She trudged up the stairs and entered her bedchamber. Such a strange morning, she thought, as she peeled off her damp clothing. What could go wrong had gone wrong. She had felt foolish more than once—more than twice if she were honest. There was something else she had felt, and her face burned with mortification.
How could one kiss have had such an effect on her? After Lord Edgeworth and she were engaged he had kissed her, though it was usually a chaste little peck and she couldn’t recall having been particularly moved by the experience. She had sensed in Lionel a bridled passion, but he had always kept himself in check, never crossing the line of propriety.
Not Lord Wickham. His desire had erupted forth this morning, demanding a response from her. And she had given it to him. It had never occurred to her that just touching lips could be so beguiling, so intensely erotic. An odd shiver accosted her when she remembered that moment right before he had released her mouth. He had wanted her then. She guessed her love of fishing had not disgusted him as much as she had hoped it might. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or upset.
Now in her shift and drawers, Jillian was in the act of ringing for her bath water when a knock sounded at her door.
“Yes?”
“Jillian?” her aunt called to her.
“Come in.”
Aunt Prudence, puffing, bustled into the bedchamber. Hannah came right behind her, carrying two buckets of steaming water. The maid marched straight to the tub, quickly emptied the buckets then departed the room for more of the same.
“Were you afraid I did not intend to wash?” Jillian asked, feeling mistreated. “I was ringing for my bath when you knocked.”
The older woman ignored the remark as she folded her arms over her ample middle. “Jillian, dear, we have to talk. Do you have any idea how you looked just now when you arrived on the step with Lord Wickham?”
“Aunt Pru, not another one of your lectures, please. It was an accident, I promise.”
“Be that as it may, there are people watching your every move. You may think gossip cannot hurt you anymore but you delude yourself. And what about Simon and his family? Don’t you think the talk hurts them as well? They live close by and are privy to all your activities.”
“I cannot live my life for Simon,” Jillian said, beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“I didn’t mean to suggest you should.”
“I suppose then you will be unhappy when I say I intend to cook supper.”
“Jillian! I must insist you dress properly and entertain Lord Wickham in the parlor like the young lady you are.” The words were severe but by the expression on Pru’s face her aunt already knew she was defeated.
“I won’t change my routine to suit Lord Wickham. If he is to like me, he will like me for myself. You know I enjoy cooking the fish I catch.”
Aunt Prudence merely stared at her, her chin trembling.
“Oh, all right, if I promise to comport myself with greater care when I’m in public, will you allow me to be myself when in private?”
Her aunt nodded, visibly brightening.
“And, Auntie, please leave Lord Wickham to me. You seem to fear I will scare him away. Have I not made it clear that is exactly what I’m hoping to do?”
Hannah, arriving with more water, prevented Prudence from responding. Probably for the best, Jillian thought, because her aunt looked a bit like that poor trout that lay on the bank this morning, gasping for air.
*****
CHAPTER 5
In Prudence Milford’s guest bedchamber, having recently bathed, Adrian tucked in the tail of his shirt. The clothing he now wore was Simon’s, apparently left from an earlier time. The trousers were a bit tight. In fact, when he looked in the mirror he wondered if he were decent. Maybe he should leave his shirt untucked. He shouldn’t complain, however. At least he was dry.
His Hessians were still wet, though. The only footwear Miss Milford had been able to find was a pair of old boots donated by the gardener. So far he had been unable to force himself to put on the smelly things. That made him doubly glad for Simon’s old clothes despite the snug trousers, as he could not imagine what the gardener would have loaned in that regard.
Did he dare go downstairs barefoot? He doubted Lady Jillian would stand on ceremony, but her aunt? Miss Milford was distressed by impropriety. He felt sorry for the older woman, for he suspected she was subjected to unseemly behavior on a daily basis. The earl looked at the distasteful boots one more time and decided to risk the disapproval.
