He got no further, for Jillian pointed an accusing finger at the guest and shrieked, “You! What are you doing here?”
“Jillian, behave yourself,” Simon admonished her.
The Earl of Wickham came slowly to his feet, a strange smile playing around his mouth. His gaze flicked over her, and Jillian knew in that instant appraisal he had taken in her disheveled appearance, the mud on her dress, her bare feet.
He bowed slightly, although his steely regard did not leave her face. “I’m pleased to meet you again, Lady Jillian. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
The words were deep and resonant and thick with amusement. She suspected the amusement was at her expense.
“Why are you here?” she asked rudely.
“Jillian,” her brother said again and this time there was no mistaking his warning.
Lord Wickham raised his hand. “It’s all right, Simon. Your sister has reason to despise me.” He turned to Jillian. “I think your brother should provide the explanation.”
Is this how foreboding feels? Jillian wondered as she stared first at one gentleman and then the other. She sensed she was about to be told something she would not like, and her stomach clenched with anticipation.
“Well?” she said when no one spoke.
“Perhaps I should allow you two a few moments of privacy,” the earl said.
Simon looked at him. “Turning cowardly, my friend? I think we should all be part of this. No secrets.” He placed his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “Jillian,” he commenced in a pompous voice, “as you know, these last years have been a trial, more for you than anyone.”
“I’ve weathered them,” she said coolly. She glanced at the earl who watched her unnervingly.
“I know that’s true,” her brother said, “but we are in the position of giving back some of what has been taken from you. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Simon, you’re talking in riddles,” Jillian said, “and you know how I dislike indirect speech. You’ve brought this man here for a reason, and I would like to hear some plain speaking.”
Again she looked at Lord Wickham, but he continued to smile, a smile she noticed that did not touch his eyes.
“Have it your way,” the marquess said in exasperation. “Adrian is only now returning to England. You, of course, know when he left. He swears that he did not realize the hardships you encountered after that night he fled with you in his carriage. He and I have had a talk…” Here, despite his annoyance, Simon’s courage seemed to falter. “And well…he has agreed to help you recover your reputation.”
“That was my carriage in case you’ve forgotten,” Jillian bit out. “And please, pray tell, in what form is this help supposed to come?”
“Adrian has consented to marry you—naturally, after a suitable courtship.”
“Excuse me? He has consented to marry me?” For the moment Jillian was too startled to be angry. “Should I be pleased?”
She looked in the earl’s direction, but there was no answer forthcoming from that stoical gentleman.
“Jillian, a little gratitude is in order. Adrian is willing to do the noble thing, and this could be your chance to have a husband and a family.”
“And this is supposed to make me happy?”
Simon nodded. “It is what most women want.”
“It’s not what I want. Not this way. What makes you think this is my only opportunity? I’ve had other proposals.”
“Fortune hunters—outright scum, and you know it. I’ll never consent to a marriage with that sort.”
Her brother’s highhanded decree was the final insult. “So,” she said, her voice deceptively calm, “you prefer I wed a murderer. Much better, I should think.”
Jillian knew before the remark left her mouth that she should refrain, but wounded feelings sent the words spewing forth before her common sense could intervene. One glimpse at her brother’s furious expression told her she had gone too far.
“Now that I’ve had time to reconsider,” Simon directed his statement at the earl, “I believe my sister and I should share a few words in private. Clearly, she has forgotten her manners.”
He grabbed Jillian by the arm and dragged her into the hall, leaving Lord Wickham to fend for himself. He pulled her toward the morning room, not releasing his painful grip until they reached their destination.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said through gritted teeth once he had banged the door into place. “I never thought to be ashamed of you but by God I am today.”
Not cowed, Jillian spat back, “Then perhaps you’d best rethink your strategy. How dare you come in here presuming to tell me how to conduct the rest of my life. I cannot believe you expect me to marry that man.”
“I am the head of this family, and I can have expectations, not the least of which is that you do as you are told.”
“Poppycock!”
“I beg your pardon,” he said in an awful voice.
“You heard me.”
“Jillian, what has happened to you? Your behavior has become more outrageous with each year that passes. Do you realize you are the talk of the countryside?”
She shrugged. “Lest we forget, Simon, Lord Wickham has a dreadful reputation himself. He killed a man in a very illegal activity. I don’t see how marriage to him is going to help my situation. He won’t be accepted by the ton anymore than I am.”
“You said he had no choice. In fact, you were quite vocal eight years ago in your defense of Adrian.”
“Perhaps, but I also felt it was his fault that the duel happened in the first place. He did sleep with Viscount Findley’s wife after all.”
Her brother winced. “The conversation becomes indelicate, Jillian. This is not something I wish to discuss with you.”
“Men do have the advantage of retreating into territory where women are forbidden when things become uncomfortable,” she said bitterly. “But it doesn’t change anything. What happened, happened. I don’t believe I want a man like that for a husband. And what kind of father do you think he would be?”
“What I think is that you misjudge Adrian. He was wild, I admit. However, I sense he’s changed. He and I spent most of last night talking. He wants to do what’s right. I give him credit for that.”
