Page 33 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)
P enelope had been more than willing to join them at the start of the London season. The freedom of being able to roam the large Bradford estate was as nothing compared to the relief of being out from under their parents. In this regard, as with many things, she and Jillian were of one mind.
Their sharing of the same spaces also meant that Jillian’s loneliness was held at bay.
Though Lewis had kept his word and spent all his free time with her, showing her the sights, introducing her to what he hoped would be good friends in time, even spending some mornings just lying in with his wife, she still missed him terribly when he was occupied with his new position in Parliament.
None of the people he had introduced her to had shared any of her interests.
They were polite enough, and certainly less blunt in their disapproval of her than many of the folk she had encountered in Munro, but Jilly could not relax in their company.
She had fallen back into the habit of hiding her awkwardness with excessive speech, plowing through her discomfort with a barrage of chatty sentences.
If anything, this had only made her feel more ill at ease.
And the looks shared between the other guests told her they thought her too odd for future acquaintance.
Penelope, like Jillian, grew easily bored in such environs, and thought up the sort of distractions that Lewis would not have considered.
He certainly would not have guessed that grown women might enjoy playing hide-and seek in the spacious triple-storeyed townhouse.
Nor would he ever have suggested they disguise themselves as delivery boys and see if Cook would let them in the back door without recognizing them.
Penelope’s high spirits became especially valuable to Jillian once Lord and Lady Bradford arrived in April and the space the younger trio had occupied in the townhouse grew instantly close and cheerless.
Whereas Lewis almost immediately fell in step with his parents, Penelope continued to encourage Jillian to be herself.
Jillian was no longer as hurt when Lewis could not be what she needed, since she had a dear friend in her sister-in-law, who would lighten her mood.
Thus it was, on the first of May—Lewis having come home almost at dawn and desperately needing sleep—Jillian shrugged off her disappointment and the two women disappeared to the Spring Fair together.
They took the curricle with Penelope at the reins and a tiger to hold said reins while the ladies were wandering from stall to stall.
Jillian had been quite shocked when Penelope had mentioned they would be taking such a fearsome creature along.
She had no idea that “tiger” was merely an informal term for a small groom.
When no animal had been forthcoming, and they had left the house without a well-trained, orange panther tagging along, Jillian had made polite enquiry and caused Pen to laugh out loud.
“You are funny!” Pen had said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “Perhaps we can ask the lad to growl every so often, since you are clearly disappointed that he is a mere human.”
The “tiger” had not obliged, however, much to Jilly’s relief. She had not wished her ignorance to cause him embarrassment. She had been guilty of that too often already.
The day began sunny without being too hot, though it was still morning and would likely grow much warmer as the hours passed. The women were both dressed in light muslin and straw bonnet, with a fan each to ward off the heat if it should oppress them in the afternoon.
As they turned the corner to the commons where the event was being held, they could hear the bustle of activity—the music from various sources playing at cross-purposes to each other, the multitude of tones and pitches of hundreds of voices forming a strange music of its own, the cry of “Pies! Get them while they’re hot! ”
The smells of pies and people and animals and scented garlands wafted toward them as Penelope slowed the curricle and the tiger hopped down to receive the reins.
The two women stepped down quickly and were soon in the thick of it all, the sounds and sights and smells pressing upon their senses in a wonderful deluge.
It was one of the happiest days Jillian had experienced since coming to London.
The fair had the feel of a village festival to it.
Despite the number of sophisticated ladies promenading on their husbands’ arms, the atmosphere was light and playful, and Jillian felt the weight of the past months begin to lift from her heart.
The sound of jingling bells drew their attention at once to the Morris dancers, their bright-green waistcoats and hats decked with flowers serving as reminders that all was newly in bloom. However, the two women did not linger to watch them.
Instead, they hurried to a tree-shaded hedge in the hopes of finding some of the morning dew that had not been claimed by the crowd.
Several other ladies, their parasols hiding their actions, were wiping their hands across the top of the hedge and rubbing the collected dew delicately across their faces.
When Penelope and Jillian arrived, there was no moisture left to be gathered.