Adrian saw Jillian’s aunt when he reached the landing at the top of the staircase. Prudence stood at the base of the stairs in silence, her appalled gaze never wavering from his feet as he descended. The earl could have sworn his naked extremities began to tingle as she continued to eye them. When he reached the last step, she finally looked up in stupefaction.
“Forgive me, Miss Milford,” he said. “The boots you gave me looked as though they had been fermenting for some time. I could not bring myself to put them on. I hope you understand.”
“It doesn’t signify, anyway,” she said, sounding almost tearful. “Jillian is not any better.”
“What do you mean?”
“Follow me. You’ll see.”
Adrian fell in behind the lady. She led him past the parlor, past the morning room and to the back of the house. To his surprise she waved him into the kitchen although she did not enter with him.
“My niece insisted on entertaining you in here,” Aunt Prudence said. “If you would like, I’ll bring you a brandy.”
“Thank you. That would be nice.”
She retreated and the door closed behind him.
A large wooden table filled the middle of the kitchen, and Lady Jillian stood at that table, wielding a large knife. Unless he was mistaken she was cutting off the head of a fish. A woman he assumed to be the cook tended a kettle that hung in the fireplace. The air was permeated with the odors of cooking.
Evidently hearing his entrance, Jillian glanced up. Though not overtly hostile her welcome was subdued, and he saw the distrust that crept into her eyes. She took in his unorthodox appearance, her attention resting on the tight pants—a little longer than was necessary, he thought. He grinned broadly when she brought her gaze back to his and she blushed.
“You brother’s clothes are somewhat small for me,” Adrian said, forcing the subject into the open.
“You are a big man,” she responded.
“Indeed,” he drawled.
The sound of crockery hitting the floor caused Adrian and Jillian to look at the cook.
“Excuse me,” Cook said, her damp, fleshy face as red as an overripe tomato. “I-I don’t know what got into me.” She cast a look of doubt mixed with reproach at the earl as she reached for a broom.
“What’s the matter with her?” Lady Jillian asked, clearly baffled by the servant’s attitude. “Pull up a chair, my lord.”
“As you will, my lady.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, call me Jillian.”
“That’s not what you said earlier today,” the earl said, sitting down.
“Well, I’m saying it now.”
She ran the back of her hand impatiently across her forehead, pushing back a lock of hair that had fallen in her eye. Then she tossed aside the fish she was working on and reached for another.
“Then you must call me Adrian.”
Jillian looked up, a considering expression on her face as though she had introduced a topic she now regretted. She shrugged.
“Why not,” she said. “We’ve fished together and we shall cook together. If that does not put us on a Christian-name basis, what does?”
“How about a searing kiss?” he asked in an undertone.
“Would you be quiet?” she spat.
She sent a nervous glance in the cook’s direction, but the servant was busy sweeping the floor. Of course, appearances aside Adrian knew the cook most likely was straining to hear every word spoken between the two aristocrats
in her kitchen.
“What is it you expect me to cook? I must warn you I’ve never even boiled water,” he said.
Jillian pursed her lips—soft, sweet-tasting lips, he remembered. “Let me see then,” she said, pointing the blood-smeared knife at him, “we’d better not give you anything you can ruin. Do you think you can peel a potato?”
Adrian chuckled. “You really are serious, aren’t you?”
“Naturally. You said we should get to know one another. Well,” she said, holding her hands apart as she indicated the kitchen, “this is part of who I am.”
He did not miss the challenge in her words. Nor did he miss the insecurity that lurked beneath the poised surface. What was she trying to tell him? Perhaps, he reasoned, it was more what she was trying not to tell him.
And so the earl found himself sitting at a large wooden table, peeling potatoes and trading light conversation with a beautiful woman in Prudence Milford’s kitchen. If anyone had suggested he would enjoy the experience, he would have scoffed at the very idea.
