In the Garden of Disgrace (7 page)

And this morning she was in a hurry.
Unfortunately, she had overslept and was getting a late start. She
had planned to rise before dawn and ride the five miles to the
small stream on Squire Lindley’s property. The good squire had
given her permission to visit anytime she wished, although he had
been shocked when she had told him she intended to fish the stream.
He, like everyone else, could not understand what “a gentle young
woman” found fascinating about a man’s sport.

That attitude irritated her, for she gained
what a man gained—the peace and the quiet of a solitary occupation
where she could think about whatever she wanted or decide not to
think at all. And though she felt a bit bloodthirsty admitting it,
she loved tussling with and landing a hooked fish, a minor victory
in a life that was otherwise mundane.

But now she was late and this she placed
firmly at the door of the Earl of Wickham. If he had not come
thundering into her life, disturbing her peace, she would never
have lain awake most of last night pestered by unwanted thoughts.
She could not believe Simon wanted her to marry that man.

Jillian felt betrayed that her brother had
put aside his anger over past events, treating the earl like a long
lost friend. She ground her teeth when she thought of how the two
men had laughed together the evening before as though there was
nothing between them but fond memories. Had Simon forgotten what
she had been through?

Not that she blamed Lord Wickham for her
plight, she told herself. She had done something foolish and had
been caught. If not for her own conduct, the situation in which she
had found herself could not have happened. To believe anything else
would be unfair, and she took pride in her ability to be fair.

Still, she could not like the earl. He was
too forward, and the way he looked at her through those icy blue
eyes made her stomach quiver, a condition she found disconcerting.
It didn’t help that Lord Wickham was the most attractive man she
had encountered since, well…since last she had encountered him. In
fact, if memory served, he was even more handsome than before with
no traces of the youthful demeanor she remembered to mar the virile
adult male. Jillian shuddered, not certain whether from distaste or
excitement.

If only she knew what the earl was thinking.
Had he really decided to court her? How could marrying him solve
her problem? Did he, along with her brother, really believe the
ton
would welcome her back after all these years as though
nothing had happened? Just like a man, she thought, to look for a
simple solution to a complicated matter.

Jillian rubbed her eyes and yawned. She
probably would not catch many fish today, for she was still
achingly tired. But she wanted to try. She opened the door to her
bedchamber and, as she stepped over the threshold, she nearly
bumped into her Aunt Prudence. The older woman looked
flustered.

“Aunt Pru, is something the matter?”

“Oh, Jillian, he’s here!”

“Who’s here?”

“Lord Wickham,” Aunt Prudence said
breathlessly and she began to wring her hands in agitation.

Jillian clamped her lips together and
stomped back into her room. “Why has he come?” she flung over her
shoulder.

“I just knew you were going to take that
attitude,” her aunt moaned, following closely behind her. “Please,
please, Jilly, don’t make a scene. I’m sure Lord Wickham has a
perfectly logical reason for being here.”

Turning around, Jillian gave the older woman
a piercing stare. “You don’t trust me to use good manners? I think
I know how to comport myself. I’ll simply see what he wants and
send him on his way.” She headed back into the hall.

“Not dressed like that!” her aunt
squeaked.

“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed? Are
you afraid Lord Wickham won’t be impressed by my appearance? That
is exactly how I want it. The quicker he is discouraged, the
quicker I can get on with my life. I have no intention of making
this any easier for him—or Simon for that matter.” She marched down
the corridor with her aunt’s incoherent sputtering ringing in her
ears.

Jillian descended the stairs and walked to
the parlor. “My lord,” she began then realized she spoke to the
empty air.

“In here, Lady Jillian.” She recognized the
voice of the earl coming from the morning room.

In a larger house Lord Wickham would not
have heard her come downstairs as he apparently had, nor would she
have heard him call to her. But Aunt Prudence’s home was small and
cozy with little privacy between the rooms on the bottom floor.

