In the Garden of Disgrace

by Cynthia Wicklund

  She had not extinguished the candle on her night table. Rather, it had burned out of its own accord, dying a reluctant death, first fading then sputtering valiantly back to life. But in the end the diminishing wax had sealed the candle’s doom. She now lay in the dark feeling miserable and strangely alone.

  She did not know why she was disconcerted by the earl’s failure to appear. She should be glad that for one day he had not pestered her, had not made her feel like a mouse evading a determined fox. At any rate, that’s what she told herself.

  Adrian’s interest had not waned. No matter how she tried to repulse him, he had been steadfast in his admiration. Only occasionally did she detect a trace of objection, such as when she rode her horse bareback, but he had clearly made the decision to resist dictating to her. Not that the earl wasn’t determined to manage her existence. Never did he let a day go by without reminding her they would marry. Thus, she reasoned that he did not show his disapproval about her behavior because to do so would give her ammunition to fight him when it counted most.

  Every night when Adrian took his leave he asked for a kiss. And every night he made her participate in the ritual, drawing a response from her even when she was determined to be passive. “A submissive female is not very interesting. I prefer the fire and ice of contradiction,” he had said, which seemed odd since she had been led to believe that most men wanted a compliant woman.

  It bothered Jillian to think she had missed that kiss tonight. And yet, as she lay in her gloomy chamber she feared it might be true. She enjoyed the sensual nature of the closeness, and she enjoyed knowing he was aroused by her, for Adrian had made no effort to hide that fact.

  The earl had done what he said he would do. He had made her aware of the carnal side of a relationship. And presently the analogy he had drawn between passion and an addicting drug did not seem quite as far-fetched as when he first spoke of it.

  Jillian sat up and tossed back the covers. Too much contemplation could be a dangerous thing, she thought. The restlessness had increased and she felt the need for action.

  She eased off the bed and, shoving her feet into pink satin slippers, padded across the room to open the door. Perhaps a bite to eat would help.

  In the kitchen Jillian found a small berry pastry. Though delicious, she decided hunger was not her problem. She left the unfinished pastry and walked to the kitchen door. Releasing the bolt she stepped outside.

  The night was cloudless and stars, many more than she could count, winked at her from overhead. She could hear the evening creatures, especially the rising then ebbing chorus sung by numerous tree frogs. The stable yard tomcat yowled to his latest conquest, and in the distance a lone owl hooted eerily.

  This was the world at its best, she thought—peaceful, undemanding, without reproach. She could slip into the concealing shadows, wrapping herself in the tranquility, and simply disappear.

  She now knew what she wanted. Raven waited in his stall. She glanced at her nightclothes, knowing she should change, but her impetuous nature sent her scuttling across the yard before she had time to reconsider.

  Jillian did not light the lantern tonight. She found the bridle in the usual place and put it on the horse, feeling her way as she went. Luckily, Raven cooperated, seemingly as eager as she for a late night ride.

  She led the animal into the stable yard and, minus a saddle, jumped on his back much like she always did. But when she came into an upright position, her nightgown rose above her knees. Without her boots and stockings she felt exposed yet curiously unfettered and free of spirit. She let her slippers fall to the ground then clutched Raven’s sides with her legs.

  Jillian had to curb the impulse to send the horse galloping from the yard. She made a clicking sound with her tongue, urging Raven forward, but she held onto the bridle tightly, so he did not break into the run they both wanted. Five hundred yards from the house she gave him full rein.

  The rush of the night air numbed her face as Raven’s hooves flew over the ground. Jillian leaned low over his back, clutching not only the reins but the animal’s mane as well. So synchronized were rider and mount, for long moments Jillian felt as though she were the horse, skimming the earth with a speed gifted to only a few of God’s creatures.

  She did not know how long she raced over the open meadows before realizing she had ridden several miles from home. She pulled on the reins, bringing Raven to a halt as she took in her surroundings. She thought she recognized the trees that hid the fishing stream on Squire Lindley’s property.

