In the Garden of Disgrace

by Cynthia Wicklund

  “If you would allow me to oversee the operation. I only say that because I know how you hate for me to tell you what to do.”

  She ignored that remark. “I know how to drive, you know.”

  “Do you? Where did you receive your education?”

  “Aunt Pru has an old gig I occasionally drive into our little village.”

  The earl smiled. “That must have raised a few eyebrows.”

  “But of course.” Jillian returned his smile as she reached for the reins. “Shall we?”

  “By all means,” he said, chuckling.

  The next thirty minutes were spent with Jillian learning the basics of handling a phaeton. Unfortunately, driving a one-horse gig in no way compared to the finesse needed to manage the earl’s sporting vehicle. At the end of Adrian’s patient lesson, Jillian was almost breathless with laughter after countless mistakes, and she gratefully returned the reins to him.

  “I cannot remember when I’ve had so much fun,” she said.

  “And me.” He gave her a sly look. “And just imagine we are still in one piece.”

  She slapped at his wrist as she laughed again. “It only seemed as though we might hit that lamppost. Although,” she said, sobering, “I admit for a moment I came close to wondering what it would be like to be mangled in a carriage accident.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You needn’t sound sarcastic. I guarantee given time I would be quite proficient with the ribbons.”

  Adrian leaned over, nudging her affectionately with his shoulder. “I have no doubt, love, that you could do anything you wanted and do it well.”

  “Then you’ll let me try again?”

  “Oh, I insist.”

  Jillian felt a gratifying warmth spread through her chest, intensifying until she came near to tears. “Thank you, Adrian.”

  She was glad he had the good sense not to say anything more as he brought the phaeton around and headed for the townhouse. She had almost told the earl she loved him also,and only the realization that those words once spoken would irrevocably seal her future had kept her from revealing what was in her heart.

  Shyly, Jillian glanced at Adrian’s profile and her attraction to him sent a thrill of pleasure racing through her nervous system.

  “Yes?” he queried, apparently aware of her scrutiny although he kept his eyes on the road.

  Should she be honest?—she guessed she should. “I was thinking how handsome you are, my lord.”

  The grin of out and out delight with which he favored her made the discomfort of her confession worthwhile. She grinned back at him because she could not help herself.

  The streets were curiously free of traffic as they made their way home, the sun having lowered in the sky and the warmth of the day having diminished. Earlier Jillian had left the townhouse, nervous and ill at ease. But as she made the return journey she sensed a camaraderie with the man next to her, giving her reason to believe this thing could work.

  Until now it had not occurred to her that she might actually be friends with Adrian. She understood the sexual part of a union, and she did not discount the importance of the marital bed. But enjoying each other’s company beyond the passion, that was an aspect of the relationship she particularly liked.

  Her public appearance with the earl had been less painful than she had anticipated. Once she had endured the confrontation with the one group of individuals who had cut Adrian and her, she had simply ceased to care whether people acknowledged her or not. As she had tooled the phaeton through the streets, ignoring everyone but her companion, having quite possibly the most enjoyable time of her life, she had at last come to terms with her situation. Adrian accepted her, wanted her—in fact, loved her, he said—and suddenly that was all she needed.

  He walked her to the front door, his hand cupping her elbow, and Jillian could feel his thumb gently rubbing the dimple there. “Not much privacy out here,” the earl said, the expression in his blue eyes meaningful as they paused on the step.

  “Would you like to come in for a moment?” she asked softly.

  “Yes, I believe I would.”

  They entered the townhouse, walked past the footman, who eyed them with curiosity, and entered the parlor. Adrian closed the door and, reaching out to grab her hand, spun her around and pulled her into his arms.

  “Is your aunt home?” he asked.

  “She is usually at the Pump Room at this hour. Why?”

  “Because when I kiss you,” he said huskily, staring down at her, “I don’t want to feel like a school lad who has committed a misdeed. Your aunt is a clever little woman who is just about as intelligent as she pretends to be obtuse.”

