Page 35 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

For Jillian, the outing was ruined. She had no further interest in the fair or the joys of spring. Penelope, who had tried to distract her with sights they had not yet explored, eventually gave up and agreed to return to the curricle.

They rode in silence, the figure of the tiger—his hands and face spotless, his smart livery an indication that he had a home and food enough—served as a stark contrast to the boy at the fair, reminding Jillian of her heartbreak at leaving the poor lad to his fate.

Back at the townhouse, Lewis was now well-rested. He smiled broadly as they entered the drawing room. “So, did you have fun?” he asked, stepping forward to kiss Jilly’s cheek. “Tell us all about it!”

Us.

Jillian turned to the right and found Lord and Lady Bradford seated on the settee. They looked up expectantly. Perhaps they were truly interested in her news. Perhaps they awaited the courtesy of a greeting.

Jillian felt too wretched to provide either.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lewis, stepping back and seeing no smile, his own now falling from his face.

“It’s probably best spoken of in private,” said Penelope hurriedly, her eyes flicking to her parents.

But Jillian was in no mood to hold back for their sakes.

“They arrested a boy. For taking an apple.” The disgust was evident in her voice. She imagined it was visible in her face, too.

“Where? At the fair?” asked Lewis.

“The fruit seller hauled him off. The poor lad is probably sitting in some damp, crowded cell right now with ten other boys just like him. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old.”

“Then he is old enough to know better,” declared Lord Bradford.

Jillian ignored him.

“You’re a barrister,” she told Lewis. “Can’t you speak on his behalf?” She grabbed her husband’s hand and squeezed it.

Lewis laid his other hand over hers. “If he is guilty, there is nothing I can do for him. The law is the law.” He said this with little conviction, and Jillian could see that he, too, was troubled by the incident.

“Then the law must change!” she said firmly. “If you cannot help as a barrister, you can help as a member of Parliament. We should be taking better care of the poor and the helpless. Children like him have nowhere to turn to where they won’t be abused.”

“Nonsense!” scoffed Lord Bradford. “There are orphanages and workhouses, where they are clothed, housed, and fed. He probably ran away because he was lazy. So many of them are.”

Jillian whirled around before Lewis could stop her.

“And what would you know of this? Have you ever visited these places you recommend so highly? Have you spoken to these children? Have you seen the gruel they are fed, the bruises on their bodies?”

The baron was unmoved. “What would you have us do? Hand over money that belongs to our children to these strays instead?”

“Yes! It’s not as though you have worked any harder for it than you expect them to! And you have so much, why can you not spare some to see that innocents do not suffer?”

“My dear child,” said Lord Bradford with condescending calm. “Would you not rather teach them to live honest lives? Why should we loosen our purse strings for these people when they will use it to drink and gamble?”

Lady Bradford nodded in agreement. “We know you are… passionate about such things. But I do not think you have quite thought this through. To be honest, I do not believe I have ever heard you speak on these children’s behalf until today. Tomorrow, something else will hold your attention instead.”

“You do not hear me speak about these matters,” Jillian said with barely contained irritation, “because I know you have little interest in them. Lewis and I discuss such concerns all the time. And the incident with this poor boy has only fed my desire to delay action no longer.”

Jilly turned back to Lewis. “If I cannot change the laws or give them money, I would at least want to see to it that the places where they are housed are truly safe environments with enough food and no ill treatment. Since London is so big, there must be a children’s home where I could volunteer my time.

I could cook, teach, anything to make their lives a little better. ”

“My love, such activity is not…”

Jillian balled her fists at her side. “Lewis Bradford, if you are going to tell me that it is ‘not appropriate’ again, I think I shall scream! When will you allow me to do something meaningful with my time, something that really matters to me? Am I forever to be taking baskets to struggling tenants, and nothing more?”

Lewis glanced from his wife to his parents and back. He looked as if he were caught between Scylla and Charybdis.

“Perhaps a less hands-on role might be a worthy compromise?” he suggested cautiously. “You could hold fundraising teas and use the monies you collect to purchase food or clothing for these orphans.”

Jillian stared at her husband. Tea? He wanted her to arrange tea parties?

“I feel…” she said slowly, trying to hold back what she really wanted to blurt out, “that is not the best use of my time. Besides, how would I know if these supplies were given to the neediest or whether the children received kindness in addition to these items of charity? I want to stop the cruelty, not just the hunger, Lewis. Don’t you understand how important this is to me? ”

The scathing tones of Lady Bradford cut off any response from Lewis. “Our son understands that your involvement in such low work would dishonor the Bradford name. Are you so intent on making a fool of us and your husband? You cannot simply run off like a…”

“Groundskeeper’s daughter?” finished Jilly.

“Because that’s what I am. And I have never been ashamed of it.

Being part of the so-called upper class, however, has brought me nothing but frustration and disappointment.

All this strutting and posing and sticking to arbitrary rules just so that you can appear more important while forgetting what it is to be human. I don’t want it. I never did.”

She turned mournful eyes upon Lewis. He opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it. So, he was choosing their side once again.

Jillian stared at the family. Even Penelope, her fellow free spirit, was silent. At least she had the good grace to look at the floor with some embarrassment.

Jillian wanted to flee the room, the house, the whole of London. She wanted to run until she could run no more. Then walk until her knees buckled. Crawl and drag herself if she must, anything to reach Ermenbrough again—the place where she was understood and valued as she was.

She loved Lewis. But it was not enough. He had accepted his role as Philip’s replacement, dragged them both into a life they had not agreed upon. Where were the barefoot picnics? Where were the chickens? The laughter? It had all disappeared into a distant mist of forgotten promises.

Compromise? It was a word he liked to throw about. But what was he giving up? The compromise seemed always to be hers.

“Jillian,” he said at last, “I’m sure we can find a way…”

“For me to compromise? No, thank you. Not this time. You ask too much of me, Lewis. Too much.”

And with a parting glance of antipathy toward his parents, she rushed from the room. Cry. Scream. Burst into song. She could do none of these without a similar look of disapproval from them.

To prove her point, she heard Lady Bradford say with what Jilly imagined were pursed lips and rolling eyes, “Do you see, my son? This is what we tried to warn you about.”

Jillian did not wait to hear Lewis’s reply. She did not want to know how he would explain away her actions. More and more, she had become a nuisance. More and more, he had become like his parents.

What was here for her now? She did not mean London. She meant this marriage. It was no longer a source of happiness. She was losing herself to it.

Jilly halted in her headlong rush to get away. After all, where would she go? She must take a stand, here and now. Fight for herself. Claim the right to be herself. What did she have to lose? They didn’t approve of her even when she played by their rules.

It was time, Jilly decided, to live by her own.