To Protect and to Cherish (13 page)

             
“It is,” he acknowledged, and leaned closer to her ear to whisper, “it also ensures the men eat well during this time.”

             
Jillian noticed there were children eating as well.

             
She glanced up at him, “And you provide the food,” she guessed.

             
He didn’t respond, but she knew he heard her.

             
“Mrs. Henley,” Slade addressed the woman at the pot, “this is my wife, Lady Ashley.”

             
The rail-thin woman looked to be a few years older than Jillian. She glanced over Jillian’s attire, then held out her hand, “So nice to meet you milady.”

             
Jillian faltered only a moment before accepting the handshake, “It is nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Henley. Have you been doing all the cooking for this crew?”

             
The woman shook her head, “We take turns. My husband’s mother cooked yesterday. Tomorrow be Mrs. Cog’s turn.”

             
Jillian looked into the pot, “It smells wonderful. You must be a good cook.”

             
Mrs. Henley smiled and nodded, “Easy enough to cook when you got everything you need.”

             
She handed a bowl to Jillian. The duchess was pleased the woman seemed to accept her, but she was a little discombobulated about the wooden bowl. She saw no spoon or fork available.

             
Slade grinned and then took a bowl from the woman.

             
He led his wife to another table where a young girl was breaking apart a loaf of bread. He took a large chunk and handed it to his wife before accepting one for himself.

             
“Shall we find some shade?” he led her to a grassy spot under a tree.

             
He took her bowl and set them down before assisting her to sit directly on the grass. Then he took his seat next to her.

             
“A bit rustic for you?” he handed her bowl to her.

             
“Unfamiliar,” she corrected, watching the activity around them.

             
“Can you explain something to me?” he took his bread and used it to bring the stew to his mouth.

             
She attempted to do the same, “Hmm?” she spoke around the small morsel of food in her mouth.

             
“Why does my lack of a waistcoat bother you?”

             
She dropped her bread.

             
“None of the men here are wearing more than a shirt, and you do not seem uncomfortable looking at them.”

             
She picked up her bread and attempted another bite.

             
“Perhaps you find me unattractive or grotesque.”

             
She still did not look at him, but she shook her head.

             
He ate for a while before resuming the topic, “Is it because of their station?”

             
She glanced back at him, “Their station?”

             
He was stretched out, ankles crossed, leaning back on his elbows. He looked up at her, “They can be expected to dress that way because of their station?”

             
“No,” she wondered how he could think that of her. “I just am not accustomed to seeing you in this state. You were surprised to see me in my nightclothes.”

             
He laughed, “These are not my nightclothes, Jillian.”

             
She said the first thing that entered her mind, “What do your nightclothes look like, Slade?”

             
He jerked back in surprise, eyes wide.

             
Jillian covered her mouth with her hand, “I did not mean to ask such a personal question. Please forgive me.”

             
He paused a moment before angling toward her and whispering, “I wouldn’t mind showing you.”

             
It was Jillian’s turn to be shocked. She scrambled to get up, but he grabbed at her hand.

             
He dragged himself to a sitting position and pulled her until she was almost in his lap, “Don’t run off, my love. I am not trying to pressure you.”

             
She turned back to him, her face nearly touching his, her breath coming and going quickly, “I do realize it will happen someday.”

             
It occurred to her that this was probably not the best time or place to be having this conversation.

             
He didn’t appear to notice their surroundings, “I can wait.”

             
“It isn’t fair to you,” she said it aloud, realizing what she had known to be true from the beginning.

             
“It is not fair to either of us to rush into . . . that, Jillian. Do not try to force it.”

             
She nodded, but still felt guilty.

             
Slade allowed his hand to slip off her wrist and around her back. He dragged her closer, and their chests were touching.

             
“I need you to tell me you’ll wait until you want this,” he spoke seriously.

             
She couldn’t breathe, and it had nothing to do with the vice-like arm holding her – or, at least, the pressure of the arm was not restricting her breathing. His proximity, on the other, hand was causing her heart to race and her palms to sweat.

             
“I promise, Slade.”

             
She did not mention Peter’s actions and attitude to him. She hoped she had cleared the air with the groom, and there would be no further issues. The young man was silent as he led her back to the house, and he took the same route that they had travelled to the field.

             
It took nearly two weeks to get the harvest in. Slade declared it the best he had seen in years.

             
“There will be a harvest party,” they were riding through the bare fields.

             
“For everyone?” she wondered if he ever attended.

