Once she had that in hand, her freedom would be absolute. No longer would she be forced to drag a maid along with her whenever she wanted to leave the house. She could travel, could see the world as she’d longed to do—perhaps she would take a tour of the continent, when the war was over.
“My lady?” Victoria touched her shoulder lightly, jerking her out of her reverie. “The carriage has arrived.”
Frowning, Jilly patted at her hair, tucking an errant curl that had slipped free of its pin back behind her ear. “Thank you, Victoria,” she said.
Fenton had returned to his post in the foyer, his ancient bones creaking with strain as he wrenched the door open, bowing as she and Victoria passed him on their way out the door. She thought she detected a hint of reproach in his watery blue eyes, as if he knew quite well that she had not asked permission of Aunt Marcheline—ostensibly her chaperone—to leave the house.
He knew, also, that Aunt Marcheline rarely rose before noon and certainly would not come downstairs until at least two. And Jilly was not so inclined to wait upon Aunt Marcheline until then. Besides, she was just five months shy of three and twenty, and so long as she took her maid along with her, there was nothing improper about it. She fluttered her gloved fingers at Fenton as she climbed into the carriage, and after Victoria situated herself on the seat across from Jilly, the carriage rumbled into motion.
The book shop was only a few streets away, well within walking distance, but David had insisted upon commissioning a new carriage bearing the crest of the Earl of Westwood, and if he had elected to pop off to Scotland, Jilly supposed she ought to get some use out of it. The black-lacquered exterior was elegant, the carriage well-sprung and tastefully decorated, which, given David’s regrettable tendencies toward excess, had come as a bit of surprise.
Though she didn’t exactly disapprove of her brother, it had been unfortunate that he had come into his title so early. He had been only eighteen and Jilly just twelve when their parents had passed to the scarlet fever that had swept through the village near their country estate. So many of their servants had lived in the village, coming up daily to perform their tasks, that it had been impossible to say which of them had unwittingly infected the late earl and his countess. And though Jilly had been safe in the nursery, and David away at university, their parents had taken ill and passed so quickly that there hadn’t even been time for the steward to write David of their parents’ illness before it had become necessary to inform him of their passing.
Jilly had been bewildered to find herself an orphan so suddenly. She had needed David then, but he had entrusted her instead to the care of her governess, and so she had grown up quite alone until she had been deemed old enough to make her debut in London.
She had always wished that she and David had been closer, but too many years and responsibilities had separated them, and if he thought of her at all, it was with vague, but absent, affection.