Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(90)

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.