“Do they want me to make a speech or not?” he asked her.
“They certainly want you to try!” she said. “Just keep talking. They’ll settle down soon.”
Lewis attempted another sentence or two. One of the lads began a rather ribald drinking song, which was picked up by his friends. They sang one verse, only to resume their calls of “Speech! Speech!”
To Lewis’s abject horror, a multitude of hands took hold of him and lifted him to the nearest table. “Let’s have it, then!” they called. “Have yer say!”
In all the consideration Lewis had given to his marriage to Jillian, he had only ever thought about howhewould protectherfrom embarrassing scenarios. He had never dreamed that the tables could be turned. Yet here he was, standing on the rough, wooden counter of a village inn, surrounded almost entirely by strangers—as well as his bride waving a knife with a bow on it—trying unsuccessfully to maintain the semblance of dignity.
Pen whispered something in Jillian’s ear and took the knife from her. The next moment, Jilly was clambering up next to him and nudging him playfully.
“Come on,” she said, “let them hear the fine words of a barrister. They’ve never heard the like before except when they’ve been caught poaching and are at the wrong end of the magistrate’s court. Show them how a finely educated man compliments his wife.” She nudged him again. “Go on. They’ll not stay quiet long.”
Her faith in him gave Lewis renewed courage. He turned to the assembled throng and coughed into his fist.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, only to be met with uproarious laughter and teasing comments.
“You hear that, lads? We’re rubbin’ shoulders with the best of ’em!”
“Where are the ladies at, then?”
“Let me get me top hat out me trousers!”
A loud bang reverberated through the noise, bringing it to an abrupt stop. A serious young man turned from the door on which he had just hammered. His tanned face and muscular frame were suggestive of a laborer, though his neat tweed jacket and voice of authority said clearly he was not.
“Now then, lads,” he chastised them. “We are putting Ermenbrough to shame. Mr. Bradford has been stood for all to see by your very selves, yet you offer him no respect. Let the man talk. I’m sure we all want to hear how our Miss Kinsey—begpardon,Mrs. Bradford—is admired by her husband. They say the city folk have a better way with words. Let’s find out. If the groom does well, we’ll drink to their health.”
A cheer rose up and died down just as quickly amid mildly drunken shushes.
Despite finally having the floor, Lewis was strangely tongue-tied. He had never felt this nervous before a judge. In front of these rapidly inebriating townsfolk, however, he sensed an expectation for something grand.
He turned to Jillian for inspiration. And found it.
“Here is my wife,” he stated simply. “You have known her a lifetime and been blessed for it. She is a beauty, it is true, but that is not why you have loved her. It is her openness of spirit, her abundance of natural joy, her ferocious loyalty that has won your hearts. And now I count myself among you lucky few who have known and adored her. I await the privilege of knowing that blessing for a lifetime too.”
“Nowthat’s a speech!” cried a lone voice, followed by cheering and shouts of “to their health!” before Lewis stepped cautiously down from the table and lifted Jilly down by her waist.
Penelope came up to them, as did the stranger who had spoken up earlier.
“Well said!” They spoke in unison, turning with mouths open and eyes dancing to face each other.
“I yield the floor,” said the stranger, eyeing the long, ribboned knife still in Penelope’s hand. “At least while you are armed.” He smiled. There was no mischief in it, only a lightness of spirit that sat slightly awkwardly upon his otherwise-solemn face.
Penelope blushed and tucked the knife behind her back. “I did not mean to appear so war-like,” she said with uncharacteristic shyness.
Jillian made quick introductions.
“Miss Bradford, this is Mr. Simon Boyd. I have known him since we were children. Of late, he has been the land steward on the estate adjacent to Trenton Grange. Simon, this is Miss Penelope Bradford, my wonderful new sister. And of course, Mr. Lewis Bradford, my very own husband and speechmaker of note.”
Mr. Boyd nodded at them both but did not extend a hand to either. “My work early this morning involved a rather more down-to-earth approach, if you take my meaning,” he explained. “I have not been able to scrub my fingers as clean as I’d like for me to shake the hands of fine folk such as yourselves. However, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I wish we had a steward with your industrious qualities on our estate,” said Lewis. “Our Mr. Cooper seems content to only do the minimum. I would be grateful if you could share your expertise with me before we return to Munro. I want very much to improve the way we manage our affairs. Would you have time to meet with me and walk me through your approach?”
“If you are willing to talk as we go, certainly,” answered Mr. Boyd. “I have little time for conversation unless it occurs in the course of my duties.”
“I can respect that. Perhaps the day after tomorrow?”
“I am usually done with the morning rounds and bookkeeping around two o’clock, if you would like to meet me at the main house. Then we can do the afternoon rounds before dinner and you can ask me what you will.”
