Page 51 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

B aby Nicola lay against her mother’s breast, sound asleep. Jillian’s eyes began to close. There was nothing like a shared nap to refresh the drowsy duo.

At the edge of her hearing, she detected the soft step of someone entering the room and halting, no doubt unwilling to disturb mother and child.

The housekeeper had the afternoon off. And Pen, who was now sharing their home, was out riding, as was still her habit.

The thoughtfully quiet presence must therefore be Lewis.

Her eyes opened enough to see him hesitate, look back toward the corridor, then bite his lip.

“Is something the matter?” Jilly asked, though the answer was obvious.

“My mother is here,” he said quite suddenly, as if he needed to get the words out before he lost courage. “She wishes to speak with you.”

Jillian’s heartbeat accelerated. She had neither seen nor heard from either of Lewis’s parents since their return to Munro. Nicola was already a month old. What had changed? Was Lord Bradford unwell? Was his wife here to blame them for it?

Nicola stirred, her sleep disturbed by the tension flooding Jillian’s body.

“It is not like her to break with etiquette,” pondered Jillian. “Isn’t it the done thing to write and announce one’s intention to visit? These matters are usually important to her.”

“I know it is unexpected.” He seemed to waver. “I can send her away…”

“But you don’t want to.”

Lewis’s shoulders drooped. “She looks… worn down.”

“The proud and fierce Lady Bradford? Worn down?” Jillian wanted to feel sympathy, but nine months of being ignored had not silenced the knowledge that this woman had believed her to be verging on madness.

“Will you see her?” asked Lewis. “Please? I can stay. If she behaves badly, I will send her on her way at once.”

Her husband’s face was so woeful, Jillian could not possibly say no . There was almost nothing she wouldn’t do for him. He had given her everything she needed, fought everyone and everything for her. Now it was her turn. “If there is any chance she wants to do right by you, I am willing to try.”

Lewis lit up at these words. He disappeared quickly behind the door. Jillian could hear him tell the footman, “Send her up.”

He waited out of sight on the landing. Jillian, too, waited, curiosity and apprehension vying for supremacy. Their baby settled once more, unaware of the momentous scene that unfolded around her.

The door swung open and Lewis entered the room with his mother leaning on his arm.

It was strange to see her no longer wearing black.

Had Philip really been gone so long? Despite her moss-green dress, the matriarch seemed as much in mourning as ever.

Her hair, previously streaked with gray, was now entirely white and many more lines crisscrossed her face.

Lewis had not been exaggerating. She did look worn out.

However, the moment Lady Bradford saw little Nicola, her face softened. She took a step forward toward her granddaughter, but Lewis indicated a settee farther from his wife and babe. Lady Bradford, clearly disappointed, complied and sat where she was told.

Silence lingered awkwardly. Lewis looked from his wife to his mother and back, but neither initiated the conversation. He sighed.

Jillian’s heart went out to him. None of this was easy for any of them.

Lady Bradford had called on them and should say what was on her mind, but she was not good at apologies.

Jillian was the hostess and was obliged to make her welcome, but she did not know if their guest was welcome yet.

And Lewis was caught in the middle, as always.

Across the room, their visitor’s eyes were locked on the bundle of sweetness in Jilly’s arms. Honestly, it was obvious why she was here—whether she deserved it or not. No , thought Jillian, whatever I decide to do now, I do for Lewis, not her.

Having made up her mind, Jilly stood carefully, scooping Nicola up and cradling her head. She crossed the space between herself and Lady Bradford and asked, “Would you like to hold her?”

The woman whom Jilly had only ever known as stern and unbending now melted into doting benevolence. Her arms reached out eagerly to receive her grandchild. Her only grandchild.

“She has your eyes,” she told Lewis as Nicola opened them at the unfamiliar touch of her not-mother. “And your hair.” She looked up at Jilly.

“Well, the beginnings of it, at any rate,” said Jilly with half a smile. “She really is only a downy, little chick at present.”

“You will need a son, too,” said Lady Bradford automatically. “Oakwoods must have an heir.”