She wished she had not mistaken his
location. In the intervening moments from when she first entered
the parlor to when she realized she must now make an entrance in
the morning room, Jillian’s nerve wavered. To her annoyance her
heart began to pound erratically. Straightening her shoulders, she
briskly traversed the distance between the parlor and the morning
room before she had time to lose her courage altogether.

Lord Wickham had thrown wide the double
doors to the warm sunshine. He stood with his back to her, and
Jillian was struck by the size of the man. She had always thought
Simon tall, but the earl was taller, more powerfully built.

Again, she assumed he had heard her
approach, for he spoke without turning. “Come in, my lady. I was
just admiring this beautiful garden. Your gardener must have
special powers.”

“Thank you,” she said coolly.

He turned around. Did she imagine it or did
his eyes widen slightly as he took in her costume? If he was
disapproving he chose not to show it. He leaned his shoulder
casually against the door casing.

“You say that as if you are responsible for
those lovely flowers,” he said.

“I am.”

He lifted his brows. “Really? I am
impressed. You tend the lawns as well?”

Jillian had the sudden impression he was
making fun of her. “Of course, not. I tend the gardens around the
house. I have found over the years I enjoy working in the dirt. In
fact,” she said, deciding to be outrageous, “I like getting
dirty.”

The earl gave her a considering look that
said he believed her. “Well, then,” he murmured, his lips
twitching, “you didn’t much identify with my story last night about
not wanting to get dirt in my mouth.”

She felt her own mouth drop open. She
guessed she deserved that shot, for she had given him the
ammunition, but being aware of her folly did not make her feel any
less vexed.

“I said I like to work in the dirt, my lord.
I did not say I like to eat it.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said heartily. “Now
tell me have I interrupted something? You appear to be on your way
out.”

He had neatly changed the subject and she
looked at him suspiciously. “I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me why
you are here.”

“Isn’t that apparent? I’m calling on you. I
thought you understood.”

“Why, you arrogant…” She stopped herself and
drew in a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve not agreed to
anything, Lord Wickham. Simon has taken it upon himself to speak
for me, and I did not give him permission to do so.”

“He said you intended to make an effort. I
assumed you would honor your promise.”

He spoke so calmly, so rationally she found
herself grinding her teeth. “I want you to tell me what you think
an effort is and what it is you think I have promised my
brother.”

“That you will give me a chance to prove
myself, that you will allow me to call on you and,
ultimately
, see if we suit.”

“And what if I decide we don’t suit, what
then?”

“Don’t you think we should deal with that
circumstance when it becomes necessary?”

“You haven’t answered my question, my
lord.”

He gave her a crooked grin, one she found
nearly impossible to resist. Somehow she managed.

“I haven’t thought of that because I’m not
ready to admit there’s a chance I might be defeated. Can’t we agree
not to disagree for the moment? When all’s said and done there is
no way you can be forced to marry me.”

“Subtle pressure is sometimes more difficult
to resist than the overt variety,” she grumbled, remembering
Simon’s mention of Papa. “I cannot believe my brother welcomed you
into his home as though nothing were wrong.”

“He didn’t—not exactly.”

“Indeed?”

The earl ran a hand over his lip and, though
it was less bruised than yesterday, it still looked tender.
“Simon’s first reaction was to come out fighting. I had to convince
him, and rather quickly, I might add, that I believed as he did.
You’ve shouldered an unfair burden these many years, and I feel a
responsibility to better your situation.”

“What sanctimonious rot. Has it occurred to
either one of you that I might not want your help?” Jillian clumped
over to a Chippendale chair near the fireplace and sat down. She
had wondered where the earl had received that swollen lip, and she
felt a perverse satisfaction knowing her brother had defended her.
“Let’s not mince words, my lord. What makes you think marriage to a
ne’er do well
will in any way enhance my future?”

For several moments Lord Wickham stared at
her without commenting. Then he slowly stood away from the
doorframe and came across the room to tower over her. She stared
back at him, nervous yet mesmerized by his insistent gaze. The
pupils of his eyes dilated, nearly obliterating the icy blue.