“Ah, they needed it more than you,” soothed Pen at Jillian’s disappointed pout.
“You have a natural beauty and do not need to rely on cosmetics or the mythical properties of first May dew to enhance your looks. You look as fresh as this untrampled grass.” She indicated a patch of ground that circled the base of the nearest tree.
“Pen, you’re brilliant!” Jilly cried. “The grass will have dew! These ladies will not have stooped so low to retrieve it. But I have no such qualms.” She reached down and drew her palm across the moist grass blades, lifting her hand to her cheeks and rubbing the cool droplets into them.
“Well, you certainly have a rosier glow, but that may just be the vigor with which you applied the magical dew.” Penelope laughed before herself doing much the same. “See? Am I not now an apple-cheeked maiden?”
“You certainly are! But I would take care if I were you,” warned Jillian. “If you wish to stay unmarried, you should avoid adding anything to your existing loveliness. It is unfair toward the hapless young men who think you brighten your looks for them.”
“It serves them right if they believe I do this for their benefit,” Pen retorted. Her gaze rose over Jillian’s shoulder. “Come on. The women are lining up for a footrace. We can add even more color to our complexions.” She giggled. “Perhaps if we are as red as beetroot, no men shall look at us!”
The assembled group was a mishmash of fine ladies with feathered bonnets, working-class women who had the day off from thoughtful masters, and those like Jillian and Penelope who wore white muslin in celebration of the fresh beginnings of spring.
The footwear, too, varied a great deal in style and material. The two sisters-in-law had agreed to throw propriety out of the window and come to the fair barelegged so that they could now slip off their light pumps and partake in the race without the hindrance of shoes.
They arrived behind the starting line just as the referee lowered the flag. One or two of the ladies grabbed their skirts and pulled them up an inch to avoid tripping over their hems. But Jillian, Pen, and all the women of the lower classes hitched their hems up to their knees, bolting forward.
The distance of the race was not great, but the finer ladies were soon left far behind while the rest fought to cross the ribbon first. Pen nearly took the win, but an elbow-pumping maid shot past her and claimed the victory.
Jillian puffed across the finish with the remaining bundle of runners.
“I have become unfit since my stay in London,” she complained, breathing hard, her hands on her knees.
“There is nowhere to run wild as I once did.” She straightened and allowed herself to catch her breath.
“At least Oakwoods offered me a little of that when the weather wasn’t too bad.
Here, I have spent too much time sitting or merely walking.
I have missed a good gallop in my bare feet. ”
“You really should let me teach you to ride,” said Pen. “You can canter in Hyde Park once you have enough skill and confidence. Such exercise would provide some of that exhilaration you seek. It does wonders for my mood when I feel hemmed in.”
“I suppose it will have to be sidesaddle,” grumbled Jillian.
“Yes, in public at least. But you will soon get the hang of it. You are not timid. I think a horse would enjoy your spirit. It is rather like theirs. Once you find your connection with the animal, you will progress quickly.”
“Even in such an uncomfortable position?”
“Even then.”
Someone—or something—jostled Jilly from behind. “Beg pardon,” muttered what appeared for all the world to be a walking shrub.
“Jack o’ the Green!” cried Jilly, “I shan’t give you a coin if you knock it out of my hand!” She laughed as she reached inside her hidden pocket to fetch a sixpence.
“Don’t mind him, mistress,” said a milkmaid, wearing a flower garland and dancing around the leafy framework that hid all of “Jack” except for his face. “He may already have had a pint or two. It’s hot in that there bower he wears. Just toss the coin in the sweep’s bowl. Thank ’ee mightily.”
The chimney sweep, who must have been similarly warm dancing in his sooty clothes, was equally unsure on his feet but held out the bowl firmly in one hand, tipping his hat with the other. A fiddler completed the ensemble.
Nearby, a group of bystanders parted and a long line of more milkmaids and sweeps caught up with the four leading the troupe.
They made their way to the maypole, where they each took hold of a ribbon until every such band was seized, whereupon they continued their dance, weaving in and out, plaiting and unplaiting the ribbons as they circled ’round.