His sweet Jillian—the one he had fallen in love with—would never have behaved this way… Or would she? Lewis remembered her goading him on to run from their chaperoning footman. It was Jilly who had snuck an urgent letter in the post to tell him she was being exiled to Trenton Grange, and if he wanted her, he must claim her. Perhaps, then, the question he should have been asking instead was why it had taken her this long to rebel.
In the midst of these illuminating thoughts, he heard his mother say to the staff, “Mrs. Bradford is not herself. We may have to send for the doctor. If she gives any instruction thatseems out of bounds, let me know at once. Lewis, I think everyone would understand if she did not attend this evening’s dinner.”
A fist of ice squeezed his heart. His mother had come within a hair’s breadth of calling his wife mad.
Jillian did not deserve such an accusation. It was the beginning of a very dangerous, very slippery slope. If word got out—and all it would take was idle gossip among servants—Jillian’s reputation would be in tatters.
Was she frustrated? Yes.Oh, yes. Had she taken his mother on in her own home? Absolutely. A fierce, desperate move, indeed. But that was just it. It was Jilly’s way of trying to make sense of her surroundings. If she could not bring her own touch to the world she found herself in, she would meet it head on, show up its flaws.
The poor, brave thing! It was not madness. It was a final battle cry.
He should have been paying closer attention. She had told him, over and over, what she needed. To his shame, he knew they were the things he had promised her from the start. And then he had fallen in step with his parents and left her to flounder. Worse still, he had accused her of not making an effort. But what, exactly, had he expected her to do? Each of her missteps had been reflections of her warm and open heart. And he had demanded that she shut it down. Demanded that, if she truly loved him, she would love less.
It was time to put her first. He must protect her from his mother, from the narrow-mindedness of the elite, from Jillian’s desire to help being turned against her. If she stayed in London, he was certain disaster was but two steps away.
There was little over a month left of the parliamentary season. He would stay and complete his duties here. And then, together, they would rethink their future. The shape of it. Howto do his duties while giving Jillian room to spread her wings a little. His angel. His nymph. His love.
But she would not stay here with him to see the season through. He would write to Lady Howell and ask if the two friends might visit together as they once had. The viscountess would bring Jillian out of her shell again, restore some of her liveliness. With the entire estate of Munro House once again at her disposal, Jilly would be able to run and pick flowers and draw from nature to replenish her depleted joy.
Lewis did agree with his mother about one thing: there was no need for Jilly to endure tonight’s dinner. Instead, she should enjoy a long, hot bath. He would personally tuck her into bed, cover her in kisses, and make her understand she was still exactly the woman of his dreams.
Feeling rather pleased with himself, Lewis left the kitchen to find his wife. Everything was going to be better now. He would see to it. And Jilly would love him all the more for it. The future was suddenly much brighter. He only regretted it had taken him this long to make it happen.
He found Jillian in the bedroom, staring out through the window at the busy street below. Lewis slipped his arms around her waist and whispered, “I think it’s time we changed that view.”
