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stitch of a seamster’s work, And then she will be a true love of mine.

    Only when he finished did he realize that Rose had stopped singing to listen to him. He nodded at her to take the next verse. Back and forth they went until the song ended and the room burst into wild applause.
    “Your voice is beautiful!” Lily exclaimed.
    His face went hot. “Your playing is exquisite.”
    Her shrug was as graceful as her music. “I practice often. ’Tis a way to pass the time.”
    “’Tis more than that. ’Tis a gift to all who listen.” Ignoring all her curious relations, he moved around to hit a key, the single note reverberating through the room. “I cannot play.”
    “I cannot sing.”
    He grinned. “Gift us with another tune, and your sister and I will accompany it. Together this time.”
    She thought for a moment, then the jaunty notes of
    “The Gypsy Rover” took air, his voice rising along with it. Rose waited until the chorus to join him.
    He whistled and he sang ’til the greenwoods rang, And he won the heart of a lady.
    Their harmony was perfect, he thought as they sang on.
    And as the lyrics said, Rand wished he really could whistle and sing and win the heart of a lady. If only it were as simple as that.
    But perfect harmony or not, ’twasn’t Rose he was wishing to win.
    They sang a third song, and a fourth, and then he lost count. More than once, Lily’s gaze locked on his as his voice and her notes blended. Beautiful music. For fleeting moments it seemed that he and she were the only ones in the chamber, and from the look on her face, he’d wager
    ’twas the same for her.

    Then the last tune ended, and she blinked and jumped to her feet, making Beatrix tumble to the floor with an outraged meow. “Is it not time to retire, Mum?”
    “Oh!” Lady Trentingham stood as well. “Rose, you must come with me. We have yet to prepare a room for Rand.”
    Rose frowned. “I’m sure the staff has taken care of that.”
    “Not all our special welcoming details.” Lady Trentingham turned to her assorted family. “I trust you can all find your beds?” As they began drifting out, she focused on her older daughter. “Come along, dear. You’ll need to find flowers for Rand’s chamber.”
    “But Mum—”
    “Come along,” she repeated, more tersely than seemed to be her nature. “Lily, will you wait here and keep Rand company until his room is ready?”
    “I need no flowers,” Rand interjected.
    “Nonsense. Rose?” Lady Trentingham moved toward the door, herding the last lingering friends and relatives along with her.
    The chamber seemed so quiet when everyone had left.
    And Rand felt odd to find himself all alone with Lily for the second time that day.
    “Mum,” he said, searching for a way to breach the sudden silence. “’Tis a strange thing to call one’s mother.”
    “I know.” Lily’s soft laugh broke the tension. Still at the harpsichord, she sat again and started playing, a soothing tune he found unfamiliar. Beatrix reclaimed her rightful place on her lap.
    Obviously knowing the piece well, Lily talked as her fingers picked out the ethereal notes. “You’ll probably have heard that my father raises flowers. Multitudes of them. He named us all after his favorites—surely you’ll have noticed that—and Rowan after the tree. Mum’s given name is Chrystabel, but he calls her Chrysanthemum . . . Mum is short for that.” Her fingers stilled. “’Tis silly, is it not?”
    “Keep playing.” He leaned against the dark wood instrument and waited until she did. “I think it not silly so much as touching. I take it you’re all close?”
    “Very.”
    The single word was uttered so matter-of-factly he knew she took that closeness for granted. But he wouldn’t acknowledge the envy that clutched at his throat. He’d long ago accepted that his family was happier without him. And life on his own was just fine. Better, in fact.
    When the cat lifted its head, Rand followed its gaze to