Chapter Nineteen
For the firsttime in a long while, Jillian woke up early and greeted the day with a smile. Without waiting for Wallace, Jillian dressed herself in another of her simpler garments, brushed and tied her hair back with a ribbon, and made her way down to breakfast.
Mr. and Mrs. Trenton were already seated, the master of the house behind a newspaper, and the lady busy pouring tea for him. As Jillian entered, Mr. Trenton stretched out his arm and collected the cup, bringing it to his lips without taking his eyes from his paper or acknowledging his wife’s thoughtfulness.
“Would you like some tea, Mrs. Bradford?” asked the hostess.
“That would be lovely,” replied Jillian, even though she had no real desire for any. She merely wanted to create an opportunity for Mrs. Trenton to be appreciated. “Mmm,” she sounded, taking a sip. “Delicious. It is your own blend, if I am not mistaken.”
Mrs. Trenton’s eyebrows arched and her mouth opened in a half smile. “Why, Mrs. Bradford, you know your tea. Did Lady Bradford teach you?”
“Her daughter did.” Jillian took another sip before placing the cup back onto the saucer, making a delicate clinking sound. “It was one of the less tedious things she taught me.”
“I can imagine your experience at Oakwoods was quite a shock at first,” Mrs. Trenton said with no underlying condescension.
“Oh, yes,” Jilly answered plainly, “and London even more so. I had hoped for a life that more closely resembled what I was used to. But circumstances dictated otherwise.” The last sentence was uttered with some ill-concealed bitterness. Jilly gave the buttering of her toast her full attention to avoid saying anything more.
From behind the newspaper, Mr. Trenton’s voice sounded out unsympathetically. “Lots of women would give their eyeteeth for the circumstances you lament.”
Jilly paused the buttering process and stared at her toast, biting down on her tongue to keep herself from tossing back an equally uncalled-for remark. This time, it was Mrs. Trenton’s turn to busy herself with her breakfast, her shame apparent in her flushed cheeks.
In the midst of the loaded silence, Ellena entered the breakfast room. A lifetime of experience and a sharp mind guided her to a quick assessment of the situation. “I knocked on your door,” she told Jillian, “but I see you are quicker to dress than I. I trust you have found everything to your satisfaction?” She cast a grim glance at her father.
“The bed was most comfortable, thank you,” answered her friend. “And your mother makes an excellent cup of tea. I am hoping she will show me how to make this particular blend. I believe Miss Bradford would find it to her taste also.”
“And everyone treats you well?” asked Ellena pointedly, staring down at her father.
As if by some lever, his newspaper crushed down toward his lap, and the humorless face was revealed. “What are you on about?” he snapped. “Of course everyone treats her well. Our servants know their duty.”
Ellena glided toward an empty chair, saying as she went, “So pleased to hear it. Lord Howell will be most grateful that our dear friend has been so well received.”
At the mention of those two magical words—Lord Howell—Mr. Trenton grew somewhat more amenable. “Well, of course, any friend of his lordship… A very fine gentleman, indeed… How is my son-in-law? Business good?”
“It is not something we frequently discuss,” said Ellena, settling into the seat the footman held for her, “but I am sure I would have noticed if something were amiss. The answer to your question must therefore be ‘Yes, Father, business is good.’”
Jillian, who had never enjoyed conversation about finance any more than she did matters of politics, quickly introduced what she considered a more pleasant topic. “Does young Christopher enjoy Trenton Grange?”
“Oh, yes!” Ellena turned bright eyes to her mother. “I was thinking of taking him for a stroll into the village. Shall we ladies make a day of it?”
“Viscountesses do not stroll along country roads, Daughter,” came the rigid tones of Mr. Trenton. “You may take the carriage. I have no need of it today.”
Ellena pressed her lips together in a tight line. “I think you will find, Father, that a viscountess may do almost anything she wants. But I will certainly take a footman to carry any parcels we acquire. And if we tire, I will send him home to fetch the carriage to collect us.”
Both parents froze with shock at her outspokenness. Mrs. Trenton hastily brought her cup up to her mouth, but Jillian noticed she did not drink. Instead, she held the fine porcelain in front of her lips to hide a slowly spreading smile. The crinkle at the corners of her eyes were harder to disguise, but she was likely unaware that they had formed.
Mr. Trenton, on the other hand, was growing a fine shade of indignant red. He seemed to be fighting an internal battle with himself. His self-control must have won because he pulled his newspaper up and open with some ferocity and said, from the hidden recess of its pages, “Suit yourself.”
Jillian did not want to undermine her friend’s small triumph, but she had to respond to Ellena’s suggestion. “I’m afraid you will have to go without me,” she said. “I would usually like nothing more than an outing of this nature, but I have promised to meet with Mr. Boyd to learn what I can about his latest farming innovations so that I might share these insights with Mr. Bradford.”
“I’m not sure it is proper for you to meet with the gentleman alone,” said Mrs. Trenton.
“We will be out in the open for all to see,” Jillian countered. “There will be at least twenty farmhands to chaperone us. Not that amarried ladyneeds one.”
“It’s not a woman’s place to learn about farm work,” Mr. Trenton grumbled from behind his screen of words.
“I am sure you would agree,” Jillian said, mustering as much patience for the man as she could, “that a woman’s place is wherever her husband needs her. Since Mr. Bradford cannot meet with Mr. Boyd himself, I am a willing ambassador for him.”
But Mr. Trenton was not deterred in his opinion. A portion of the newspaper came down once more, though his mood only warranted a folding of one corner so that he might see over it. “If Mr. Boyd has such meaningful advice to share, he could do so in a letter sent directly to Mr. Bradford. There is no need to have a lady”—Jillian was amazed he willingly counted her as such—“traipsing up and down the fields, making a mockery of her position.”
