Of course, that did not mean Jilly had to agree with it. If Mr. Bradford—that most wonderful of men—was considering making her his bride, Jilly had no intention of dissuading him.
A plan, delicious in its simplicity, took shape in her mind.
“I suppose that’s that, then.” Jilly shrugged.
Ellena, who had been leaning forward, possibly to better reason with her friend, stopped mid-motion. “Really? You understand my concerns?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Jillian nodded. “You have made some very good points. I would be a fool to ignore them.”
A wrinkle of worry puckered Ellena’s brow. “You are not angry with me?”
“Of course not. You mean me no harm. I shall write to Mr. Bradford and apologize for not waiting for his visit. Then I will send for my travel trunk.”
Ellena folded her hands together. “I’m sorry, Jilly, but a letter is quite out of the question. You are both unmarried. It would be unseemly. People have been forced into a betrothal for less.”
“Ay, yes. And a betrothal is exactly what wedon’twant.” Jilly tapped the side of her nose twice.
“Er, yes.” Ellena hesitated. “You are taking this very well, I must say.”
“I would not waste our last evening together arguing. But I will admit that I am a little tired. What time do you expect the carriage will be ready tomorrow?”
Ellena thought a moment. “I should like to have breakfast with you, so it would be a late-morning departure to make sure you are home before dark. I will send a letter to be given to Father, asking for the usual courtesy to be shown our groom and footman and your borrowed lady’s maid. They will rest at Trenton Grange before returning the following day.”
“A sound arrangement,” agreed Jillian. “Then I think I will make an early night of it. I would like to be well-rested for the bumpy journey ahead. Packing can wait until morning. I don’t have that many possessions.”
“Jilly.” Ellena reached across and touched her hand. “Iwillmiss you.”
“And I you,” answered Jillian, rising and throwing her arms around Ellena’s shoulders. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She paused, then added, “You can count on it.”
She slipped from the room before her friend should say anything more. Ellena’s guilt for manipulating Jilly to leave the house was unmistakable. Too bad. Jilly was playing a game of her own with no feeling of guilt whatsoever.
In anticipation of her little scheme, she would have taken the stairs two at a time, for there was no one to see her. But she was only a few doors away from Ellena’s rooms and had no need to use the stairs. Not yet. Instead, she skipped lightly on her toes, her excitement needing an outlet without her heels thudding her secret joy along the echoing corridor.
Once in her room, she closed the door and leaned back against it, her heart pounding, her broad smile radiating all the way to her eyes. She squeezed her shoulders to her ears, very satisfied with herself, indeed.
Right. First things first.
Pushing herself from the steady wood of the door, Jillian strode purposefully to the writing desk that had been provided for her. She settled herself with pen and ink and began writing at once, her thoughts clear, the sentences tumbling easily from her. Having a gentlewoman for a friend had definite advantages. Expressing herself well was one of them. And the confidence that she gained from the certainty of her goal lent further eloquence to her words.
Ha! Ellena thought Jillian would make a poor gentleman’s wife! What did she know? Jilly had a gift for fine speech—some might say far beyond her station. A few fashionable dresses and a lady’s maid like Ingsley who had a skilled hand for hair, and Jillian would fit right in! They wouldn’t be able to help themselves. After all, everyone commented on how likeable she was. And they wouldn’t bother to compliment her just becauseshe was Ellena’s friend, would they? Of course not! They would merely have politely avoided her. Especially when she became “chatty,” as Ellena called it. An unfortunate habit, to be sure, but not a disaster. It was simply a way to deflect her own nervousness. Sometimes, she filled the silence when the listener was more nervous than herself, this being far more likely, as Jillian was too brazen with theton, according to the viscountess.
Well, she had no desire to mix with anybody who didn’t want her, so that was the end of that matter. She would lavish her good nature on those who deserved it and simply disregard the rest. Mr. Bradford would not object. He was of a similar opinion.
Jillian lowered her gaze to the letter, a golden curl slipping from her shoulder down the length of her arm. She pictured Mr. Bradford brushing it back, then cupping her cheek with his hand. She could almost feel the skin of his palm—smooth, as a gentleman’s hand should be—against her own. If they were wed, his hand would slip down the curve of her neck and the rounding of her shoulder, drawing the puff of her sleeve with it. And then he would…
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Who is it?” Jillian asked, a tad more sharply than she usually would have, flipping the letter over so that the blank side was displayed instead.
“It’s me, Miss Kinsey. Ingsley. The mistress said you’d be wanting to get ready to sleep. May I come in?”
“That won’t be necessary. I will undress myself tonight, thank you.”
There was a pause. Jillian could imagine the maid’s conundrum. Whose wishes should she respect? Would she be in trouble either way? Bother these stupid rules!
“I can manage on my own,” Jilly repeated. “But I’ll tell Lady Howell how helpful you were. Good night, Ingsley.”
She could almost hear the relief on the other side of the door. The servants had long hours. While dressing someone was some of the lightest work there was to do in a house of this size, even lady’s maids would not mind an early night. Besides, it was a ridiculous task to begin with. If it weren’t for all these silly fastenings and falderals they insisted on adding to perfectly sensible clothes, she would have no need of assistance in the first place.
