Lily Read online

  LILY

  Lauren Royal

  Author’s Cut Edition

  12th Edition, January 2018

  Novelty Books

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Book Description

  More Chase Family Books

  A Message from Lauren…

  Chase Family Tree

  Cover Image

  Dedication

  1: He’d forgotten about her.

  2: “What?” Lily laughed…

  3: When Lily arrived at…

  4: It wasn’t that Lily…

  5: “I swear, Uncle Ford…

  6: Trentingham Manor…

  7: Breathless, Lily stared…

  8: Rand’s bedchamber…

  9: “Rose, don’t!”

  10: She’d overslept.

  11: An hour later, Rose…

  12: No sooner had…

  13: Downstairs, Lily…

  14: Later that afternoon…

  15: It was a week later…

  16: For three solid days…

  17: “Lily, are you ready…

  18: “Joseph,” Chrystabel said…

  19: Once in a great while…

  20: The burn of overworked…

  21: “You cannot go back…

  22: Lily’s gaze was glued…

  23: The next day, Lily…

  24: “I’m flattered, my lady…

  25: In the fickle way of…

  26: When Lily and Rand…

  27: “Well, Chrysanthemum…

  28: The soft drizzle…

  29: Lily smiled to herself.

  30: It took three carriages…

  31: “Never say never…

  32: After much fussing…

  33: “Lie still,” Rose muttered.

  34: “Lily?” Clearly shocked…

  35: “You look very nice…

  36: Patience fled…

  37: For the first few…

  38: When Rand returned…

  39: Like the rest of…

  40: Upstairs in Hawkridge…

  41: “Lily?” Rand whispered…

  42: “Randy.”

  43: The smile froze…

  44: “Jerome, you may leave…

  45: “Bennett is not…

  46: Lord Bennett Armstrong’s…

  47: The Marquess failed…

  48: Margery took a few…

  49: In his small chamber…

  50: Clad in her night rail…

  51: Rand set their luggage…

  52: The ride to Trentingham…

  53: “Wait!” Lily called.

  54: Dinner was a subdued affair.

  55: “…that you can take ill!”

  56: Halfway to Oxford, rain…

  57: By the time Rand told…

  58: “I’m worried.”

  59: Rand showed up…

  60: The three of them…

  61: The most logical…

  62: Etta in tow, Margery…

  63: “I have an idea!”

  64: All the way back…

  65: Rand arrived at…

  66: Standing in her…

  67: Not the sort of man…

  68: While the marquess…

  69: The negotiations…

  70: “Soon,” Rand whispered…

  Thank You!

  BONUS MATERIALAuthor’s Note

  Explore the Chase Family World

  Excerpt from ROSE

  Books by Lauren Royal

  Free Historical Recipe Book

  Contest

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Jewels of Historical Romance

  Contact Information

  Copyright Page

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  England, 1677

  Lily Ashcroft is far and away the most conventional member of her eccentric family. Though she fell for dashing Oxford professor Lord Randal Nesbitt at the tender age of sixteen, she buried her feelings in deference to society’s expectation that her older sisters marry first. Four years later, her sister Rose has now set her sights on Rand—and though it breaks her heart, what else can Lily do but help her beloved sister land the man of her dreams?

  What no one considers are Rand’s feelings on the matter. He’s been nursing a secret affection for sweet, compassionate Lily ever since their first meeting. But Rose is just as beautiful and shares his academic interests. Now he finds himself caught between two lovely sisters—the one he’s expected to wed and the one who’s captured his heart…

  MORE CHASE FAMILY BOOKS

  For more information, click on a cover.

  Chase Family Series: The Jewels

  Chase Family Series: The Flowers

  Chase Family Series: The Regency

  Chase Family Series: The Renaissance

  Boxed Sets

  A MESSAGE FROM LAUREN…

  It’s unusual for an author to center all her novels around a single family, and it wasn’t something I planned to do when I started writing.

