In the Garden of Disgrace

by Cynthia Wicklund

  “Because,” she snapped, “you’re not the only one who gets to decide.”

  Adrian frowned. “Is that what this is about?—who’s in control, who makes the decisions?”

  “I don’t want to be pushed. I’ve told you that from the beginning. And from the beginning you’ve pushed me.”

  “We made love last night, Jillian. If people found out—”

  Jillian interrupted him. “What would they say? Seems to me they can’t say anything they didn’t say eight years ago. Who would care if we took up where we left off?” She narrowed her eyes as she shook her finger at him. “You see, there is a flaw in your plan. I must have a reputation that needs protecting for your trickery to succeed. Unluckily for me, my lord, you ruined me a long time ago.”

  For interminable moments they stared at one another, neither speaking, the only sound in the clearing the soft rushing of the stream as the water flowed passed them.

  “There’s something you may not have thought about,” the earl said at last.

  “What?”

  “Our lovemaking could have repercussions. Suppose there is a child?”

  The instant fear Adrian’s question engendered in her breast made her want to be ill. He was right about that one thing—she hadn’t given the possible outcome of her night with him much consideration.

  “I’ll meet that event if it should come to pass, my lord,” Jillian said stoically. “I would ask a favor of you, though.”

  She almost felt guilty by the hope that lit the earl’s features. Almost…

  “Anything,” he said.

  “Pray with all your heart there is no child, for that is what I’m going to do.”

  It was, as she intended, a rejection of the most personal kind—she didn’t want him and she didn’t want his baby. She had expected his pride to be pricked, but the stunned expression in his clear blue eyes revealed another, more profound kind of hurt, making her want to haul the hateful words back, to beg his forgiveness. Unfortunately, her regret came too late. A mask of bored indifference slipped over Adrian’s face, hiding all but his disdain, robbing her of the bravery needed to apologize.

  “As you wish, my lady,” he said, bowing stiffly. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He spoke without looking at her. “Please give my respects to your aunt.”

  With that the earl strode away from her, mounted his horse and rode into the forest.

  Jillian watched his retreat, remorse like a leaden weight in her chest. Well, she supposed she’d done it this time. But he would be back—he always came back, she told herself. She ignored the insidious doubt that crept into her reasoning.

  *****

  Depression hangs like a burden on the spirits, and Adrian was depressed. He reached Sutherfield in the late afternoon and sought out his chamber for a bath before he had to speak to anyone. To lick his wounds, he thought disparagingly. How he would explain to Simon, he didn’t know.

  He soaked in the tepid water, consumed with his morbid ruminations, lost to all but his own misery. He was angry and yes, by damned, he was angry at Jillian. How dare she treat him in such a cavalier fashion as though these last weeks had been nothing more than a test of wills.

  He told himself that her final statement to him had been a furious one intended to hurt, therefore he should not take it too seriously. Easy enough to say but he had been unprepared for the pain the harsh words had caused him. He had egotistically believed she had been as affected by their lovemaking as he had been. In fact, making more of a romantic interlude than actually existed was usually a woman’s domain, so he was stumped by the possibility that he had experienced something she had not.

  He thought back to the night before. He could not have imagined the raw emotions that had sprung between them and filled her darkened chamber like a beguiling mist, drawing them closer together. And Jillian had felt the pull, he knew she had. That brought Adrian back to his anger. Truth was he was angry at himself. He had handled the situation badly. Having told Aunt Prudence he understood Jillian, he had turned around and acted as though her insecurities had never occurred to him.

  Adrian stood and stepped from the tub. He dressed quickly for the dinner hour, determined not to put off his talk with Simon. Fortunately, Cassandra was still healing from childbirth, taking her meals in her room, so he would be able to converse openly with the marquess.

  Downstairs, the butler directed the earl to the library where Simon was working on some correspondence.

  “Adrian, come in, come in. Have a seat,” his friend greeted him. “I’m just finishing here. How about a drink?” He stood and walked to the table where the brandy was kept. Handing his guest a glass, he continued. “Where were you last night? I suppose the storm caught you unaware?”

  “Yes, it did.” Adrian sat in the chair opposite Simon’s desk. “I stayed at your Aunt Prudence’s home. We were eating the evening meal when the rains came, and your aunt asked me to remain until the weather cleared.” He spoke hastily, noting the look of consternation on his friend’s face.

  “I see,” Simon said after a moment, apparently deciding to accept the explanation. “It was a bad storm. I lost several limbs in my orchards. It’s been years since I’ve seen winds like that.”

  “Indeed.”

  Both men fell silent, and Adrian cast around, trying to choose the best opening for his speech. Finally he concluded plain speaking was the best approach.

  “I’m going to London in the morning.”

  Simon, in the middle of bringing his glass to his mouth, continued the motion but there was no doubt his interest had been caught. He rolled the brandy over his tongue, slowly, before sending his gaze back to the earl.

  “Business, Adrian?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Then what?”

  Adrian gave his companion a mournful stare. “I don’t know if it is going to work out, Simon. Jillian is less cooperative now than when we first began our courtship.”

