Adrian looked at her sharply, but she continued to stare straight ahead at the road in front of them. Something he couldn’t define tugged at his heart when he heard the wistful words. He did not sense self-pity in her attitude, though. Rather, he perceived self-acknowledgment.
“I think you underestimate your appeal,” he said, meaning every word.
“Things are done a certain way, my lord. There is rarely room for the individual. I don’t consider myself unique enough to pull it off.”
“Yet you seem determined to try.”
Finally she turned to look at him, but she changed the subject. “I’m very angry at you, you know—”
“It’s about last night, isn’t it,” he said, interrupting. “I let the moment get out of hand. I apologize.”
Jillian brought her gaze back to her hands and she stared at them as she held her reins. “No, it’s not about last night. We are both to blame for that.”
What a refreshingly honest answer, Adrian thought.
“What is it then?” he asked aloud.
“I had my life planned before I met you. I had come to accept my lot and had learned to be happy with it. But you have me so confused I don’t know what is up and what is down. I hate feeling like that.”
“Perhaps you had decided on the wrong things. Perhaps when you made your decisions, you didn’t know what you really wanted or that you might have other options. And why should you be upset if changing those plans is for the better?”
“Is it?—for the better, I mean.”
“You are asking me for an unbiased view on something about which I am very biased.”
“What about Aunt Prudence? I fear she may be lonely.”
The talk had reached the point where Adrian was beginning to feel hopeful. “If she is lonely she can live with us.”
“You mean that?” Jillian asked, her gaze darting back and forth over his features, clearly trying to assess his sincerity.
“Absolutely. I like Auntie Pru. Of course, we will have to hide the brandy, but that’s a small price to pay for such a sweet lady’s company,” Adrian said, keeping his face straight.
He knew she still watched him, although he was now the one who examined the road ahead. After a moment he heard her laugh.
Adrian felt the satisfaction rise in his chest. He didn’t know when obligation turned to tenderness, but gradually over the weeks he had come to realize marrying Jillian offered more than a salve to his conscience. He wanted to marry her. He wanted to face an anxious day when she brought his child into the world.
Now there was an idea until this moment he had never entertained. He went quiet after that, pondering the strange twist of fate that had brought love into his life.
Jillian seemed to have no need to talk, either. He was aware of her now as he had never been before. Not her body—that had always intrigued him—but what she thought, what she felt.
They finished the ride to Sutherfield in companionable silence, reaching their destination in the middle of the afternoon.
The butler ushered Jillian and Adrian into the house as the sound of an agonized wail echoed from the floor above them.
“My God, what was that?” Adrian breathed.
The sound was repeated, this time a long drawn out cry of pain that caused them to stall in the entry. Immediately, Simon materialized in the doorway to the drawing room, his face haggard, his appearance disheveled.
“Thank God you are here!” he said. “This is the worst afternoon of my life. The screams have been going on for more than an hour.”
Jillian ran to his side and hugged him. “I’m sorry. I know this must be terrible for you.”
He buried his face in his sister’s hair. “I feel so helpless. There’s nothing I can do for her.”
Adrian found those cries distressing, also. “Since you can’t do anything, Simon, perhaps we should ply you with liquor at the local inn. That is how a lot of men handle this situation when the stress becomes too difficult.”
The marquess looked at him and shook his head. “Cassandra can’t leave. Why should I? Her task is more difficult than the waiting. I’ve tried to enter her room to make certain she is all right, but they won’t let me near her.” He turned tortured eyes on Jillian. “Will you check for me?”
“Of course, Simon,” she said, although Adrian had the distinct impression going upstairs was the last thing she wanted to do.”
“Stay with her if she wants you, Jillian, please.”
Another cry rent the air and Adrian saw her flinch, but she nodded at her brother and turned to the stairs.
*****
Jillian knocked on the door, about as eager as a doomed man on a scaffold. Though not afraid for herself, she found the discomfort of others difficult to tolerate. And the anguish emanating from this room left her feeling faint-hearted.
Her summons was answered by a small woman so spare she looked stringy, who introduced herself as the midwife.
“Come in, come in,” the midwife said in a hushed voice. “We’re doing fine. We still have some hours to go yet but she’ll be a mother ‘fore long.” As an apparent afterthought, she asked, “And who might you be?”
Jillian stared at the bed and Cassandra’s swollen form, and it was all she could do not to turn and flee. She had never been to a birthing before, had never been in the same house where one went on, and she decided then and there ignorance was a blessing.
“Lady Sutherfield is my brother’s wife. He wants to know how she fares.” Jillian began to back out the door. “I’ll tell him you said things are going as they should.”
“Jillian?” Cassandra’s weak voice drifted across the room.
The midwife took her arm. “Go to her. I’ll talk to your brother. Husbands,” she shook her head, “they’re more trouble than their poor wives.” She shoved Jillian toward the bed.
Jillian tiptoed across the carpet to the bed, her heart lodging in her throat when she saw her sister-in-law’s miserable face. Cassandra’s lovely red hair was plastered to her damp forehead, and her eyes had a wild look.
