He made a small bow with his head. “I would not dream of it. Those are far less formal circumstances, and the rigid rules of society will be somewhat relaxed. Only one dance, mind you,” he added sternly. “I will not have you spoken of in slanderous tones.”
“My boringly intact reputation thanks you, I suppose,” Jilly said.
Mr. Boyd closed one eye and stared at her with the other. “I do not think the value of an unsullied reputation is to be scoffed at. Once lost, it is almost impossible for it to be restored. As your friend, I would urge you to remember that.”
Jillian released a protracted sigh. “I know, I know. Contrary to everyone’s opinion, I do not purposefully seek out ways to break the rules. But there are just so many of them! And they seem to have multiplied since I became Mrs. Bradford. I miss the simpler years of my childhood.”
Mr. Boyd leaned back in his saddle. “Ah, so do we all. But I think you will find it is not so bad as all that.”
“I have yet to see any advantages.”
Mr. Boyd let his gaze flow along the length of the horizon. “All of this”—he indicated the activities within their view—“works smoothly because I have ensured that it does.” A small, nostalgic smile snuck across his mouth. “I can no longer catch tadpoles in the afternoon after my lessons are done. I do not steal jam tarts when my mother isn’t looking. My hours are longand the tasks never-ending. But I make a difference. That was not possible to the same degree when I wore a boy’s britches and dreamed a boy’s dreams.”
Jillian’s eyes were now firmly on the ground. The toe of her boot traced small furrows in the dry earth. “I would share your sentiment if such opportunities were also available to me,” she said softly. “All that has changed since I became Mrs. Bradford is that my world has narrowed considerably. I am expected to find joy in idleness and great shows of wealth. Nothing has any real purpose. My life had far more meaning when I was helping my mother or playing with my brothers or saving Ellena from a life too similar to what I have now.”
“These are notions you should confide to Mr. Bradford.”
“He is aware of them.”
A silence followed these words. Jilly did not know how to proceed from here and it seemed neither did Mr. Boyd. Their easy conversation had ground to a halt.
The gentleman cleared his throat. “Turnips,” he said suddenly.
Jilly’s head pulled up. “I’m sorry?”
“Turnips. That’s what we’ll be growing in the fallow field next season. A rotation of wheat, turnips, barley, and clover allows the soil to be fed what it has lost while staying productive.”
“Er… thank you. I shall add it to my report. Lewis will be pleased.”
“Good.
“Yes.”
Mr. Boyd began to pull at the reins to turn his horse’s head, then stopped and half-twisted back toward Jillian.
“It’s not like you to give up.”
Jilly’s mouth slacked and she stared up at him, past his muscular thigh and tanned hand that held the reins with lightcontrol but full authority, into the face that she had known all her life. “Who says I have?”
“That is good, then. You know I only ever want the best for you.”
He touched his free hand to his cap, which barely contained his thick, blond hair. His blue eyes rested upon her face for a moment longer before he clicked his tongue and urged his horse to walk on with a tuck of his heel.
Jillian watched him move onto the next field, which was only about a hundred feet away. There, he swung from the saddle to crouch and consider what a worried worker was pointing out to him in the cultivated furrow. She was all but forgotten. A common refrain.
She began to walk back to Trenton Grange, a path which would take her past Mr. Boyd—not that he would pay her any mind. She tried to carry herself tall and proud, as if not in the least interested in what he was doing.
As she approached the two men, Simon Boyd’s head swung in her direction. He paused thus, seeming to wrestle with himself. Eventually, his solemn expression relaxed a little. He stood as she was about to pass by. “Don’t women of your standing have a lady’s maid?”
Jillian paused in her step and nodded.
“Bring her with you next time you stroll through the estate. She might learn something too.”
Jilly brightened. “You mean…?”
It was his turn to nod. “If I’m not too busy. And it can’t be too often. Even the presence of a lady’s maid will not stop tongues wagging if the heads to which they belong put their minds to it.”
Now he put his foot in the stirrup and heaved himself back into the saddle. He allowed himself the subtlest of smiles before moving on again. This time, he did not look back. But he did not need to. He had left a kernel of hope, something for Jillian tohold on to. Oh, there would be walks to the village and picnics in the meadow with Ellena and little Christopher, perhaps even Mrs. Trenton, and definitely a maid or footman tagging along. Joining Mr. Boyd on his rounds, however, gave her a sense of purpose. Something Lewis had never allowed. She was grateful that her dear, old friend had taken pity on her. How grateful she was to have renewed their connection!
