In the Garden of Disgrace (24 page)

“This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Adrian
then asked the question that concerned him most. “Is Jillian
encouraging him?”

“I don’t know. If she is it would be out of
character. But the gossipmongers are more interested in titillating
talk than actual truth. By the time hearsay makes the trip from one
city to the next, who knows what is and what is not?”

“Exactly what is being said?”

Outwardly calm, the earl felt a fire surge
in his gut that had little to do with the spirits he had consumed.
He nailed Phillip with a piercing gaze, and the young man cleared
his throat as if beginning to feel nervous. Obviously, Adrian’s
calm exterior displayed a few cracks.

“They are making bets, my lord, in the
betting book. That’s what I witnessed the other night.”

“Here? At White’s?” When his companion
nodded, the earl rapped out, “What is the wager?”

All at once Angsley looked liked a condemned
man facing the hangman. He coughed into his hand then rubbed that
palm against the leg of his breeches, stalling for time.

Finally, he said, “Odds are being laid on
when Edgeworth’s former love will become his current lover.”

“Bloody hell!” Adrian clamped his teeth
together with such force he thought his jaw might snap. “I take
it,” he rasped, “that Edgeworth is known for his infidelities.”

“And his gambling,” Phillip agreed. “He’s
lost a fortune. They say he’d be in dun territory if not for his
wife.”

The earl allowed his gaze to drift to where
the betting book was displayed prominently in the club. Several
gentlemen surrounded the table on which it lay, conversing and
laughing. One fulsome fellow’s words carried across the room. “I’d
be willing to wager we are too late,” he said in a drunken voice.
“Knowing the lady, I suspect the deed is already done.”

At that moment Adrian was seized by a fury
that brought him to his feet before he knew he had done it. He was
surprised to find himself standing, fists clenched at his side. He
had no idea what had happened in Bath or for that matter what was
happening now, but he knew Jillian did not deserve to be disparaged
in such a cavalier fashion.

“Be careful, my lord. Outright anger could
do more harm than good,” Phillip said.

The earl stared at Angsley, who remained
seated, trying to clear the haze of wrath clouding his vision so he
could bring the young man’s face into focus. For the first time in
a very long time he remembered how one might become embroiled in a
duel. Nodding curtly, Adrian strolled through the club and joined
the group of men who still lingered around the book. He glanced
down on the open pages, scanning the entries until he found what he
was seeking. Then he turned to the loudmouthed individual.

“You know Lady Jillian Fitzgerald?”

The group of gentlemen fell away, leaving
the earl to confront his victim. Adrian knew his reputation as a
duelist preceded him, not to mention his part in Jillian’s
disgrace, and he could feel the crackle of anticipation that filled
the room even as the noise subsided to a deathly silence.

“Do you?” he asked again, his voice
deceptively soft.

The man’s face looked like bleached linen,
stark against his black hair. “D-did I say I knew her? That’s not
p-precisely what I meant.”

For several moments Adrian stared at him,
unwavering, as the poor fellow appeared to shrink inwardly.

“I’m glad to hear it,” the earl said at
last. “I suggest you remember your facts the next time you are
moved to boast.”

Turning to the table and the betting book,
arrogantly dismissing, Adrian sensed the collective sigh of
relief—perhaps disappointment?—of those in the club. He reached for
the quill next to the book, dipping it into the inkwell, and with
great deliberation scrawled on the page. He straightened, dropped
the pen and headed for the entrance to the murmur of excited
voices.

Phillip met him at the door. “My lord, what
did you wager?”

The earl stepped into the night air, air
free of the stench of innuendo, moving aside so Angsley could
follow him.

“Nothing really,” Adrian said, a determined
smile playing about his mouth. “I merely wagered ten thousand
pounds on my pledge that before year’s end Lady Jillian Fitzgerald
will be the new Countess of Wickham.”

*****

“Phillip!” Jillian raced down the stairs and
into the entry of the Bath townhouse and flung herself into her
cousin’s arms. “What are you doing here?”

Phillip Angsley returned the hug then pulled
back, scanning her features. “I say, Jilly, you look well. Do I
have to have a reason for paying a visit to my favorite
cousin?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I rather think
you do, dear.” Linking arms with him, she led him into the parlor.
“Out with it now and I’ll accept no fibbing.”

He flopped in the chair—a fragile
Chippendale with creaky joints—nearest him. “How about a glass of
wine?”

“Why, Phillip, it’s not even the noon hour
yet. Don’t tell me you have fallen into dissipated ways.”

“Not usually, but if it’s going to be an
inquisition I think I need to be fortified.”

Jillian paused, aware that beneath his
bantering tone her cousin appeared nervous.

“Simon sent you, didn’t he?” she asked,
feeling deflated.

“Now, Jilly, you needn’t sound as though
that’s such a bad thing. It’s his responsibility to see to your
well-being.”

“Did he send you here to spy on me?”

He looked uncomfortable. “He never said
anything about spying. He, ah…Jilly, tell me about Edgeworth.”

“Lord Edgeworth? What are you implying?” At
once her pulse leapt nervously. “What have you heard?”

“That Edgeworth is interested in you
again.”

“Where did you hear such a thing?”

Phillip watched her from behind drooping
eyelids, attitude hesitant. “In London at White’s.”

Jillian brought a white-knuckled fist to her
throat as the import of his words drained the energy from her
limbs. “Am I implicated?” she asked in a shaken whisper.

“Sit down, Jilly. I wasn’t going to tell you
the whole but you make it impossible to lie.”

