Page 43 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

L ewis stumbled out of bed at noon. This had become the norm.

Meetings, dinners, sessions, even dances filled his calendar, often ending in the small hours and leaving him worn out.

There was no Jilly to come home to, no welcoming touch as he fell upon the sheets, exhausted.

No wife to accompany him to functions, whether formal and unwelcoming and sure to lead to an argument, or intimate and friendly and rewarding in the way it lifted their spirits.

He had to admit, the latter sort had been rare.

Far fewer of his friends had been as open-minded as he had thought them to be.

He had believed that the London crowd would be more progressive in their thinking, more accepting of Jillian.

In truth, they had only been more subtle in their rejection of her.

He had watched her shrink into a smaller version of herself and had been helpless to do anything about it.

They were committed to see the season through.

At least, he was. Having Jilly spend these weeks in Ermenbrough had been a relief to them both.

No more snide remarks from his parents. No large dinners his wife could not bring herself to sit through.

No need for him to try to split himself into two, even three versions of himself as he played whatever role was required of him.

And always their marriage suffered. There was little enough to nourish it.

He could see now how unfair he had been.

He had made the necessary adjustments to fulfill Philip’s role with relative ease.

He had been consumed with doing whatever it took to keep his parents from nagging him.

If Jilly had been able to rise to the challenge, they would have fared well.

But he had promised her a life so opposite to what it now was, it had been like asking the moon to stop shining and become a stone.

He had never thought such a request would become necessary. He had pictured the sort of comfortable lifestyle he had enjoyed whenever he’d visited Howell and his lady—a dose of propriety along with a large helping of warm society. Jilly could have managed that well enough.

But the viscount and viscountess were an anomaly. Of course, he had known that. Lewis had believed he could emulate it. Then Fate had forced his hand. Now he was chained to a life of rigid expectation, and Jillian along with him.

The initial thrill of managing the estate, gaining his father’s respect, and serving in the House of Commons had worn off.

These could not make up for the atrophy in his relationship with his wife.

They had planned a particular life together.

And it looked nothing like the one they now merely endured.

It was up to him to find a solution. He must fathom a way to meet what society required of him without dragging Jillian into its clutches. And he had no idea how.

He should at least be writing to her. She needed to hear that these thoughts milled through his mind because she was important to him.

That he acknowledged his failings. That he wanted to revive the hopes they had shared in the beginning.

But he did not know how to back these words with deeds.

If it had been that easy, he would have done so by now.

And without a clear path forward, any words he wrote would sound empty, the hollow vessels of thoughts he could not carry out.

Because he knew not what to say, he did not write. Let her think him busy, for he was. Let her think his mind preoccupied, for that was true, too.

If only she would write, he would have something to reply to. He could say yes, he missed her also. No, London in all its splendor could not match the wonders of Ermenbrough, where the love of family and acceptance of friends surpassed any attraction held by theater or park or museum.

But Jillian did not write.

She was very likely in her element, back within the environment that best suited her. He must give her time to have her fill of it before she turned her thoughts to him.

And yet…

Did she not think of him at all ? Had this decision to spend time apart been unwise? Was she so truly happy without him now that she was able to do all that gave her joy? Did she… Lewis swallowed. Did she regret having left it all to marry him?

Perhaps he should write to her. She would be forced to acknowledge his letter. He might gauge her mood from her response.

But did he really want to know? If Jillian spared no thought for him, was that something with which he wanted to burden his heart? What could he do about it here in London?

No, he must wait and trust. When they were reunited in little over a month, he would be free of all distraction from the season and she would have recovered somewhat from her frustrations with the ton .

They would put their heads together. Even better, they would put their hearts together.

This time, they would know what they must deal with.

They would both be wiser. He would manage her needs better.

Except… at this moment, he could not think how.

And he was back to the reason why he could not write his wife a letter.

Instead, he must pine for her in silence.

And count on blind faith to present a way forward.

As an experienced barrister, this was not the way he normally handled things.

There would be precedence in previous cases.

Facts, logical arguments. Instead, what he had were the often-obsolete norms of society as passed down by countless generations versus the sheer will of a free spirit who refused to conform.

And, his conscience reminded him with painful regularity, he had promised Jilly she wouldn’t have to.

In fact, he had been looking forward to breaking the rules right alongside her.

Damn and blast it all! Philip, you selfish wretch!

What were you doing at that gaming hell?

You’re the one who wanted all this. The power and position.

The barony and its privileges. The games of the ton and its infernal rules.

You had no business being in a place like that.

You had money and our parents’ love, friends and a woman you wanted to marry.

What more could you possibly have been seeking among the dregs of society? Look what your selfishness has cost me!

But Philip could never answer. And if he did, it would likely be to say he had done it because he could. Because he had felt like it. And why was Lewis complaining, anyway? These were his privileges now. He could do just as he wished.

Lewis leaned his head into his hands. He simply wasn’t made of the same stuff his brother had been.

And if it did not come easily to him, no wonder it was that much harder for his dear Jillian.

And she was his. Forever and ever. Yet “forever” could quickly turn from a blessing into a curse if he did not do something!

Lewis reached over and tugged the ribbon to call for his valet. Clothes. Food. And then a brisk walk to clear the cobwebs from his mind. Today, he must create at least the semblance of a plan. Maybe that would be a worthwhile something to put into a letter.

Except after Lewis had eaten, his father called him into his study. Lord Bradford wasted no time in getting right to the heart of what irked him.

“Rumor has it you and your associates are putting forward a motion to Commons to undo elements of the Corn Laws. You know it will never pass muster in Lords. Why waste your time on it? You are working against your own interests.”

Once again, Lewis was reminded how differently he and his father approached such matters.

“I cannot vote against my conscience, Father. My constituents are ordinary folk whose lives are affected by these laws. And if they are suffering, it is up to us who have the means to change these circumstances to do so.”

“But you must know such a motion will stall with Lords.”

“Even so, an effort must be made. One day, the House of Lords may surprise us. We will persist until such a day comes.”

Lord Bradford harrumphed . “I had hoped, with Jillian away, you might show more measured thought. But I see her influence remains.”

Lewis heaved a deep sigh. “Father, I have thought as I do for much longer than even my first acquaintance with my wife. It is a sorry reflection on your and my relationship that you have managed to remain unaware of this. Perhaps it did not matter before because Philip always did as you wished and I was occupied in the courts, not Parliament. But this is who I am. This is how I would have thought and acted even if I had not married her.”

The baron tapped an impatient finger on his desk. “Someone like Miss Sangford would have set you straight. She would have guided you to the right social circles. She would have coaxed you to make better decisions, as all wives do when they have their husbands’ wellbeing in mind.”

“I am sorry you feel that way.” Lewis shrugged. “I happen to think Jillian has done exactly what you wish a wife to do. She has reminded me to consider others and not take myself too seriously.”

“And yet you do not appear to be happy.”

Lewis grew quiet. He lowered his gaze. “That is my own fault.”

“Is it?”

Lewis stared into the palms of his hands.

They were empty of answers. How many times hadn’t he had these discussions with his parents?

They could not, would not understand. He had allowed himself to be drawn into their world.

The very world he had rejected so bitterly until six months ago.

He had let their reasoning sour his own.

And he had let it sour his relationship with Jillian.

Once again, he was spending his energy in a debate that would have the same outcome as every single one they’d ever had before. He should have been using his time to mend his marriage.

Lewis stood up abruptly. “I’m going for a walk.”