In the Garden of Disgrace

by Cynthia Wicklund

  Still, he had not been prepared for the instant attraction he felt for Lady Jillian, an attraction he recalled feeling on the night of the duel. Then he had put it down to the time and location and the temptation of a pretty face rather than anything more profound. But now he wondered. Might there be a magnetism between Lady Jillian and himself that would prove more than a passing fancy? Despite the lady’s nonchalant attitude, intuition told him she was aware of the pull between them also.

  The idea made him feel self-conscious, consequently he greeted the announcement of dinner with relief.

  Simon strode across the room and took his aunt’s arm, leaving the task of escorting his prickly sister to the earl. However, when Adrian placed his hand on Lady Jillian’s elbow he sensed her resistance. In fact, though he knew she made an attempt at graciousness, her effort came close to failure. Her attitude did not bode well for the coming meal.

  But as it turned out dinner was a congenial affair. The food was tolerable and the addition of Prudence’s frothy personality kept the conversation from turning stiff and unnatural. Adrian enjoyed feasting on hearty English cooking with his English friends at an English table. Only now did he begin to perceive how much he had missed his homeland.

  After eating, the gentlemen decided not to have drinks alone. Instead, they invited the ladies to remain at the table with them and share tea. At this point the conversation turned more personal. Jillian posed the first probing question to the earl, which seemed odd to him, for up to now she had seemed to avoid addressing him unless absolutely necessary.

  “Lord Wickham,” she asked, “you have not been back to England since the autumn of 1802?”

  She watched him out of deep brown eyes, and Adrian instantly felt the attraction between them that he had detected earlier. This time he knew for certain she felt it also, for something nearly undetectable shifted in her regard when he returned her look. Yet he had to give her high marks for courage because she continued to watch him even though he knew she had been made uncomfortable by their unspoken exchange.

  “No, I haven’t,” he said. “Four days ago was the first time I’ve stepped on English soil since the…since I departed. I was so overcome with joy upon my return I felt the incomprehensible urge to fall to my knees and kiss the earth.”

  “And did you, my lord?” Jillian asked in a sly voice.

  Adrian grinned. “Now there is where I am glad having an urge does not necessarily mean one must act upon it. I couldn’t get past the notion that if I kissed the ground, I would get dirt in my mouth—good English dirt, mind, but still dirt. I kept seeing myself looking as though I had dined on mud cakes—not how I wanted to be seen entering the country.”

  That commentary brought on a gust of laughter from his dinner companions. Even Lady Jillian, much to Adrian’s satisfaction, smiled her appreciation.

  “Then where have you been all these years, dear boy?” Aunt Prudence asked.

  “I stayed in France until the early part of 1803. The political situation there began to deteriorate badly about that time, and it was not the best place to be an Englishman. Just as well, I suppose. I wanted to see the continent, anyway. After two years boredom set in.”

  “I suspect that is in character,” Jillian muttered.

  “Jillian!” Her aunt and Simon spoke simultaneously.

  “No, no, she’s right,” Adrian said, holding up his hands to stem the outrage. “Restlessness has been one of my worst traits. I believe that is why I was always in some scrape or another.”

  “Where did you go from there?” Aunt Prudence asked him while sending her niece a disapproving look.

  Adrian smiled inwardly for that niece appeared singularly unrepentant. “West Indies, an amazingly exotic place, warm year round with coastal waters beautiful beyond description. I really believed when I first landed there I would stay for the remainder of my life, traveling between the islands.”

  “What made you change your mind?” This from Simon.

  “If you can believe, I grew homesick for a real winter. Actually, I was on my way back to England three years ago when the ship I was on made an unplanned detour to the port of New Orleans. Haven’t the faintest idea why I did it but on a whim I stayed. Decided to experience some of America. Not the original colonies, you understand. They are too civilized. I wanted to visit the untamed territories. I did that, existing fairly much out of saddlebags for months. Joined what they call a cattle drive, mostly as an observer, to absorb the atmosphere of the American west. Might as well tell you right now, living without the conveniences is not at all what it is made out to be.”

  “Did you see Indians?” Jillian asked her curiosity evidently overcoming her reticence.

  “Indeed I did. Fascinating peoples. But there are many tribes, you know, many cultures. I met only a few. And luckily I did not encounter any who were at war with the American government, for they might not have realized I was neutral.” Adrian shook his head. “As to that, our own situation with America has become quite volatile. I’m afraid if the English and Americans do not come to an understanding we will be at war again. That is one of the reasons I decided to come home.”

  Everyone nodded in silent agreement, and on that solemn note they rose and left the table. Shortly thereafter the men took their leave of the ladies.

  On the ride back to Sutherfield Simon commented, “The evening went well, don’t you think?”

  The earl glanced at his friend as he shifted impatiently in his saddle. “It went as well as one could expect under the circumstances. I’ll be frank—that doesn’t say much. Speaking of war, I believe your sister has declared as much on me.”

  “We’ve taken her by surprise but she promised she would make an effort.

  “Your idea of an effort may be different than hers.”