  Jillian smiled her appreciation. “I love her, too.”

  Adrian brought his right hand to the side of her face, rubbing her cheek with the length of his thumb. “Did you mean what you said in the carriage?” he asked.

  “I said many things in the carriage, my lord.”

  His gaze sharpened. “You will marry me?” he clarified.

  “Yes, Adrian,” she said, unable to look away from him, snared by the insistence in his voice, “I will marry you.”

  The edges of his eyes crinkled with elation, and he took her mouth then in a long, searing kiss Jillian felt all the way to her toes. She put her arms around his neck and held on as though for her very life. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that was exactly the truth, for it was not a kiss of reigned-in passion—although it felt very passionate—but more a coming together, an acknowledgment of the bonding of their destinies. When he finally released her lips, Jillian placed her ear next to his chest to absorb the erratic beating of his heart.

  She said dreamily, “Your heart sounds like mine feels.”

  “Did you think you were the only one who was nervous?” he asked, his arms still enfolding her.

  “You were as well?”

  “Of course.” He sounded almost exasperated with her lack of understanding. “I’m navigating unchartered waters here, Jillian. I’ve never been in love before, never felt the weight of responsibility that comes with commitment. And frankly,” he said, a trace of humor shading his words, “you’re not the easiest woman to convince.”

  “No…no, I suppose not.”

  Adrian sighed. “I have to leave Bath for a few days.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven’t been to Wickham Hall since I’ve been back in England, and there are some things I need to see to before it is habitable. It’s a perfect place for a post-nuptial respite,” he said his eyes darkening, “just you and me—unless of course you would rather take a tour of the continent?”

  “And do what everyone else does? I think not. Wickham Hall sounds wonderful—just you and me.”

  His arms tightened around her and he gave her a quick, fierce kiss. “You’ll like living there, I promise.”

  “A-are you going to stay with me? All the time, I mean, not only in the beginning?”

  The earl dropped his hold on her. “Do you still not trust me, Jillian?” he demanded. “Have I not made my intentions clear? If you think I will allow you to be anywhere I am not then you had best think again. In fact, I give you fair warning, I’m going to be unpleasantly overbearing on this issue.”

  She nodded, appeased. “I will miss you, Adrian.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said, “for I will certainly miss you.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Perhaps a sennight. Less, I hope, no longer for certain. I will stop by Sutherfield and inform Simon.”

  Jillian saw him out and she stood on the threshold, watching him as he strode down the walk. Adrian climbed into the phaeton, his movements lithe, sinewy and sure. As he waved to her she could not imagine how she would endure the next week without seeing him, without talking to him—without kissing him.

  She sighed heavily and closed the door.

  *****

  Shortly past dawn the next day Adrian pulled the strap on his leather satchel an
d glanced around his rented room, wondering if he had forgotten anything. Hopefully when he returned from his trip, his tenure in these small quarters would be nearly at an end. He had thought to terminate his lease but decided that move was precipitous. Jillian had been known to change her mind, and he did not want to be caught unaware.

  Not that Adrian expected her to back out on him now. Unless he had misread the situation, the lady was ready to accept him. Certainly, she had said as much. And he believed her, for he had sensed her acquiescence, had felt her burgeoning desire. Knowing she wanted him caused a pounding in his chest and a gripping in his groin that proved equal parts ecstasy and torment.

  When she had said yesterday she thought him handsome, Adrian had been surprised by how much the pretty compliment had meant to him. Frankly, though, he had been surprised she had said it at all. He suspected her attraction to him was something to which she did not want to yield for that yielding could lead to love, and with love came a certain loss of control.

  And that brought Adrian to the one thing that bothered him, really bothered him. Though she’d had more than one opportunity, Jillian had not said she loved him. The most natural time for her to have said it would have been when he declared himself but she had held back. He found her reticence more than frustrating. It was a bit wounding. Bloody hell, he thought, be honest with yourself, old man—it was very wounding.