“I’m here, love,” Jillian said, feeling as though she might cry. She took the patient’s hand. “Is it very bad?”
Cassandra smiled wanly. “They say you don’t remember much but I think I shall. Can’t imagine forgetting this.”
Jillian couldn’t imagine it, either.
Cassandra’s features contorted suddenly, and she gripped her sister-in-law’s hand, squeezing hard enough to stanch the flow of blood to Jillian’s fingers. Cassandra tried, clearly she tried to hold back, but a cry of misery escaped her anyway.
Shortly thereafter the midwife bustled back into the bedchamber. “How are we doin’?” she asked cheerfully. “Don’t you worry now, sweetie,” she said to the patient. “Each of those pains brings you closer to when you hold your child.”
Jillian pulled the woman aside. “Are you certain everything is going as it should? I mean, shouldn’t the doctor be here to oversee the delivery?”
The midwife gave her a measuring glance. “This your first time at a birthin’, is it? There won’t be no delivery for a few hours.” She patted Jillian on the arm. “I’ve brung scores of babes into the world. I promise there is nothin’ to worry about. The doctor will be here in time.”
Thus Jillian pulled a chair to the side of the bed and did her best to provide moral support, murmuring encouragement, donating her mangled hand when necessary. One hour blended into the next as the afternoon faded at a slothful pace and the night began. Cassandra’s contractions grew more intense and her screams more wretched until Jillian felt near to weeping.
At ten o’clock that evening the midwife suddenly announced, “Soon now, soon.” And as if he had been waiting for just those words, the doctor entered the bedchamber. His appearance signaled to Jillian her chance to escape, and she dashed from the room as though leaving the scene of a disaster.
She reached a small antechamber at the back of the house on the bottom flo
or before she broke down. She sat on a small wooden settle by doors that led to the garden and began to weep, great wracking sobs she felt all the way to her toes. She did not know why something as natural as having a baby should cause her grief. But she loved Simon and she loved Cassandra, and though today would eventually lead to immense happiness, right now they were both miserable. She did know one thing—to wait helplessly by unable to do anything was awful.
“Come, love, give over.”
She heard Adrian’s voice and felt his arms around her before she saw him. She glanced into his handsome features as he sat next to her on the settle, and the concern she saw there made the tears start all over again.
“I’m sorry,” she gulped on the words, “you must think me a fool but I can’t seem to help myself. I could never tend to the ill—the misery is too much for me.”
“I don’t think you a fool at all. You are sensitive. That hardly brings out my contempt.”
He sounded sincere, having offered his arms for solace, and Jillian could not resist. She buried her face in the earl’s shoulder and allowed his reassuring presence to comfort her. They remained thus for several minutes before she stirred.
“You won’t want to marry me, my lord,” she said sniffing. “Not after today.”
Adrian’s brows came together in a frown. “What has happened today that could possibly make me not want to marry you?”
Oh dear, she thought miserably, just when she had begun to think she might consider his offer. She drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
“I’ve decided I don’t want children. I’ve come to believe I don’t have the constitution for it.”
“I hardly blame you,” he said, surprising her. “Who wouldn’t be afraid after a day like you’ve had.”
She merely stared at him, overwhelmed by his understanding.
“You know something?” the earl said. “Hard as this is to believe right now, Cassandra will be talking of having other children in a few months. And I think you will get over most of your apprehension as well.”
Jillian looked at him in disgust, for the first time unconvinced by his reasoning. “Really? Would you?”
He put up his hands as though warding away the question. “Not me, no. But then I’m a coward as most men are in a case like this. The good Lord understood exactly what he was doing when he designated women as the child bearers.”
“That certainly is a help to know that,” she said dryly. And then, doubtfully, “I suppose I should go back.”
“Not if you find it too distressful. That baby will be born with or without you, I promise. Everyone will understand.”
“Yes, but as my brother said, Cassandra does not have the luxury of flight. If she must endure, then so shall I.” Jillian came to her feet and looked down at him. “Thank you, Adrian. I feel better now.”
He took her hand and squeezed it, causing her to wince. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”
“Cassandra has been using my hand to help ease her pain.” She smiled. “It’s a small sacrifice.”
She did not know what came over her then, but on a whim she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. She spun around immediately and fled from the room before he could respond, shocked by her own brazen behavior.
Upstairs the situation had reached the turning point. Jillian entered the birthing room to a flurry of activity.
“Here, now” the midwife commanded, “take Lady Sutherfield’s hand. We’re almost there.”
Once again she sat next to Cassandra’s head and offered support, and as a reward Jillian was witness to an amazing event. Not that she wasn’t appalled by the proceedings, for until today she had not realized how much effort was needed to give birth. But the look of rapture that lit her sister-in-law’s countenance when her son was placed in her arms told Jillian that the outcome made the struggle worthwhile.
“Oh, Jillian,” Cassandra said, her voice a reedy thread, “won’t Simon be proud?”
