In the Garden of Disgrace (23 page)

“Perhaps, but it was cowardly.”

Odd, that was Adrian’s assessment as well,
she thought, watching her companion from beneath her lashes.
Jillian wondered what the earl would think if he knew she sat here
talking with the man to whom she had once been engaged. Frankly,
she didn’t know how she felt about it herself.

“Jillian?”

She gave him a sharp glance, for the tone of
his voice had grown husky, and she detected something urgent in his
manner.

“Let me make it up to you.” His eyes glowed
intensely.

“How do you propose to do that?”

“Meet with me, some place quiet where we can
be alone.”

Jillian swallowed over a lump of
disappointment. “Perhaps I’m being sensitive, but don’t you think
your suggestion is a bit insulting?”

“Damn!” Lionel muttered. “I didn’t intend to
insult you. I…we were meant for one another, can’t you see that?
Though we’ve lost the chance to marry that doesn’t mean we can’t be
together on occasion—if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Yes, she
did, and it made her feel ill to her stomach. “A slip on the
shoulder, my lord? You’re no different than all the others.”

“The hell I’m not! I loved you once,
Jillian. Flay me if you will but I can’t help it. I want to be with
you.”

“I could not betray Meredith in that
way.”

His expression turned ugly. “I don’t know
why. After all, she betrayed you.”

“W-what are you implying?”

Lionel put his arms on the table and leaned
forward, his gaze boring into hers. “Have you never wondered how
your little trip to Dover came to public attention?”

“I don’t believe you,” she said in a
horrified whisper.

“Oh, believe it for it is the truth, I
swear.”

“Why would she do such a thing? Meredith was
my friend.”

His mouth twisted into a nasty line. “That
she’s never shared with me. But this I will tell you, after you
left London she pursued me shamelessly. Gave herself to me when I
was drunk and most despondent over you. I didn’t wed Meredith
because I wanted to—I wed her because I had no choice. You see,” he
said, his voice bitter with regret, “I did know how to play the
part of the gentleman. I simply chose the wrong woman to
protect.”

Jillian stared at him, the memory of
Meredith’s infatuation with Lionel coming back to her in a rush. At
the time she had thought it superficial, that her friend would get
over her feelings when Jillian’s marriage became a reality.
Apparently, that had not happened.

“Her dishonor does not justify my own,” she
said, her words reedy with despair over Meredith’s treachery.
Though Jillian had not seen her since the scandal, she could hardly
believe her dearest friend had done her such a disloyal turn.

“She does not deserve your allegiance,
Jillian. Be with me,” he pleaded. “Let us comfort one another.”

“Your comfort is tainted by self-indulgence.
My allegiance is not aimed at your wife but at my own
conscience.”

Oh why didn’t he just leave and let her
mourn the death of the last of her treasured memories? Not once in
eight long years had it occurred to her that Meredith had been at
the center of her downfall. Jillian’s heart ached so at the moment,
she wanted to place her head on the table and weep her grief. Again
pride kept her from giving into an embarrassing inclination that
would have left her feeling naked and exposed in a public
place.

“I think you should go, my lord. Your
revelations have not been welcome.” How proud she felt at the
evenness of her voice, the blandness of the expression she gave
him.

Lionel came to his feet but he delayed for a
moment as though unsure. Finally he blurted, “I’m not ready to
accept your answer, Jillian. Now after seeing you, I know my
feelings for you have not altered. Both of us have been relegated
to life without love. I think we should take what we can while we
can.”

“Do you really want me to come to you, most
probably for the malicious reason of wanting to spite your wife?
That is what it would be, you know.”

That appeared to jar him for a moment, but
then he put his hands on the table and leaned over her, eyes
narrowing as he caught her gaze and held it. “Can’t even
pretend
to care for me, Jillian? Well, I’m not proud—I will
take you whatever way you may choose to come to me. Just come, I
beg you.”

He swung around and strode across the
room.

Jillian wanted to vanish on the spot. Only a
fool would believe her conversation with Lionel had gone unnoticed,
her table hidden by palm leaves notwithstanding. Unable to lift her
head to face the stares she felt certain were turned in her
direction, she picked up her book, hands shaking uncontrollably.
But the words blurred on the page, and she realized to her dismay
that she was close to tears again.

