Page 36 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

L ewis could sense his wife pulling away from him.

She no longer waited up in the hopes of seeing him before she fell asleep.

He would kiss her when he crept quietly into the bed beside her, and she would turn and curl into his embrace.

But she did not open sleepy eyes and ask if the session had gone well.

Nor did she lie in with him in the morning until he awoke so that they might plan their day together.

More often than not, she was already out on some errand by the time he’d started breakfast. She did not share what her errands were. She neither asked him to join her nor reported on what she had accomplished. It felt to Lewis as if they had started to live separate lives.

Jillian would no longer attend dinners that were not intimate, which to her meant more than eight people.

Apparently, this was a reasonably-sized group in which to have real conversation and actually get to know people.

According to her, anything larger served no purpose other than to bring together important influential people for discussing business or whatever was currently being debated in Parliament.

Since Lewis was one of these people, he was invited out often.

However, he had stopped trying to persuade Jillian to join him.

It was embarrassing to turn up alone, but she had grown stubborn.

And he had learned to choose his arguments with her carefully. For argue, they would.

To Lewis, it seemed as if Jilly were finding fault with everything under the sun. She, who had been so agreeable and full of life, had grown blunt of speech when they conversed and tight-lipped when she refused further discussion.

He understood that the change of circumstance had been challenging.

It felt to him, however, that she simply refused to adjust. He had tried to shield her from the worst of it, which meant spending time alone with her on almost all free days, since she did not enjoy the company of his parents or peers.

Of course, he loved being with her. But he was beginning to feel isolated from society.

He would never tell her that. Besides, she would probably answer by saying she felt the same. But that was her choice , wasn’t it? She could be happier if she let herself ease into the world in which they had found themselves.

Within him, a measure of resentment was building up.

Jillian blamed him because the dreams they had shared remained unfulfilled.

Well, she hadn’t actually said as much. But he was sure she thought it.

And it wasn’t fair. She must have known how the guilt ate at him.

Couldn’t she be a little more reasonable? Why must she pick at everything?

A small voice—in fact, a very small voice, if truth be told—whispered to his conscience.

What happened to the chickens? He tried to ignore it, but it grew a little bolder.

You shared her rebellious attitude. The rules only mattered when you were in court.

That was the life you promised her. You should keep your promises.

But it wasn’t his fault that Philip had died! Hadn’t he married her anyway? Hadn’t he gone against his parents, against the norms of mourning, to keep that promise?

What were you going to do instead? Suddenly denounce her as unsuitable? Break the engagement, as if she had somehow failed you and should be discarded? You assured her nothing had changed. And nothing had changed between you. And yet, somehow, it has.

Lewis tried to block out the voice. He had been doing so with increasing success over the past eight months. What else was he supposed to do? Ignore all his responsibilities? If he could step up, why couldn’t she? Didn’t she love him enough?

The growing distance between them was the reason he had asked his mother to arrange tonight’s dinner instead of his wife.

Jillian had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with superfluity.

And twenty guests, she had said, were excessive.

Most of them, she had commented, were the sort with whom they would never have mingled in Munro, so why was he inviting them into his home in London?

His mother had said nothing when he had asked her to play the hostess. There was nothing new to be said. Jilly’s inability or point-blank refusal to take on the role of future baroness was now so frequently the topic of the day that it was pointless to bring it up again.

Lewis had half-expected his wife to declare that she would not be attending the dinner, despite its being held in their home.

In some ways, it would have been better if she did not.

But this morning, she had returned from her errand with a happy spring in her step and asked her lady’s maid to air her cardinal red dress for the dinner.

The one her mother-in-law had gifted her.

Perhaps this should have given Lewis pause.

Jillian hated that gown. She had said it made her look like a flaming beacon.

What was more, the bodice had been stitched with intricate patterns of gold brocade.

Jillian always insisted it had been designed for someone who liked to be noticed.

