Phillip laughed. “Jillian was pig-headed even as a child. Of course, it has only been in recent years that she has been so blatant about it.” And then, “Want to hear about Edgeworth?”
“Absolutely.”
“Not much more to know about him than you’ve already heard. Edgeworth and his wife come to Bath every year in July. He’s run through his fortune. His wife supports them now. That is how she controls him so goes the talk. He keeps separate bachelor-style residences in both London and Bath, supposedly for solitude, although it is widely known that he entertains females at these places. Lady Edgeworth apparently pretends ignorance. This has gone on since almost the beginning of his marriage, yet he has not been known to fix his attention on any one woman—until now.”
“Jillian?”
“Yes.”
Adrian felt like grinding his teeth. “The gossip is accurate then?”
Phillip shrugged. “As much as gossip can be. It seems in recent days Jillian has not been seen, and that has raised speculation, also. I must tell you, the ton is like a wolf with a sheep’s liver still warm from the kill. Give them an opening and they will show no mercy.”
“Damn! If she goes into public he approaches her which implicates her by association. If she stays in, people assume there is something clandestine going on. I begin to appreciate her dilemma.”
“What do you think we should do?” Phillip asked.
Adrian tossed off the remainder of his brandy before giving his companion a steely-eyed look. “We are going to have to watch the situation closely, my friend. When Jillian goes out one of us must be nearby to offer protection. Since you are related to her you will be in a better position to know her plans, but you can keep me informed. Agreed?”
Phillip nodded gravely. “Agreed.”
*****
CHAPTER 12
The Lower Assembly Rooms were crowded tonight. Jillian sent her gaze over the crowd as always avoiding eye contact with anyone. She knew she had been recognized because she could feel the heightened tension when she walked into the place. She had hoped it was only her imagination, until Aunt Prudence patted her hand, confirming her misgivings.
“Don’t worry, dear,” the old woman said. “In a few minutes everyone will have something else to talk about. Just hold your head up and pretend you haven’t noticed a thing. Oh look,” Pru continued, “Alice and Cordelia are here. That will make you more comfortable, Jillian. There are people to talk to us who won’t be judgmental.”
“Yes, thank goodness for your friends,” Jillian said. “Are you certain they’ve not changed their minds with recent events?”
Aunt Prudence took her arm. “Steadfast, love, that’s what they are. You needn’t worry.”
Jillian believed her. However, she detected an undercurrent of doubt in the ladies that had not been there before. What had she expected? Even the most charitable person knew a kernel of truth existed in an outlandish rumor. And given Jillian’s past, the rumors surrounding her seemed plausible.
“We’ve not seen you recently, Lady Jillian,” Cordelia ventured in a cautious voice.
Jillian’s first inclination was to cut off this line of inquiry immediately, but she realized Miss Barnstable was making small talk, that nothing insinuating had been intended. Still, Lady Alice looked as if she were discomfited with the drift in the conversation, for her withered cheeks turned a dull red.
“Cordelia, perhaps…” Lady Alice murmured.
“Please, don’t feel uncomfortable on my part,” Jillian said, electing to bring the subject into the open. She glanced at Prudence to see if her aunt agreed with her and, when the old lady nodded, she proceeded. “I’ve been the victim of some unfounded gossip. It seemed best if I stayed out of society for a while. But I felt to hide would give credence to the talk, therefore I’ve decided to venture out. I very much appreciate how supportive you ladies have been.”
Miss Barnstable and Lady Alice preened under the heartfelt thank you.
“Don’t you worry, dear,” Cordelia said as she laid plump fingers on Jillian’s arm, “we are here for you.” She sent her attention to Prudence. “How about a game of whist? We have a foursome.”
And so the women chose a table in the card room and commenced to play a lively—and surprisingly competitive—game of whist with Prudence partnering Lady Alice. Jillian, absorbed in the contest, jumped when a hand lightly touched her on the shoulder. She glanced at the newcomer.
“Phillip, what are you doing here?” she asked, pleased.
Her cousin smiled ingratiatingly. “Looking for you.”
“You are?”
“Stopped by your house to visit and, when I found you had gone out, I decided to run you to ground. How about a dance?”
Jillian turned to her table partners. “Lady Alice, Miss Barnstable, I would like to introduce you to my cousin Phillip Angsley.”
The ladies nodded a greeting as her cousin bowed in turn, and Prudence said, “Go with Phillip, dear. We’ll find someone to take your place.”
Jillian could hear the music of the orchestra drifting from the ballroom, and she looked at her aunt hopefully. It had been a long time since she had danced.
“Are you certain, Auntie?”
“Yes, yes, run along, enjoy yourself.”
Jillian and Phillip entered the ballroom and joined three other couples forming a set for the next dance, a cotillion. Even before the music started Jillian could feel the hostility, the outright disapproval, emanating from the other dancers as if she were unthinkably brazen for pushing her soiled person on the innocent. The expression on Phillip’s face indicated he felt it also. She knew he was upset by the rude treatment, for he winked at her, smiling his encouragement.
