Page 29 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

O n Thursday, there was a rather timid knock at the kitchen door of the cottage.

Lewis—who was once again trying to explain to Jillian that she should not have been helping Cook, and that any questions she had should be directed to the housekeeper—looked up briefly to see Mrs. Johnson ushering in one of his mother’s housemaids.

The poor girl looked absolutely terrified to see him, but Jillian rushed toward her with a broad smile as if she were expected.

“Janet! You have come! Excellent!”

Little Janet bobbed a curtsey, but her frightened eyes remained on Lewis.

“Is it all right that I have come now, ma’am? I did not want to disturb you, so I waited until after Lady Bradford usually has her breakfast, hoping that would be when you had yours too.”

“Well, it’s a little early for tea, but we shall make do.”

By now, the curious kitchen staff had slowed in their tasks to take in the spectacle of a servant come to call on their mistress. Lewis could feel the curiosity prickle throughout the room, including in his own mind.

Janet, whose cheeks burned with embarrassment, answered, “I don’t need tea.

Honest, Mrs. Bradford, I don’t. I could just as easily tell you what you want to know in the master’s study, if he will allow it.

” Her eyes circled back to Lewis, filled with a pleading that she not be punished for his wife’s schemes.

His own gaze pivoted to Jillian. “What is this all about?” he asked, barely restraining his irritation.

Jillian’s enthusiasm for spending time with the servants had already crossed the line multiple times in his opinion.

He was all for her being her usual friendly, delightful self, but she also had to learn the extent to which she could do so.

So far, his tutelage had fallen on very stubborn ears.

“Oh,” Jilly replied, “Janet and I are going to have a little chat about how I can best make use of my time here at Oakwoods.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Lewis could have sworn his wife had just made a housemaid her advisor.

“Why would you…” He felt the stares of the staff and reined in his chastisement of his wife, storing it up for a later, more private moment.

“If you had wanted advice, all you had to do…” No, no, still too abrasive.

He pushed his churning frustration down and out of the way, seeking a more civilized starting point for the interrogation.

“When, exactly, was this arrangement made?”

“On Sunday, during dinner. You remember when I wasn’t feeling well and Janet watched over me?

Well, we had a wonderful conversation”—Lewis could just imagine—“and I realized that it’s people like Janet who will give me the insight I really want.

Everyone else is either too formal with me or tells me what they think I should hear instead of what I need to hear.

So, I invited her to tea on her day off so we could chat. ”

Jillian had uttered every single word as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Janet, meanwhile, was trying very hard, it seemed, to sink into her shoes, and the kitchen staff had now frozen in place, only their eyes moving, reaching for each other as if to say, “Are you hearing what I’m hearing? ”

“I see.” Lewis saw all too clearly. He had known that life at Oakwoods would be an adjustment for Jilly, but he had trusted that she would at least make an attempt toward achieving said adjustment.

Was it too much to ask that she not turn everything on its head?

He had pictured her the charming mistress, beloved by all staff for her warm-hearted character.

Never in a month of Sundays had he imagined her seeking them out as if she were one of them.

“I think,” he said slowly, weighing every thought that shot toward his mouth before carefully putting it aside, “we should make our way to the garden.”

“But it’s freezing, Lewis! And Janet does not have a good coat.”

The redness in Janet’s face deepened a shade at the mention of her inadequate attire. Lewis pitied her, but there was no helping it.

“We shan’t be long. Now , if you please.” And he marched out the back door toward the kitchen garden, which still boasted a multitude of vegetables in the rich, moist soil, despite it being November.

Janet had followed all too willingly, probably very happy to escape the discomfort of the scene in the house. Jillian joined them, but her folded arms, hunched shoulders, and obvious scowl suggested she was both cold and displeased.

“Janet,” said Lewis, “Do you have a good coat you could borrow?”

“No, Mr. Bradford,” she said, hanging her head. “Those as has one will be using it on a day like this.”

“Then may I suggest you postpone your meeting to a sunnier day, when you can walk and talk. Perhaps in May?”