Jillian pinched her lips shut. Not everything could be undone in a day. Perhaps it never would be. But Lady Bradford had swallowed her dignity to come. Jillian would allow a little wiggle room, even if it meant simply saying nothing.

“All in good time, Mother,” Lewis cautioned, ready to defend his little family.

Lady Bradford looked up at him as if she had just realized what she had said. “Oh. Oh, yes, of course. This is a good start, certainly. Er… you have done well, Jillian.” The sentiment sounded uncomfortable in her mouth, but she uttered it nevertheless. And Jilly noticed.

“Is this why you wished to see me? You want to know your granddaughter?”

“I had hoped…” A tear formed in the corner of Lady Bradford’s eye. “Philip is gone forever. And Penelope is determined never to marry. Your children are the only grandchildren we will ever know.”

“We will raise them as we see fit,” Lewis said firmly.

His mother stiffened. “That much, you have made clear.” She said nothing more, though Jilly imagined she resisted the saying of many things.

“If you will love Nicola,” said Jillian, the warmth of her voice promising that her words were intended with kindness, “and enjoy your time with her instead of trying to shape her to your views of the world, then I would be happy for you to visit here. Lord Bradford too.”

“He will come around, you know,” said Lady Bradford, her attention diverted once more to the cherublike cheeks of baby Nicola. “Especially because you have been gracious to me.”

Jillian watched Lewis sag deeper into his chair, as if he had just released a heavy weight he had carried for too long.

She had not fully understood how much he had wanted this.

He had always rebelled against the neglect he had experienced and had sought happiness along a completely different path than the one his parents had trodden.

But even now, aged thirty-one and a father himself, he was still a boy who wanted his mother and father to care.

“We will be patient,” Jilly reassured Lady Bradford, but her eyes were upon Lewis, the man who had chosen her above his own family. How deeply he loved her! It was heartbreaking that he had ever had to choose at all.

“Perhaps, if we are truly to be family, you can forgive your son for wanting this.” Jillian indicated herself, their home.

“And love not only his daughter, but Lewis, too? He was once a babe in your arms, just like this little life you hold. And he still craves your affection. I ask, not for myself, but for him, your flesh and blood.”

Lady Bradford stared at Jillian, her jaw slack, a crease deepening between her eyes. “We have always loved him!”

“Then,” replied Jillian, “I urge you to find a way for him to know it. A gentle word. A conversation without reprimand. Tell him you are proud of him. Spend time with him for its own sake—no lesson to be learned.”

“I… This is not… We don’t…” Lady Bradford halted in her flustered speech. She took a deep breath. It shook a little as she exhaled it. “I will try. We will try.”

Jillian resisted the instinctive urge to throw her arms around her mother-in-law and squeeze her with all her might. Such an embrace would create more alarm than pleasure. Instead, Jilly reached down and placed a light kiss upon the woman’s brow. “Thank you,” was all she said.

Then she fetched Lewis by the hand and led him across the thick rug, pressing his shoulders down firmly so that he was obliged to sit next to his mother on the settee, sharing a space more closely than they had done for the better part of thirty years.

“There!” said Jillian, stepping back to take in her handiwork with satisfaction.

“Now the two of you can coo over our daughter together. I will go fetch us some tea.” She laughed as Lady Bradford raised a quizzical eyebrow yet wisely said nothing.

“It is the housekeeper’s day off,” she explained.

“Besides, I make a very good cup of tea. I have acquired a fine blend that Mrs. Trenton likes to make. So, you see, you and I are learning new things together.”

Lady Bradford nodded. “So we are.” She reached a tentative hand and patted her son on the knee. “So we are.”

Baby Nicola gurgled at her grandmother and wrapped her tiny hand about the lady’s finger.

In the doorway, Jilly paused to drink in the scene of delicate domestic bliss.

One day , she thought, those little hands will plait a daisy crown for her grandmother.

And it will be the proudest jewel the white-haired matriarch has ever worn .

Then she skipped down the stairs of her home to make tea, humming a tune as her shoes thumped a merry beat all the way to the kitchen.