Page 24 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

J illian did not feel like a princess on her wedding day. She couldn’t imagine anything more awful. A princess would have been weighed down by jewels, a train, and a hundred unnecessary traditions.

Instead, she felt like her best self.

Her dress was not her finest. At least, not by fashionable standards.

It lacked excessive frills and lace and ribbon.

Instead, it was a low-waisted, deep-blue velvet with a matching short pelerine that covered her shoulders and upper arms. The long sleeves of her dress ended in boldly embroidered cuffs.

Her bonnet was enveloped in flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors, reminiscent of the meadow of her childhood from which they were sourced.

She had, for the briefest of moments, considered going barefoot. But common sense quickly overcame her more individual tastes. It was too cold, for one. She didn’t think the vicar would approve, for another. But, most importantly, she thought the day warranted a degree of formality.

Her visits with Ellena, in an environment where she had felt welcome and accepted despite it being of the highest caliber while she was not, had taught her that there was a time and a place for everything. If you played by the rules in public, you could still be yourself in private.

At first, it had seemed a very counterfeit way to live, and she had kicked against it when she’d been in Munro.

But the sheer force of society had quickly taught her to behave.

It was just too exhausting to swim constantly against the tide.

She had learned the most critical elements of etiquette—there were simply far too many to master them all—and gotten by with the minimum of odd glances being cast her way.

To be honest, she was usually too busy having fun to even notice the more subtle forms of criticism.

Today was nothing like that. If she had kicked off her shoes, most people would simply have laughed and said it was so like her. The rest did not know her well enough for their disapproval to matter.

But Jilly, excited as she was, also sensed the gravity of the occasion.

She was making a pledge, before God and a multitude of witnesses, that she would stand by Lewis for the rest of their lives.

The promise itself was easy to make. She loved him so very, very much.

However, uttering the words aloud lent them greater weight, and she would not have her attire—or lack thereof—detract from it.

So, she entered the church with her good boots on.

Her bouquet, unlike her gay and profusive bonnet, was a small posy of Mrs. Trenton’s best roses, for which Jillian’s father had asked special permission.

Their scent was the only perfume she needed.

It drifted about her in a fragrant cloud as she walked down the aisle, her father’s strong arm supporting her and also restraining her from rushing forward to her darling Lewis.

Jillian felt rather than saw the happy faces turning up as she passed, for her eyes were upon Lewis, looking very dapper in his wedding suit. He was all in black, except for his white, linen shirt and silk cravat and a colorful embroidered waistcoat that rivaled the display on her bonnet.

Her heart sang at the sight of him. She must have quickened her step, for she felt her father gently increase the firmness of his hold on her. Jilly relented. There would be plenty of time for wild abandon later.

When Jillian was in reach of her betrothed, her father released her.

She was thinking only of the nearness of Lewis and their imminent vows, but Lewis looked over her shoulder and bowed his head to her father.

She twisted around and saw her father bow back more fully, his towering frame folding forward before straightening again.

He looked both sad and pleased at the same time.

Her mother, too, smiled while dabbing a tear from her eye.

Uncomfortable in their Sunday best, Timmy, Jack, and Sam perched next to their parents on the hard pew. Timmy appeared to be chewing something, possibly a toffee handed to him by their mum to keep him quiet.

Across the aisle, Penelope Bradford sat alone.

She had taken care not to dress ostentatiously, having chosen an apricot satin gown in a simple design with an inch-wide cream, satin ribbon beneath her bosom.

Her bonnet was in a plain, cream satin with a matching apricot ribbon, a perfect complement for her dress.

Jillian had seen the uncomplicated ensemble in the window of the dressmaker.

It was strange that Miss Bradford should have acquired it.

Perhaps she had felt her own attire was too much for a village wedding that lacked the presence of other fine folk.

Bless her heart for choosing elegant simplicity over a need for display!

She was so much like her brother. This part of the family, at least, would be easy to love.

Now Lewis took her hand and tucked it into his arm.

