Page 14 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)
Lord Bradford cut in. “Politics is not a suitable conversation for a young lady.”
“But I don’t want to talk about art or music or riding sidesaddle,” Miss Bradford countered. “Besides, I can’t imagine those things interest Miss Kinsey.” She turned to Jillian. “Or do they?”
“I do not ride at all or play piano very well,” Jillian answered honestly. “But I do enjoy visiting the museum of art in Munro.”
“Do you, indeed?” said Lady Bradford with obvious surprise. “And which of the masters has caught your eye?”
“I don’t remember the names,” Jillian confessed, “only that they paint ever so well. My favorite display is the glasswork. Lewis says they make the glass soft with great heat and then blow into it like a bubble. He says he will take me one day to see it being done in Italy. Maybe we can bring something back for you. As a gift. Perhaps a vase? Or a fruit bowl?”
“That is… thoughtful of you.” Lady Bradford seemed undecided whether to smile or maintain her firm resolve not to, resulting in a sort of pleasant snarl.
The butler arrived. “Dinner is ready, your lordship,” he announced before giving a curious glance toward Jillian.
She recognized the look. The servants at Munro House had done the same when she’d first visited.
Now they had grown used to the way she stopped and chatted with them, despite the fact that both Branson, the butler, and Mrs. Anders, the housekeeper, complained when she did so.
“Blurring the lines,” they called it. Well, they were silly lines to begin with.
People were people, no matter what they did for a living.
Lord and Lady Bradford now moved regally to the dining room, another lifeless space in terms of furnishings.
However, it had a row of impressively large windows along one wall, letting in the afternoon sun along with the view of a rose garden that displayed late-season blooms in almost every color imaginable.
Miss Bradford caught her eye and nodded toward the thriving shrubs. “Do you like my roses, Miss Kinsey?”
“ Your roses?”
“Yes, I persuaded our parents to plant them. It’s a cheery sight even when the sun is behind the clouds. And my room is just above, so I benefit from the scent when my window is open.”
“How wonderful!” exclaimed Jilly. “Perhaps you would like to show me your varieties after dinner. I might not know the names of master painters, but I do know my botany. My father has been very generous with his knowledge.”
“It will be dusk by then,” answered Miss Bradford, “but you will come again and then we girls shall make a proper tour of it.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Miss Kinsey,” said Lady Bradford, “please take your place here.” She indicated the seat to her left.
Miss Bradford took the place opposite Jillian while Lewis sat next to his sister.
Lord Bradford had already lowered himself into his chair.
Possibly his leg was bothering him. The seat to his right, opposite Lewis, was empty.
“Is your brother not joining us?” Jilly asked Lewis.
“Philip has other commitments,” Lady Bradford answered for him.
Both Lewis and his sister looked directly in front of them and said nothing. Jillian understood all too well. The elder Bradford son would not condescend to meet her.
Jillian was not hurt by this. Not for herself. Ellena had warned her about this sort of upper-class nonsense. It was a reflection on their character, not hers.
But she knew it would sting for Lewis. This was yet another way in which his brother reminded him that he was discardable. The man’s opinions and choices always carried more weight than Lewis’s, even when it came to the common decency of meeting his brother’s betrothed.
Jilly could not squeeze his hand to reassure him. Nor could she offer him a warm smile, for Lewis kept his gaze before him, his cheeks flushed and his lips pressed firmly together in his trademark expression of bitter frustration.
“That is a pity,” Jillian remarked lightly. “It must be something very important for him to miss out on such a wonderful meal. Lewis tells me your cook is the envy of all Munro, second only to Lord Howell’s. I cannot wait to sample her fare.”
Lewis lifted his head. His mouth softened.
His hand lifted surreptitiously to his heart and he blinked slowly, the combined gesture a salute to her handling of the obvious insult of his brother’s absence.
“I look forward to your mother’s home cooking with equal zeal,” he said, having at last found his voice again.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Jillian said brightly.
“Mum has promised her very best cake for the wedding tea. It will be filled with nuts and drizzled with honey—a decadent gift, indeed. I must remember to take a jar of honey to Trenton Grange when I go home. She will no doubt use up what honey they have with her generous endeavor. Perhaps I might supply a jar of candied orange peel to add the finishing touch to her efforts. A bit of color never goes amiss.”
