Jillian had never shown much interest in matters of finance or politics. Everything Lewis was saying sounded vaguely familiar in a background sort of way but meant little to her in a personal capacity.
“I see,” she answered, for lack of anything else to say.
“Do you?” Lewis leaned toward her, his brow deeply creased. He started to chew his bottom lip.
“I don’t know,” replied Jilly, not sure of herself at all now. “What am I supposed to see?”
“Parliament is in London.”
Jillian hesitated. “Would you be gone long?”
“The season this year is expected to run from February to July.”
“You mean dances and debutantes and making friends?” asked Jilly, perking up.
“Well, yes, that happens concurrently with Parliament. For which I would need to be in London.”
The penny finally dropped.
“You need to be in London forhalf the year?! What is to become ofme?”
“I want you with me, of course. Daily sessions only begin in the late afternoon. We will have all day together. We could walk through the impressive parks, of which there are several. Here we only have Munro Park. In London, you will be spoiled for choice.”
“If the sessions only begin in the afternoon, when do they finish?” Jillian wanted to know.
Lewis fidgeted. No doubt he had been dreading questions like these. “Er, they can continue into the early hours of the morning.”
“I see.” Now she really did see all too clearly. “Then you will not be sharing my bed.” The weight of her words sank between them.
“Parliament does not meet on weekends,” Lewis deflected hastily. “We can attend balls and sleep in until noon if we wish. There will be so many people for you to meet, not just the Munro crowd. You are bound to discover new acquaintances you like.”
“Only to be parted from them when the season ends,” muttered Jilly.
“We would see them every year for months at a time when Parliament is in session, and you could write each other to sustain the friendship when you are apart.”
“Six months a year in London…” Jilly considered this. So far, Munro had not offered her as much as she had hoped. Could London do any better? A sudden thought brightened her mood.
“We would be out from under your parents at last,” she said, excitement building. “It would be as we first imagined—just the two of us making our own decisions…”
“Er…”
It was not even a whole word, but it was enough to stop Jilly dead in mid-sentence.
“What? What haven’t you told me?”
“Well, er, the thing is… London is very expensive. And, you see, my parents already own a townhouse in one of the more fashionable areas.”
Jilly tried not to think of oil paintings of ancestors and bronze busts of people whom she did not recognize. At least she would be able to fill the vases with flowers. “I suppose I could live with their particular taste in furnishings.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Lewis. “Er…”
“What?What? Why do you draw it out so? What else must I know that I obviously will not like?”
“The thing is,” said Lewis wretchedly, “my father serves in the House of Lords. When his six months of mourning are over in April, he and Mother will join us in the townhouse.”
Jilly felt her body stiffen. This was so much worse. Under the same roof! Every action, every utterance to be judged. Months of it, every hour of every day.
“We will occupy separate floors,” added Lewis. “Our interactions will be limited.” His eyes pleaded with her to find such arrangements tolerable. “We can go out as often as youwant. If you wish, we can stick to our Sunday family dinner and nothing more.”
