“Fetch her for me, will you?”
Jillian’s hackles rose. She was not his servant. She never had been. Nor was she bound to him with the loyalty of a wife. His own wife, as it happens, was meaningfully engaged elsewhere. Jillian was certainly not going to assist him in disrupting those precious moments.
“Actually,” she replied, “I was about to stretch my legs after the long ride. I am sure it will be easier for you to locate Mrs. Trenton yourself, as you know her likely whereabouts in your home, the layout of which I am not familiar with, since I have never been permitted inside.” She paused to let her words sink in, then added, “And may I say congratulations on your beautiful grandson? Youmustbe so proud.”
Without waiting for an answer, Jillian not-skipped from the room, offering this small courtesy to a man she otherwise could not stand.
Outside, the air smelled familiar and welcoming. She did a quick sweep of the garden but could not spy her father. She would look for him again later when she popped in at thecottage. Right now, what she really needed was a brisk walk and the oily aroma of sheep’s wool as she ran her hands over their docile backs.
The late May sun was bright and warm, but not uncomfortably so. The crops displayed healthy growth, the wheat, barley, and oats a rich green, their heads fully formed but not yet ripe. Jillian tramped past them, heading toward the new stone structure that would be the center of attention on Saturday. Even from a distance, she could see that it was still empty, but a man with a notebook and pencil seemed to be scribbling something, perhaps taking stock of what would be stored there. He lifted his tweed cap and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a mop of blond hair that Jillian knew all too well.
“Mr. Boyd!” she called, waving her hand as she approached. “What a lovely surprise to run into you!”
“Mrs. Bradford.” His blue eyes sparkled against his tanned skin. He tipped his cap to her before tucking his curls back under it. “I see you are back in Ermenbrough. Come to see your folks?”
“I have. And to escape the rigors of London. You do not know how lucky you are to spend your days here.” She indicated with a sweep of her arm. “These fields. These people. This uncomplicated life. I am deeply envious of you.”
“I imagine the memories of a young woman without too many cares are different to the realities of being a land steward,” he corrected her plainly, yet without malice. “I would say the management of the estate and these lands is a complex set of tasks. Though I do agree, the surroundings are certainly pleasant. London would suffocate me. But then I suppose I am an ordinary man with simple desires.”
“That’s it, exactly!”A kindred soul at last! Oh, it is good to be home among people like Simon Boyd!“For all their dinnersand dances and fine riding through Hyde Park, I do not think the wealthy really know how tolive,” she exclaimed.
“I shall have to take your word for it.”
“I mean, what greater fun can be had than a roof-wetting? No need for fancy frocks or row upon row of dishes with unpronounceable French names needing twelve different forks. No nasty, backstabbing ‘ladies’ who smile at you while wishing you ill.” Her voice dropped low as the memory weighed on her. “No one judging you because you don’t paint or play piano. I’d rather be celebrating the new barn than attend a ball with thetonany day.”
Mr. Boyd, who had been looking at the ground as a sign of respect, now tilted his head up at an angle and looked thoughtfully at Jillian. “It seems your time in London has caused you pain. I am sorry for it. You do not deserve such treatment. No one does.”
His words startled Jillian. It had been months since someone had told her, plainly and honestly, that her feelings of hurt were valid and the cause inexcusable. No justification. No demand that she fall in line with such mean thinking. Just pure kindness and heartfelt support.
It was in such stark contrast to how Lewis had handled her sense of isolation that a warmth rushed from her heart—nay, her whole being—toward Simon Boyd. She felt oddly safe with him. As she used to feel with Lewis. Before he’d abandoned her in a world that was utterly alien to her.
Yes, it appeared her husband had come to deeper insights now. He might even be ready to start again, to make the dreams they’d first shared new once more. But the months between had been long and hard and lonely.
Whereas Mr. Boyd had understood her straight away.
Jillian had the strangest desire to fling her arms about him and say, “Thank you.”Thank you for making it so easy. Thank you for not making me doubt myself.
She rubbed her eyes. Was she really going to cry?
“Is everything all right?” he asked. The concern in his voice was sincere and only made Jillian want to blubber more.
Get a hold of yourself! What must he think of you? You haven’t spoken in ages and now you want to cry on his shoulder? Don’t be daft, Jillian! Even groundskeepers’ daughters don’t behave in such a ridiculous fashion!
“I’m fine.” She took her handkerchief and blew her nose indelicately. “I’ve grown unused to the dust and pollen of farm life.”
“I was under the impression that the baron’s estate had its own farm. Are you not affected there?”
“Oh, er… no, I mainly walk in the woods or by the lake.”
“It sounds as if one could be content in such a place, especially when you have found happiness in love. How is Mr. Bradford? We’ve been experimenting with new crop rotations this season to great effect. I thought he might be interested.”
“He is still in London, busy with Parliament.”And dinner parties.“He took pity on me and gave up the pleasure of my company so that I could spend time with my own family and friends.”I wonder if he misses me?“I have come with Lady Howell, who brings her infant son to be cooed at by his grandmother.”And thoroughly ignored by his grandfather.“If you like, you could showmewhat you’ve been doing. I would be happy to report back to Mr. Bradford. I could do with some useful way to occupy my time here. I don’t think Lady Howell will allow me to work in the garden with my father. And, much as I would like to help my mother, I worry that I have lost the knack. The Bradford servants have ruined me with their attentiveness.”
She laughed lightly, but there was no heart in it.
Mr. Boyd’s eyes rested on her with disconcerting contemplation. What did he see? Could he detect her dissatisfaction with a life others might have greatly desired? Had he picked up on her feelings of isolation when she had only ever known community?
He seemed to have made up his mind, for he tilted a hand toward her as if offering her something and then spoke this offer into being. “You are welcome to accompany me on my rounds tomorrow, if you wish. That is, if you don’t mind trudging along muddy paths and breathing in more dust and pollen?”