Jillian turned away from him and went to stand in front of the French doors where the sunshine streamed into the room.
“Instead of trying to mend my life, Simon, can’t you accept that the die has been cast? I shall spend the remainder of my life on the shelf. I’ve come to terms with that and I’m happy. Be happy for me.”
“I can’t, and do you know why?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Because our father could not. Your disgrace broke his heart. If he were here today what do you think he would want you to do?”
“Damn you, Simon, damn you.” She whipped around to face him, her chin trembling with emotion. “When all else fails maybe guilt will work.”
“You were his favorite, you know that. He wanted you to marry and have a family. That more than the opinions of others is what hurt him most.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched her sadly.
“Do you really believe Papa would want me to marry the earl?”
“He is the most appropriate choice.”
“Why? Because he is the instrument of my downfall? Using that criterion seems to me he’s the worst possible choice.”
Simon did not speak. Instead he shook his head as he continued to watch her through sorrowful eyes.
“I’ll say it again—damn you.” She stared back at him, torn between her own desires and what she feared might be the right thing to do. At last she spoke. “I make you no promises, Simon. If I feel Lord Wickham and I don’t suit, I won’t marry him even to appease our father’s memory. If you are willing to leave it at that then I shall try.”
Simon beamed at her. “Jilly, come here, love,” he said, using her pet name, an in
dication all was forgiven. He crossed the room and gave her a brotherly hug. “I can ask no more.”
Her brother’s approval brought Jillian to the brink of tears. He had manipulated her into doing his will, but for the moment she didn’t care. Time enough later to worry about how to get out of doing what he wanted without breaking her promise. For now she would enjoy being in his good graces again.
“Adrian and I are going to stay for supper,” he said, “so make yourself presentable. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a beautiful woman beneath all that muck.” Simon released his hold but took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “You do know, Jillian, I want the best for you, don’t you?”
Nodding, she remained silent, unwilling to say what was on her mind because she didn’t want to fight with him anymore.
In the hall Jillian paused to gather her scattered wits. She believed her brother when he said he had her best interests at heart. However, wanting the best for her did not mean he knew what that was. And anyone with eyes could see the dangerous gentleman in her parlor was not the answer to her future.
*****
After Simon and Lady Jillian left the room, Adrian sat down in his chair again. It was an uncomfortable chair, a woman’s chair, he decided, as he tried to find a position that did not make him feel in danger of slipping to the floor. He crossed his legs, watching the entrance to the room.
Simon and his sister had been gone for ten minutes, long enough for the earl to wonder if they were coming back. Perhaps he should be relieved if they chose not to return—at least, if Lady Jillian chose not to return.
Lord, she had a temper. He had a difficult time equating the woman she was today with the frightened young girl who had ridden in a stolen carriage with him eight years before. But there was something else about her, something that had not escaped his attention even hidden beneath the dirt and the unpleasant disposition.
Lady Jillian Fitzgerald was a beauty. Last evening after speaking with the marquess, Adrian had tried to conjure an image of the girl she had been on that long ago morning of the duel. Unfortunately, the effort had failed him. He did recall being attracted to her but only that. However, seeing her again had brought the memories flooding back.
A short while before when Jillian had entered the parlor to greet her brother, the earl suddenly had remembered the younger version of the lady—the even features, flashing brown eyes and long dark hair like a luxurious swatch of silk cloth. Still uncrimped, he noted with satisfaction.
She had changed but if he were any judge of beauty—at any rate, he knew what he liked—then she had changed for the better. Despite his reluctance Adrian was fascinated.
The marquess entered the room at that moment, looking embarrassed but determined. “Jillian will be joining us for supper. You will meet our Aunt Prudence at the same time.”
“Be delighted,” the earl said dryly.
Simon gave him a sharp glance. “I apologize. You can’t be pleased with my sister’s reception, but under the circumstances we shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Of course, not.”
“Oh hell, come out with it,” the marquess growled. “It’s not what you expected, is it?”
The earl uncrossed his legs and came to his feet. “To be honest, Lady Jillian’s greeting was preferable to yours.” He caressed his tender jaw. “And to answer your question, nothing in a long time has happened the way I expected. I find it prevents disappointment not to predetermine the future.”
“I’m having a time of it identifying with your problem, I admit. I wanted to marry Cassandra.”
“Don’t underestimate your sister, Simon. Or me. This is not the beginning one would choose given another option, but I intend to make the most of it.” He ignored the searching look Simon sent his way. “Now what kind of libation does your Aunt Prudence keep on hand?”
*****
CHAPTER 3
Jillian glanced in the cheval glass, assessing the plain gown she wore. It was old and outmoded, but the deep lavender of the material highlighted her complexion and dark coloring. The bodice fit too snugly, indicating her figure had changed over the years. Other than that she was pleased with the result.
Satisfaction aside, she was annoyed with herself for worrying about her appearance. She knew she should maintain a fashionable wardrobe, but part of her rebelled at the notion she must keep in step with a society that had rejected her. And in truth, since she rarely entertained dinner tonight with her brother and Lord Wickham was the first time in recent memory she had felt one of her old gowns was not adequate to the occasion.