Never had she felt her estrangement from society more forcefully than she did at that moment, and that made her grieve for what she had lost and could never have back. How she made it through the steps of the dance without dissolving into tears, she would never know, but she decided a willful pride did have its place. She finished the cotillion, head held high as her aunt had bade her, not once—she hoped—revealing her suffering.
As the last notes of the music died away Jillian grabbed her cousin, her nails digging into his arm.
“Ouch!” Phillip complained under his breath.
“I need some air,” she said tightly.
He looked closely at her, his eyes widening in sudden understanding and, speaking not another word, took her elbow. He guided her through the couples on the dance floor to the ballroom’s rear doors which were thrown open on a terrace that led to a large garden. Outside several benches dotted the tree-lined walks, and they chose one not far from the terrace.
“I’m sorry, Jilly,” her cousin said. “I—”
“It’s not your fault, Phillip. I should have known.” To her horror she began to cry.
“Aw, Jilly, please don’t.” Phillip began to search his pockets anxiously, for a handkerchief no doubt. When he found one, he said, “Aha! I knew it. Here.”
Jillian took the hanky and dabbed at her nose and eyes. “Thing is, those people who danced in our set know of me, but they don’t know me. They’ve decided I’m not worthy just from hearsay. How am I to fight that?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is no help,” she said, trying to smile.
“Sorry—”
Jillian pushed him. “Stop apologizing, will you? I said it’s not your fault. In fact, I’m glad you are here to hold my hand. If it weren’t for you and Aunt Pru…” Again her voice trembled. “Oh, botheration, I hate feeling sorry for myself.”
“Would you like me to get you something to drink?”
She nodded, recognizing his need to escape an emotional female. “That would be nice, Phillip. Perhaps by the time you return I will have pulled myself together.”
He jumped to his feet. Jillian, feeling indescribably morose, watched him trot up the walk and enter the Assembly Rooms. I can’t risk this painful rejection anym
ore, she told herself. Better to become a hermit than spend evenings like this one, praying for acceptance and garnering only contempt.
She glanced over her shoulder, noting that several couples strolled through the gardens under a clear, starlit sky. Such a lovely evening, she thought wistfully.
At that moment someone joined her on the bench.
“That was quick, Phillip,” she said, turning. Instead, she found herself staring into the mournful gray eyes of the Marquess of Edgeworth.
“Hello, Jillian,” he said.
“Lionel, what are you doing here?” she asked, surprise mixed with irritation.
“I had to see you,” he said, the words slurring.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“Not so very much, I don’t think. I can still stand.”
“That’s how you determine if you’ve over imbibed?—whether you are falling down or not?”
“Can you think of a better way?”
Lionel gave her a sloppy grin, his gaze bloodshot as he leered at her, and for the first time Jillian noticed the lines of dissipation around his eyes, the slightly puffy look of his face. Once a very handsome man, the Marquess of Edgeworth’s appearance had begun to deteriorate with his unhealthy habits.
“I’ve asked you not to approach me anymore, my lord.”
“You can’t mean it, Jillian,” he said. “After all these years I’ve found you again. I’m not about to give up so easily.”
Jillian jerked her head impatiently. “You don’t have a choice.” She paused, hoping to reach that part of him that was still sober. “Lionel, do you realize how people are talking?”
“Let them say what they will,” he said in an offhand voice. “The talk can’t touch us.”
“The devil you say!”
That did seem to bring him around. “Are you angry?” he asked her. “You sound angry.”
She tried another tack. “Is Meredith here tonight?”
His shoulders slumped, manner all at once sullen—like a child, she thought disparagingly. What had she ever seen in him? “Yes, but we didn’t come together,” Lionel said as if somehow that made a difference.
Now thoroughly exasperated, Jillian stood from the bench. “I’m going inside, my lord. There is no use in trying to reason with you tonight. You are completely befuddled and talking to you is befuddling me.”
Lionel staggered to his feet and took hold of her arm, clinging with clammy fingers. “Please, my love, listen to me. I have to see you alone.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I cannot imagine what you must think of me to make such a suggestion.”
“I love you, that’s what I think of you. Have you no heart? Can’t you see the pain I am in?”
“Release me, Lionel,” she said, pulling away from him.
“I believe the lady has asked you to release her,” came a masculine voice out of the darkness.
Jillian spun around even as Lionel continued to hold onto her. “Adrian!” she said.
The earl, stepping from the shadows, spared her only a glance, saving his glinty-eyed stare for the marquess.
“Let her go, Edgeworth.”
“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” Lionel barked drunkenly. “You have no rights here.”
“You have your hand on the woman I am going to marry. That gives me all the rights I need,” the earl said.
Jillian gasped her outrage and that brought Adrian’s attention back to her.
“Go inside, Jillian,” the earl ordered her then again looked at Lord Edgeworth, who also appeared taken aback by the bald statement.
“I will not—” she began.
“Go inside!”
The words were a low growl, and common sense told her now was not the time to defy the earl. Even knowing that Jillian had to grapple with rebellion, especially since it was Adrian issuing the command. She sent a stony gaze to both men, conveying her disdain, and marched back to the building.