  “Are you trying to renege?” It was hard to miss the sudden suspicion in the marquess’ voice.

  “Of course, not. I gave you my word. I’m merely suggesting that my word does not cover Lady Jillian’s intentions. And right now she doesn’t appear to want to cooperate.”

  “If it comes to that, she will do as she is told.”

  Adrian pulled on the reins of his horse, bringing the animal to a sudden stop. He squinted at the marquess who had stopped as well, trying to see his face. But his friend’s features had grown indistinguishable in the inky night.

  “I don’t want that, Simon. I have to build a life with your sister. If we start out with hate between us our chances for a successful marriage will be reduced to nothing. I’d like the opportunity to bring her around to our way of thinking. I don’t believe force is the way to do that.”

  Simon didn’t speak immediately and, though Adrian could not see his companion’s expression, he had the feeling he was being analyzed just as he had been earlier in the evening.

  “Jilly is as pig-headed as they come,” Simon agreed at last. “All right, have it your way. I know what it is like to have to convince a woman she cares for one.”

  “Cassandra?” Adrian asked, interest piqued.

  “Yes, and I’ll tell you about it if you think it will help,” the marquess said as he kicked his mount into an even canter. “However, being as Jillian is my sister I would much prefer you not use some of my methods…”

  *****

  Jillian yanked open the drawer of the chiffonier, pushing the contents this way and that until she found an old pair of cotton stockings. She quickly donned them and then slung her feet into oversized work boots. The final touch was a straw hat that hung from the mirror of her dressing table, a compliment to the shabby muslin dress she wore.

  She ignored the clothing she had left piled on the floor next to her bed, but she knew Hannah would later remind her of the transgression. While at it the maid could be counted on to complain that her mistress had once again dressed without help from her personal servant. Jillian didn’t care. She had no patience for rituals that wasted precious time.

  And this morning she was in a
hurry. Unfortunately, she had overslept and was getting a late start. She had planned to rise before dawn and ride the five miles to the small stream on Squire Lindley’s property. The good squire had given her permission to visit anytime she wished, although he had been shocked when she had told him she intended to fish the stream. He, like everyone else, could not understand what “a gentle young woman” found fascinating about a man’s sport.

  That attitude irritated her, for she gained what a man gained—the peace and the quiet of a solitary occupation where she could think about whatever she wanted or decide not to think at all. And though she felt a bit bloodthirsty admitting it, she loved tussling with and landing a hooked fish, a minor victory in a life that was otherwise mundane.

  But now she was late and this she placed firmly at the door of the Earl of Wickham. If he had not come thundering into her life, disturbing her peace, she would never have lain awake most of last night pestered by unwanted thoughts. She could not believe Simon wanted her to marry that man.

  Jillian felt betrayed that her brother had put aside his anger over past events, treating the earl like a long lost friend. She ground her teeth when she thought of how the two men had laughed together the evening before as though there was nothing between them but fond memories. Had Simon forgotten what she had been through?

  Not that she blamed Lord Wickham for her plight, she told herself. She had done something foolish and had been caught. If not for her own conduct, the situation in which she had found herself could not have happened. To believe anything else would be unfair, and she took pride in her ability to be fair.

  Still, she could not like the earl. He was too forward, and the way he looked at her through those icy blue eyes made her stomach quiver, a condition she found disconcerting. It didn’t help that Lord Wickham was the most attractive man she had encountered since, well…since last she had encountered him. In fact, if memory served, he was even more handsome than before with no traces of the youthful demeanor she remembered to mar the virile adult male. Jillian shuddered, not certain whether from distaste or excitement.

  If only she knew what the earl was thinking. Had he really decided to court her? How could marrying him solve her problem? Did he, along with her brother, really believe the ton would welcome her back after all these years as though nothing had happened? Just like a man, she thought, to look for a simple solution to a complicated matter.

  Jillian rubbed her eyes and yawned. She probably would not catch many fish today, for she was still achingly tired. But she wanted to try. She opened the door to her bedchamber and, as she stepped over the threshold, she nearly bumped into her Aunt Prudence. The older woman looked flustered.

  “Aunt Pru, is something the matter?”

  “Oh, Jillian, he’s here!”

  “Who’s here?”

  “Lord Wickham,” Aunt Prudence said breathlessly and she began to wring her hands in agitation.

  Jillian clamped her lips together and stomped back into her room. “Why has he come?” she flung over her shoulder.

  “I just knew you were going to take that attitude,” her aunt moaned, following closely behind her. “Please, please, Jilly, don’t make a scene. I’m sure Lord Wickham has a perfectly logical reason for being here.”

  Turning around, Jillian gave the older woman a piercing stare. “You don’t trust me to use good manners? I think I know how to comport myself. I’ll simply see what he wants and send him on his way.” She headed back into the hall.

  “Not dressed like that!” her aunt squeaked.

  “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed? Are you afraid Lord Wickham won’t be impressed by my appearance? That is exactly how I want it. The quicker he is discouraged, the quicker I can get on with my life. I have no intention of making this any easier for him—or Simon for that matter.” She marched down the corridor with her aunt’s incoherent sputtering ringing in her ears.

