The maid Nora had left the house without a peep. Glad of that, he thought it fitting she should have no severance, only her wages to date, and certainly no reference.
Among those in the estate cottages, his tenants inquired about Lily. Those especially eager to see her return were two who recovered from their bouts of bronchitis and parents of the children whom she’d help recover from croup and coughs. His stable master Docker and his two sons also asked after her. “She liked to ride, Your Grace.”
Julian could see they missed her smiling face, as he did at his table, in his parlor, in his arms.
He sighed and glanced to his desk. From London, he’d received a package he’d ordered from a friend of his in London who was a surgeon. The mahogany case contained a complete set of ear, nose and throat examination instruments. Strange items that his friend had written could help one diagnose aural diseases and laryngeal diseases. He’d added a set of small surgical knives, three scissors and a dozen German suturing needles plus a pair of forceps. Two weeks ago, he’d ordered them, hoping to give them to Lily upon her return here.
But each day that passed, his hope of her return died a little more. His effort seemed pointless because he wrote to her each day at Willowreach but she did not reply.
He grimaced. He must face the possibility that his marriage was so torn that he might never mend it. Unless he could persuade her to return to him.
A new satchel of medical equipment might cause her to smile, but presents alone would not lure her back to him. He had to give her himself and if he waited much longer, not even that could induce her to come home.
He spun for the hallway, found a housemaid and told her to fetch his valet and Perkins to him immediately.
“Send round my carriage,” he told the butler when the man stood before him. “I’m off to Willowreach and don’t know when I’ll return.”
* * * *
Five days later, Julian climbed down from his cab to take the steps to Killian Hanniford’s house in the Rue Haussmann. He’d taken the train from London in a hurry, and he was miserable in body and mind. On the hunt for her for days now, he’d been to Willowreach where she’d said she would go. Then, hearing from staff that she’d left to Ashford, he’d searched there, to no avail. Paris was his last hope of finding her.
In the past few weeks, Julian had noticed only one letter from Killian had arrived at Broadmore for his wife. Marianne and Ada had written often to Lily that the family would take a four-week holiday at a seaside hotel in Cherbourg. Although Lily had told Julian she didn’t expect letters from her family while they were on vacation, he surmised they must know where she was.
Yesterday, when Julian had sent a telegram to their Cherbourg hotel to his father-in-law, he’d been shocked to receive a reply from the concierge that Monsieur Hanniford had returned to Paris. Alarmed at Killian’s sudden departure, fearing some accident had befallen Lily, Julian made haste to go to Paris, too. If Lily had rejoined her family, Julian had to go, hat in hand, to apologize and get back his wife.
The Hanniford butler opened the door to him. Julian recognized him as the same man who’d served in that capacity almost a year ago when first he’d met Lily and become enchanted with her.
“Wonderful to see you, Your Grace.” Foster took his hat and gloves. “Mister Hanniford is with a visitor. A business associate. We did not expect you, Your Grace.”
“Please tell Mister Hanniford I’m here. It’s urgent.”
“At once, of course.” Foster grew wide-eyed in alarm. “Perhaps you wish to wait with Mrs. Roland and Miss Hanniford, Your Grace?”
“Yes. That’s good. Anyone. Quickly.” The butler stepped with speed down the hall.
Julian followed him into a large salon overlooking the boulevard.
“Julian!” Marianne shot to her feet to greet him, her smile dying when she saw his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Is Lily here?”
“She’s not with you?” Marianne put a hand to her throat.
“How can that be?” Ada was aghast.
“Is she here?” he persisted.
“No,” Marianne blurted. “No!”
“We’ve had so few letters from you,” Julian said, weary, angry they did not answer him. “When Lily didn’t return to me, I thought perhaps she’d come here and told all of you not to write.”
“Where has she gone?” Marianne was horrified. She seized his arm and led him into the room. “The family has been in Cherbourg. On vacation—”
“Julian?” Killian charged through the doorway. “Foster told me to come at once. What’s wrong? What are you doing here and where’s—?”
