Page 38 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

E llena had not only been happy to receive Jillian as her guest once more, she had invited her to travel with her to their erstwhile home at Trenton Grange.

Little Christopher was now almost ten months old and had not yet been introduced to Ellena’s parents.

She was ready at last to make the long journey to Ermenbrough with him since he was old enough to sit on his nurse’s lap instead of being held in her arms for the duration of the trip.

Jillian, who had not seen her own parents for almost as long, nearly wept with relief at the suggestion.

After such a long time without the gentler, simpler ways of her family and the village folk, she had nearly forgotten what it was to be able to be herself and be loved for it.

Sorry as she was to be parted from Lewis for the next six weeks, the time apart would be good for them.

Here, in the carriage with Ellena, Christopher, and his nurse—the footman and the lady’s maids riding outside—Jillian felt she could breathe again.

Even Penelope and her escapades could not help Jilly feel as safe as this.

She no longer had to watch everything she said and did.

She could laugh freely, talk of silly childhood things, even engage with the nurse without Ellena responding with anything beyond a knowing smile.

The only complication that lay ahead was the matter of where she would stay.

As wife of the Bradford heir, she could not stay in the crowded Kinsey cottage, much as she wanted to.

Instead, she would be a guest at Trenton Grange itself, the home of the very people who had considered her a bad influence on Ellena.

It was still better than being under the same roof as the Bradfords, for the Trentons had known her all her life.

They had disapproved of her, to be sure, but only in so far as she had scampered off to the meadow with their daughter when they’d been trying to raise a future nobleman’s wife.

Now that she herself was one of them, they could hardly complain.

And if she chose to revert to her meadow-scampering ways, she would not involve Ellena… unless Ellena wanted to, that is.

Despite Jillian’s devil-may-care attitude, her being shown into the guest room in the home of her father’s employer was nothing less than surreal.

Mrs. Trenton, distracted as she was by the sight of her only grandchild, paid Jillian little mind.

However, the footman who brought her belongings to her room was an old friend, and soon the facade of noblewoman-to-be melted clean away.

“How is the family, Tommy?” she asked as he straightened from depositing the luggage on the floor of her room.

“I go by ‘Thomas’ now, ma’am. A bit more formal to match the uniform, like,” he explained.

“I’ll happily call you ‘Thomas,’ especially since you’re no longer in boy’s britches, but you are certainly not going to call me ‘ma’am.’ I’ve known you since you were knee-high to a bumblebee!”

“That may be true an’ all, but you weren’t Mrs. Bradford then. I have to keep up with what’s expected of me.”

“Well, I expect you to call me ‘Jilly,’ as you always have done.”

“Sorry, ma’am, can’t do that,” Thomas insisted. “I am employed by Mr. Trenton. It’s his word is law.”

This sounded all too familiar to Jillian.

Ellena’s father was many things, but a reasonable man, he was not.

If something could make him money, he would consider its merits.

Everything else was just in his way. This was the reason poor Mrs. Trenton had not met her grandson until today.

Her husband would not spare her to visit Munro House.

She kept all distraction from him, whether it be the simple running of the household, or the more complex circumstances that required a human touch.

Small wonder Ellena’s upbringing had been so cold.

Her mother had bowed to her husband’s instruction, and his idea of parenting had been to raise his daughter for a profitable marriage.

If it hadn’t been for Jillian and the escape she’d provided, Ellena would probably have ended up a sad, mousy sort of thing.

Instead, here Ellena was, Viscountess Howell, with a loving husband and an heir secured. And, thanks to Ellena and the sort of friends she and her husband surrounded themselves with, Jillian was married to the heir to the Bradford barony.

This meant that Mr. Trenton—though a gentleman and a man of great wealth—was completely outranked by both his daughter and their guest—a fact that Jilly gleefully imagined he found disconcerting.

He not only had the groundskeeper’s daughter as his guest, but he was bound to show her the utmost respect, both for the sake of his daughter and the title of baroness that Jillian would one day inherit.