But he did. He watched as Jillian lightly floured the fish, pan-frying the fillets. The smell was heavenly. She smiled at him more than once, her distrust seemingly forgotten as she became engrossed in her work. The look on her lovely face was unguarded and he found himself responding in a way that was unexpected. He had no idea what love felt like but he surmised what he felt at the moment might be a prerequisite for that emotion—that is, if the recipe for love contained a generous dollop of lust.
A smudge of flour graced the end of the lady’s nose, and Adrian wished he could wipe it away as he had wiped the mud from her cheek earlier in the day. As she shifted back and forth in the kitchen, her hair swung loosely down her back, tied in a single ribbon at her neck. He was mesmerized by her feminine movements. He kept remembering the feel of her body when he had lifted her from her horse by the stream. He was pleased at the time to discover he had been right—she did not wear a corset. He was positive she was not wearing one now.
Adrian took a deep cut in the potato he was paring and yelled his surprise. “Damn!” he bellowed, raising his middle finger to his mouth. “How did I do that?”
“I think you need to look at the potato to peel it, my lord,” the cook said, a knowing expression on her round face.
Cheeky woman, Adrian thought. The situation did have a positive side, though, for Jillian had washed her hands and raced to his side.
“Are you all right, my lord? Let me have a look.” She quickly assessed the damage. “It’s not serious but we’ll need to clean and bandage the cut.” She moved to the basin for a pan of water. “Get me a clean cloth,” she said to the cook.
After his explicit thoughts he found Jillian’s nearness an enticement hard to resist. She leaned over him as she worked on his finger, her breast brushing lightly against his arm. The contact caused a corresponding response in his groin, which could become humiliating in light of the snug trousers he wore.
“There,” Jillian said, tying off the bandage.
As she straightened she turned to look at him. He must have looked as hungry as he felt, for when their eyes met the pleasant expression slid from her face only to be replaced by one of apprehension.
Aunt Prudence chose that moment to bustle into the kitchen, carrying a large brandy snifter more than half full.
“What has happened?” she asked, a tremble lacing her words. “Are you hurt, my lord? Jillian, what have you done?”
Jillian bristled. “Aunt Pru, it is hardly my fault that Lord Wickham is clumsy. It never occurred to me that he could not peel a few potatoes without cutting himself.”
The older woman looked as though she might swoon. “Potatoes? You’ve had the Earl of Wickham peeling potatoes?”
Prudence raised the brandy glass to her mouth and, taking a slug that would have done an inebriate proud, swallowed. Blinking rapidly, her eyes watered. She then turned without another word and left the kitchen.
“That makes me feel bad,” Jillian said. “I’ve really upset her this time. I didn’t mean to, honestly.”
Adrian came to his feet. “Let me talk to her. It is worry over my dignity that has upset her.” He returned Jillian’s smile of gratitude. “Course, I’m not wearing my boots so I won’t have the veracity I normally have.”
He intercepted a look from the cook that told him the servant approved in a guarded way. Well, any progress was cause for celebration, he thought.
He stepped into the hall and padded to the parlor. Sure enough, Miss Milford had sought refuge there, still clutching the brandy glass in her hand. She turned at his entrance.
“My lord, I apologize. I meant this for you,” she said, indicating the drink. “I’ll pour you another.”
“You are distressed.”
“No, no, it’s just that…” her voice trailed away as she handed him a new glass.
“Thank you. Why don’t you continue to sip on that brandy you started while we talk?”
Aunt Pru’s eyes lit with eagerness. “You don’t mind? You won’t think me a…a…”
“No, no, of course not. Conversation always goes better with strong drink.”
Adrian was not certain what she feared he might think, but he got the distinct impression Jillian’s aunt was not adverse to taking an occasional tipple. Retrieving the snifter she settled her plump body on the settee and indicated the chair next to her.
“Now then.” She turned on him inquisitive blue eyes and waited for him to begin.