“Lily. I came to find her.”
Killian tipped his head. His black eyes went to slits. “What do you mean?”
“She’s left me.”
“What?” Killian’s fear rang through the room. “How? Why?”
“We’ve had our challenges,” Julian said, meeting his father-in-law’s stare with determination.
Killian snorted. “I’ll bet. Your mother would be my first guess.”
“I’ve taken care of her.”
“By what? Sending her to deepest Africa?” Killian fumed.
“I might try that,” Julian conceded.
“What happened to Lily?” Killian demanded.
“Without a word, she has left. No note. No indication of where. I’ve tracked her from the countryside by coach. I’ve been to Willowreach and Ashford. I’ve checked in London. There is nothing. Nothing. So, if she’s not here, would she have returned to America?”
Killian, Ada and Marianne checked each other’s expressions.
“No,” said Ada.
“I doubt it,” said Marianne.
Julian winced.
“Our Lily is no weakling,” Killian declared. “But to be alone? Alone? What happened? You can’t come here, drop this on us and not give me some explanation.”
“I didn’t cure our mutual problems early enough. She grew…away from me. More than that, I’m not certain. I’ve had so much to do to take on the duchy that I ignored her and I…I lost her.”
“Christ.” Killian went for the bell pull.
“I’m right here, sir,” Foster said, stepping forward. He’d never left the drawing room.
“Brandy. Get us a bottle. Tea, too. Food, please. Here.” His gaze ran over Julian. “You look like hell.”
Julian inhaled and nodded.
“Have the maids prepare a room, Foster. Did you bring luggage?” he asked Julian.
“Only my satchel. A few shaving items.”
“Sit down. Tell us details. What you’ve learned. Where you’ve looked.”
Hours later, he bid them goodnight. “I’ll depart in the morning and return to London.”
He’d told Killian he’d hire a solicitor whose specialty was searching for missing people. Killian said he’d send telegrams to New York, Baltimore and Corpus Christi to his friends to try to track Lily.
* * * *
Phillip Leland lived in a town house in Queen Square. His home, once his parents’ abode, was a respectable red brick with neat white trim. Julian had never been here but as he looked at it now, it was a stately house for a bachelor of the legal profession. It stood on a quiet expanse of genteel respectability, except when a friend drove up in a traveling coach at five-thirty in the morning and banged upon the broad oak door like an escaped inmate from Bedlam.
A bespeckled man, most likely Leland’s man of all work, yanked open the front door.
“Yes, sir? Yes, sir! May I ‘elp you?”
“I’m here to see your master.” Julian removed his hat and handed over his card. “Immediately.”
The man adjusted his glasses to read it. “Sir? Oh, un. Your Grace. Yes, well, sir. Right away, sir.” And off he scrambled down the hall while Julian let himself in and closed the front door.
Upstairs, the servant created a commotion and within minutes, Phillip Leland descended the wooden stairs. He pulled tight
the sash to his navy brocade dressing gown and ran a hand through his wild golden hair. “Your Grace? What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you. About Lily.”
“Lily. Certainly. Lily.” He blinked, still half-asleep, having trouble making sense of Julian’s words.
“My wife, Leland.”
That spurred him to action. “Of course. Come with me. The parlor. Jenner?” He spoke to his man who stood in the shadows. “Get Cook to make us coffee.”
“Aye, sir.” And off the man went.
“I’ve no time for coffee.”
Leland took in Julian’s attire. Yes, he must look a mess, traveling like a banshee from Paris to Calais, bargaining for a spot on the next steamer packet to Dover. Arriving in the middle of the night and catching a public conveyance up to London. Unable to wait for the next train. Unable to bide his time when he had to find his wife.
“What can I help you with, Your Grace?” Leland indicated the sofa.
Julian paced and refused the offer. “Lily. Tell me, Leland. What kind of money does she have?”