  Jillian descended the stairs and walked to the parlor. “My lord,” she began then realized she spoke to the empty air.

  “In here, Lady Jillian.” She recognized the voice of the earl coming from the morning room.

  In a larger house Lord Wickham would not have heard her come downstairs as he apparently had, nor would she have heard him call to her. But Aunt Prudence’s home was small and cozy with little privacy between the rooms on the bottom floor.

  She wished she had not mistaken his location. In the intervening moments from when she first entered the parlor to when she realized she must now make an entrance in the morning room, Jillian’s nerve wavered. To her annoyance her heart began to pound erratically. Straightening her shoulders, she briskly traversed the distance between the parlor and the morning room before she had time to lose her courage altogether.

  Lord Wickham had thrown wide the double doors to the warm sunshine. He stood with his back to her, and Jillian was struck by the size of the man. She had always thought Simon tall, but the earl was taller, more powerfully built.

  Again, she assumed he had heard her approach, for he spoke without turning. “Come in, my lady. I was just admiring this beautiful garden. Your gardener must have special powers.”

  “Thank you,” she said coolly.

  He turned around. Did she imagine it or did his eyes widen slightly as he took in her costume? If he was disapproving he chose not to show it. He leaned his shoulder casually against the door casing.

  “You say that as if you are responsible for those lovely flowers,” he said.

  “I am.”

  He lifted his brows. “Really? I am impressed. You tend the lawns as well?”

  Jillian had the sudden impression he was making fun of her. “Of course, not. I tend the gardens around the house. I have found over the years I enjoy working in the dirt. In fact,” she said, deciding to be outrageous, “I like getting dirty.”

  The earl gave her a considering look that said he believed her. “Well, then,” he murmured, his lips twitching, “you didn’t much identify with my story last night about not wanting to get dirt in my mouth.”

  She felt her own mouth drop open. She guessed she deserved that shot, for she had given him the ammunition, but being aware of her folly did not make her feel any less vexed.

  “I said I like to work in the dirt, my lord. I did not say I like to eat it.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said heartily. “Now tell me have I interrupted something? You appear to be on your way out.”

  He had neatly changed the subject and she looked at him suspiciously. “I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me why you are here.”

  “Isn’t that apparent? I’m calling on you. I thought you understood.”

  “Why, you arrogant…” She stopped herself and drew in a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve not agreed to anything, Lord Wickham. Simon has taken it upon himself to speak for me, and I did not give him permission to do so.”

  “He said you intended to make an effort. I assumed you would honor your promise.”

  He spoke so calmly, so rationally she found herself grinding her teeth. “I want you to tell me what you think an effort is and what it is you think I have promised my brother.”

  “That you will give me a chance to prove myself, that you will allow me to call on you and, ultimately, see if we suit.”

  “And what if I decide we don’t suit, what then?”

  “Don’t you think we should deal with that circumstance when it becomes necessary?”

  “You haven’t answered my question, my lord.”

  He gave her a crooked grin, one she found nearly impossible to resist. Somehow she managed.

  “I haven’t thought of that because I’m not ready to admit there’s a chance I might be defeated. Can’t we agree not to disagree for the moment? When all’s said and done there is no way you can be forced to marry me.”

  “Subtle pressure is sometimes more difficult to resist than the overt variety,” she grumbled, remembering Simon’s mention of Papa. “I cannot believe my brother wel
comed you into his home as though nothing were wrong.”

  “He didn’t—not exactly.”

  “Indeed?”

  The earl ran a hand over his lip and, though it was less bruised than yesterday, it still looked tender. “Simon’s first reaction was to come out fighting. I had to convince him, and rather quickly, I might add, that I believed as he did. You’ve shouldered an unfair burden these many years, and I feel a responsibility to better your situation.”

  “What sanctimonious rot. Has it occurred to either one of you that I might not want your help?” Jillian clumped over to a Chippendale chair near the fireplace and sat down. She had wondered where the earl had received that swollen lip, and she felt a perverse satisfaction knowing her brother had defended her. “Let’s not mince words, my lord. What makes you think marriage to a ne’er do well will in any way enhance my future?”

  For several moments Lord Wickham stared at her without commenting. Then he slowly stood away from the doorframe and came across the room to tower over her. She stared back at him, nervous yet mesmerized by his insistent gaze. The pupils of his eyes dilated, nearly obliterating the icy blue.

  “Has it occurred to you, my lady,” his voice dipped suggestively, “that you have underestimated the pleasures a marriage can bring? There is more than a respectable household at stake, and you are no longer a girl. I cannot believe all the advantages of a union have escaped your notice.”

  Jillian was so appalled by the sudden insinuating turn the conversation had taken, she found herself unable to reply. She licked her lips, and his gaze dropped to her mouth where it lingered before he raised heavy-lidded eyes back to hers. Lord, he was sure of himself.

  “You have not addressed the issue of your reputation, my lord,” she said, mortified that the words came out in a shaky whisper.