  In the world of the ton, affection was hardly a prerequisite to marriage. He ought to be glad, he supposed, that he and Jillian desired one another, but he knew it was not enough. He wanted her to say she loved him. He wanted to know she meant it.

  Adrian walked to the door of his room, clutching his satchel in one hand as he stepped into the corridor. He would return in a week and when he did, he would hear her declaration if he had to squeeze the words from her beautiful body. He knew she loved him, he just knew she did.

  *****

  CHAPTER 14

  Jillian was restless. She wondered how she had tolerated her last separation from Adrian, for after five days of his absence the waiting had begun to eat at her nerves. She supposed she missed the earl more this time because she had finally acknowledged her feelings, and in doing so she could now admit her need for him.

  She sat alone in the parlor—Auntie Pru was making late afternoon calls—trying to concentrate on a needlework project, but the intricate stitch had her baffled. Not a surprise, she thought in disgust, because she had never been much of a hand at stitchery anyway. Why she had picked up something that usually bored her to ease her boredom was a mystery even to herself. The door chime rang out and, though normally not a reason for excitement, the interruption offered the possibility of a rescue from her monotonous activity. Jillian tossed her needlework aside as male speech drifted from the entry.

  The footman appeared in the doorway.

  “Yes, Biggs?”

  “The Marquess of Edgeworth is here to see you, my lady.”

  Jillian frowned as she came to her feet. “Lord Edgeworth? What does he want?”

  “He did not say, my lady,” the servant said.

  “Well…oh heavens, I’ll see him, I suppose.”

  Moments later Lionel was shown into the room. “Jillian, good to see you.” He beamed at her, crossing the room to take her hand.

  He looked handsome as always, but the side of his face, including his nose, sported a purple-green bruise—even after many days—a physical reminder of his confrontation with Adrian.

  “Lionel, I am surprised to see you,” she said coolly, withdrawing her fingers from his. “What brings you here?”

  “I came to see you, of course.”

  “Of course,” she said dryly, continuing to eye him.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?”

  “I don’t think that is a good idea, my lord. You should not have come.”

  “Jillian, all I ask is a few minutes of your time. Is that too much to grant an old friend?” He reached out a hand to her in supplication.

  “Oh, all right,” she said, taking a seat on the settee and indicating the chair across from her, “but make your point as quickly as possible.”

  Instead of appearing offended by her attitude, he plunked down on the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and smiled at her—in a rather oily way, she thought.

  “You won’t regret it, I promise,” he said.

  “I’ll have to be the judge of that.” Jillian looked up and saw the footman hovering in the doorway. “Biggs? What is it?”

  “I’m supposed to leave now,” the servant said. “My sister’s wedding in London—remember, my lady?”

  “Yes, yes, I remember. Certainly you may go.”

  “You don’t need anything, my lady?” Biggs’ gaze shifted to Lord Edgeworth. “I can wait a little longer if you would like.”

  “No, you don’t want to miss your coach. Please, just tell Hannah you are leaving. And Biggs…?”

  The footman, in the act of turning away, looked to her again. “Yes, My lady?”

  “Enjoy yourself.”

  Biggs face broke into a grin. “Thank you, my lady.”

  As the servant retreated, Jillian brought her attention back to her guest. “Now, my lord, what can I do for you?”

  Lionel still watched the doorway where Biggs had stood but when Jillian spoke to him, he brought his gaze to her, a speculative gleam in his eye. “Yes…” he said slowly. “I wanted to apologize for the way I acted the other night.”

  “You mean the night when Lord Wickham pummeled your face?” She watched him cringe beneath her brutal words.

  “That would be the night,” he agreed.

  “I believe he hit you very hard, my lord, because I can still see the marks.”

  “Wickham has a certain brutishness about him that must be admired, I suppose. And to his credit he thought he was protecting your honor.” His expression turned spiteful. “Too bad he couldn’t manage to protect you eight years ago when it would have mattered.”