“Has it occurred to you, my lady,” his voice
dipped suggestively, “that you have underestimated the pleasures a
marriage can bring? There is more than a respectable household at
stake, and you are no longer a girl. I cannot believe all the
advantages of a union have escaped your notice.”

Jillian was so appalled by the sudden
insinuating turn the conversation had taken, she found herself
unable to reply. She licked her lips, and his gaze dropped to her
mouth where it lingered before he raised heavy-lidded eyes back to
hers. Lord, he was sure of himself.

“You have not addressed the issue of your
reputation, my lord,” she said, mortified that the words came out
in a shaky whisper.

“And you have not addressed the issue I
raised. If you insist on discussing your concerns then I insist on
discussing mine.”

She vigorously shook her head, all the while
blinking her eyes, looking, she felt certain, like an idiot.

“Well then, I suppose these are some of the
matters with which we’ll have to come to terms at a later date. I
am a patient man. Eight years of exile have taught me how to
wait.”

Jillian came to her feet because she could
no longer tolerate the advantage he had as he stood over her. She
backed away from him, hoping to create some distance not only from
his person but from the power of his personality.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “I know
you couldn’t possibly want to marry me.”

“I made a promise and, hearsay to the
contrary, I am a man of my word.”

“I do not want to marry a man who needs his
arm twisted on the way to the altar. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t know you, Jillian. You must give me
time.”

Lord Wickham’s attitude was completely
serious now, and that more than anything unnerved her.

“I have to return upstairs,” she said,
moving through the door and into the corridor.

“I thought you were on your way out,” he
said, following her.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Why? Is it because of me?”

“Yes…I mean, no. Oh, please, just
leave.”

They had reached the main hall, and Jillian
had to resist the urge to open the door and forcibly push him
through the entrance.

“I’ll leave if you’ll tell me where you were
headed before I arrived.” The earl stationed himself in the middle
of the tiled entry, clearly ready to hold his ground until she
complied.

“Do you think it is any of your business?”
she asked in a waspish voice.

“None whatsoever.”

“All right, all right” she said. The man was
impossible to argue with. “I was going fishing. Are you satisfied
now?”

She wondered if he felt as surprised as he
looked.

“Fishing?” he asked. “Were you really? Seems
to me I remember Simon enjoying fishing that summer I stayed at
Sutherfield. Must run in the family. I happen to enjoy it myself.”
For a moment neither of them spoke, but by the expression on the
earl’s face she knew he was doing another kind of fishing—fishing
for an invite.

“I like to fish alone, my lord,” she said
hurriedly.

“You ought to try it with a companion. I
wager you’ll like it even more.”

“But I go early, very early, much too
early.”

He grinned. “I’ll be here.”

“If you do I’ll stay home.”

Though the grin did not slip, it eased
somewhat as his eyes narrowed. “I’ve detected many things about
you, Lady Jillian, but cowardice was not one of them. Should I
change my assessment?”

“Damn you!”

“Ah, a witch’s tongue—a profane one at
that.”

Her own eyes narrowed at that point. Jillian
turned away from him and moved toward the stairs. Since he seemed
intent on remaining in her entry then she would be the one to
leave. “Have it your own way,” she snapped over her shoulder. As
she reached the bottom step of the staircase, she looked back at
him. “I’ll tell you one thing, though, if you insist on coming you
risk being tossed in the lake at the end of my hook.”

Lord Wickham merely raised his brows in
question.

“That’s what you are best at, my
lord—baiting one. You should be put to good use and bait the fish
instead.”

“Tomorrow then?” he asked cordially.

She gave him her back without answering and
his laughter followed her up the stairs.

*****

The earl was in a good mood as he retrieved
his horse from the small stable at the rear of Prudence Milford’s
home and began his trip to Sutherfield. All things considered he
felt his first official visit as Lady Jillian’s future betrothed
had gone reasonably well. Not great but that was to be expected
when the bride-to-be had made it clear she had no intention of
taking part in the nuptials.