The Duke Is But a Dream--A Debutante Diaries Novel Page 21

“I have a guess.” Nash rubbed his palms on his thighs, debating how to best break the news. “Serena’s name is well-known in certain circles. She’s a very successful entrepreneur and has a long list of clients.”

  “What sort of business does she own?” Lily asked, clearly enthused.

  Nash hesitated a second, then decided she’d want to hear the news in plain speech. “Serena is the proprietress of London’s most famous brothel.”

  Lily blinked, momentarily stunned. “A brothel?”

  “Yes,” Nash said, giving her a moment to absorb it. “In case you were wondering, I hadn’t met her before that day in Drake’s office, and I’ve never visited her establishment. But I happen to know it’s quite popular.”

  For a full minute, Lily sat quietly, staring out the window at the starlit sky. When she faced Nash again, her expression was sober. “Over the years, I played out so many different scenarios in my head,” she said. “Stories about who my birth mother was. I thought she might be rich or poor, daring or reserved, a princess or an orange girl. I concocted all sorts of excuses for her decision—reasons that she might have had to give me up. But I never once … I never once thought that she might be a madam.”

  “It may not be the stuff of childhood fantasies,” Nash said, sympathetic. “But Serena came forward when you needed her. She seems considerate and sincere.”

  Lily stared at the bootie she held and nodded slowly. “With the Hartleys, I had a pampered childhood, a finishing school education, and a respectable name—things she never could have given me.”

  “Giving you up couldn’t have been easy for her,” Nash said.

  “No. I can’t even imagine.” She sniffled and swiped at her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “I have a flask of brandy under my seat if it would help.”

  “I don’t think I want brandy,” she choked out. “It might seem silly, but I feel as though what I need is a good cry.”

  His chest ached for her. “I don’t think it’s silly at all.” He crossed the coach and sat beside her, offering his handkerchief. “Cry all you need to.”

  She erupted into sobs, leaning into his shoulder and muffling her cries in his jacket. He held her and rubbed the back of her head till, eventually, her sobs turned to hiccups. When she’d finally cried out all the shock and pain and grief, she curled up next to him, nestled her head in his lap, and fell asleep to the gentle swaying of the coach.

  He pulled a wool blanket over her and listened to her even breathing, relieved that he might have said or done something right. He hadn’t thought he was equipped to deal with tears and emotion, but apparently, all one needed was a clean handkerchief and a comfortable lap.

  And, maybe, a voice inside him whispered, it helped to have the right person.

  * * *

  Nash and Lily arrived in Gretna Green the next morning. They checked at every inn, the livery, and at the blacksmith’s in the center of the village but could find no sign of Delilah and Brondale. One part of Nash was relieved there was no record of their marriage, but if they hadn’t made it to Gretna Green, where the hell were they?

  Tired and frustrated, Lily and Nash made their way from the blacksmith’s shop back to the coach. “We could stay here for another day or so,” Lily suggested. “It’s possible that Delilah and Brondale took a different route than we did. Maybe they’re still behind us and have yet to arrive.”

  “Maybe,” Nash said. “But a few innkeepers I checked with spotted them earlier on—before their trail went cold. I think they must have turned around before they made it here.”

  “Perhaps Delilah had a change of heart. She could be headed home now,” Lily said hopefully. “Maybe she’s already there, just waiting for us to return.”

  “Nothing would make me happier,” Nash said. “But before we head back to London, I think we should make one detour. A tavern owner mentioned that Brondale’s father has a country estate south of here. It couldn’t hurt to pay a visit and see if he’s been there recently.”

  Lily nodded her agreement. “How long will the ride take?”

  “If we leave now, we should arrive before nightfall,” Nash guessed.

  “I’ll round up some sandwiches and fruit for the ride while you speak with the driver,” she offered. “I’ll meet you at the coach in a quarter hour.”

  They arrived at Brondale’s family estate early that evening. A long, twisting drive led to a stately manor house surrounded by green grass and manicured shrubs. Nash cast a sober glance across the coach at Lily. “If Brondale is here, things could get ugly,” he warned.