  Jillian came to her feet. “This is getting us nowhere, my lord. You wanted to apologize—I accept. You should leave now.”

  Lionel stood as well and moved toward her. “Jillian, please, I did not mean to offend. If you knew how much I’ve suffered, you would find it in your heart to forgive me. You cannot be as indifferent as you want me to believe.”

  “Lionel, it’s not indifference. We’ve changed, you and I. We have nothing in common anymore.”

  “I love you, Jillian.”

  That was the second man to proclaim such feelings for her in less than a sennight. Adrian had warmed her heart. Her only response to Lionel’s declaration was irritation.

  “I want you to go, my lord.” She moved toward the entry to see him from the house.

  “There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” he said in a hurried voice, following her across the room. “It’s Meredith.”

  “Meredith? What do you mean?”

  “She, uh…she wants to see you.”

  “She does? Then why didn’t she come herself?”

  The marquess placed his finger in his neckband as though his collar had become too tight. “She thought you might not receive her. She asked me to come in her stead.”

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense. Only last week—”

  Jillian paused because his gaze had turned watchful, and she feared revealing something Meredith had attempted to conceal. “Then tell her I would be happy to receive her.”

  “Now there’s the problem,” he said, looking even more uncomfortable, “she’s not feeling well and she hoped you would be kind enough to pay a call on her.”

  That sounded reasonable enough. For many women the first months of pregnancy were fraught with nausea and related discomforts.

  “Tomorrow. Tell her I will call tomorrow when she is feeling better. Give me your card with your direction.” Jillian moved toward the door, almost desperate now for him to leave.

  “She’s expecting you today. She’
s set out tea and everything. I beg you, Jillian, I promised her.”

  “Lionel—”

  “Please,” he said again. “You have no idea how the loss of your friendship has pained her. She’s not been herself in weeks. You say you’ve forgiven me, now please forgive her.”

  The way he put it made her feel less than charitable. She opened her mouth to refuse him but found herself accepting instead, albeit reluctantly.

  “All right, but I’m doing this for Meredith not you.”

  “Understood,” he said, pulling her toward the entrance. “Meredith will be so pleased you’ve consented to come.”

  He was talking fast as though still trying to convince her, fearing it seemed that she might change her mind at any moment. He picked up his hat and cane from the hall table and ushered Jillian onto the walk. A rented conveyance waited for them as they reached the curb.

  “This is a hackney, Lionel,” she stated when he released the door handle. “Where is your carriage?” Jillian asked only out of casual curiosity, but immediately she detected an altering in her companion’s demeanor.

  He turned on her a brooding look. “Sometimes I like to travel without being recognized. A crest emblazoned on the carriage hardly allows for anonymity.”

  “That is true but why would you want to go unrecognized?”

  “I have my reasons,” he said.

  His manner had transformed so swiftly and so completely, at once she felt nervous. Jillian wished she had followed her first inclination and stayed home. Only now did she think to wonder why Lionel, who was scarcely an admirable husband, would suddenly be concerned with his wife’s emotional state.

  “I’ve reconsidered, my lord. I believe it would be best if I call on Meredith tomorrow as I said originally.”

  Lionel grabbed her arm. She glanced down where he held her, his hand squeezing a little tighter than was necessary, then looked him in the face. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his upper lip, however, his expression appeared harmless enough.

  “You gave your word, Jillian,” he said, all but pushing her into the carriage. “Think of Meredith.” The marquess lumbered in behind her, closing the door, and the hack rolled immediately. Jillian was flabbergasted by his behavior although she suppressed her initial reaction to fight him. After all, why was she afraid? This was Lionel—weak, ineffectual Lionel. She chanced a peek at him but he did not return her look, instead staring out the window as if engrossed by the passing scenery. “In what part of Bath do you reside, my lord?” She spoke, not because she cared where he lived, but because the unrelenting quiet made her nerves vibrate.