She preferred more subtle shades of lilac, rose pink, or cloudy blue by day and the deep tones of forest green, rusted orange, or dark blue at night.

These were the colors of nature. When she wore them, she was the nymph of the meadow.

And the colors wore well beneath her golden mane.

Tonight, however—Lewis had heard her tell her maid earlier—her hair would be up in complicated braids so they had best allow enough time.

He had been so grateful for her apparent enthusiasm that he had not questioned the suddenness of it or the fact that she was dressing in a manner that contradicted her personality.

It was only when he and his mother were in the dining room discussing a seating adjustment due to a last-minute apology, and a kitchen maid came hurtling into the room to bounce a breathless curtsey, that he discovered his willful wife had been making plans of her own.

“Cook says to come to kitchen at once…if you please, Lady Bradford, Mr. Bradford.” The deference was almost an afterthought.

If the handwringing and shifting from one foot to the other was any indication, the maid was far more worried about getting them to the kitchen than appeasing their need for a show of respect.

Lewis and his mother did not hesitate. With a dinner party mere hours away, this was not the time for anything to go wrong. They rushed with as much decorum as they could, the little maid racing ahead to let the cook know they were on their way.

It was obvious from the moment they stepped into what should have been an area bustling with activity that something was terribly wrong.

The kitchen servants were frozen in horrified suspension, their eyes trained upon the back door, where Cook and Jillian were occupied in a heated conversation while several apron-wearing men stood with their arms full of what appeared to be parcels of food.

Upon their arrival, Cook turned with obvious relief to her mistress and exclaimed, “Oh, Lady Bradford, thank goodness you are here! I’ve been trying to explain to Mrs. Bradford that these items were set aside to be part of this evening’s dinner. Perhaps you can help her understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” said Jilly with a calm that Lewis had not expected.

“We are not feeding an army who have marched on empty stomachs and need such an abundance of victuals to sustain them. Three courses are required and three courses they shall have. But they do not have to consist of quite such a vast array of dishes. It is excessive and there is bound to be wastage. I merely wish to intercept the wastefulness before it occurs.”

Lewis was almost too afraid to ask. But his mother was not.

“What do you mean by ‘intercept’? And who are these men?”

“They work at St. Giles Asylum for Orphans,” explained Jillian. “These supplies will make it possible to make a hearty soup or stew for the children who live off bread and porridge most days.”

Cook waved a hand at the parcels in the men’s arms. “They’ve taken all five of the beef shanks, and a whole churn of milk that was set aside for the blancmange.”

“Will there not be enough desserts without that insipid wobbly thing to spoil our appetites?” Jillian scoffed. “Imagine instead the nourishment of a warm glass of milk for these children, especially if it softens the stale loaves they are forced to ingest.”

Cook continued her complaint. “And a whole bushel of apples that were meant to be stewed for pie.”

“I noticed an abundance of plums you could use,” Jillian pointed out. “I am rather partial to a plum cake myself.”

“The menu’s already been decided!” wailed Cook. “I don’t have time to rethink all the recipes that have to be managed by this evening.”

Jillian shrugged. “Then simply leave out the ones you can no longer make.”

“Jillian,” Lady Bradford said sternly, “you cannot simply give away half the storeroom from our house…”

“If it is, in fact, our house,” Jilly interrupted, “that makes half the storeroom mine to distribute as I see fit. Not that I have come even close to such an extravagant amount.”

“Your ignorance has betrayed you yet again,” said the baroness. “This home, and everything in it, is the property of his lordship. You are guests here at his lordship’s leisure. Even tonight’s dinner was cleared with him first.”

Jillian was unmoved. “And yet his lordship leaves his daily menu up to you. Did you not think to discuss my husband’s dinner menu with me , so that I may be apprised of what was essential and what was free to distribute elsewhere?”

A stony silence followed. The kitchen maids, who had been watching the entire scene unfolding before them, turned hastily back to their tasks.

“You have never shown interest in arranging such dinners before,” Lady Bradford reminded Jillian.