She could therefore easily have insisted that Thomas call her “Jilly” and watch Mr. Trenton quietly implode with rage, powerless to counter her wishes.

But she would not do that to an old friend.

Thomas had solid employment in which he seemed to take great pride.

Despite what the Bradfords thought, she had enough presence of mind not to cause trouble where it wasn’t warranted.

“All right, Thomas,” she conceded, “I shan’t insist. I will play the role of a fancy guest. Here, then, is a coin for carrying my luggage.

And another if you will explain to the rest of the staff that I still love them as the friends we always were and will treat them as such if we cross paths outside of this house. ”

She placed the coins—rather larger than she knew he would expect—into his palm and watched his smile grow wide toward his ears.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he answered with a little bow.

He retreated to the door, hesitated, turned to her with his hand wrapped around the door’s edge, and said in a low voice meant only for her hearing, “There’s to be a bit of a shindy at the neighbor’s on Saturday.

It’s a roof-wetting for the new barn and their master is giving all his staff and laborers the day off.

Just thought it might be a good place to see old friends, like. ”

The thought of an evening of country dancing with honest country folk, many of whom she had known since she’d been a mere babe, was exactly the sort of balm her wounded spirit needed.

“Oh, you can count me in,” she replied with a grin. “Wild horses could not keep me away!”

“Glad to hear it… ma’am.” Thomas threw a little wink her way, then stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him.

The new barn. That would be a good excuse for her first walk. She would go and admire its construction and compliment the workmanship. Ladies were allowed to do that, weren’t they? But first, a quick change of clothing…

Jillian collected one of her plainer dresses, of which she had brought several, even though Wallace had complained that people would judge her for letting her lady dress in so drab a fashion.

Poor Wallace! Mrs. Jillian Bradford was not the sort of mistress a lady’s maid hoped to serve.

She would be mortified if she knew Jillian was dressing herself at this very moment.

As if to prove she was not “one of those ladies,” Jilly began to skip down the stairs, only to be met with the narrowed eyes of Mr. Trenton come to see who was trip-trapping through his solemn home.

“Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Bradford. I should have known.” He looked about him with an air of one who could not find what he was seeking. “Have you seen my wife?”

Of course. He would want to know where his gatekeeper was, the designated shield that protected him from any and all disturbance.

“I suppose she is with your grandson,” said Jillian with a mildly accusatory tone. After all, why was he not admiring sweet little Christopher also? Did he really have no warm blood in his veins?

“Fetch her for me, will you?”

Jillian’s hackles rose. She was not his servant. She never had been. Nor was she bound to him with the loyalty of a wife. His own wife, as it happens, was meaningfully engaged elsewhere. Jillian was certainly not going to assist him in disrupting those precious moments.

“ Actually ,” she replied, “I was about to stretch my legs after the long ride. I am sure it will be easier for you to locate Mrs. Trenton yourself, as you know her likely whereabouts in your home, the layout of which I am not familiar with, since I have never been permitted inside.” She paused to let her words sink in, then added, “And may I say congratulations on your beautiful grandson? You must be so proud.”

Without waiting for an answer, Jillian not-skipped from the room, offering this small courtesy to a man she otherwise could not stand.

Outside, the air smelled familiar and welcoming.

She did a quick sweep of the garden but could not spy her father.

She would look for him again later when she popped in at the cottage.

Right now, what she really needed was a brisk walk and the oily aroma of sheep’s wool as she ran her hands over their docile backs.

The late May sun was bright and warm, but not uncomfortably so.

The crops displayed healthy growth, the wheat, barley, and oats a rich green, their heads fully formed but not yet ripe.

Jillian tramped past them, heading toward the new stone structure that would be the center of attention on Saturday.

Even from a distance, she could see that it was still empty, but a man with a notebook and pencil seemed to be scribbling something, perhaps taking stock of what would be stored there.

He lifted his tweed cap and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a mop of blond hair that Jillian knew all too well.

“Mr. Boyd!” she called, waving her hand as she approached. “What a lovely surprise to run into you!”