Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,75

will be there as your friend, as well.”

“He’s no friend of mine!” Owen bit out and brushed past her. He stormed past the gawking butler, her wide-eyed mother, and Nora, and a moment later, the front door slammed so loudly that Lilias swore she felt it in her bones.

The butler quietly disappeared, and her mother said, “Well, that did not appear to go well.”

“No,” Lilias said on a long sigh. “I wonder if I should warn Greybourne.”

Her mother smiled. “That would give you an excellent reason to see him, but not,” she admonished, “until tomorrow, and not if Guinevere cannot accompany you, dearest. It’s time you start behaving like a proper lady. If Greybourne doesn’t come to heel, then—”

“Mama!” Lilias moaned. “I thought you understood. I cannot wed another man. I love Greybourne. I will not stop loving him simply because he may not want me. It is a love so deep I ache with it.”

Nora sighed, and a dreamy smile tugged her lips upward. Mama slid an arm around Lilias’s shoulder. “I do understand,” she soothed. “I was going to say that if Greybourne does not come to heel, then perhaps you can become a companion or some such thing, but you will need to start acting within the expected boundaries immediately.”

“That sounds dreadful!” Nora announced, to which Lilias could not agree more.

The minute Guinevere pulled up in her gig late the next afternoon, Lilias flew out the door, barely giving the footman time to open it. She’d been waiting all day for the appointed hour Guinevere said she could accompany Lilias to call upon Nash, as Lilias’s mother’s had demanded, and Guinevere had been engaged all day until now. Lilias bounded down the steps and into the gig, and Guinevere laughed at her.

“My, you’re eager,” she said, her voice holding a knowing note. She’d told Guinevere in her note earlier that morning that she’d broken her betrothal to Owen. As Guinevere maneuvered the horse onto the lane to go to Nash’s, Lilias quickly told her of what her Uncle Simon had done. When she was finished, Guinevere gave a snort that sounded strangely derisive. Lilias frowned but continued. “I intend to call upon my uncle and thank him.”

“Ha!” Guinevere said.

“What do you mean, ‘ha’?” Lilias asked, confused.

“Oh, did I say ‘ha’? I was—Well, I was thinking about something Asher said earlier.”

“You’re acting very odd,” Lilias said, though she did know from being in love herself how easy it was to let the object of one’s affections consume one’s thoughts, even when they were not present.

“Sorry, dearest. How did Blackwood take your breaking the betrothal?”

“Not well at all.” As Guinevere drove them along, Lilias told her of Owen’s reaction, his accusation that Nash had killed his own brother, and his claiming that Nash meant to shame Owen in front of Lilias by luring him into a race he had never intended to allow Owen to win.

“From what I have observed of Greybourne personally since his return, I sincerely doubt that,” Guinevere said. “His actions have been very honorable.”

“What actions?” Lilias asked, intrigued.

“This and that,” Guinevere replied in an evasive manner. Lilias was about to ask for specifics, but then Guinevere went on, “So you are calling upon him simply to warn him that Blackwood may now wish him ill?”

Lilias blushed, and her stomach roiled with anxiousness. “Well, I suppose I was hoping that if Greybourne heard the news of my broken betrothal to Owen, it might possibly come to him that we could have a future together.”

“And if it does not?” Guinevere asked, looking from the lane to Lilias.

“I’ll fight for him,” she said, conviction coursing through her. “I’ll try to break through the guilt I think is consuming him. I can’t let go, Guin. Not yet. Not until there’s no hope. Do you think me a fool?”

Guinevere grinned at her. “No, dearest. I think you are marvelous, and strong, and determined. And I think Greybourne is lucky you love him.”

Not long later, they pulled up to Nash’s home in Mayfair. They handed the gig off to a servant who had appeared and made their way up the steps.

Guinevere eyed her. “Is that a new cloak, and slippers, and gloves?”

Lilias ran a finger over her new fur-lined cloak as they ascended the last few stairs and she knocked on the door. She turned to Guinevere, her pulse racing with expectation, and she tried to calm herself by continuing the conversation. “Uncle Simon sent it all this morning. Can you