  “Has something in particular happened?”

  This could get sticky, the earl thought. Jillian was after all the man’s sister. That aside, the situation was too personal to share. Therefore, he thought it best to broach the subject from its broadest angle.

  “Let’s just say Jillian and I had a disagreement. Truth is, I don’t want to wait any longer and she’s in no hurry.”

  “Is it really imperative this thing be rushed?”

  Adrian looked at him in surprise. “I was under the impression you wanted it settled.”

  “I do, I do.” Simon studied the brandy in his glass before raising perceptive eyes to his friend. “Pardon me if I err, but I’ll be damned if I’m not getting the feeling there is more to this than you are willing to tell me.”

  The earl allowed the quiet to stretch for several seconds before answering. “I suppose I could give you a trite analogy for how I view the situation.”

  “Please, by all means.”

  “Jillian is like a filly I’ve been trying to break. She lets me get just close enough to feed her a carrot, to think I’ve won her trust. But all the while she is aware that I want to climb on her back. As soon as I develop a little confidence she dances out of the way, making it clear who is in control.”

  “My sister is naive in some ways and, due to her circumstances, her knowledge of the relationships between men and women is limited. If she were looking at it the correct way, she would realize once she had you on her back she could go in any direction she pleased.”

  “Ah,” Adrian said shrewdly, “but she can’t forget who would control the reins. She doesn’t know how I’ll use that power.”

  Simon grinned. “Point well taken,” he said, saluting his companion with his glass. “Right then, what are you going to do? I’ll not pretend that I don’t expect you to continue to try.”

  “Haven’t a clue. For now Jillian and I need some distance from one another. We—you and I—have forced this alliance, and I’m afraid if we don’t pull back and take a
more objective look at the situation, there is no hope. It has always been my goal to enter this marriage on good terms with your sister.”

  Now there’s an understatement, Adrian mused as for the hundredth time that day his mind drifted back to the previous evening. He would never again see the frenzy of a storm without remembering the frenzy in Jillian’s bedroom. To bloody hell with good terms—he needed more than that. He needed—

  “You’ll be back?” Simon interrupted his thoughts.

  The earl dipped his head brusquely. “I gave my word—I will keep it.”

  “May I ask you another question, understanding that I am Jillian’s brother and you don’t have to answer?”

  “Of course.”

  The marquess cleared his throat, and Adrian had the impression his friend was about to delve into an area where men rarely shared confidences. He was right.

  “How do you feel about my sister? I have a reason for wanting to know,” Simon added quickly. “I mean, this situation has been crammed down your throat, and I’d hate for you to dislike her because of me.”

  Adrian took a slow sip of his drink, deciding how best to respond. Even here he could not be entirely truthful or he’d have to admit to the craving that was driving him where Jillian was concerned, and he knew the man did not want to hear that.

  “Funny, but your aunt asked me the same thing this morning. I will tell you what I told her—I’ve come to care for Jillian. That’s the best answer I can offer.”

  “Good, good.” Simon’s attitude was one of outright relief mixed with embarrassment as he came to his feet. “Let’s go into dinner. I’m famished.”

  The earl followed Simon from the room, but he was not basking in optimism as his friend seemed to be. In fact, an attitude of melancholy had settled over him. He wondered how Jillian fared, if she was all right. And he wondered if she would miss him.

  *****

  “My lady, you have company.”

  Jillian, sitting at the breakfast table, looked at the footman as she brought a spoon of egg to her mouth. She smiled smugly to herself. She knew it—he couldn’t stay away. Only two days and the earl was back on her doorstep.

  “Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

  The servant retreated with the message, and Jillian proceeded to finish her meal.

  “Jillian, do you suppose you might give me the courtesy of answering my call this morning. I’m in a hurry.”

  She turned at the angry words to find her brother glowering at her from the doorway to the morning room. She glanced past his shoulder, expecting to see another tall figure looming in the hall behind him.

  “Simon? What are you doing here?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “Come in then and sit down. Are you—are you by yourself?”

  “Wickham’s gone back to London, Jillian.” He sat in the chair across from her.

  Jillian felt the floor shift beneath her seat, and all at once her meal repulsed her. She slowly placed her spoon on the table, deciding how to respond so her brother would not realize how his words had affected her.

  “I was of the opinion he would grow weary of the country life,” she said blandly. “I wish him well.”

  “Is that all you have to say?” he barked.

  “Is there any reason you are taking this tone with me, Simon? I’m beginning to feel put out with you.”

  “If it’s irritation you are feeling then I suggest you get in line right behind me.”

  “You have some spleen to vent, I see,” she said stiffly. “Please, get on with it.”

  “All right. I went to a lot of trouble to secure your future. You’ve done nothing but thwart my efforts.”

  Jillian was too upset to muster the anger a situation like this would ordinarily have aroused in her, thus she merely looked at her brother dully.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “I want you to leave my future to me, Simon.”

  “The devil you say!” The marquess brought his fist down on the table.

  She jumped, more from reaction than fear.