  The Chase family came to me all at once. I knew I wanted to set my first books in the late 17th century, and I wanted to write about people affected by their times. An English family with Royalist sympathies would have lived through a lot in those years—the English Civil War, the Protectorate, exile on the Continent, the Restoration—and those experiences would have forever shaped their personalities. So the Chases came to me: Jason, the oldest, who had responsibility thrust on him too soon by the untimely deaths of their parents; Colin, a middle child filled with resentment for his parents’ choices and what those had ultimately cost him and his siblings; Kendra, the only girl, raised by imperfect but well-meaning older brothers; and her twin Ford, the baby of the family, the happy-go-lucky one who was too young to feel the burden of their circumstances. Ford later marries Violet Ashcroft, bringing her eccentric relations into the Chase family circle.

  After two series, I decided to write books set in the Regency period. By then the Chases felt as real to me as my own family, so it was natural to write about their descendants. Though over a hundred years have passed, evidence of the original Chases still remains, hidden in old portraits, hereditary traits, and family legend (the truth of which astute readers will know better than the Regency Chases do!). I had a lot of fun tying these characters together across the centuries.

  My daughter and I are now writing Chase books set in the Renaissance era, so the tradition continues. Will I ever write about a different family? I can’t say for sure, but I’m not ready to walk away from the Chases yet!

  I love to keep in touch with my readers! Join my e-newsletter to receive free and 99¢ book suggestions each week as well as new release bulletins. And I’d be thrilled to see you in my Readers Group on Facebook, where I share sneak peeks and gather suggestions from my favorite readers!

  There are so many great romance novels out there—thank you for choosing mine. I so hope you’ll enjoy Rand and Lily’s story.

  Happy reading!

  CHASE FAMILY TREE

  To see a larger version of the Chase Family Tree, click here!

  For DeeDee Guiver Perkins,

  Diena Brennan Simmons,

  and Julie Bowring Walker,

  who wore hoop skirts with me at the senior prom.

  Our friendship means the world to me.

  ONE

  Trentingham Manor, the South of England

  August 1677

  HE’D FORGOTTEN about her.

  Well, maybe he hadn’t quite forgotten about her, but he’d certainly put her out of his mind.

  Well, maybe he hadn’t quite put her out of his mind, but he’d known she was only sixteen. And sixteen was too young, so, being the sort of man he was—an honorable one, or so he liked to think—he�
��d made a conscious decision not to pursue her.

  For the four long years since their last meeting, whenever thoughts of Lily Ashcroft had sneaked into Lord Randal Nesbitt’s head, he’d reminded himself she was only sixteen.

  But now, Rand realized with a start, she must be twenty.

  Focused as Rand was, the priest’s voice, reciting the baptism service, barely penetrated his thoughts. Nor did the wiggling month-old child in Rand’s arms. Instead of looking at the altar, he gazed at Lily standing beside him in her family’s oak-paneled chapel, her sister’s other twin baby held close.

  Twenty. A lovely dark-haired, blue-eyed twenty. A marriageable twenty.

  In all of Rand’s twenty-eight years, he’d never really considered marriage, so the notion was jarring.

  “Having now,” the priest continued, “in the name of these children, made these promises, wilt thou also on thy part take heed that these children learn the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, and all other things which a Christian ought to know and believe to his soul’s health?”

  “I will, by God’s help,” Lily replied softly. Gently, gazing down at the babe in her arms.

  Rand was unsurprised. In four years she had changed, of course. But her gentleness, that innate sweetness, hadn’t changed. Couldn’t have changed. It was what made her Lily.

  Ford Chase, Rand’s friend—and father of the children in question—elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Hmm?” Startled, Rand looked down to the lad he was holding, its bald little head patterned with colors made by sun streaming through the chapel’s stained-glass windows. Ford’s child, he thought, surprised by a rush of tenderness. Rand’s godchild…or at least the tiny babe and his twin sister would be his godchildren once they managed to get through this interminable service.