  “Oh, Raven,” she whispered aloud, “If only I didn’t have to return. I don’t like being confused. I thought I knew what I wished from life. Why can’t I go back to the way things were?”

  Raven snorted, his warm breath rising on the night air as he pawed the ground, and for that moment Jillian wanted to imagine the animal understood. She felt certain no one else did. Simon expected her to marry the earl, and Aunt Pru was no better. In fact, her aunt already was planning the nuptials.

  She began the return trip, this time at a slower pace so the horse could cool down. By the time she arrived home Jillian decided she had been gone more than an hour, but everything seemed as peaceful as when she left.

  She spent a few minutes rubbing down Raven and giving him a drink and then exited the stable. Stopping in the middle of the yard where she had mounted the horse earlier, she looked for her slippers. Now that’s odd. Where were they?

  A quick search did not turn up the missing slippers and Jillian gave up. Perhaps a stray dog had carried them off. Whatever the reason, she now was tired, a condition she embraced with relief. She entered the house through the kitchen and took the servants’ stairs to her chamber.

  In her room Jillian washed her feet and, exhausted, fell across the bed. She slept immediately, only to find herself locked in a dream where a handsome gentleman demanded a kiss—a kiss she surrendered with a great deal of enthusiasm.

  *****

  Adrian placed his tankard on the table and glanced around the small inn. He was tired but the ale had refreshed him, and in a few minutes he would raise his weary body and proceed on to Sutherfield. Aunt Prudence’s home was near, but the afternoon was advanced, and tomorrow would be soon enough to see Jillian.

  The past four days had been difficult. His man of business had summoned him to London, and the earl found himself tending to matters he had managed cheerfully to avoid for years. There were also issues related to his mother’s death that had to be settled. Feeling drained, he had done what he had to do as quickly as possible and with profound relief departed the city.

  He was surprised by how much he had missed Jillian. She never bored him, although he had to admit there were times when he had to hold his tongue, especially when she deliberately attempted to be outrageous.

  He had not told her about his trip but decided a little uncertainty might do her good. She was sure of him lately, and he felt complacency on her part would not aid his cause.

  More and more he had come to grips with the notion he would marry Jillian. And more and more he found the prospect pleasing. He smiled to himself. The lady would be disappointed if she knew how much he had come to care for her.

  He drained the tankard, and a voice—an ignorant one—caught his attention as he stood to leave.

  “I tell you, Mikey, he said he saw her.”

  “Go on with you, Owen, don’t no real lady ride her horse in the middle of the night all alone.”

  Adrian glanced to his left and saw two very common fellows sharing a drink at a nearby table. Though neither man seemed aware of him, a niggling suspicion regarding their conversation caused him to pause. He sat down again, this time to eavesdrop.

  “I swear I’m tellin’ the truth,” the one named Owen continued. “Barney saw her, he did. He was just hired on to work in the stable for that old woman what’s never been married. Couldn’t sleep the other night ‘cause of a cat fight, Barney said. Wanted to check it out.” Owen stopped long enough
to take a swig of his ale. “So he goes to climb out of the loft, and what do you know? The barn door flies open, and there stands the young mistress of the house pretty as you please in her nightdress. He says he ain’t never seed a more beautiful sight.”

  “Go on,” Mikey said, in an awed voice.

  “He said she had on this filmy thing, and when she stood in the doorway the light from the moon showed through it, making her look like she weren’t wearin’ nothing at’all. He says he knows for certain she didn’t have nothing on under that gown. Now what do you think o’ that?”

  “I think Barney’s been drinkin’ too much whiskey.”

  “It’s true, I tell you. Barney’s got proof. The young lady bridles her horse—no saddle, mind—and she leads the animal into the yard. And this part I swear is true—she leaps on the horse without no help, straddles ‘im, and her gown rises up to here.” Owen, obliging fellow that he was, indicated a place on his own leg that came to about mid-thigh. “Why, she was showing more skin than a strumpet. And then she let’s her shoes fall to the ground. So she’s not only in her nightdress, she’s barefoot.”

