Page 61 of Wild Lily
Julian turned for the stairs and strode to his sister’s bedroom door. He knocked—and knocked again. With his hand to the knob, he was ready to enter, when the door fell open. Facing him was Elanna’s maid, her tiny eyes circled white with fright.
“What’s the matter, Bess? Where is—?” But he saw Elanna in silhouette beyond her sitting room, standing before the window in her bedroom. She stood deathly still, her hands clasped before her but her posture sagged, so unlike his elegant little sister.
“Go away, Julian.” Her voice was a rasp.
“I wish to talk with you.”
“I don’t wish it. Please leave.”
He checked Bess’ stance. The servant assumed the posture of an animal on guard, terrified.
“What’s happened?” he asked Bess.
But the gray-haired woman bit her lip.
“Elanna?“
She stiffened, defiance in every line of her body. “Go away, Julian.”
“Let me help you.”
“You can’t. I love that you’ve tried. But you must let me go now.”
What does that mean?“Did something happen in the salon? Tell me.”
“No. Meet Miss Hanniford in the garden.”
“I must know—”
“No, you will not. Seize happiness for yourself, Julian. Do it. For me.” And then she turned to one side and walked out of his vision.
Roiled, defeated, exhausted, he made his way downstairs and out to Carbury’s orangery.
When Julian caught sight of Lily again, she was bent over a camellia bush in the huge glass house filled with sunlight and plants of every size and shape and fragrance. The sun shone on her hair, turning her dark tresses to glistening midnight.
And when she raised her face to welcome him, her countenance was aglow with an emotion so tender, he wished he had a portrait of her as she was in that moment when he knew—yes, he knew—he must have her as his wife.
But she searched his expression. “What’s wrong?”
He took her hands.
“Tell me if you wish. I won’t pry.”
He led her away from the door of the glass edifice where tall evergreens obscured the view from the house and anyone who might look out upon the splendid wealth of the gardens. At a white wrought iron bench, he urged her down.
Still holding her hands, he smiled briefly, painfully. “I worry about Elanna.”
“She wasn’t happy to talk with Lord Carbury.”
“You can see she doesn’t care for him.”
“Yes.” Lily nodded. “And that he is—well, not as charming a suitor as one might hope for.”
Julian lifted her hands, turned them over and kissed each one in the center of her palm. “How sweet you are.”
At his touch, she gave a little frisson. “I am honest, as we said we would be.”
He pulled her hands so that she circled his waist. So close, she smelled of lilacs. So near, she gazed up at him with admiration that he hoped one day to merit.