Jillian looked at the infant, small puckered features in a tiny red face. She wondered if an aunt could bond with a child as the parents did, for right now she could hardly contain the love flowing through her body.
“He’s beautiful, Cassie,” she said, whispering over a knot in her throat.
The doctor moved to the door but Cassandra stopped him before he could leave. “Jillian should make the announcement.” Though she looked exhausted, her gaze shone as she handed over her precious bundle. “Tell Simon this is my gift to him.”
No longer could Jillian staunch the tears that brimmed in her eyes. Weeping openly, she took the infant, holding him close to her breast. She looked down into a pair of round eyes like bright blue buttons, and her heart swelled.
“I will tell him,” she said.
*****
Adrian walked the floor behind the marquess, back and forth, back and forth. Occasionally the men would meet in the middle of the room and dodge one another, but the earl no longer tried to talk to his friend. Simon’s preoccupation had taken him to another place mentally, and communication with him had become impossible.
Less than an hour before a terrible scream had reverberated through the house, and Simon had stilled in his tracks, eyes wide with dismay as he stared at his companion. Fortunately, that had been the last such occurrence, and they had resumed their pacing. But the memory of that awful sound was never far from Adrian’s thoughts. He knew Simon was suffering from the same condition.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel as it began the slow, deliberate chiming that announced the changing of one day to the next. Midnight—had it really been that long?
“I wish someone would tell me something,” the marquess spoke at last. “I never realized waiting could be so torturous.”
“It has been silent for some time now,” Adrian said. “I wager we’ll hear soon.”
As if his words had conjured the moment, the earl saw Jillian come to stand in the doorway of the drawing room. In her arms she carried a swaddled infant and, though her lovely face was streaked with tears, she smiled radiantly.
“You have a son, Simon,” she said softly.
Simon whose back was to her turned slowly. He gazed at his sister, a wondering look. His attention slipped to the small bundle.
“Cassandra?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
She moved to his side. “The doctor says she’s fine. She is sleeping now.” Jillian held the baby out to him. “ Cassandra called him a gift to you.”
Simon was undone. No one could have missed the wrenching emotion that played across his face. With hands that shook he reached for his son then sat in a high-back chair next to the fireplace, his companions clearly forgotten.
“Perhaps we should give him some time alone with the baby,” Adrian said to Jillian in an undertone. “I think our presence becomes unnecessary.”
Smiling, she nodded. She walked across the room and kneeled by her brother’s chair. “Simon?”
“Hum?” He continued to watch his son.
“Adrian and I are hungry. If you need anything, we’ll be eating.”
He dipped his head absently.
Jillian stood and placed her hand on the earl’s arm, and together they strolled to the dining room.
Covered dishes, still warming, were laid on the sideboard. Evidently someone had anticipated empty stomachs needing sustenance once the urgent situation had passed.
Adrian put an assortment of foods on his plate and, though everything smelled good, his hunger did not extend to caring about what he ate.
Filling her plate, Jillian sat to the table, and the earl joined her, plunking in the seat on her left. Neither spoke as they commenced to eat.
Abruptly she put her fork on the table. “I believed I was hungry but now I’m not so certain. The meal is going down like a lump. What are we eating anyway?”
“Haven’t a clue,” he said.
They shared a grin. The tip of Jillian’s nose was still pink from crying, and Adrian thought s
he had never appeared more beautiful. The look in his eye must have reflected the warmth he felt, for her smile drifted away and she dropped her gaze. In that brief moment he sensed her retreat from him.
“Jillian?”
“Yes?” She picked up her fork, but rather than eating, she stabbed at the food, pushing this and that around on her plate.
“Is something the matter?” He reached over and touched her arm, stemming the aimless activity.
She raised her eyes to his and he could see the uncertainty there. “I don’t know.” She smiled once more, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s not a very definite answer, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
Jillian shrugged. “It’s been such an emotional day, my nerves are jangled. I think I could sleep for a year.”
The earl wanted to yell in frustration. Her attitude was as dry and remote as a desert. An inanimate object exuded more feeling than she did at present. What could have happened in the intervening twenty minutes to make her look at him as though he were a stranger?
“You’re not going to confide in me then?”
“Adrian,” she glanced at him, meeting his eyes, and for a moment her reserve seemed to crumble, “I don’t know how to answer you, honestly I don’t. I’m confused right now.”
“I can understand that.”
“Can you? Can you really?” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Since Simon and you have joined forces, I’ve felt as though I’ve lost control of my life, a control I’ve gone to great lengths to acquire. And I hate it. Do you understand that, my lord?”
“You won’t believe this, Jillian, but I felt much the same way when I left England—a victim of a situation not of my making. I didn’t want to participate in that duel. But I had gained a reputation. I was challenged, and I was expected to play the game—and that’s what it was, you know—a game. Findley was a coward, and I despised him. But I did not want to kill him.”
“Did you really sleep with his wife?”
Adrian cringed inwardly, ashamed that he must address the sensitive matter.
In the Garden of Disgrace Page 12