  Lily frowned. “I know you’re angry at him. I am too. But violence isn’t going to improve the situation.”

  “Maybe not.” He cracked his knuckles. “But it’s bound to make me feel better. If we do come to blows, I’d rather you not be in the line of fire.”

  “I haven’t come all this way to remain in the coach,” Lily said, her green eyes flashing. “Besides, if Delilah is here, she’s going to need a friend.”

  “Fine. But promise me you won’t insert yourself in any altercation,” he said firmly. “You’ve only very recently recovered from the tavern brawl.”

  She raised her chin a notch. “I’m not making any promises,” she said with a reluctant smile. “You might need my help.”

  He grinned in spite of himself. She might have a stubborn streak a mile wide, but at least she was on his side. Knowing he had her as an ally—not just against Brondale, but in any battle—made his chest squeeze.

  A few minutes later, after a brief exchange with the butler, he and Lily were escorted into the study. Nash ignored Lily’s reasonable suggestion that he sit in the leather armchair next to her, opting instead to pace the elegantly appointed room, clenching his fists.

  Brondale was here. And if he’d harmed Delilah in any way … God help him.

  When the marquess finally walked through the door, he drew up short and turned his head to the side. “St-Stonebridge,” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

  Nash stalked toward him till they stood toe to toe. A jagged red cut with a dozen or so stitches slashed across Brondale’s right cheek. Sweat beaded on his brow.

  “Where’s my sister?” Nash demanded.

  “Not here.” Brondale swallowed nervously and held up his hands. “But she’s fine. I assume she’s at home—or on her way. I haven’t seen her in two days.”

  Nash leaned closer, barely resisting the urge to slam Brondale’s back against the wall and throttle him. “I know you were planning to elope.”

  Brondale shrugged. “She changed her mind.”

  “You bloody bastard.” Nash grabbed him by the lapels and lifted his feet off the floor. “You seduced her then cried off?”

  “Nash!” Lily rushed to his side and placed a hand on his arm. “Set him down. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

  Blood pounded in Nash’s ears, but Lily was right. He needed all the facts. Slowly, he lowered Brondale and released him. “You will tell me everything that happened between you and my sister,” he spat, “including how you got that nasty cut on your face. Don’t even think of lying to me or you’ll be staring down the end of my dueling pistol.”

  The marquess took a tremulous breath, stalked to his sideboard, and, hand trembling, splashed brandy into a glass. He quickly threw it back and poured himself another.

  Lily narrowed her eyes at Brondale. “Put down your glass and sit,” she said icily. “Then tell us everything that transpired with Delilah—from the beginning.”

  The marquess swiped a sleeve across his brow and slumped into a chair by the fireplace. “I asked Delilah—that is, Lady Delilah, to meet me in the park last Friday morning. You’re right,” he said, looking up at Nash. “We were going to Gretna Green.”

  “What made her change her mind?” Nash ground out.

  Brondale tugged at his cravat like it choked him. “The journey started out pleasantly enough. We were getting on famously, but then…”


  “Then what?” Lily demanded.

  The marquess gazed at the floor. “We started arguing. She accused me of drinking too much, and that night at the inn, she told me she wanted her own room.”

  Nash cursed under his breath. “You bloody bastard.”

  “I—I didn’t see the point,” Brondale stammered. “We were on our way to be married. When she tried to leave the room, I blocked her way. And she was so angry that she did this,” he said, pointing to the side of his face and looking pathetic. “She hit me in the head … with a chamber pot.”

  Nash’s heart swelled with pride. “Good for Delilah.”

  “Good?” Brondale repeated, incredulous. “She could have killed me! She’s fortunate I haven’t reported her to the magistrate.”

  “You’re fortunate to be alive.” Nash loomed over him, hanging onto his control by the slightest thread. “Where is she now?” he asked slowly.