Just as though I had been the one who was upset, he thought, amused. Aloud, he said, “I don’t want you to be disturbed by the way your niece treats me. You will find this hard to believe, but I had a good time in your kitchen. Until I sliced my finger that is. And Lady Jillian was correct. That was my fault.”
“But, my lord, you are a gentleman.”
“Miss Milford,” he spoke earnestly, “do I strike you as the conventional sort?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“I’ve lived abroad and often in primitive conditions, I might add. I’ve traveled a long way from the world of the ton. We speak as if the only important thing for Jillian and me is to be accepted by our peers once again. Frankly, though, my attitude is not that far afield from your niece’s. I’m not certain I’m interested any longer. I was when I thought my mother still lived. For her sake I wanted to make the effort, but now…” He shrugged.
“If you and Jillian marry and you don’t make an effort, what about your children?”
Adrian nodded. “And that, of course, is why we must try. We have more than ourselves to consider.”
“I don’t know why she is so stubborn about all this,” Prudence said, sipping her drink. “She feels her estrangement from society even though she won’t admit it. Yet she goes out of her way to alienate everyone, even Simon who is tolerant. I fear you will take a disgust of her without realizing who she truly is.”
“Rest easy, dear lady, I know what she is attempting to do. She hopes her conduct will push me away. But she cannot hide beneath a false exterior.”
“You are not repulsed by her?”
He heard the doubt in her voice and Adrian wanted to groan aloud, for repulsion was the last thing Lady Jillian had aroused in him. Since he couldn’t put it that way, he chose his words carefully.
“Jillian is a beautiful woman, something I suspect she has forgotten. Your niece is spirited and honest. At least, she is honest with others. She’s not quite honest with herself yet but I’m willing to give her time. And meanwhile, she and I will get to know one another.”
“She’s very determined. Are you certain you can bring her around?” Prudence asked, her cheeks now pink as she had nearly finished her brandy.
“There is an element of trust that needs to be worked on, I admit. But I’m hopeful.”
Aunt Prudence leaned forward, quite a feat since she was so round. “Lord Wickham, why are you doing this?—I mean, aside from your promise to my nephew?”
For
the first time Adrian detected a shrewd component to the old lady’s personality. Though it had not occurred to him before, he suspected this little woman as innocuous as she seemed could make the difference on whether he was successful or not. Without her support he was doomed. He also suspected if he were not completely sincere with her she would know.
“Miss Milford—”
“Call me Prudence or Aunt Prudence, whichever makes you happy,” she rapped out. “Either makes me happy.”
Whew, Jillian’s aunt acts like a different person when she’s bosky, he thought, dazed by her sudden shift in mood. He wanted to laugh but decided that would be a mistake.
“And you must call me Adrian, Aunt Prudence.” When she nodded curtly, he began, “I wasn’t happy when I first talked to Simon, but marriages are arranged all the time for all kinds of reasons. And I do feel responsible for her misfortune.”
“She’ll never settle for that.”
“Nor should she,” Adrian said. “I—”
“Out with it, young man!” she snapped. “Can you care about her as she deserves?”
Adrian’s mouth dropped open. He now realized he had walked into this room with a patronizing attitude, expecting to calm an old lady’s fears. Instead, that same old lady had made him feel like a school lad with bad intentions. If she knew the lecherous thoughts that had raced through his mind these last few days, she would run him off with a stick. He supposed, however, he had no choice but to let her understand part of how he felt.
“I think Jillian and I are much alike and we suit. I consider that to be a critical ingredient in a successful marriage. Right now my feelings are ah…shall we say influenced by her outward appeal. Nevertheless, given time I believe I could care deeply for her.”
“Just what I wanted to hear.” Prudence smiled slyly. “Can’t imagine why Jillian would want to resist a fine figure of a man such as yourself.”
“Why, Aunt Prudence,” Adrian said, laughing his surprise, “I believe your niece takes after you when all is said and done. What do you have to say to that?”
In the Garden of Disgrace Page 8