  “I will,” he answered, echoing Lily’s words and vaguely wondering what he’d just agreed to.

  “By God’s help,” the priest prompted.

  “By God’s help.”

  God help him get through this ritual. Mass, and then a lesson, and now this ceremony at the font—Rand felt like he’d been standing on his feet forever. Delivering a two-hour lecture at Oxford wasn’t nearly this exhausting. He feared his knees were locked permanently.

  He wanted this to be over. He wanted to talk to Lily. Never mind that she’d barely noticed him. He’d arrived at the last minute and had no chance to greet her before this rigmarole all began.

  The priest turned a page in his Book of Common Prayer. “Wilt thou take heed that these children, so soon as sufficiently instructed, be brought to the bishop to be confirmed by him?”

  “I will.” Rand and Lily said the words together this time. Their voices, he thought, sounded good together.

  “Name these children.”

  The child squirmed in Rand’s arms, choosing then to begin wailing. “Marcus Cicero Chase,” Rand bellowed over the cries.

  “Rebecca Ashcroft Chase,” Lily said more softly and with a smile, even though the girl’s cry had joined her twin brother’s, seeming to fill the chapel all the way up to its sculpted Tudor ceiling.

  Whoever would have thought such small infants could make such a huge racket?

  The priest rushed to finish, scooping water into his hand. It trickled through his fingers, running in rivulets down the backs of the two babies’ heads and landing on the colorful glazed tile floor. “I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” He muttered some more words and made crosses on the children’s foreheads. “Amen.”

  Amen. It was over. Well-wishers crowded close. Still holding his squalling godson, Rand turned to Lily.

  She was gone.

  How could she have disappeared so quickly? Using his height to advantage, he peered over heads. But she’d vanished.

  Nearby, Ford held tiny Rebecca and was chatting with an older man. Lily’s father, if Rand remembered right. Or rather, Ford was shouting at the man, since the Earl of Trentingham was hard of hearing.

  Marveling that his tall, masculine friend looked so comfortable holding an infant, Rand shifted little Marc uneasily. Rebecca had stopped crying, apparently content in Ford’s arms, but in Rand’s arms, her twin brother still howled.

  Glancing around for help, Rand was relieved to see Ford’s wife, Violet, moving close. When she reached for her son, Rand gave her a grateful smile. But then he found himself oddly reluctant to hand Marc over. The babe might be loud, but he smelled sweet and had a pleasant, warm weight.

  When Violet took him, Marc quieted immediately. Resisting the urge to run his fingers over that fuzzy little head, Rand leaned a hand on one of the intricate carved oak stalls. “I assume you chose his name, Marcus Cicero, for the philosopher.”

  Violet bounced the lad in her arms, her brown curls bouncing along with him. She looked more motherly than Rand usually pictured her. Did children change people so much? “It was only fair,” she said. “Ford had the naming of our firstborn.”

  “Nicky? Ah, Nicolas Copernicus,” Rand remembered. “Well, I suppose it’s a better name than Galileo Galilei.”

  “Ford’s other scientific hero?” She laughed, her brown eyes sparkling with humor behind the spectacles Ford had made for her. “Even he wouldn’t saddle a good English child with Galileo for a name.”

  “And Rebecca? Who is she named after?”

  “No one. I just like it. And there’s never been a major female philosopher.”

  “Yet,” Rand added, knowing Violet hoped to publish a philosophy book of her own someday.

  “Yet,” she confirmed with a nod, clearly appreciating his support. She touched her husband’s arm, claiming his attention. “We’d best be heading home,” she said when he turned, “or our guests will arrive there before us.”

  When Ford smiled at her, Violet’s return smile transformed her face. Perhaps she wasn’t as beautiful as her sisters, Lily and Rose, but she was attractive in her own, unique way, and it had nothing to do with the magnificent purple gown she’d donned for the baptism.

