Page 42 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

“These are notions you should confide to Mr. Bradford.”

“He is aware of them.”

A silence followed these words. Jilly did not know how to proceed from here and it seemed neither did Mr. Boyd. Their easy conversation had ground to a halt.

The gentleman cleared his throat. “Turnips,” he said suddenly.

Jilly’s head pulled up. “I’m sorry?”

“Turnips. That’s what we’ll be growing in the fallow field next season. A rotation of wheat, turnips, barley, and clover allows the soil to be fed what it has lost while staying productive.”

“Er… thank you. I shall add it to my report. Lewis will be pleased.”

“Good.

“Yes.”

Mr. Boyd began to pull at the reins to turn his horse’s head, then stopped and half-twisted back toward Jillian.

“It’s not like you to give up.”

Jilly’s mouth slacked and she stared up at him, past his muscular thigh and tanned hand that held the reins with light control but full authority, into the face that she had known all her life. “Who says I have?”

“That is good, then. You know I only ever want the best for you.”

He touched his free hand to his cap, which barely contained his thick, blond hair. His blue eyes rested upon her face for a moment longer before he clicked his tongue and urged his horse to walk on with a tuck of his heel.

Jillian watched him move onto the next field, which was only about a hundred feet away. There, he swung from the saddle to crouch and consider what a worried worker was pointing out to him in the cultivated furrow. She was all but forgotten. A common refrain.

She began to walk back to Trenton Grange, a path which would take her past Mr. Boyd—not that he would pay her any mind. She tried to carry herself tall and proud, as if not in the least interested in what he was doing.

As she approached the two men, Simon Boyd’s head swung in her direction. He paused thus, seeming to wrestle with himself. Eventually, his solemn expression relaxed a little. He stood as she was about to pass by. “Don’t women of your standing have a lady’s maid?”

Jillian paused in her step and nodded.

“Bring her with you next time you stroll through the estate. She might learn something too.”

Jilly brightened. “You mean…?”

It was his turn to nod. “If I’m not too busy. And it can’t be too often. Even the presence of a lady’s maid will not stop tongues wagging if the heads to which they belong put their minds to it.”

Now he put his foot in the stirrup and heaved himself back into the saddle.

He allowed himself the subtlest of smiles before moving on again.

This time, he did not look back. But he did not need to.

He had left a kernel of hope, something for Jillian to hold on to.

Oh, there would be walks to the village and picnics in the meadow with Ellena and little Christopher, perhaps even Mrs. Trenton, and definitely a maid or footman tagging along.

Joining Mr. Boyd on his rounds, however, gave her a sense of purpose.

Something Lewis had never allowed. She was grateful that her dear, old friend had taken pity on her.

How grateful she was to have renewed their connection!

Words echoed up from recent memory. “The old will feel new.” The words of the fortune-teller, so easily discarded before, now rose up with the force of truth.

What was the rest? “The new will feel old.” That could only mean one thing: her marriage to Lewis.

The spark was gone. So far, any change for the better was mere talk.

There had been a warning, too, she remembered with a small shiver.

What was it again? Something about starting anew.

Ah, yes… “Love will grow cold until you embrace new beginnings.” Well, that was a two-way street, was it not?

She could not fan the embers into flames if Lewis did not make an equal effort.

One thing was certain. Mr. Boyd had reminded her how easy it was to make a compromise that suited both parties.

Lewis had only ever wanted her to make sacrifices, to suppress everything he had once loved about her.

How was she supposed to embrace all that had been thrust upon her if she did not have her husband’s support and understanding?

How easily Lewis had slipped into his role as heir to the barony! How quickly he had set aside their shared dreams. He would have to put action to his promises before she trusted him again.

Meanwhile, Jillian was free to do all that had been denied her these past six months.

It was like a spring shower after the barren cold of winter.

Little buds of contentment were sprouting again.

The weeks ahead would see her blossom fully into herself once more.

Jilly felt the confidence of such certainty seep into her core and bloom outward until she fairly glowed with optimism.

Time for breakfast. And then a romp through the meadow. A daisy chain for Christopher. Deeper breaths. Broader smiles that stretched from her heart across the entirety of her face.

The letter to Lewis could wait. Let him write first, set the tone. She would match his efforts. Since there were currently none, she liberated herself from the need to produce any of her own.

No, indeed, all efforts would be spent on living more fully. And if Lewis wanted to join her on such a quest, she would welcome him.

If not…

A tightness clenched her heart. Jillian pushed it away violently with her mind. She would focus on that which she could control. As for the rest, it would happen no matter what she did today.

Onward, then. To a hearty meal, a day well spent in a field of flowers, and the company of those who loved her as she was.

And, on Saturday, the chance for real celebration, sans finery and meanness behind tilted fans. Just good friends and good fun.

Ah, yes , thought Jilly, life is looking very good, indeed .