Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,19

fanciful imagination of a lonely girl on the cusp of becoming a woman. She had not confessed that to anyone but Owen. She had not even admitted her real feelings to her closest friend, Guinevere.

Owen was her closest male friend. Well, her only one really, and he had known Nash’s goodness just as she had. Bless Owen. He had dried her tears and been there for her as she tried to mend her broken heart, but it would not quite heal. She’d assured him at one point that it had, and he’d simply patted her shoulder and told her that in time it would, that eventually, Nash would return to England, she would run into him, and she would find that her heart did not flip in her chest. Her breath would not whoosh out of her lungs. Her lips would not tingle in anticipation of another kiss as perfect as the first one he had given her.

And this was it—the moment seven long years had led her toward. She finally grasped the knocker and struck it, feeling as if she were holding the weight of her entire future.

Within a breath, the door opened and a butler adorned in silver and navy livery stood at the threshold. “May I help you?”

The question was polite, as was the look he bestowed upon her down his long, hawklike nose. He was a well-trained butler indeed. He didn’t even blink his dark brown eyes or show a hint of surprise that she was alone, standing at the doorstep without a companion.

“I’m here to see Lady Adaline.” Guilt tugged at her that she wasn’t really here to call upon Nash’s younger sister. She did like the girl, who had been presented to Society this Season. Lilias had made a special point to meet Lady Adaline, compelled to do so for mostly selfish reasons at first. She had hoped that in getting to know Adaline, she might learn information about Nash. It embarrassed her to think upon now.

She’d scarcely heard a word about him since he’d left seven years ago. She knew he’d gone to live in Scotland at one of his family’s estates after Oxford—Owen had told her so—but Owen didn’t seem to know much more since he and Nash rarely corresponded. She had overheard his sister say that Nash had not had any serious intentions toward any women and that she’d likely get married before her rogue of a brother did. Lilias had promised herself that she would not think it was because he was longing for her, but the promise was ridiculously futile.

She also knew, as everyone in the ton did, that Nash’s father, the Duke of Greybourne, had recently died. She reminded herself to call him Greybourne and not Nash. No, she’d need to call him Your Grace. He’d likely not be anticipating such conformity from her, but times had changed a bit. She had to think of her sister and mother and not just herself.

The butler cleared his throat, snapping her attention back to him, and she noted him staring at her hand expectantly.

She knew what he wanted: a calling card. But she did not have one. Even if she had not been in a state of shock upon hearing the announcement from Guinevere’s younger sister Frederica that she’d seen Nash in Town that morning, even if she hadn’t rushed straight here from the SLAR meeting at the home of Guinevere and her new husband, the Duke of Carrington, Lilias would not be in possession of a calling card. She and her mother had run out, and Mama had said they must wait to ask her Uncle Simon for funds for more. It was scandalous to her mother to be without a calling card. It was ridiculous to Lilias, but it was a fact of life in the ton that she should have a calling card to produce, and not having one would mean there would be those bored, vapid sorts who would treat her like a leper.

She arched her eyebrows. “I’m without a calling card, but I am Lady Lilias Honeyfield.”

She’d had doors shut in her face before for such boldness, but the butler stepped to the side. “Come in, my lady, and I’ll let Lady Adaline know you’re here.”

Lilias entered, her heart nearly pounding out of her day gown as she moved across the threshold and into the grandeur of Nash’s Mayfair home. The entrance hall looked as she’d imagined it might through the years. The floors were