“I can read,” Jillian said calmly. “But I prefer to be doing something useful. I would just as soon be cooking as reading about cooking, or tending to a garden rather than painting a pretty landscape.”
Lady Bradford considered Jilly’s words with gravity. “I take it you think a lady’s life is rather a passive one, and not equal to your cause?”
“To be honest, yes.”
Lady Bradford lifted an arm bent at the elbow and wrist as if she were about to deliver a line of poetry. She waved it in small circles as she spoke, the gentle rhythm of the gesture matching the measured tone of her speech.
“Just because a lady does not need to perform the menial tasks of a working-class woman does not mean she has no purpose. It is her duty to bring beauty and elegance to her husband’s home.” The hand now waved more broadly to encompass the room and, by implication, the whole house.
“Guests must know what quality of person they have befriended. Everything—from the upkeep of the house to proper dinner conversation to the fine presentation of self—is our domain. We might not labor physically, but our responsibilities touch upon all aspects of life. We are what lifts our husband’s reputation from the superficialness of the bachelorto the substantial prestige of the established man. Do you understand?”
Jilly did not. Frankly, it sounded ridiculous. If a woman’s only purpose was to make her husband appear remarkable, it didn’t say very much for the husband. Should he not be maintaining his own reputation? Lewis certainly did not need her help in this. He had made a name for himself, both as a barrister and a gentleman. Surely, she should bring something more—something new and fresh—to the union?
Jillian would love to have spoken freely, to have her new family see what greater worth she might have by adding her own strengths rather than being yet another pretty prop in the theater of their lives. But she must not rush in where fragile peace existed. Her answer could not be too honest, lest it stir up displeasure. Lady Bradford had managed to refrain from insulting her—at least, not intentionally. She must show similar restraint.
“I confess, what you describe is an alien concept to me,” she said. “But I have never needed to understand it before. Just as you cannot fathom a role in which the appearance of things would be unimportant, I struggle to fathom a role in which it is so central.” Jillian lowered her gaze, a promise that her intention was not to offend. Then she added the only words that could match that promise. “I shall, however, pay attention to your example and learn what I can from it.”
“I suppose that is a start,” conceded Lady Bradford.
Peace had been established. Dinner could resume without incident.
Penelope piped up. “I have an idea.”
Her parents looked at each other and placed their spoons within their bowls as if readying themselves for whatever might follow. No doubt Pen’s ideas had caused much consternationin the past. Running off as a footman to attend her brother’s wedding was only the most recent example.
“If we are going to show Jillian what the mistress of a fine home cando,” Pen said, “we should host a ball! What better way to show her all the aspects of planning and entertaining?”
“Absolutely not!” came the sharp retort from her father. “Have you lost all your bearings, Daughter? Philip has not been gone even a two-month and yet you would have us dancing and feasting? I know you like to test the boundaries of what might be expected from a lady, but you will certainly not shame the memory of your brother by pretending he did not exist!”
Penelope’s bright smile fell at once. “I did not mean… Oh, dear… I was not thinking. I am very sorry. Of course, the time is not right for receiving guestsen masse.”
Lord Bradford glared at her. “Nor was it right for a wedding, or running off to attend the same. But my children seem to lack all sense of duty.”
The convivial atmosphere that had reigned over the soup collapsed into a stony silence all through the next course. Jillian was of the opinion that fish was a most unfortunate dish on the Bradford menu.
This time, however, there was no devastating visit from a constable, and they were able to proceed to the main course. Jillian watched the smooth transition of plates and cutlery, observed the butler cut the roast ham. She had experienced such procedure in the home of the viscount and viscountess but had never paid it much attention. At Munro House, there was always lively conversation, which made the subtler details of the dinner almost invisible. Now, however, Jillian noted the pristine gloves of the footman, the buttons of his uniform polished to perfection. All his movements were practiced and smooth. The china patterns of the service set were skillfully painted, thedishes upon them made by experienced hands. Every element of the meal involved attention to detail.
And yet she would far rather eat from a wooden bowl, tasting the love with which her mother made their simple meals, surrounded by people who laughed and teased, where the only decorum was to wash one’s hands before sitting down.
Ermenbrough had given her this. But it was very far away right now, in every sense of the word.Thiswas home now. This place where rules and refinement were more important than people and connection.
The room grew close. The walls seemed to rush at her. Her chest pushed against her bodice, which felt tighter with each breath.
“Jilly? What’s the matter?” Lewis asked, his brow furrowed, his shoulders leaning forward.
“I think… think I need some air,” she murmured.
Lewis stood at once.
“There is no need for everyone to abandon the dinner, Lewis,” Lord Bradford said gruffly. He beckoned to the nearest footman. “Fetch a maidservant to attend to Mrs. Bradford.”
“Father,” Lewis urged, “I really think I should…”
But Lord Bradford ignored him, addressing Jillian instead. “You may be excused until you are recovered. The drawing room is close by and comfortable. Settle yourself there and a servant will see to your needs.”
Jillian stood slowly, her heart beating with great force. She could see Lewis hovering at his seat, his father staring him down until he was sitting again. She sucked in a lungful of air, but it only made her feel dizzy.
The footman reappeared, a maidservant at his elbow. He stepped forward briskly and offered an arm held some distance from his body. It was not the sort of motion Lewis would havemade. He would have buoyed her, drawing her close to offer not only his body, but his heart for support.