She told herself the only reason she cared was that she didn’t want to embarrass Simon. Why should she be concerned with Lord Wickham’s opinion? Unfortunately, Jillian kept remembering when the earl had looked at her, taking in her mud-spattered costume and unshod feet. What had he been thinking in that fleeting moment before his gaze met hers? She shook her head as though shaking loose the thought.
One thing she refused to do was pin her hair up as was expected of a woman her age. Her tresses were heavy and with the pins digging into her scalp, her head would begin to hurt almost at once. In the past she had been a drudge to fashion regardless of the inconvenience. She had primped like all the young females of her acquaintance, sneaking into the rouge pot when her mother looked the other way and wearing a corset that made her feel pinched in two. Not anymore.
Jillian did wish her hair had some curl, though. On reflection she decided it looked like the tail of a horse, long and straight, especially when she tied it at the back of her neck—not very flattering, she decided.
She crossed to her dressing table, opening one of the drawers and, after rifling through the contents, extracted an ecru ribbon. The ribbon matched exactly the lace on her dress, and she slipped it around her hair, tying a bow. There, she thought—an outmoded dress and a horse’s tail. Perfect. She supposed Simon’s pride would have to wait for another time.
She turned back to the cheval glass, pleased with her efforts, and curtsied at her reflection.
“So glad to see you again, Lord Wicked,” she said aloud in an artificially sweet voice.
And with that, Jillian turned and left the room, refusing to acknowledge the nervous flutters in her stomach that had turned her limbs into aspic.
*****
Adrian decided he liked Aunt Prudence. A fluffy little woman with white hair almost as wide as she was tall, Auntie Pru spun about the tiny parlor like a wooden top, always breathless, always enthusiastic.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Lord Wickham,” she gushed in winded accents. “We rarely have such exalted company.”
The earl took her soft, plump hand. “The Marquess of Sutherfield qualifies more than I do, ma’am.” He winked at the marquess who nursed a drink on the other side of the room.
“Oh, him—of course, but he’s family, don’t you see? Hard to think of one’s nephew as exalted. No offense intended, Simon, you understand.”
“None taken, my dear,” Simon intoned gravely.
“There’s a good lad,” she said as if her nephew were still a green youth. She looked toward the parlor door. “Where’s that sister of yours? Can’t fathom her reluctance this evening. She’s usually the first one at the table. Has an appetite like a horse, you know.”
Adrian glanced up just as the lady with the equine appetite passed through the doorway.
Her face was a mask of dismay. “Aunt Prudence, I doubt our guest is interested in my eating habits.”
The old lady’s eyes grew round as though only now did she understand what she had said. “Oh, I-I see what you mean. I’m sorry, Jilly. My tongue is forever getting ahead of my brain.”
Her niece’s expression softened. “Not to worry, love, I’m afflicted with the same condition at times.”
The gentle look on Lady Jillian’s face made the earl feel he had never seen a more beautiful woman. She had donned a simple purple gown, stretched a little too tightly across her boso
m, although Adrian found that condition intriguing. In fact, Pru’s declaration about Jillian’s appetite aside, the young lady had a splendid body, voluptuous with a narrow waist. And he didn’t think she wore a corset to achieve that narrow waist, for her torso did not have the unnatural look of being encased in metal. He detected soft flesh and nothing more. Yes, intriguing.
She had eschewed the hair fashion adopted by most mature females, instead allowing her mahogany mane to flow down her back, contained by only a single ribbon. Few women could have worn that stark style, but Lady Jillian accomplished it with elegance. For a second he allowed himself to wonder what it would feel like to run his fingers through the dark strands from scalp to silken tips…Adrian gave himself a mental shake. Lord, he’d been too long without a woman.
“Don’t you think so, my lord?” Aunt Prudence interrupted his thoughts.
“What? I’m sorry, what did you say?” the earl said as he realized the older woman had been talking nonstop at him for several moments.
He must have been staring at Lady Jillian in a rather fixed way, unaware of the conversation flowing around him, for when he glanced at the young lady’s brother, his friend gave him a knowing look, eyebrows raised, and lifted his glass in a mock salute. Adrian smiled sheepishly.
“I said,” Aunt Prudence continued, “that the weather has been marvelous, don’t you think so?”
“If you are speaking of England, I can only vouch for the last four days, ma’am,” the earl said, “but I would have to agree that what I’ve seen so far has been very pleasant.”
Adrian glanced again at Lady Jillian, but she had steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. At any rate, that was the impression she gave. In that moment he knew he had a difficult task ahead of him. It was one thing to promise Simon he would wed the man’s sister, he thought, and something else again to get the young lady to make the same commitment.
So be it. Adrian had always liked a challenge. Not that he wanted to marry right now, especially a stranger, but the stranger part could be mended with a few weeks of intense courtship. What he did want was to do the right thing. He liked to think he had done some maturing in his years of exile, that he would meet his responsibilities head on like a gentleman.
In the Garden of Disgrace Page 4