Page 37 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

“You are correct. I consider such large gatherings to be nothing more than the usual display of wealth and self-importance.”

“This dinner is important to me , Jillian,” Lewis interjected.

“Why?” his wife asked, turning to him with upturned palms. “Help me to understand what is gained from bringing together so large a group that they cannot possibly all interact with you or each other, eating dish after dish as if they have been starving for a week.”

“It is a matter of influence,” Lewis explained. “Such social events help to build alliances so that meaningful laws can be passed.”

Jillian folded her arms across her chest. “Such as?”

“Well, repealing the Corn Laws, for a start.”

“And did the members who wrote the Corn Laws also have such dinners to gather their forces and gain the necessary support to push it through?”

“I suppose they would have, but that’s not…”

“Seems a waste of a lot of good food if people are going to throw parties just to contradict each other as they do on the House floor,” said Jilly.

“It’s a lot more complex than that,” said Lewis, feeling his ire rise once more. What was it about Jillian that provoked such a heated response in him? She had been so amenable to his ideas before they’d been married. Why could she not fall in with them as she had once been inclined to do?

“I suggest we shelve further discourse until we are in a more private space,” warned Lady Bradford. “Meanwhile, you gentlemen can put those items down and return to your other duties, whatever they may be.”

“No.” Jillian planted her feet firmly on the ground.

“‘No’?” The look of utter disbelief on his mother’s face made Lewis fear for what might follow. If Jillian did not back down now, months of relative peace would be undone.

“No,” repeated Jillian. “I have already shown how the subtraction of a few unnecessary dishes would in no way harm the dinner or the outcome Lewis hopes for. I do not believe the absence of an apple pie or blancmange will in any way hinder the success of the evening. And I have promised these supplies to these gentlemen to be used for the children, to whom even simple foods will make a very big difference, indeed.”

“Lewis!” Lady Bradford cried, a fingertip to her forehead as if staving off a headache. “Do speak to your wife. This cannot be allowed.”

Before Lewis could even open his mouth—not that he had the foggiest idea what he might say under the circumstances—Jillian turned to the men waiting at the door and said with a voice of authority that matched his mother’s, “Take these and go. Now. You have heard my instruction.”

The men shuffled off in a great hurry, not least of all, Lewis imagined, to escape the furor that might very well erupt any second.

Jillian stood tall and proud and unflinching.

“You have wanted me to act more like a future baroness. Well, here I am. Making demands. Ordering the staff about. Being unreasonable because I have the power to do so. I have made my will known and I expect it to be carried out. The menu will be adjusted. The dinner will continue. In future, plans involving my husband’s parties will be cleared through me. That is all.”

And she swept from the room—a sight that was as disturbing to Lewis as it was perplexing. The coldness. The disdain. These were not the hallmarks of his Jilly. They were the distinctive traits of his mother.

He had wanted her to fit in with his family, to be less herself. This was the example she had chosen to follow.

Lewis was under no illusion. She had done this on purpose, to teach him a lesson, to show him what she thought of the role of baroness. It was pure rebellion and crossed so many lines that he lost count.

His sweet Jillian—the one he had fallen in love with—would never have behaved this way…

Or would she? Lewis remembered her goading him on to run from their chaperoning footman.

It was Jilly who had snuck an urgent letter in the post to tell him she was being exiled to Trenton Grange, and if he wanted her, he must claim her.

Perhaps, then, the question he should have been asking instead was why it had taken her this long to rebel.

In the midst of these illuminating thoughts, he heard his mother say to the staff, “Mrs. Bradford is not herself. We may have to send for the doctor. If she gives any instruction that seems out of bounds, let me know at once. Lewis, I think everyone would understand if she did not attend this evening’s dinner. ”

A fist of ice squeezed his heart. His mother had come within a hair’s breadth of calling his wife mad.

Jillian did not deserve such an accusation. It was the beginning of a very dangerous, very slippery slope. If word got out—and all it would take was idle gossip among servants—Jillian’s reputation would be in tatters.

Was she frustrated? Yes. Oh , yes. Had she taken his mother on in her own home?

Absolutely. A fierce, desperate move, indeed.

But that was just it. It was Jilly’s way of trying to make sense of her surroundings.

If she could not bring her own touch to the world she found herself in, she would meet it head on, show up its flaws.

The poor, brave thing! It was not madness. It was a final battle cry.

He should have been paying closer attention.

She had told him, over and over, what she needed.

To his shame, he knew they were the things he had promised her from the start.

And then he had fallen in step with his parents and left her to flounder.

Worse still, he had accused her of not making an effort.

But what, exactly, had he expected her to do?

Each of her missteps had been reflections of her warm and open heart.

And he had demanded that she shut it down.

Demanded that, if she truly loved him, she would love less.

It was time to put her first. He must protect her from his mother, from the narrow-mindedness of the elite, from Jillian’s desire to help being turned against her. If she stayed in London, he was certain disaster was but two steps away.

There was little over a month left of the parliamentary season. He would stay and complete his duties here. And then, together, they would rethink their future. The shape of it. How to do his duties while giving Jillian room to spread her wings a little. His angel. His nymph. His love.

But she would not stay here with him to see the season through.

He would write to Lady Howell and ask if the two friends might visit together as they once had.

The viscountess would bring Jillian out of her shell again, restore some of her liveliness.

With the entire estate of Munro House once again at her disposal, Jilly would be able to run and pick flowers and draw from nature to replenish her depleted joy.

Lewis did agree with his mother about one thing: there was no need for Jilly to endure tonight’s dinner. Instead, she should enjoy a long, hot bath. He would personally tuck her into bed, cover her in kisses, and make her understand she was still exactly the woman of his dreams.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Lewis left the kitchen to find his wife. Everything was going to be better now. He would see to it. And Jilly would love him all the more for it. The future was suddenly much brighter. He only regretted it had taken him this long to make it happen.

He found Jillian in the bedroom, staring out through the window at the busy street below. Lewis slipped his arms around her waist and whispered, “I think it’s time we changed that view.”