  Moreover, it was obvious she made Ford happy. A sort of happiness that glowed from his eyes whenever he looked at her. A sort of happiness neither Rand nor Ford had dreamed of back in the days they attended university together.

  It was frightening how much the man had changed.

  Ford still held his new daughter, her tiny fist tangled in his long brown hair. Unable to resist this time, Rand skimmed his fingers over Rebecca’s dark curls. “So soft,” he murmured.

  Violet nodded. “All babies are soft.”

  “I haven’t touched a baby since I was a very small child myself.”

  “Really?” She looked surprised to hear that. “Well, someday you’ll have children of your own.”

  “Perhaps,” he allowed. “My favorite truism is ‘never say never.’ But God willing, should it happen, it won’t be too soon.”

  Her laugh tinkled through the nearly empty chapel. “We really must be going.”

  “Come along, Rand,” Ford said. “I want to show you the water closet I built. It’s much better than the ones imported from France.”

  A smile curved Rand’s lips as he followed them out the door. It seemed his friend hadn’t changed that much, after all.

  TWO

  “WHAT?” LILY laughed as her friend Judith Carrington pulled her toward a carriage. “What’s so important you couldn’t wait until we got to Violet’s house to tell me? So important you made me almost drop my niece, not to mention nearly dislocated my arm dragging me out of there?”

  Before climbing inside, Lily waved at her parents and sister Rose, lest they think she’d abandoned them. Hers was a handsome family, she thought suddenly. Her father, Joseph, was tall and trim, his eyes a deep green, his real hair still as jet-black as the periwig he wore for his grandchildren’s baptism. Mum and Rose were both dark-haired and statuesque. They looked elegant in their best satin gowns, Chrystabel’s a gleaming gold and Rose’s a rich, shimmering blue. />
  Looking at them, one would never guess they were so eccentric.

  Her mother waved back distractedly, holding her two-year-old grandson, Nicky, as she busily ushered guests out the door to their waiting transportation.

  Feeling Judith’s hand on her back, Lily laughed again and lifted her peach silk skirts to duck inside the carriage. “What?” she repeated.

  “Oh, just this.” Even though they weren’t ready to leave, Judith pulled the door shut. Then she settled herself with a flounce. “I’m betrothed.”

  “Betrothed?” Lily blinked at her friend. “As in you’re planning to wed?”

  “Well, Mama is doing the planning. But it’s ever so exciting. Come October, I’m going to be a married woman. Can you believe it, Lily?”

  “No, I cannot believe it.” The third of her friends to marry this year. Yesterday they’d been children; now suddenly they were supposed to be all grown-up. “Who will be your groom?” Lily asked.

  “Lord Grenville. Didn’t your mother tell you she’d suggested he offer for my hand? Father says it’s a brilliant match.”

  Grenville was wealthy, but thirty-five years old to Judith’s twenty. “Do you love him?” Lily wondered aloud. She hoped so. Judith was plump and pretty, but even more important, she was genuinely nice. A good friend who deserved happiness.

  “I barely know him. But Mama assures me we’ll grow to love each other—or get along tolerably, at least.” The excitement faded from Judith’s blue eyes, replaced with a tinge of anxiety. Her fingers worried the embroidery on her aqua underskirt. “It will all work out fine, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m sure of it, too,” Lily soothed, reaching across to take her friend’s cold, pale hand. She squeezed, wishing she were as certain as she sounded. Lily’s parents had promised their daughters they could choose their own husbands, but she knew it didn’t work that way for most young women.

  Her family was different. The Ashcroft motto—Interroga Conformationem, translated as Question Convention—said it all.

  The Carringtons, on the other hand, were as conventional as roast goose on Christmas Day. Judith forced a smile and pushed back a lock of bright yellow hair that had escaped her careful coiffure. “Who was that handsome man who stood as godfather?”