  “Blimey, I’d a sure like to o’ seen that,” said Mikey. “But that still don’t prove nothing. Saying it don’t prove nothing.”

  Owen gave him a superior smile. “Barney got her shoes.”

  “What?”

  “She rode out on her horse, and once she was gone he took her shoes. He’s bringing ‘em tonight to show all the blokes.”

  At that moment a shadow fell across the table of Owen and Mikey, and both men glanced up.

  Owen looked discomfited as he peered into the Earl of Wickham’s face. “What say, gov’nor? How can I help you?”

  “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” Adrian asked.

  The two men exchanged uncertain glances then nodded their heads in unison. “Thank you,” the earl said. He pulled out a chair and sat down, holding up three fingers to the barmaid to indicate another round. “Now, gentlemen,” he began, “that’s quite a story you are relating. Tell me about this fellow, Barney…”

  *****

  “The pudding is especially tasty this evening, don’t you think so, Jillian?”

  Jillian, who had been playing with her pudding for the last ten minutes, nodded absently. “I suppose so, Auntie,” she said at last. “I guess I’m not very hungry tonight.”

  Prudence pursed her lips. “You haven’t been yourself for days. What is the matter?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just been rather restless. Can’t seem to decide what I want to do. I hate being indecisive.”

  “Something in particular been concerning you, dear? Would you like to talk about it?”

  Her aunt gave her an incisive look, and Jillian realized the older woman was aware of more than she let on. Still, she could not bring herself to admit the truth out loud. The footman entering the morning room kept her from having to answer.

  “My lady,” the servant said, “you have a guest.”

  “Who is it?” Jillian asked, ashamed of the sudden hope that flared in her breast.

  “Lord Wickham, my lady.”

  She had to keep herself from leaping from her chair. She took a deep breath. “Tell him I’ll be right there,” she said.

  Jillian then proceeded to eat her pudding, taking sudden interest in the dessert as she tasted each tiny bite, until her dish was clean. She knew her aunt was watching her in appalled silence but she didn’t care. How dare he come here without preamble after so many days? She refused to acknowledge that her anger stemmed from relief.

  She unhurriedly rose from the table, straightened her skirt and sought out the parlor.

  Adrian lounged on the settee as she came into the room, his large body dominating the piece of furniture. Something in his eyes as he watched her enter caused Jillian to hesitate. Why, he had the nerve to look angry with her.

  “My lord?” she said, keeping her voice impersonal as she came to stand in the center of the room. “I hope you didn’t mind waiting. I had not quite finished my supper.”

  Rather than speaking, the earl rose slowly to his feet and, walking to the door, very deliberately closed it.

  “Why did you do that? We’ll be accused of impropriety,” she said, beginning to feel anxious.

  It wasn’t the impropriety that worried her, though. It was the strange, enigmatic expression on his dark features.

  “Come now, my dear, I hardly believe you would be deterred by something as inconsequential as another person’s opinion.”

  The resonant sound of his voice, half-amused, half-angry, made goose flesh form on her arms.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Adrian leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re quite an actress, did you know that?”

  “See here, if the purpose of this visit is to insult me then I think you should leave.”

  “Did you miss me, Jillian?”

  Thoroughly confused, she looked at him blankly. “Of course, I didn’t miss you. In fact, why are you here now?”

  He smiled grimly. “Since you are so concerned by my absence, I’ll tell you where I’ve been. I was in London seeing to business matters. On my way back to Sutherfield I decided to stop at the inn five miles from here for some refreshment.”

  “That’s very interesting,” she said sarcastically. “But since you were on your way to Sutherfield, that does not explain why you are here.”

  “I suppose you are right.”

