my most amusing childhood memories is Alban’s fury whenever you deciphered his diary.”