  “Adrian is a fine man,” he said. “He could make you happy if you would get that damned pride of yours under control.”

  “What would you know about it, Simon?” she asked, fearing she might break down.

  “Let me tell you something, little sister. No one has all the answers all the time. It wouldn’t hurt you to listen to someone else for a change. Just because it wasn’t your idea to marry Wickham does not mean the idea has no merit. Even Cassandra approves.”

  “She does?” Jillian had not heard her sister-in-law’s views on the matter before this. “She likes Adrian?”

  “Absolutely. She hoped all would work out, as I did.”

  Jillian sighed. “It’s probably just as well.” The desire to cry had passed and now all she felt was tired.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Aunt Pru’s suffering with achy joints again. We thought it was because she overindulged the other night. But she’s no better.”

  “What night was that?” An odd inflection colored his voice, and the expression in his eyes matched the words.

  “Ah…let me see—the night of the storm, I believe.”

  Her brother looked at her for so long her face began to heat with guilt. Good lord, what was he thinking?

  “Is there something you would like to tell me?” he asked softly.

  “I-I don’t think so.”

  To her profound relief he let the matter drop. After giving her one more penetrating look, he brought the subject back to Aunt Prudence.

  “Is Pru’s condition serious?”

  “Oh, that’s what I meant to tell you. She wants to go to Bath for the healing waters as soon as she can travel. We need to repair the carriage, though.”

  “You intend to go with her?”

  “I can’t let her go alone.”

  “I suppose not.” He sighed, and her heart welled when she detected his concern for her. “It could be difficult for you, Jillian. Are you ready to face society again?”

  “I shall keep in the background. I will be there to care for Aunt Pru and only that. I’m not going to make an attempt at socializing. Regardless of what Adrian says, people do not forgive the kind of mistake I made.”

  Her brother stared at her for several moments and then he nodded. He agrees with me, she thought sadly. She reached out and touched his hand.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a trial, Simon, truly I am.”

  “I know, love, and you must forgive me also because I can’t give up on you. I want you to be happy. I’m not disparaging your life, but you could have more.” He drew in a deep breath as though he were gathering his wits. “I’ll see to the carriage. Let me know when you ladies are ready to travel and I will escort you both. Do you have lodgings?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll see to that as well,” he said, standing. At the door he turned. “And, Jillian?”

  The sound in his voice worried her again. “Yes?”

  “I’m dealing with a suspicion only, I admit, but I think your relationship with Wickham has gone further than either of you are willing to admit. I want you to know I’ll be watching, and I expect a respectable conclusion to this affair.”

  *****

  CHAPTER 10

  “How are you feeling, Auntie?”

  Prudence, eyes red-rimmed with fatigue, looked at Jillian. “I’m all right, dear. I’m not used to traveling but I’m certain I’ll feel better when I’ve had a chance to rest.”

  Jillian was tired herself. The trip to Bath had been onerous with Pru protesting most of the way. She knew her aunt did not feel well, for the old woman was normally a pleasant person when not in pain. They had waited a sennight for the swelling in her joints to go down before starting their journey, and though better Pru said her shoulder still ached miserably.

  “These lodgings Simon found for us are very nice, don’t you think?” Jillian asked.

  The hous
e was situated on a quiet street in a respectable neighborhood not far from the center of social life, and she already felt comfortably ensconced as she made her aunt cozy on the settee in the small sitting room.

  “It’s not home but it will do. I’m just so happy to be out of that carriage. Has your brother departed yet?”

  Jillian nodded. “He supervised the unloading of the luggage, spoke to the servants then left immediately. You know how he hates to be away from Cassandra and the baby.”

  “He’s a fine husband,” Prudence said, “which has surprised me, for he was quite a scamp before he made the decision to grow up. That gives me hope for your young man.”

  That old refrain, she thought rebelliously. Jillian had not seen Adrian in nine days—had she been counting?—probably would never see him again, but her aunt insisted his absence was temporary. Of course, Prudence had not seen the earl’s face that day after the argument. She wished she hadn’t seen it either.

  She kept remembering his offended expression, the anger that had been quickly concealed behind indifference. Did she have the power to hurt him? Did he really care what she thought, this handsome man who could have his pick of eager ladies?

  One thing had afforded her some relief. Her menses had arrived. Now she need not worry about another disgrace. And yet the poignant longing that had overcome her when she realized she would not be a mother had taken her by surprise. Perhaps Simon was right. Perhaps there was a void in her life. Too bad she had made that discovery when it was too late.

  “Jillian?”

  She brought her attention back to her aunt. “Yes?”

  “I don’t want you to feel that you must accompany me everywhere I go. I have friends and can entertain myself. As I told you before we left, it wasn’t even necessary for you to come.”

  Jillian looked at Aunt Pru, uncertain what the older lady meant by that remark. “I won’t be an embarrassment to you, Auntie, I promise. I’ll stay out of sight as much as possible.”

  Prudence’s face turned a mottled red. “Is that what you think?” she asked in an angry voice, “that I’m embarrassed to be seen with you? I’m an old woman. I could not care less what people may think.”