  “I’ve already told you,” Brondale said sullenly. “I don’t know. I woke up the next morning in a puddle of blood and she was gone. The innkeeper at the Posh Plum sent for a doctor to stitch me up, and I came directly here.”

  “Let me see if I have your story straight,” Nash said evenly. “You eloped with my sister, and when she realized you were a drunken blackguard who isn’t nearly good enough for her, you wouldn’t let her leave, insisting that she spend the night with you.”

  “We were eloping.” Brondale’s face flushed—almost the same angry red as the cut Delilah gave him. “We would have been wed in another day. I saw no reason to delay sharing a bed.”

  “You … bastard,” Lily seethed.

  Nash grabbed him by the collar again and stared him down. “You’re damned lucky that Delilah didn’t kill you. But if you think I’ll stand for you threatening and disrespecting my sister, you’re mistaken. If she were here right now, I’d let her do the honors, but since she’s not—this is for her.”

  He let his right fist fly into Brondale’s gut, making satisfying contact with a couple of ribs. The marquess grunted, dropped into a chair, and doubled over, gasping for air.

  While he moaned, Nash stood over him, flexing his fingers. “I’m going to make myself perfectly clear, Brondale. You will not show your face in town for at least a year. You will not utter Delilah’s name or mention this episode to anyone. If you do, you will face me at dawn—unless she catches you first. If Delilah gets her hands on you, that gash on your cheek will seem like nothing but a paper cut. If I know my sister, she will do more than maim you—she’ll skewer your soul.”

  Chapter 27

  “Some matrons will counsel you to eat sparingly in the presence of a gentleman so that you may impress him with your dainty appetite. Such advice is the height of foolishness. Eat what you like, and savor every bite.”

  —The Debutante’s Revenge

  Lily and Nash immediately set out for the Posh Plum—the inn where Delilah had conked Brondale on the head. When they arrived late that night, weary and frustrated, they spoke to the innkeeper who told them that he’d seen Delilah leave two days earlier—on a mail coach headed south.

  The taproom was relatively quiet, so Nash suggested they have a bite to eat before retiring to their rooms. They slipped into a dark corner booth and sipped ale while they waited for their steak and mushroom pie.

  Nash stared into his glass, his amber eyes clouded with worry, and Lily knew he was picturing Delilah crammed on a mail coach, traveling through the countryside alone. “Try not to fret,” she said. “Your sister has proven she can take care of herself in the most trying circumstances. After all, she fought off Brondale with a chamber pot.”

  Nash looked up and shot her a wry smile. “True.”

  “Maybe she’s on her way home now,” she said, optimistic. “Or she could be there already, sitting by the fire in the drawing room with her feet tucked under her, wondering where on earth you are.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for,” he said. “When we first left London, I wanted to stop her from marrying Brondale. But now … now all I want is for her to be safe and happy.”

  Lily tilted her head, thoughtful. “Those are good things to wish for.”

  “We’ll head back to town in the morning,” he said. “I’m sure you’re eager to go home—and to be reunited with your family and friends.”

  “Yes, of course.” She couldn’t wait to see Fiona and her parents and Sophie. Was desperate to hug them. But it wasn’t quite that simple. Nash and Delilah seemed like family now too, and she’d be sad to leave them. Especially since Nash insisted on throwing up walls every time she knocked on the door of his heart.

  “Have you thought any more about Serena?” he asked.

  Lily nodded. For the last few days, she’d thought of little else. “I’m going to invite her to tea when we’re back in London so we can talk. Our relationship is bound to be complicated, but I’m glad we’ll have a chance to know each other. I think we might have more in common than either of us realizes.”

  “Maybe so.” Nash glanced at her, uncharacteristically hesitant. “She has the same thinking face as you.”

  “Thinking face,” Lily repeated, perplexed. “What on earth is that?”

  “You’re making it now,” he said, his voice lilting with affection. “You frown a little, and when you do, a pair of small vertical lines appears between your eyebrows. For some reason, I find it rather enchanting,” he teased.