“Jillian!”

Jillian glanced up through watery eyes to
witness her aunt’s arrival at the table, the old woman flustered
and breathless as though she had been running.

“Yes, Auntie?” she said quietly,
fatalistically.

“Was that the Marquess of Edgeworth?”

“Yes, I believe it was.”

Her aunt lowered herself into one of the
chairs. “Jillian, don’t be flippant. You must stay away from that
man, especially since he looked at you as though he wanted to eat
you.”

“He approached me, Aunt Pru. I was minding
my own business, reading my book.” When her aunt only watched her
in doubt, Jillian relented. “All right, I shouldn’t have allowed
him to join me but I was taken by surprise.” She hesitated. “He
really looked as though…?”

“Absolutely. It’s not good to inspire a
reaction of that sort in a married man for all to see, even if it’s
not your fault. People will comment, I can promise.”

Jillian merely nodded wearily. “I was right
from the beginning. I should stay out of sight.” Changing the
subject, she said, “Where are Lady Alice and Cordelia?”

“I left them in the baths, afraid to leave
you alone for long. It appears I was correct.”

Jillian felt too dejected to respond. She
needed to tell her aunt about Meredith’s perfidy, but to say it
aloud right now would be too painful, would bring emotions pouring
out that she was not yet ready to face. Somehow she had to get used
to the knowledge that her friend had not really been her friend at
all. And somehow she must resist the temptation to exact the
perfect revenge. To dally with Edgeworth would prove that in spite
of Meredith’s scheming Lionel had never really cared for his wife.
By his own admission he had wanted Jillian then and he wanted her
now.

*****

She should have realized if Lionel was in
Bath in all likelihood so was his wife. Ten days after her first
meeting with Meredith’s husband, Jillian came upon the lady at the
lending library in amongst the stacks of books.

The two women stopped, staring across the
short space that separated them, both at a loss for words. At
least, Jillian knew she was. For a brief instant she believed
Meredith actually intended to walk away without acknowledging
her.

“Jillian,” Meredith said at last, her green
eyes as cool as her voice, “I heard you were in Bath. Since I’ve
not seen you I had assumed you were keeping to yourself.”

“I’ve been out some. My Aunt Prudence—you
remember my aunt—I’m here with her. I’ve been to the Pump Room and
visited the Assembly Rooms once or twice, but I lead a quiet
life.”

What Jillian did not say was on those
occasions when she had ventured out, she had again been approached
by Lionel. He had advanced on her as though waiting to see her and,
in fact, he had admitted as much. She was beginning to feel hunted,
and even Auntie Pru had decided Jillian should eliminate the public
appearances for a while to stem the inevitable talk his attention
would bring.

Meredith watched her, attitude hostile, and
Jillian wondered how much the other woman knew. Once pretty,
Meredith had lost weight and her features were drawn, red hair
pulled back in an unflattering chignon. Jillian wanted to strike
out, to voice her outrage, but the only emotion she could muster
was pity.

She could think of nothing more to say. A
great chasm of misunderstanding yawned between them, one that
couldn’t be breached even if they both had wanted it. Jillian knew
she did not, not now, not with what she had learned. And she
doubted Meredith did either. Any woman willing to forsake her honor
for a man regardless of the cost had most probably not changed.
Lionel would always stand between them.

“Lovely seeing you, Merry.” She used the pet
name, and for the first time her old friend looked uneasy. “I wish
you well.”

Strangely, Jillian meant what she said. She
had heard the rumors surrounding Edgeworth, how he had gambled away
his own inheritance and was now slowly eroding his wife’s as well.
The young woman in front of her had a difficult future to confront,
and Jillian found herself unable to envy her.

Meredith nodded curtly. She turned away and
then, as if in afterthought, looked back, an odd expression—guilt
mixed with sorrow?—lining her face. “I’m sorry, Jillian, truly I
am. I-I never wanted to hurt you. If it makes you feel any better,
I have paid for my sins.” Grasping her skirt and lifting the hem,
she walked briskly down the book aisle and around the corner.

