Page 39 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)
“Mrs. Bradford.” His blue eyes sparkled against his tanned skin. He tipped his cap to her before tucking his curls back under it. “I see you are back in Ermenbrough. Come to see your folks?”
“I have. And to escape the rigors of London. You do not know how lucky you are to spend your days here.” She indicated with a sweep of her arm. “These fields. These people. This uncomplicated life. I am deeply envious of you.”
“I imagine the memories of a young woman without too many cares are different to the realities of being a land steward,” he corrected her plainly, yet without malice.
“I would say the management of the estate and these lands is a complex set of tasks. Though I do agree, the surroundings are certainly pleasant. London would suffocate me. But then I suppose I am an ordinary man with simple desires.”
“That’s it, exactly!” A kindred soul at last! Oh, it is good to be home among people like Simon Boyd! “For all their dinners and dances and fine riding through Hyde Park, I do not think the wealthy really know how to live ,” she exclaimed.
“I shall have to take your word for it.”
“I mean, what greater fun can be had than a roof-wetting? No need for fancy frocks or row upon row of dishes with unpronounceable French names needing twelve different forks. No nasty, backstabbing ‘ladies’ who smile at you while wishing you ill.” Her voice dropped low as the memory weighed on her.
“No one judging you because you don’t paint or play piano.
I’d rather be celebrating the new barn than attend a ball with the ton any day. ”
Mr. Boyd, who had been looking at the ground as a sign of respect, now tilted his head up at an angle and looked thoughtfully at Jillian. “It seems your time in London has caused you pain. I am sorry for it. You do not deserve such treatment. No one does.”
His words startled Jillian. It had been months since someone had told her, plainly and honestly, that her feelings of hurt were valid and the cause inexcusable. No justification. No demand that she fall in line with such mean thinking. Just pure kindness and heartfelt support.
It was in such stark contrast to how Lewis had handled her sense of isolation that a warmth rushed from her heart—nay, her whole being—toward Simon Boyd. She felt oddly safe with him. As she used to feel with Lewis. Before he’d abandoned her in a world that was utterly alien to her.
Yes, it appeared her husband had come to deeper insights now. He might even be ready to start again, to make the dreams they’d first shared new once more. But the months between had been long and hard and lonely.
Whereas Mr. Boyd had understood her straight away.
Jillian had the strangest desire to fling her arms about him and say, “Thank you.” Thank you for making it so easy. Thank you for not making me doubt myself.
She rubbed her eyes. Was she really going to cry?
“Is everything all right?” he asked. The concern in his voice was sincere and only made Jillian want to blubber more.
Get a hold of yourself! What must he think of you? You haven’t spoken in ages and now you want to cry on his shoulder? Don’t be daft, Jillian! Even groundskeepers’ daughters don’t behave in such a ridiculous fashion!
“I’m fine.” She took her handkerchief and blew her nose indelicately. “I’ve grown unused to the dust and pollen of farm life.”
“I was under the impression that the baron’s estate had its own farm. Are you not affected there?”
“Oh, er… no, I mainly walk in the woods or by the lake.”
“It sounds as if one could be content in such a place, especially when you have found happiness in love. How is Mr. Bradford? We’ve been experimenting with new crop rotations this season to great effect. I thought he might be interested.”
“He is still in London, busy with Parliament.” And dinner parties.
“He took pity on me and gave up the pleasure of my company so that I could spend time with my own family and friends.” I wonder if he misses me?
“I have come with Lady Howell, who brings her infant son to be cooed at by his grandmother.” And thoroughly ignored by his grandfather.
“If you like, you could show me what you’ve been doing.
I would be happy to report back to Mr. Bradford.
I could do with some useful way to occupy my time here.
I don’t think Lady Howell will allow me to work in the garden with my father.
And, much as I would like to help my mother, I worry that I have lost the knack.
The Bradford servants have ruined me with their attentiveness. ”
She laughed lightly, but there was no heart in it.
