Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(82)

But that was foolish.

A young girl’s daydream.

In reality, she was a woman whose husband had married her for her money.

A woman who loved her husband—and had no idea if he might ever return the affection.





Hours later, Lily entered the salon on Julian’s arm and took her place in one of the two large Sheratons by the window. He sat in the other and nodded to Phillip Leland, the lawyer, that he could begin.

Lily had never been to a reading of a will. It seemed morbid. She’d even thought it unnecessary but Julian had told her that while his father’s title and entailed lands automatically became his on his father’s death, any other gifts granted were outside that. According to his father’s orders, they were to be announced and were to be given only when all named in the will were present.

Lily gazed upon the assembled guests in the crowded salon while Leland adjusted his glasses. Julian looked wooden, drained. The dowager staid, safely shielded from observation by her black veil with velvet chenille drops. Elanna? Elanna was more of a mystery.

She wore no veil, carried no handkerchief. Effecting a haughty demeanor as Lady Carbury, she’d pulled taut her lustrous rosewood hair into a severe braid curled like a half-crown at her nape. In a move utterly de trop for the occasion, she’d rouged her cheeks and her lips. Her black serge gown was as plain as a serving girl’s, her lack of fashionable bustle a reason—in addition to the rouge—for her mother to take her aside minutes ago and scold her for it. But the new Countess of Carbury had considered her mother with a detachment that set the older lady sputtering. Elanna was done, it appeared, with pleasing others. Even her husband was a recipient of her daunting sang froid.

Among the others in the room, Lily saw no sobbing. No tears. No grief so much as impatience and among the servants, hope.

Money did that to people. Whether its possession or its lack, money made them hungry. Or covetous. Angry or resentful. Happy for a moment.

Which does Julian feel for the acquisition of my money?

She fidgeted in her chair.

“Are you well?” Julian leaned toward her, his anxious face turned from the guests.

“Yes. Yes, quite.”

“Your cheeks are flushed. You seem distressed.”

Unwilling to lie to him, she told him what she could. “I wish this were over.”

His mouth quirked up at one corner. “You are not alone.”

She licked her lips and focused on Leland. He began his reading.

Julian Quentin Ash, only son of Quentin Fernshaw Ash, was to claim his father’s personal effects, including jewelry, robes of state, private carriage and personal property of twenty thousand acres of land in Ireland and ten thousand in Australia.

Charlotte Deirdre Anne Ash, wife, was to claim the dower house at the Broadmore Gate, along with one phaeton and the services of two staff for the remainder of her days. She was to have what jewels her husband had made expressly for her and they were enumerated. All other items were to remain in the family vaults for use by future mistresses of the house.

Elanna Corinne Ash, daughter, was to receive the pair of blue and white Chinese Ming vases from her dressing room.

Valentine Jasper Arden, Lord Burnett and the duke’s nephew, was to receive the portrait of his mother, Louise Caroline Ash, by Frederick Winterhalter.

“And for the servants of Broadmore—” Leland began the bequests the late duke made to each of the household staff from Perkins the butler down to the scullery maid, the groom Docker and his two stable boys, the head gardener and his men. Even the game keeper received a sum of money for service to his master. These particular monies would be paid each servant tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.

The servants filed out. Perkins followed and closed the doors behind him.

Lily allowed herself a sigh of relief. This ordeal was nearly over. Tomorrow morning, Elanna, her husband, Leland and Lord Burnett would depart. Lily would have then only the dowager to contend with. And she’d find the right opportunity—and the right words—to deepen her relationship with Julian.

Her mother-in-law shot to her feet. Her face was red, her hands clenched.

Everyone turned to her.

“The dower house is mine to use, but with only a maid and a butler. Are you quite mad?” she asked, her gaze skewering Leland, then pinning Julian.

“That is the stipulation, Mother.” Julian did not move, sans all emotion.

Lily could feel the winds of a storm brew, the roar of it whipping through the rooms of the mansion.

“I will not go.”

Julian clasped his hands together. “We can discuss this after all have left us.”

“No.”

Her belligerence sent Lily backward in her chair. All others in the room, save Julian, got to their feet, intent on the doors.

“What is my portion?” the dowager persisted, her inquiry of Phillip Leland.

“Tell her. She might as well know all.” Julian rose.

She sneered at him and fixed her gaze on Leland once more. “My portion? You read no amounts.”

Leland stood with an apologetic glance at Julian. “His Grace, your husband, did not wish the sums to be known publicly, Your Grace.”

She grumbled. “But I must know.”

“Three thousand a year.”

She winced. “Absurd. When I married it was to be ten.”