  He stood away from the door and, reaching under his coat into the waistband at the back of his riding breeches, he pulled out a pair of pink slippers and tossed them into the middle of the floor. Jillian felt her heart rise in her throat.

  “Where did you get those?” she asked in a horrified whisper.

  “Now that’s a very interesting question. I’ve an answer for you, but I think you are going to hate it. On the other hand,” Adrian said as he moved across the room and reestablished himself on the settee, “given your conduct as I’ve come to know it, perhaps you won’t care at all.”

  The words were an accusation, and a flash of fury sent Jillian’s teeth to gnashing.

  “Would you just please tell me? I admit I’m concerned. Why do you feel the need to prolong the torture?”

  “Sit down, Jillian.”

  She remained where she stood for a moment, but he clearly had no intention of proceeding until she did what he said. She flounced to the chair opposite him and plunked down.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Yes,” the earl said curtly. “Two gentlemen—I use the term loosely—by the names of Owen and Mikey were discussing a certain young lady who decided several days ago to take a ride on her horse in the middle of the night—”

  “Now wait a minute!” Jillian interrupted, but he held up his hand to stem her protest.

  “It seems this young lady not only left the house at an ungodly hour, and alone, she did so in her nightdress which not only thrilled the stable hand who witnessed the event but also every male ear to whom he transmitted his tale.”

  “Is that who stole my slippers?” The question was beside the point given the extent of her problem, yet it was the only thing her shocked brain could conjure.

  “Barney is his name and, yes, he took your slippers. He wanted proof that he had seen what he said he had seen.”

  “That’s terrible! I want him let go immediately.”

  Adrian leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he looked at her intently. “Let’s think this through, shall we, my dear? The only way we can hope to curtail the talk is to retain some control over the fellow with the story. Barney and I had a long discussion and he won’t be spreading any more rumors. In return we will not terminate his employment.”

  “Do you honestly think he will refrain?”

  “What I think is he will not be quite as blatant with his tongue. But I also think that is the most we can hope for. You must understand, Jillian, the damage is mostly done. He can’t tak
e back what’s already been said.”

  At that moment so many emotions warred in Jillian’s breast, she could not distinguish one from the other. She did recognize mortification, and she hated that Adrian was the one who had broken the news to her. She would be damned, though, if she would admit any wrongdoing to this man. Therefore, she tapped into the resentment that warred with her shame.

  “Don’t know what business of yours it is anyway, my lord. This Barney is my servant and I should decide his fate.”

  The earl’s eyes narrowed. “You’re an ungrateful wretch, aren’t you? You would have preferred I did nothing?”

  “Why are you acting sanctimonious? I told you before I like to ride at night, what it meant to me.”

  “The reality of your little jaunts did not sink into my thick skull. And it never occurred to me that you would be brazen enough to leave the house without even getting dressed. What were you thinking?”

  “I didn’t do it by design,” Jillian said, now thoroughly ruffled. “I felt restless so I went to the kitchen for a bite to eat. I thought I could sneak out and no one would notice. It was more a case of being lazy than anything sinister. And I definitely did not see the servant or I wouldn’t have done it.”

  “Do you realize what could have happened to you if this Barney fellow were not a benign character whose excitement came from voyeurism and a need to gossip? There was more than your reputation at stake that night. He could have followed you, knowing you would be alone, and done you serious harm.”

  He sounded truly worried, but he should have known better than to turn his concern for her into a lecture. The more he talked the more hostile her attitude became.

  “It’s not my health that bothers you, my lord,” she said stiffly. “You are no different than any other male. It is the morality issue that has you upset—another man saw me in my bedclothes.”

  Jillian tossed the challenge at him, knowing he would be provoked. She was not disappointed.

  Adrian reached across and grabbed her wrist, his pale blue eyes glinting like frosty chips of ice. She pulled away, struggling to release his grip, but he held fast as he yanked her toward him so their faces were only inches apart.