Convinced the evening could not possibly deteriorate any further, fate stepped in to prove how wrong she could be. As she entered the ballroom Jillian came face to face with the Marchioness of Edgeworth.
Jillian was immediately angry with herself, for her cheeks warmed guiltily. It wasn’t she but those two foolish men outside who had started all the trouble. Self-righteous, Jillian at that instant overflowed with resentment.
“Meredith,” she said, since she could think of no way of walking past the woman without being unpardonably rude.
Meredith had pressed her lips into an uncompromising line. “You dare speak to me?” she hissed, her green eyes sparking with jealousy.
Jillian, now feeling thoroughly maligned, spat back, “I shouldn’t, you know, being as you are a traitor.”
Meredith went white as wax. “You can think what you will,” she said after a moment, her chin trembling, “but it doesn’t change the fact that Lionel is my husband, has been for a long time. I want you to stay away from him.”
Rather than answer Jillian turned away from her one-time friend and continued her progress across the ballroom, ignoring the stares of the curious. She met Phillip in the vestibule.
“Where have you been, Phillip?” Her voice was shriller than she meant it to be. At his look of apprehension, she said, “I’m sorry. This has been the most trying evening imaginable. But why didn’t you return with the drink as you promised?”
Phillip took her arm and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Wickham saw Edgeworth approach you in the garden. Said he wanted to handle the situation. Asked me to stay inside.”
“Damnation!”
“Jilly! I’ve never heard you swear before.”
Jillian narrowed her eyes at him. “If you continue to do everything Lord Wickham tells you to, I can promise you will hear it more often.”
He looked offended. “That’s not fair.”
“Really? I could lecture you on fair right now, however, I don’t have the patience. Is Aunt Pru still in the card room?” When he nodded, she said, “She’s most likely not ready to go home yet but I am. Will you take me?”
“Well…ah, yes, just as soon as I’ve spoken to the earl.”
“What, Phillip, does Lord Wickham have to do with you taking me home?” Jillian queried ominously.
“He said he wanted to take you home. Now Jilly,” he began in a rush, for she felt ready to spit and she knew for certain she looked it, “he just wants to take care of you.”
“Are you telling me that rather than do as I request, you will defer to the earl?”
“Are you asking me to make a choice?”
“Yes. Yes, I think I am.”
Phillip regarded her sadly. “Then I choose you, of course. I’d rather you did not put me in such an uncomfortable position, though. I know you don’t understand, but I respect Lord Wickham and I like him.”
He looked so miserable, Jillian took pity on him. Phillip, she realized, felt he had made a friend in Adrian and, though she did not completely comprehend the bonding between males, she knew it existed. If she forced Phillip to go against the earl’s wishes her cousin would be humiliated for having broken one of the unwritten rules of masculine cooperation. She nodded, satisfied with knowing that when push came to shove she was the one who had her cousin’s loyalty.
“All right, Phillip, we’ll wait.”
*****
Adrian watched Jillian enter the ballroom before he turned his attention back to the inebriated man at his side. He made no effort to hide the disgust he felt.
“I want you to stay away from her, Edgeworth,” he said without preamble.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll wipe that goddamn sneer from your ugly phiz. Don’t push me on this. You had your chance at Jillian and passed years ago. Let her be.”
The marquess was apparently too intoxicated to be wise, for he reached out, waving his hand, barely grazing the earl’s chest with the tips of insolent fingers.
“Seems to me, Wickham, t
hat I have only your word that you are engaged to Jillian. In fact, she looked appalled by your announcement.”
Adrian found himself dealing with a rage that was truly frightening, only the lack of privacy keeping him from lunging at the man’s throat. He curled his hands into tense fists as he fought to control himself.
“Be that as it may, Edgeworth, she and I will marry.”
“We’ll have to see about that.”
“All right, you bloody fool, but don’t say you haven’t been warned.”
“What are you going to do, Wickham, challenge me to a duel?”
Spoken in a sly and goading manner, the words were a challenge and the earl gave in to his fury. He drew back a knotted fist and punched the marquess squarely in the nose. Edgeworth, surprised by the attack, crumpled to the ground like a sack of wet grain.
As Adrian swung on his heel and headed indoors, he had no hope the incident had gone unnoticed. Nor did he believe Jillian would escape inclusion in the tattle that would surely follow. He should have refrained from becoming physical, he knew, because he had brought his conflict with Edgeworth into the open. But when his fist had come in contact with Edgeworth’s face, the only emotion that had consumed him was a savage enjoyment.
As he had feared a murmur of voices greeted him as he entered the ballroom, the gossip apparently preceding him by mere seconds. Adrian ignored the faces turned in his direction, instead searching for the one person for whom he cared. He found her in the vestibule, and she watched his approach with a strained expression full of accusation. Phillip stood next to her looking ill at ease.
When he reached her side he linked arms with Jillian, and he felt the resistance in her although she did not overtly pull away from him.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a tense voice.
“We’re going outside to wait for my carriage.”
In the Garden of Disgrace Page 20