Page 129 of Wild Lily
Chapter 17
Julian sat, watching his estate manager close the door to his study. He rose to walk to the window and look out on the kitchen garden. Lettuces and tomatoes bloomed. Cabbages were popping up their pale green heads through the thick loam. The oak trees swayed in the breeze. All nature went on, eager for the sun.
He had little joy of it.
Three weeks had passed since Lily had left Broadmore. The heat of late August was upon them and Julian was noted the stay from the incessant rain and damp. Some of the crops had improved. His financial affairs had as well, courtesy of the sale of the Irish estate Leland had sold for him. He experienced some peace that he no longer dealt with the virulence of his mother. He kept well away from the dower house where she was installed with the two servants he’d allotted her. She did not venture near him. Wise of her.
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, nothing 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 noticed that no letters from him or anyone in the family had arrived at Broadmore for his wife since her departure. They must know where she was.
His father-in-law remained in residence in Paris while he sent the rest of his family to a villa in the southwest of France. Julian knew of this because Lily had told him of their plans when first they wrote of them in June. Julian had asked her if she cared to join them, but she had refused, saying she didn’t want to leave him.
But that was weeks before the fiasco with his mother, the maid and his discovery of their collusion with the broadsheets. Weeks before his wife had left him. How drastically things had changed.
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.”
“I did not send a telegram for good reason. Please tell Mister Hanniford I’m here. It’s urgent.”
“At once, of course.” Foster, clearly alarmed, stepped with speed.
Julian followed him into a large salon overlooking the boulevard.
“May I offer you a brandy, Your Grace? Or tea? Perhaps you’re hungry from your journey?”
“No, Foster. I’m fine.”
The servant left him to his own thoughts. He paced before the window. The afternoon sun died as shoppers lined the pavement, slanting golden rays across the summery colors of the ladies’ gauzy dresses.
Where are you, Lily?
“Julian.” Killian Hanniford filled the doorway, his booming voice commanding attention. “This is a surprise. Good to see you, although I must say, I’d rather see you with Lily than without. Where is she?”
Julian did not sit and he did not smile. “Do you mean to tell me she’s not here?”
Killian tipped his head. His black eyes went to slits. “What did you say?”
“Where is she?”