“Sir?”
“What I mean is, what funds might she have that she could buy passage to New York or Baltimore?”
“She does have her own pin money, via the marriage settlement.”
“Did she access it recently?”
Leland blanched.
“So she did.” Julian breathed in relief. “How much did she take?”
“I don’t think it appropriate that I tell you.”
“Why not? Did she forbid you to do so?”
“No, sir. Not forbid me.”
Now, he was furious. “Well, what is wrong with telling me what she took the money for or how much?”
“Because, Your Grace, it was to be a surprise.”
“A surprise?” Was Leland insane? “Hardly that, man.”
“She said she’d tell you in her own time.”
Julian did sit now. Puzzled, he sank to a chair. “Phillip, I’m at my wits end. I need to find my wife. She’s gone too long and I fear if I don’t find her soon, she’ll be gone too far for me to ever get her back. She’s not at Willowreach. She’s not in Paris or Cherbourg. If she’s returned to America, I must follow her. So do tell me. Did she ask you to give her enough money to buy passage home?”
“No, sir. She did not.”
His last hope drained out of him. He’d lost all that kept him sane. He wanted to scream. “Might you have any idea where she might have gone?”
“I do, sir.” The man attempted a small smile.
“Well for gods sake, man, where?”
“Your Grace, have you ever been to Tipperary?”
* * * *
Traveling to Ireland had never been a journey Julian considered. The estate his grandfather had purchased more than five decades ago had been an afterthought to both that man and his son, Julian’s father. To a great extent, for him also. As he rode from the port of Rosslare inland to Tipperary, he admired the beauty of the green land. Marveled at its potential and at his wife’s bravery to come here alone to a strange country.
He’d hurried as quickly as possible from London, then south to Willowreach and north to Broadmore. The materials he’d purchased in London would arrive by messenger this week. The improvements he’d ordered to Willowreach and Broadmore would be finished, he was assured by his tenants, by the time he returned with his wife. He hoped to god she might accompany him.
He pressed his fingers to his temples, the stress of the past weeks causing a royal headache. Part of his problem was this blasted coach ride. The directions he’d given the driver were rough, but they were the ones Leland had given to Lily. She’d confirmed her arrival in a letter to the lawyer more than two weeks ago. So, Julian trusted that the directions were useful. Would that his words were useful to get his wife back.
Showers beat upon the roof of the coach at erratic intervals. Such intermittent rains were a pleasant change from the downpours they’d suffered in England in the spring and early summer.
The house he saw from the road was a simple Georgian, whitewashed brick in need of a clearing of the brush in the yard. The stone lane to the house looked newly laid and raked, an improvement Julian credited to his wife.
He climbed down, waiting for the driver to deposit his valise and the other leather bag he carried. His valet Pendley he’d left in Rosslare this morning. For this journey, he wished to go alone.
He strode up to the front door and knocked. No one answered. He tried again.
This time, a lady called from inside. And a woman pulled open the door to him.
It was the chambermaid whom he had assigned to Lily when she’d left Broadmore weeks ago.
“Your Grace?” She bobbed a curtsy. “M’lord, we did not expect you.”
“I am aware. May I?” He indicated that he had luggage and wished to enter.
She opened the door wider. “Oh, yes, sir. M’lord. Sir. Come in.”
He picked up his cases, stepped inside and put them down. The house smelled of beeswax and bleach. The wooden floors were clean if scuff-marked and dull. The yellow paint upon the walls could use a new coat. But the house had the charm of the Regency Era with soft green upholstery to the salon and white lace curtains floating against ivory draperies at the floor-length windows. His wife had been at work here.
He fingered his hat.
“I can take that, m’lord. Gloves, too. Ah, we ‘ave no butler, sir. No footmen. Beggin’ your pardon.”
“No need of that. What is your name?”
“Lucille, sir.” She bobbed again, nervous and glancing backward to the far side of the huge foyer. “You want Her Grace, I’m sure.”
