Page 6 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

T he intimate meals in Ellena’s room the past three weeks had been informal.

There had been no need to know which cutlery to use or what the fancy French name was for the wobbly thing they had for dessert.

Jillian did not have to wipe the corners of her mouth daintily.

She could giggle and jump up suddenly to demonstrate a part of the story she was telling.

In contrast, any dinner served in the vast dining room at Munro House would feel a little stiff and awkward, no matter how delightful the company they were hosting.

The dinner with Mr. Bradford as guest, however, did not even offer that delight.

What should have been a simple meal seasoned with lively conversation instead felt strained and uncomfortable.

Mr. Bradford shifted restlessly in his chair and kept throwing glances her way that confused her, his expressions doing a dance of wrinkling brows, quirking lips, and self-conscious smiles.

She could not fathom his thoughts at all.

To make matters worse, their host appeared to understand all too well what had come over his friend and all but glared him into submission.

Lord Howell was not a jocular man, but he usually had an ease when among his friends.

However, it was noticeably absent that night.

Even at their parting, Mr. Bradford remained fidgety and on edge.

Curious how a day that had started with such high hopes, flowing into a treasured afternoon excursion, should end in an odd sort of silence.

There was mention of another visit later in the week, but the viscount’s gruff response had discouraged further talk on the subject.

The great oak door had closed. Ellena and her husband had bid Jillian good night, leaving her standing alone and confused in the foyer.

Had the two friends had a falling out? Surely not!

They had known each other most of their lives.

Jillian had never heard a cross word spoken between them.

But there was definitely something in the air.

If only she could find out what had changed since that afternoon.

But that was quite impossible. Despite his generous nature, Lord Howell was not a man she felt she could interrogate.

All Jilly could do was hope that he would confide in his wife and that Ellena would share the details with her.

Alas, the next day came and went without even a mention of Mr. Bradford.

Ellena ate an early supper in her room once more with Jilly for company while Lord Howell tended to matters of the estate.

The conversation circled around neutral topics.

That was, until—after they were quite satiated and Ellena relaxed against her chair’s backrest—the viscountess commented in an offhanded manner, “I suppose you miss home.”

“No more than usual,” replied Jilly. “I am always grateful for time spent with you.”

Ellena traced the pattern of the ornate armrest with a distracted finger.

“You have been with me six weeks already.” The finger ceased its exploration.

Ellena stared at it as if making a decision, then looked up abruptly.

“Your presence has been a great comfort to me as I have ventured into the newness of motherhood. However, I feel I am selfish in keeping you here. I am becoming quite well adjusted to my new routine, and my body is healing well. I feel stronger and ready to resume my responsibilities within our home.” The corners of her mouth turned down.

“I would have been running the household already if Dominic had not been insistent that I continue to rest.”

Jilly recognized the determined glint that flashed in Ellena’s eye. She knew it all too well.

“The day is fast approaching when I will be firm about getting my own way,” Ellena declared. “And dear Dominic has learned that I can be just as stubborn as he.”

A pang of sympathy sounded in Jilly’s heart. The viscount really didn’t stand a chance!

“I think it is time I released you to return to your family,” Ellena continued. “I am certain they miss you as much as you do them.”

Jilly cocked her head to the side. “I do not want to outstay my welcome. But I have visited longer than this before and you have not said anything.”

“And that was greedy of me. Dominic and I understand your discomfort when you are in Munro. We enjoy your company tremendously, but we know it comes at a cost to you. You need time to miss us again, preferably from a joyful place among your family and the amicable sort of bustle that village life provides.”

Jillian’s heart ached a little at these words.

It was true. She was ready to return to Trenton Grange, where the fall blooms would be on full display, the harvest underway, and preparations started for Mell Supper to celebrate the cutting of the last sheaf of corn.

Her mother would want help readying the winter preserves and would appreciate the presence of another woman in the cottage.

Meanwhile, her brothers were growing up, the eldest already eleven and learning his father’s trade.

She was missing their childhood and the way they doted on her in an almost feral way.

“If you are sure…” Already, Jilly pictured the hearty embrace of her father.

She was ready to pack her things at once.

Except… An image of the delectable Mr. Bradford surfaced in her mind.

It was getting harder to leave him behind each time her visits came to an end.

She wished they could at least write to each other. Society had so many silly rules.

“Absolutely!” said Ellena, cutting short Jilly’s thoughts, which was probably just as well. “It will give me an excuse to dust off my letter-writing skills,” continued Ellena, “for I rarely write to anyone but you.”

“Your mother seems to enjoy receiving your news.”

“Ye-es,” came the cautious response. “But I must speak of any private thoughts and feelings obliquely in case Father reads our correspondence. You know how intolerant he is of sentimentality. It is hard for her to please both his needs and mine. And being under his roof obliges her to accommodate him for the most part.”

This was nothing new to Jillian. She had often marveled at how well Ellena had turned out—able to find joy in the little things, show love unequivocally, and draw people to her—when her examples had been a cold father with a mind only for profit and a mother who hid her fondness for her only child for fear of provoking her husband’s ire.

Mr. Trenton had been of the opinion that his daughter should not be mollycoddled, and even simple shows of affection had been categorized as an indulgence.

Mrs. Trenton had only been allowed to show interest in Ellena if it in some way furthered her daughter’s chances of finding a promising match.

For many years, the two women had conversed almost entirely about suitable attire and proper behavior.

It was only now that Ellena had gained independence from their home and assumed the power that was hers as a viscountess that she could claim her mother’s affection without risking too much of her father’s habitual interference.

Jilly fondly recalled the way her own father patted his belly, which persisted in its roundness thanks to his wife’s baking prowess and despite the hours he spent sweating under a blazing sun or fighting against wind, rain, and hail to protect his precious plantings.

As a little girl, she would curl up against him and lay her head upon his belly-cushion, his mighty arm swooping ’round and gathering her in its protective arc.

He had taught her to read, just as the vicar had once done for him.

It was a skill that had helped him secure the position as groundskeeper, as he would need to keep an inventory of equipment and take copious notes for landscaping.

He knew his bright daughter would master reading and writing with ease, making her a better suited companion for Miss Trenton, since they had insisted on being friends.

Jillian had known such patience and encouragement from her father that it was no wonder she had taken the lonely daughter of the master under her wing despite her being no older than little Miss Ellena.

Indeed, until the age of ten, she had been an only child and had had her parents’ warmth and affection all to herself.

Now all three of her brothers would clamber up and perch on and around whoever was sitting nearby.

Personal space was for the wealthy, in houses where there were more chairs but emptier arms.

“Perhaps it will be different now,” Jilly mused aloud.

“You outrank your father both in affluence and status. He has no power over you, for you are married and have borne the heir to the entire Howell estate and title. I imagine that if you ever do visit Trenton Grange, you could say and do what you like, and your mother would be able to express herself more freely with you.”

Ellena pressed her lips together. She did not seem convinced. “It would be preferable if Mother could visit me at Munro House as you do,” she said. “But Father always has need of her. She keeps the household running smoothly, and he does not tolerate domestic distractions.”

“Will you take little Christopher to visit her at least?”

“He is too small for such a long journey. And I am in no hurry to be under my father’s roof again.”

Pity filled Jilly’s heart. They had grown up very differently.

Still, the times they’d spent together had been happy for them both.

Maybe a little more of that was just what Ellena needed.

“I could look out for you like I used to when it grew unbearable for you,” she said.

“We could take Christopher for walks by the river. Maybe, if your father is sufficiently distracted, we could even invite your mother along.”