Chapter Thirteen
Jillian had beenpracticing the names and order of use of the multitude of dinner knives and forks with Lewis. She had promised to be a lady when necessary, and Sunday family dinner was definitely going to be one of those occasions.
Lord and Lady Bradford must have been practicing too, of a kind—whether it was as a result of Penelope’s urging, or because, as with their allowance of Pen’s eccentricities, they had made peace with their remaining son’s odd choices. They were definitely more subdued and civil. And conversation was able to proceed rather more pleasantly than it had at the last meal they had shared.
“My mother sends her best wishes,” Jillian told Lady Bradford as they waited for the soup to be served.
“That is very kind,” said her ladyship before nodding to the butler.
“And she sent a jar of her special ointment for your gout, sir,” said Jilly to Lewis’s father. “It works wonders. She could sell it and make a pretty penny, but most folks back home just repay her kindness with some eggs or whatever they grow in their little piece of garden.”
Lady Bradford sucked in her breath and exhaled it again in a controlled manner.
“Jillian, dear,” she said as calmly as possible, “we do not mention people’s personal health at the table. Nor do we discussmoney unless it is in reference to the greater economic situation of our country.”
“Oh,” said Jilly. “Oh, sorry. I shall try to remember that.”
“Please do,” her ladyship replied firmly. Then her face softened a little and she added, “Although it was kind of you to think of Lord Bradford’s well-being.” She ignored thehmphthat marked his lordship’s opinion on the matter.
“Of course. I would not want him to suffer needlessly.” Jillian shot a quick smile at her father-in-law before returning her attention to Lady Bradford. “Er, what would you recommend as appropriate subject matter instead?”
“Well, the men—if we let them—will spend most of their time discussing politics, as many of them attend Parliament and carry the cares of our great nation upon their shoulders.”
Jillian tried not to pull a face. “And if we don’t? Let them, I mean.” She caught sight of Lewis hiding a grin behind his wineglass before he took a sip.
“Then one might have the opportunity to speak of the theater, or the latest betrothal among families with whom we are acquainted. Anything civilized, really.”
“She means ‘boring,’” Penelope remarked. She may have said a lot more, but her father cleared his throat loudly and Penelope subsided into silence once more.
Jillian agreed wholeheartedly with the comment. She had the distinct impression that she and Lady Bradford also did not share the same concept of what was civilized. Nor did she think her mother-in-law had considered their own betrothal to be suitable for dinner conversation.
She sipped a spoonful of her soup. It was very fine soup. This seemed to be a safe and civilized topic.
“This is very fine soup,” said Jilly to the table at large.
“I am glad you like it,” answered Lady Bradford. “Our cook has been with us many years. I do not doubt there are otherhouseholds who have tried to steal her from us, but she is deeply loyal, for which we are, of course, thankful.”
Jillian paused her spoon mid-sip. “People try to steal each other’s staff?”
“Oh, yes! It is a compliment, really. It means they do their job better than most. Of course, if they actually leave your service when another offer is made, it reflects very poorly on how you have treated them.”
Jilly couldn’t help thinking she might have fared better at Oakwoods as a servant rather than the supposed interloper. Then again, none of the staff had tried to marry the Bradfords’ son.
“Do you think Mrs. Johnson would teach me how she manages a gentleman’s home?” Jillian asked, keen to find common ground. “Or is she not as excellent as your own housekeeper?”
Lady Bradford spluttered as her spoonful of soup went down the wrong way. A little of it dribbled onto her chin and she hastily wiped it off with her serviette.
“Are you all right, my dear?” her husband inquired with a frown.
Lady Bradford waved her hand as she attempted to regain her dignity. Two delicate coughs later, her serviette was back upon her lap and she turned to Jillian, her eyes closed as if she were seeking inner peace.
When she opened them again, they focused on Jilly with what seemed to be a very tenuous grip on patience.
“Mrs. Johnson,” she said slowly, as though to an errant child, “may be newly in our employ, but her qualifications are not lacking in any way.However…” And now Lady Bradford’s tone became quite stern. “We donot, under any circumstances, allow the staff”—here, she visibly shuddered at the thought—“to teach usanything. You need know nothing of managing a house of anyproportion. You simply say what it is you want, and it is their task to see it done. For example, you select a menu for dinner, and the housekeeper instructs the staff accordingly.Youmay entertain, or embroider, or take the air. Perhaps you might learn the piano or paint. We also have a large collection of books in the library. I assume you can read.”
“Mother!” Lewis cut in.
“What?” Lady Bradford replied. “How am I to know what your wife can do when so much of her education has been neglected? I cannot know if I do not ask.”