Mr. Boyd’s eyes rested on her with disconcerting contemplation. What did he see? Could he detect her dissatisfaction with a life others might have greatly desired? Had he picked up on her feelings of isolation when she had only ever known community?
He seemed to have made up his mind, for he tilted a hand toward her as if offering her something and then spoke this offer into being. “You are welcome to accompany me on my rounds tomorrow, if you wish. That is, if you don’t mind trudging along muddy paths and breathing in more dust and pollen?”
“I love trudging through mud!” Jilly exclaimed before she could stop herself. Her cheeks grew warm—a sign of embarrassment, she reminded herself, that she never used to feel.
Mr. Boyd formed a little smile of amusement on an otherwise-serious face. He was always thus, Jilly remembered. Which was probably why at such a young age—What was he now? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? She knew he was not much older than herself—he had secured such a responsible position.
“Well,” he said, the smile diminishing but not fading completely, “that is all in order, then. Do you ride, Mrs. Bradford?”
Jilly’s heart fell. “I do not.”
“No matter,” he said to her enormous relief.
“I will do my patrol of the fencing on horseback and see to the duties farthest out on the estate while I am at it. I usually do these quite early, and I believe you would not mind a later start after your tiring journey. Shall we meet after breakfast, say ten o’clock?
I will attend to the matters of farming with you.
When you have had your fill, I will resume my other duties. Does this suit?”
“It’s suits very well, indeed,” said Jilly.
“I bid you a good day, then. There are still many tasks that require my attention this afternoon.” He touched his cap to her, stuck his pencil halfway under it, and shoved the notebook into his pocket before heading off to see to his other duties.
Her excuse for visiting the neighbor now carried out, Jillian felt a little stranded, a single top spinning by itself while the rest of the world went about its business.
And yet, as she started walking back to Trenton Grange, where her family would draw her into its welcoming cocoon, she sensed that some healing had already begun.
Tomorrow, she would have dirt on her boots, the sun at her back, and the company of a kindhearted man who thought her perfectly fine as she was.
These were the hopes she’d had once had of Lewis. And he had recently pledged his promises to her anew. After the London season, they would try again, do better.
But he had let her down before.
Mr. Boyd had not.
And so it was, as she made her way across the boundary between the two properties, that Jillian was not thinking with excitement of seeing Lewis in July but instead relished the prospect of seeing Simon Boyd on the morrow.
She saw no harm in this. Why should she not choose the happier thoughts, the ones that assured her of pleasant hours?
Contentment and bliss with Lewis seemed unattainable.
There was always a price to pay. He would have to show her how he would manage things differently for her faith to be restored.
And he could show her nothing for some weeks yet.
No, she saw no wrong in enjoying Mr. Boyd’s company. His manner toward her was restorative after such a long period of emotional drought. It wasn’t as though she were losing her heart to him. That would have been silly. She was a married woman.
Confident of her choices, Jillian climbed over the fence.
It saved a long walk around. More importantly, she craved the freedom to clamber.
It was exhilarating, shedding a layer of inhibition she had worn like an ill-fitting garment.
Yes, she was definitely home again, more herself, settling back into her own truth.
What was Lewis doing now? Honestly, she was giving it very little thought. Following some societal norm, no doubt. It only mattered that she did not have to. For the next six weeks, she would remember what it was to spread her wings fully.
After that?
Her heart grew tight. No, no, she must not think of that now. She must fly, run, sing, laugh. Twirl barefoot among the grasses of the meadow. Get her face full of flour as she helped her mother bake bread. Hold Timmy’s sticky hand.
Perhaps, when she had grown full and round with joy, she would have the strength for what must follow. Today, however, she would only think of her family’s warm embrace and the pure delight of a home within which judgment had no place.
Before she knew it, her steps had grown lighter, bouncier, until she was skipping, her arms swinging, a tune upon her lips.
She could see her brother Jack in the distance and waved to him, increasing her pace to a run, until she had the startled lad in her arms and swung him around while he squirmed and complained that he was nine and not a baby anymore.
Ah, yes, she was home at last.