“But that’s in six months!” cried Jillian.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Bradford,” Janet answered, perking up. “I don’t mind waiting.” She settled into a more familiar servile stance and asked Lewis, “May I be excused now, sir?” When he nodded, she bobbed a quick curtsey and all but ran back to the main house, where the maids’ rooms were.

Jillian stared at the departing figure, then whipped around to Lewis. “Why did you do that? Why did you send her away? She was my guest!”

“She is a servant, Jillian. She can never be your guest.”

“Says who? Your parents? Society?”

“Yes, and yes. But common sense says so also. Have you considered her feelings in the matter?”

“What do you mean? How can inviting her to tea hurt her feelings?”

“Not hurt, Jilly. Confuse. Embarrass. She has a position in the household that fits within a known structure. You might not agree with it, but you cannot undo it with a single invitation. Nor should you undo it at all,” he added hastily.

“And why not? Why can I not do things my way in my own home?”

Lewis sighed. This was taking a lot more patience than he had expected.

“Because your household also runs on the same principles. The staff want the separation from the family.”

“I don’t believe that!”

“They work long hours, Jilly. If you are going to try to befriend them, they will have to give of their work time to accommodate you.”

“I asked Janet to come on her day off.”

“And did you not think she might have other things planned for her free time?”

“She could just have told me.”

“No, she couldn’t. Because you are her superior. She has been taught that your needs are her duties.”

Jillian paused before declaring, “I hate that.”

She began to rub her arms as the chill in the air settled upon her.

Lewis drew his wife to him, wrapping his own arms around hers.

“I know, my love. You want the whole world to be friends, and to enjoy the sunshine and pick daisies. But it cannot be. Someone must wash. Someone must dig. It does not have to mean they are unhappy. And your kindness can make their burden lighter, knowing they work for a fair mistress. But you must leave them to their tasks that they may work among their peers, where they are relaxed and comfortable, with people whom they don’t have to please. ”

Jilly’s frame still shivered within his embrace. “Can we talk more in the house?” she asked, her teeth beginning to chatter.

“Is there more to say? I do not want to have the servants listening in on our private debate.”

“I am too cold to argue with you.”

“But you want to.”

Jillian began to stomp back to the house. Lewis could not tell if it was out of frustration or to combat the cold.

“Why can Penelope do whatever she wants?” Her voice trailed back toward him.

“She most certainly cannot,” he countered, throwing his words toward her as he hastened to catch up. “While she may have more freedom than many young ladies, it is not without limitation. Even the Prince Regent, to whom every knee bends, is not without restriction. That is just the way it is.”

Jillian stopped her furious march and faced Lewis squarely.

“You said I could be myself. You said you would not expect me to change.”

Her words irked him. He did not deserve the implied accusation.

“You’re being unreasonable,” he told her.

“How have I asked you to be someone you are not? I have only asked you to express your nature and carry yourself within the bounds of propriety. That was what we agreed. You would maintain the necessary decorum that your position demands. It is you who have broken the contract.”

“Oh!” The outrage burst forth in a plosive breath. Jilly seemed to be struggling for a suitable response, her fingers splayed, her arms stiff, her mouth gaping and wordless, while her eyes flashed an angry retort. “ Oh !!” she said again, her own frustration doubling down on the singular word.

She began to shiver again, no doubt as much in fury as with cold. When neither heat nor a suitable response was forthcoming, she whirled around and resumed her trudge back to the kitchen.

Lewis could only imagine the scene as she entered.

The maids would stare while trying not to.

Cook would roll her eyes at another disruption.

But all would return to normal in the softening ripples of Jillian’s wake once she had swept through the kitchen and into that part of the house where they felt she belonged.

Lewis stuck his fingers into his pockets.

Despite his informal banyan which kept out some of the chill, he was cold.

But entering the house meant another possible confrontation with Jilly, who may well have gathered her thoughts in the interim.

Nor was he in the mood to see the expressions on the faces of the kitchen staff.

To solve these difficulties, Lewis strode around to the front of the house and let himself in. His outdoor coat and hat hung on the stand near the door and he claimed them. He hailed their passing footman. “Fetch my country boots,” he instructed, “and bring them to my study.”