“I do. Please announce me.”
“Ah, well, sir. She’s not ‘ere.”
No? “Where might she be, Lucille?”
“Down at the cottages, sir. I mean, m’lord. She goes every afternoon. We’ve a lady at ‘er time, sir.”
It took him a moment to realize that Lucille told him a woman was in labor. “I see. How far away is this cottage? May I walk?”
He would not wait for Lily to return. He understood women could take days to deliver a baby.
“Oh, yes, sir. A short trek.” She smiled, relieved to show him the way and not deal with him any longer. “I can show you.”
“Please.” He picked up the small leather satchel and followed her.
She led him to the back of the house, down the back servants’ stairs and out the door to the kitchen garden.
“Down this lane, half a mile. All our tenants live there. You’ll find her. Ask for her.”
“Thank you. I will.” And off he set, nerves jumping as he took the narrow lane round a bend and into a clearing. Five, six cottages, white with thick thached rooves stood together. And from one came the soft moan of a woman at her task of birthing her baby.
He paused outside the cottage, at once shy of intruding in a private matter.
The door was thin wood, bright blue. He gathered his gumption and knocked.
The door fell open and there she stood.
Her hair caught up in a pile upon her head, she was fresh-faced with pink cheeks and inquisitive clear blue eyes. She put a hand to her ribs as if she caught her breath. “Julian.”
She looked hollow-eyed, the only sign that she might have tended her patient all night long.
No matter her weariness, the sight of her refreshed him like a cool swim on a hot day.
But seeing him did not elicit any emotion in her save surprise. She examined his features, his clothes. “How did you come?”
“The steamer from Portsmouth. Coach from Rosslare.”
She pivoted to look back into the dark interior of the cottage. “Give me a minute.”
He nodded and she shut the door upon him.
He turned his face to the sun, hoping for guidance to utter the right words to make her return to him.
When he heard her open the door, he was astonished to see her lead a youn
g girl by the hand. The child was two or three years old with a riot of strawberry-blonde curls and piercing gray eyes.
“This is Deirdre,” she introduced the child. Her chubby cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes red. “Come outside for a bit, Deirdre. She needs to stay with me.”
“Of course.”
“Julian, I wonder if we shouldn’t wait for a conversation until after Deirdre’s mother gives birth. I don’t want to leave her. She requires someone to soothe her. You understand.” Her blue eyes widened to indicate the mother faced some challenge Lily might not wish to speak of in front of the child.
He nooded. At the moment, his needs were less important than the woman inside that cottage.
But he was also struck by how commanding his wife sounded. No ingenue stood before him. No young bride eager for her groom’s approval. But a woman who took her own power. “We don’t have to talk right now. I’m here at a difficult time.”
“If you return up to the house, I’m sure Lucille will see to your needs. Tea? Brandy? A luncheon, perhaps?”
“Thank you, yes.”
“And there’s a cistern in the ceiling above the master’s dressing room. Do pull the lever and enjoy a bath, if you wish. The water might not be very warm, but the sun beats down through the window upon the tub and makes it enjoyable.”
That Lily would offer him this in her own room was a kindness he savored. “I will. I brought this for you. Perhaps there’s something in here that you’d need now.”
He put the leather satchel into her arms.
“What’s this?”
“A gift.” He gave her a smile and to the child, a small wave. “Until later.”
* * * *
The hall clock chimed nine when Lily made her way through the house to the foyer. She was bone tired, the ordeal of the ten-hour long labor and breach birth of a boy sapping her of strength. Julian’s leather case in one hand, she dropped it to the first step of the landing, not knowing what to do with such a marvelous collection of medical instruments and devices. He’d paid a lot of money for them. The very best, she could tell by the exquisite cut of the steel. Honored, humbled by his thoughtfulness, she was overwhelmed, too, by the fact that he’d found her.
Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1) Page 27
