In the Garden of Disgrace (26 page)

He loved Jillian and the thought unnerved
him, more because of her attitude than because of the condition
itself. If she would come to him in a like state of mind instead of
insisting on fighting him, then he was ready to submit to the
inevitable—and gladly. Unfortunately, it appeared she had no
intention of doing what was expedient. She means to make me suffer
for what I want, he thought in frustration. The one thing soothing
his irritation was the cocksure knowledge that in the end he would
win.

A knock at the door caused him to halt in
mid-stride.

“Yes?” he called.

Through the door he heard, “Lord Wickham,
it’s me Phillip Angsley.”

Adrian crossed the room and released the
latch, allowing Jillian’s cousin to enter. “Phillip,” he greeted,
thrusting out his hand, “come in. I hope you have some information
for me.”

“Some, my lord.” Phillip shook the earl’s
hand as he entered the small apartment.

“Good. May I pour you a brandy?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Adrian quickly filled a glass for each of
them and the men sat in two chairs, one on either side of the
fireplace.

Phillip took a sip of his drink. “Very good,
my lord,” He paused. “Uh…how did it go with my cousin?”

The earl took a sip as well, using the brief
respite to determine how best to couch his answer. He brought the
glass from his mouth, studying the potent liquid.

“You know Jillian better than I do. She’s
sensitive and distrusting. I cannot breathe without her questioning
my motives. First she castigated me for running you away. Then she
accused me of ‘stealing’ you.”

“Stealing me?”

“She has this ridiculous notion that I’m
deliberately turning everyone who cares about her against her.”

“That
is
ridiculous. Why do you think
she feels that way?” “I guess because everyone, including her Aunt
Prudence, agrees that she and I should marry. However, the more
everyone agrees the more she resists.” He took another swig of his
drink, breathing out the aromatic fumes through his mouth.

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.”

*****

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 anymore, 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.