“Surely, you will use our cook for the occasion?” Lady Bradford remarked. “Why have your mother go to such trouble if they cannot spare the ingredients? And then to carry the cake tin upon her lap all the way from Trenton Grange… It seems an unnecessary discomfort.”
Jillian was equally confused. “Why would she bring it here? The wedding is in Ermenbrough.”
The atmosphere at the table thickened.
“Oh.” Jilly realized too late. Her eyes swiveled to Lewis. “You have not told them.”
He squirmed in his chair. “I had thought to have you all meet first. I would have discussed the logistics in due course.”
“It is out of the question,” said Lady Bradford curtly. “You cannot expect our family to go traipsing to some back-of-beyond village for a farmer’s wedding.” She fluffed out her serviette and drew it across her lap. “Giles, kindly serve the soup before I lose my appetite entirely.”
The butler nodded at the footman addressed, who was startled into action.
Jillian imagined he had been rather invested in the goings-on at the table and had forgotten his purpose there.
From what she had seen thus far, this was not typically such an entertaining environment for the servants.
Lord and Lady Bradford ran what appeared to be a tight ship in their home.
Guests like Jillian would be about as rare as, well, anything that hadn’t existed until now.
“Our family,” Lewis said with dangerous calm, “need not attend if it is burdensome to them.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Lewis!” Lady Bradford cried. “That would be little better than an elopement. It will not do. Our family has certain standards to maintain. Reverend Keith will be expecting to perform the ceremony, as he has done for all the sons and daughters of Munro’s aristocracy.”
“Reverend Keith,” replied Lewis, “is the last person on earth to begrudge someone happiness if they have a different parish in mind. Just because he has married the whole blessed lump of Munro noblemen does not mean he shares their superior notions.”
“But it is expected! You will make us look quite the fools if you are married by some village vicar whom no one has ever heard of.”
“Lady Howell has heard of him,” said Jillian.
“What?” Lady Bradford swung her gaze irritably toward Jilly.
“He was her vicar. The Trenton household attended his services. They no doubt still do. And she would be attending the wedding without question if it weren’t for her recent confinement.”
“Hmph. The viscount has always had some strange notions. His wife is no different. It seems they have rubbed off onto you.”
“Eat your soup, my dear,” instructed Lord Bradford. “It’s getting cold.”
The soup, despite being of high quality and truly tasty, was eaten in a tense silence. The plates were removed and the fish served.
During this time, another footman entered the room and, crossing the carpeted floor silently, whispered something in the butler’s ear. Giles frowned, indicated for the footman to stay in his place, and exited the door in a hurry.
“It seems you are determined to have your way, regardless of our feelings,” Lady Bradford said more quietly, poking at her mackerel in a desultory manner. Jillian wondered if the matriarch felt hurt as much as offended by the choice of venue.
She was tempted to reconsider her choice for the sake of better relations between them when Lord Bradford said blandly, “What does it matter, Regina? Philip at least will marry as he should.”
The weight of this statement quashed any further attempts at reconciliation.
Jillian watched as Lewis bristled under the implications of the words.
She felt powerless to help him. Anything she said in his defense would only antagonize his parents further.
Anything said to soften the experience for his parents would seem an act of disloyalty to Lewis.
“I think a village wedding sounds wonderfully intimate,” said Miss Bradford out of the blue.
“No stuffy pretense at joy, but the real thing instead. No soulless cake covered in marzipan and flowery loops like a thousand wedding cakes before it, but a one-of-a-kind creation made with a mother’s love.
Attended by village folk who’ve known you all your life and who don’t need an invitation to turn up.
I am quite inspired to get married so I may have a wedding exactly like that. ”
“Do not tease on that subject, Penelope,” Lady Bradford said with an edge of bitterness.
“You know it pains me that you refuse to take marriage seriously. But to taunt me with talk of you having a village wedding is too much. It would require you to marry into the working class. One such offspring is quite bad enough.” She sniffed and pulled a face.
“I do not need more of my children lowering themselves in this way.”
It was very unfortunate that Miss Bradford’s well-intentioned speech had led to such a visceral response from her mother. More so because Lewis now reached his boiling point.