She knows I know something, Jillian thought.
Again she was moved to pity, and with it came relief. Hate is a
terrible burden, one with which she felt nearly incapable of
dealing. To feel compassion for Meredith meant she could not hate
her. Jillian drew in a calming breath, allowing the serenity of
forgiveness to flow over her wounded spirits. Tonight, for the
first time in many nights she would sleep better, much better.

*****

Adrian was only half-drunk. He sat in
White’s gentlemen’s club in London, alone, sipping on port, having
lost count of the number of glasses he had imbibed. This was when
he felt most at peace, when neither sober nor floored but
comfortably mellow. Then he could think about Jillian and not
suffer unduly. Without alcohol he was faced with the stark reality
of his situation. When brimming with drink he was too maudlin to
think at all.

He was surprised by how easily he had
readjusted to the world he had left behind. Rather than rejection
as he had feared, many of his old cronies had accepted him back
without question. It seemed his past had been relegated to
masculine pursuits where males were less hard on one another and
understood when a man had to make a difficult choice. It would be
more complicated when he tried to socialize in mixed company. But
Adrian was cynical enough to know that his title and bank balance
would be the only keys needed to unlock the homes of many of the
elite.

The earl could only be heartened that there
was no talk of arrests or trials related to Findley’s death.
Apparently, Findley had been universally disliked. Adrian’s
performance on the dueling field eight years before, rather than
bringing him censure, had over time taken on legendary proportions.
Young men he had never met approached him with awe. He was
discomfited by the attention because the crux of the matter for
Adrian had always been that he had killed a man.

He looked across the club, his gaze
connecting with a gentleman of perhaps twenty-six or seven years.
He knew the fair-haired man had been watching him for some time and
he sighed inwardly. Another misguided chap to whom he would have to
explain the difference between necessity and bravado.

In resignation he raised his glass and
motioned the fellow over to his table since clearly that was what
the young man had in mind. The watcher jumped eagerly from his
seat, threading through the patrons to the earl’s side.

“Lord Wickham?”

“Yes,” Adrian said without rising. “And you
are?”

“Phillip Angsley, my lord.”

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so but we have mutual
friends.”

“I believe nearly everyone in this club
could say the same thing. Why have you been watching me?”

Blood rushed to Mr. Angsley’s face. “Have I
been that obvious?” When Adrian merely raised his brows at him, he
continued. “Yes, well…I do have a reason for wanting to speak with
you, my lord. I am cousin to Simon Fitzgerald, Marquess of
Sutherfield.”

Adrian unbent immediately. “We do indeed
have mutual friends. Please, pull up a chair,” he said, thrusting
his hand at the young man.

“Thank you, my lord,” Phillip said, taking
the proffered seat. “I didn’t want to intrude on your peace. You
had the look of a man engaged in some serious drinking.”

“Perceptive,” Adrian drawled.

His companion smiled. “I have a message from
Simon.”

“Do you, now? Does he think I’ve been
neglecting my promise to him?”

“My lord?”

“Never mind. You’re right—I’m on my way to
being drunk. Perhaps you had better give me the message while I can
still comprehend what you are saying.”

Phillip smiled again. “I ‘spose I should
start at the beginning so you understand why Simon has chosen me to
help him. I witnessed the duel between you and Findley. “

“I see.”

“I was there that night with Jillian.”

The earl straightened in his chair. “So you
are that cousin Phillip. I assume because of your involvement in
her escapade, Simon feels he has the right to call on you when
needed.”

“Something like that although for the most
part there has been little I could do. However, there is a rumor
that has concerned me and I took it to Simon. I got back to London
last evening with instructions from him that I was to talk to you
and then journey to Bath.”

Adrian frowned. “You’ve lost me.”

Phillip leaned forward, expression earnest.
“A few days ago in this very club I heard several gentlemen
talking. Jilly is in Bath—I didn’t know it at the time—with Aunt
Pru. Lord Edgeworth is there as well—ah, I see by the look on your
face you know who he is. At any rate, Edgeworth is making a cake of
himself over Jillian, approaching her whenever she goes out. That
in itself is not so unusual. Many men have made cakes of themselves
over my cousin, but given the history she shares with Edgeworth,
well, you understand. Thing is, Edgeworth’s wife has accompanied
him, and everyone is scandalized by his behavior.”