The vicar began his sermon. Jillian tried to drink in every word.

This was their sermon, the only one they would hear on their wedding day.

Every utterance meant more than the usual Sunday service.

At the same time, she was deeply conscious of Lewis beside her, their shoulders touching, their gloved hands warmed further by proximity to each other.

As much as she wanted to take in every moment to savor at leisure, the ceremony seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

In a remarkably short time, they had said their vows, sung the benediction, and signed the register.

They were married. Husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Bradford.

What had taken weeks to fight for was theirs now, suddenly and completely.

They emerged from the church into the bright noonday sun to be showered with flower petals and a multitude of well-wishing.

The crowd surged around them like a tide, then ebbed away from the church to pour down the street and swirl outside the doors of the local inn instead.

The innkeeper waited until the happy couple had joined everyone before throwing open the doors and announcing the festivities well and truly begun.

*

“Come and cut the cake!” called Timmy, who already had something else in his mouth.

Blackberries, if the juices on his chin were any indication.

He tugged Jillian by the hand. Lewis, who held the other, was obliged to follow.

The tables were replete with said blackberries, devilled eggs, currant loaves, baked apples and custard, and tea for the ladies.

On the counter separating the dining area from the kitchen, the innkeeper had started placing jugs of ale for the general male populace, who did not hesitate, but began to knock their tankards together and toast the couple.

A hearty and melodious Oh, save thee, fair barley, so good ale may flow!

We raise up our tankards and down it will go!

followed Lewis and Jillian as they made their way to the table that had the honor of displaying the dense, rich cake her mother had made.

Its honeyed glaze shone. The generous helping of various nuts that had gone into the mixture protruded at various angles from its sweet surface.

Mrs. Kinsey handed her daughter a long knife with a bow tied to the handle. Jillian angled it down at the center of the confection.

“Speech!” someone cried. The call was immediately taken up by another voice, then several more, accompanied by the hammering of tankards upon tables until the room thrummed with the sound.

Jilly paused and looked at Lewis.

He cleared his throat.

“Thank you all for being here…” he began, but he was drowned out by continued calls for the speech he was trying to make.

A piercing, two-fingered whistle from Jack silenced everyone. Lewis cleared his throat and tried again.

“My wife and I…”

A new chant of “Hurrah!” and a renewed refrain of Ooooooooooooh, save thee, fair barley drowned him out once more.

Lewis looked with helpless frustration at his bride. Jillian was laughing and completely unbothered by the constant interruptions.

“Do they want me to make a speech or not?” he asked her.

“They certainly want you to try!” she said. “Just keep talking. They’ll settle down soon.”

Lewis attempted another sentence or two. One of the lads began a rather ribald drinking song, which was picked up by his friends. They sang one verse, only to resume their calls of “Speech! Speech!”

To Lewis’s abject horror, a multitude of hands took hold of him and lifted him to the nearest table. “Let’s have it, then!” they called. “Have yer say!”

In all the consideration Lewis had given to his marriage to Jillian, he had only ever thought about how he would protect her from embarrassing scenarios.

He had never dreamed that the tables could be turned.

Yet here he was, standing on the rough, wooden counter of a village inn, surrounded almost entirely by strangers—as well as his bride waving a knife with a bow on it—trying unsuccessfully to maintain the semblance of dignity.

Pen whispered something in Jillian’s ear and took the knife from her. The next moment, Jilly was clambering up next to him and nudging him playfully.

“Come on,” she said, “let them hear the fine words of a barrister. They’ve never heard the like before except when they’ve been caught poaching and are at the wrong end of the magistrate’s court.

Show them how a finely educated man compliments his wife.

” She nudged him again. “Go on. They’ll not stay quiet long. ”

Her faith in him gave Lewis renewed courage. He turned to the assembled throng and coughed into his fist.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, only to be met with uproarious laughter and teasing comments.

“You hear that, lads? We’re rubbin’ shoulders with the best of ’em!”

“Where are the ladies at, then?”

“Let me get me top hat out me trousers!”