Chapter Fifteen
Oakwoods, January 1816
They had calleda truce that night. In each other’s arms, the conflict of that day in November had dissolved. Jillian had promised herself she would never again punish Lewis for the frustration she felt. She knew he was doing everything within his power to make her happy.
The problem was that he seemed to have very little power at all.
The couple had celebrated Christmas and Twelfth Night with the family at the main house. The decorations had been tasteful, the food excellent, as usual. Jillian had been delighted to discover that Lewis had arranged for a real tree to be placed in the foyer. He had even consulted with her as to what decorations she’d wanted to add to it. All had proceeded pleasantly and civilly.
And then, with the celebrations behind them, he had brought her news that had taken the wind out of her bellows.
The first Sunday family dinner of 1816 had occurred the afternoon after Twelfth Night. It was a simpler affair than that which Jillian had grown accustomed to, mainly involving soup and bread and cold meat leftovers. Everyone was a little subdued after the festivities of the night before. It wasn’t long before the ladies retired to the drawing room to engage in what Jilly called“the tedium of theton.” Lady Bradford read. Penelope played piano. Jillian tried to stay awake.
Lewis and his father, meanwhile, had their weekly meeting in the study. It seemed to Jillian to go on longer than usual. The minutes ticked by in the drawing room. Even Penelope began to tire and exchanged her seat at the piano for a more comfortable one with a book.
Conversation had already been depleted at the dinner table, and little remained for idle discourse in the drawing room. Jillian found herself roaming the room and browsing the paintings and knickknacks that constituted its decoration.
They did not appeal to her. The paintings were large oils of people in various solo and family poses—no doubt the Bradford ancestors. None of them looked particularly happy. Their wealth, however, was unmistakable. The ladies wore furs and jewels and the gentlemen assumed proud postures with hunting dogs or a sword or on horseback. And every single one carried an expression of privileged boredom.
The vases and statuettes offered little more by way of artistry. For one thing, all the vases were empty. Their gold-painted rims and floral designs did not, in Jillian’s opinion, make up for the absence of real flowers. The statuettes were, once again, depictions of people, or the heads of people. Why someone’s head should be worth displaying was a mystery to Jillian.
The more time she spent with the Bradfords, the less she understood them. They exuded tremendous pride in their heritage and a furious zeal to maintain it all for the future. But their day-to-day lives lacked any of the same vigor. From what she could gather, an inordinate amount of time was spent changing clothes, eating elaborate meals, and learning skills that had no real use. At least Ellena and her husband kept such lavishness to a minimum.
Why did it not drive the ladies of the house to madness? Were they really fulfilled by promenading, dining, painting and the like?
There did seem to be some hope for Penelope, who had insisted on taking charge of the kitchen garden, where vegetables, herbs, roses and lavender were grown to be used in meals and scented water. She had regularly invited Jilly to join her, which made a pleasant break from the loneliness of the cottage. Mostly, however, Pen was out riding for ages at a time—with a groom or stablehand in tow, just in case of an accident.
It made Jillian think back to her walks with Lewis at Munro House, where Ingsley had been assigned to keep an eye on them. It seemed such a long time ago. Something of the innocence of those days had since been lost.
Still, she had what she wanted, didn’t she? Lewis was hers. Forever. Hers to hold. Hers to love and to cherish. For better or for worse.
Not for a minute had Jillian guessed that “for better” would be the problem. The more privilege she was given, the more she felt denied. The life she’d thought she had agreed to could no longer exist. Not now that Lewis was the heir.
It was not his fault. It was no one’s fault. But she wanted someone to blame. Someone whom she could berate for her unexpected misery. She wanted to be angry with his parents for needing him to take on new responsibilities. And yet she knew it could not be helped. She wanted to reject society for creating this strange hierarchy of people based on not very much sense at all. But society, it was obvious, cared nothing for her opinion.
She needed to blamesomeone. And so, when Lewis finally reappeared in her company, his face flushed, his manner flustered, she was not in a forgiving mood.
At Lewis’s urging, they said their goodbyes immediately and made their way to the waiting carriage. Although the distance tothe cottage was only half a mile, it was windy and freezing out and Lewis had thought it risky—they could easily catch cold or slip on the smooth, almost-invisible patches of ice.
It was but a few minutes’ drive, yet Jillian was perched and ready to exit the cubicle into their home, knowing the unfortunate groom had to sit atop the carriage in the very weather she and Lewis had sought to avoid.
Lewis, however, stayed his hand upon the door.
“Hold a moment,” he said. “There is something I must tell you and I do not wish to have this discussion where the staff can listen.”
His words boded ill. If he wanted privacy, it could not be good news.
“What is it?” she asked, though she wished desperately he would not tell her.
“As you know, Philip sat in the House of Commons.”
“Did I? I suppose I did, but I have not given it much thought.”
“And I spoke of relinquishing my services as a barrister to take up a position in Parliament.”
“You may have mentioned it, but I do not recall a great discussion on the topic.”
“My father has reminded me that Parliament will reopen soon. If I am to take my brother’s seat, I will need to run in a by-election within the week and, if successful, be sworn in at the opening of Parliament.”