  “I had no idea you were so observant,” she said, feeling touched and unexpectedly sad.

  She was going to miss these exchanges with him—and so much more. Because when they reached London, she would have to go back to the life that awaited her. A good life, to be sure—but a life without him.

  They left the next morning, traveling day and night, changing horses every few hours. They spoke little during the long carriage ride, but periodically, Lily would glance up at the opposite seat and catch Nash looking at her with a molten, golden gaze that made her belly somersault.

  Sometimes his lips moved as though he wished to begin a conversation … but then he would frown and stare out the window at the passing countryside.

  She longed to shake him—to make him see that in refusing to let her in, he was hurting himself. He was hurting both of them.

  But now that Delilah’s elopement had gone terribly wrong, he was more entrenched in his thinking than ever. In his mind, love always led to pain, devotion to disaster. And he didn’t have room in his heart for those messy, unpredictable emotions. Didn’t have room for her.

  * * *

  When Lily and Nash arrived at his town house late in the afternoon on the fifth day of their journey, a grim-faced Stodges met them in the foyer and informed them that Delilah had not returned. There was, however, a letter addressed to Nash sitting on the table near the front door.

  And the handwriting on the outside looked like Delilah’s.

  Nash immediately tore it open and held it between him and Lily, so they could read it at the same time:

  Dearest Nash,

  You were right about Lord Brondale. During the journey to Gretna Green, I discovered his true character and realized he doesn’t deserve my love. Rest assured, I am no longer with him. I escaped before any harm could come to me and am now safe.

  However, I’m not ready to return to London—and I don’t know if I ever will be. I’m not certain where I shall go, but I need some time to myself. The truth is that I’m not heartsick so much as humiliated. I thought I knew who Brondale was, but I was very, very wrong. And now I’m questioning lots of things.

  I may be gone for a long while, but I wanted you to know I am well. I will write again once I’ve determined where I’m going—both literally and figuratively. Till then, give Caroline my best, and please do not worry about me.

  All my love,

  Delilah

  “She doesn’t want to come home,” Nash said, his voice full of anguish.

  Lily’s heart broke for him. “Your sister’s b
een through an ordeal,” she said gently. “But she loves you.”

  The butler coughed as though his own throat was thick with emotion. “You must be weary after the journey. I’ll send a tray of refreshments to the drawing room and see that a bath is prepared for each of you,” he said kindly.

  Lily could only imagine what a sight she was, with her wild curls and wrinkled gown. “Thank you, Mr. Stodges,” she said.

  Nash still gazed at the letter, his expression tormented. “She’s all alone. Where the hell could she be?”

  Lily slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and steered him toward the drawing room. “Come. You need to eat something.” She convinced him to join her on the settee and have a few bites of a sandwich while they speculated where Delilah might have gone. He racked his brain and could think of only three locations she might be hiding out: her friend’s house just outside of town, their great aunt’s cottage in Surrey, and his country estate in Kent.

  “After I’ve washed up, I’ll call on her friend Miss Palmer to see if she’s had any word from Delilah. If not, I’ll leave at once for Stonebridge Hall. Meanwhile, I’ll ask Drake to go directly to my aunt’s residence and look for my sister there.” He dragged his hands down his face, looking anxious and tired. “I’d give anything to know where she is. To hug her and apologize for being too protective. To tell her how much I love her.”

  Lily placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry she’s not here, Nash. I know how much you miss her. I do too. But it sounds as though she doesn’t want to be found—just yet, anyway.”

  He swallowed and looked at her, his golden eyes full of sadness. “I think I might have … driven her away. Just like my father drove Emily away. Maybe I’m no better than he was.” He pressed a fist to his mouth, as though the thought made him physically ill.

  Lily’s eyes stung. “You’re not the reason she left, and you’re not the reason she’s staying away. You gave her the chance to make her own decisions.”

  “The chance to make her own mistakes,” he said, echoing the words she’d once told him.