             
“For everyone who wishes to attend,” he stopped his horse and waited for her to look at him, “would you like to go?”

             
She beamed at him, “I can go too? I didn’t do anything.”

             
“You helped cook once,” he referred to the time she visited and the women asked her to cut potatoes.

             
She sighed, “It was nice of them to give me a job.”

             
“So do you want to go?”

CHAPTER 7

“Are you too tired from dancing all last night,” Slade was waiting for her in their sitting room when she awoke, “or would you like to come see what I found for you?”

              Jillian rose up to her toes and kissed her husband’s cheek, “Good morning.”

             
He smiled at the greeting, more so because it was the fourth morning in a row that she had done it.

             
“So, your present?”

             
“What present?” she looked a little bleary-eyed.

             
He took her hand and led her downstairs, “You will need a coat,” he warned her as they passed through the corridor. “It seems as if the autumn has finally decided to visit us.”

             
She allowed him to lead her to the stables.

             
“I know Gacela has proven a bit too tame as you have progressed in your riding, so I got you a new horse.”

             
The gelding was magnificent. He was completely black except for one white sock. His build was slender, and he couldn’t be more than fourteen hands.

             
Jillian reached a hand out to him, “He’s a beauty, Slade. What is his name?”

             
“He was only named by Mario.”

             
Jillian stroked the soft nose, “Didn’t Mario name Gacela as well?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“So?”

             
“He calls him Salvaje.”

             
She laughed, “I am afraid to ask what it means.”

             
“Wild,” he laughed, “but, as you can see, he isn’t really.”

             
“I hope not.”

             
Jillian would have liked to try the new horse out, but she had already promised Amy a visit.

             
Slade did not want Jillian to ride Salvaje until he had an opportunity to observe the horse under a saddle. Now that harvest was over, he had more time, but he and Tellem were now plotting out the land for the spring trenching project.

             
“I will watch Peter work with him for a while, Slade,” she urged him to go see to his project. “We will ride next week.”

             
She did enjoy watching the spirited animal with Peter, but two days of it was enough to have her wishing for more.

             
Slade managed to get home in time for dinner. Jillian waited for him to get cleaned up before asking a favor.

             
“I really think I could do some of the groundwork with him, Slade,” she allowed him to lead her downstairs toward the dining room. “Peter could watch me.”

             
Slade offered her a partial smile, “So you and Peter are getting along now?”

             
She swatted at him, “I do not have to like the man to see he knows horses.”

             
He pulled her to a stop just outside the doors to the dining room, “I’ll tell you what, you lead Salvaje around the pen for a few days, and I will ask Peter if he thinks you can do more.”

             
She opened her mouth to protest, knowing she could never meet with Peter’s approval, but Slade put a finger on her lips.

             
“Take it or leave it.”

             
She nipped at the finger, “I’ll take it.”

             
Three days later, Slade agreed to let Jillian take Salvaje out of the pen for short walks.

             
“Do you want him saddled, milady?” Peter asked as she prepared to walk down the lane.

             
“I do not think that will be necessary today, thank you. He seems to be less anxious without it.”

             
“Would you like me to accompany you?”

             
She nodded, “That would be wise. I’ve never had him out.”

             
The horse was so mellow and compliant, Jillian decided to have Peter put the saddle on the following day.

             
Slade seemed pleased with the progress.

             
“Are you becoming impatient to ride him?” they watched the horse run in the field as they rode in the carriage to church.

             
Jillian shook her head, “I am able to ride Gacela every day, and I haven’t even had a chance to see Peter ride Salvaje.”

             
Slade looked up at the sky, “It looks like we may be running out of nice weather.”

             
Jillian scooted closer to him, “I can hardly believe it is almost November. The fall has been so warm.”

             
Slade put his arm around her to help keep her comfortable, “I hate to tell you this, but I think I need to go to London.”

             
She craned her neck to look at him, “Will you be gone long?”

             
“I do not think I need to be, but if you will come with me, I’d be happy to stay longer.”

             
“So if I come, the trip will take longer?”

             
He wished he could kiss that teasing expression off her face, but he did not want to arrive at church in an altered state.

             
“I think I could be back in two days if I was alone,” he laid it all out, “but if you have a desire to go shopping, I am happy to make the trip last longer.”

             
She laughed, “I have no desire to go shopping, and, while the prospect of having you to myself while we are there is quite appealing, I think you are nearly finished with your trenching plans.”