“Just tell me what you have heard, please.
I’ve been through this before and I—”

Jillian felt her legs give way and Phillip
jumped from his chair, leading her to the settee. He saw her seated
then joined her, all the while holding her chilly hand.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “I didn’t
want to hurt you. You’ve been through so much. Really, all Simon
wanted me to do was come and provide protection, shield you from
the gossip. My presence might even help mitigate it somewhat.”

She glanced at him, stricken. “Does he think
I’ve done something I shouldn’t? I swear, Phillip, I’ve done
nothing for which I need be ashamed.”

Her cousin sighed. “I know and I’m sure
Simon does also. What he does believe is that the past has come
back to haunt you. A heartsick swain does not mean you have done
anything wrong, but with your history and the swain being who he
is…”

“This is not fair, not fair at all. I am
innocent this time.” She pursed her lips angrily. “The rumors have
really reached London?” When he nodded, she insisted again, “Tell
me exactly what has been said.”

He hung his head in resignation. “If you are
not already Edgeworth’s lover you are soon to be.”

Though she already had guessed what he had
to say, hearing the words sent a wave of distress through her
chest. “Society must think very poorly of me. He’s a married man,
Phillip, and his wife was once my dearest friend.”

“You know that doesn’t mean much to some
people. And Meredith did wed him after he broke his engagement to
you. There has been speculation over that situation from the
beginning.”

“I suppose.”

Phillip squeezed her hand gently. “Weren’t
you aware people were beginning to talk?”

“I guess so because Aunt Pru was worried.
She said I should refrain from going out until—” She sighed. “I
don’t know…until things are better. I haven’t been anywhere or seen
anyone for days.”

“It isn’t fair, you are right. Has it been
difficult, being in society, I mean?”

“I haven’t given people the chance to snub
me. Stayed to myself mostly or hovered in Aunt Pru’s shadow. No one
wants to hurt her by hurting me. Since the Season only ended in
London last week, most of the ton have been there instead of here
so I’ve been spared the worst of it. I suppose that will change
now.” Jillian sighed again. “I’m so bored. I’ve read until my eyes
ache. I wish I could go home and do the things I enjoy.”

“Self-pity is not you, Jilly,” Phillip said.
“Where’s the stubborn woman who fights back? Where’s the
indignation she conjures when she feels misunderstood? I miss her.
And you’ll forgive me if I say so but I think I like her
better.”

She looked at him in apology. “I grow weary
of the battle.”

“What’s brought this on? You already sound
defeated.”

“I know,” she mumbled. “I’ve become
introspective of late, I guess. I’m restless as though there must
be something more to life than what I’m currently experiencing. And
you are right, maudlin thoughts can lead to self-pity because I do
feel awfully sorry for myself right now. I hardly need anyone
else’s sympathy when I’m giving myself an extra helping.”

The chime rang at that instant and Phillip
was saved from having to respond. His relief was so transparent
that Jillian had to stifle a gurgle of laughter.

She moved to the entrance of the parlor to
look into the front hall rather than waiting for a servant to
announce the visitor. A footman had opened the door, but from her
vantage point Jillian was unable to observe who stood on the step.
A deep voice, painfully familiar, drifted into the entry, and alarm
mixed with excitement skittered through her system.

“One moment, my lord,” she heard the footman
say as the servant ushered the Earl of Wickham inside. “My mistress
is presently entertaining but perhaps she will receive you.”

Jillian panicked. The one person she wanted
most to see and yet dreaded most to see—how was she to resolve
those two contradictory feelings? She turned from the doorway to
her cousin, hoping for some insight.

“Phillip, it’s the Earl of Wickham. What am
I to do?”

Much to her surprise Phillip’s face broke
into a broad grin. “Lord Wickham? By Jove, invite him in. He’s a
right one, Jilly. I like him.”

“Since when do you know the earl?” she asked
in a irritated whisper, then hurriedly turned back to the door
because the footman had entered the parlor. “Yes?”

“The Earl of Wickham has come to call, my
lady.”

“I-I’m busy,” she began. “Tell him to come
back. I—”

From behind the footman a mellow voice
tinged with amusement interrupted her. “My, my, Lady Jillian, you
don’t intend to turn me away, do you? I’ve come quite a distance to
pay you a call.”

For a very long, very uncomfortable moment
no one spoke. Jillian would have broken the quiet but Adrian had
snared her with a relentless stare, giving the lie to the humor in
his words. She swallowed, self-consciously aware that not only
Phillip but the footman were privy to the silent communication. A
fool might mistake the violent undercurrents. However, Jillian
detected no fools in the room.

“Come in, my lord,” she said stonily.

Adrian brushed past the footman as the
servant retreated, the earl’s gaze lingering meaningfully on
Phillip.

Phillip gulped. “Tell you what,” he said,
rising hastily from the settee, “it’s time for me to leave. Jilly,
it’s been nice to see you. I’ll return tomorrow.” He bowed in
Adrian’s direction. “Good to see you also, my lord.”

Without further delay Phillip exited the
parlor. Silence reigned until the footman closed the door after her
cousin. Then she turned on the earl, relieved for the moment that
she felt more anger than fear.

“Why did you do that?” she spat.

“Why did I do what?” the earl asked
casually.

“You know what I’m talking about. Why did
you send my cousin away?”

“Perhaps you heard something I did not. I
don’t recall saying a word to Mr. Angsley.”

“You looked at him. The way you…he knew you
wanted him to leave.”

Adrian sat on the settee without bothering
to ask her permission. “I’ll not deny I wanted him to leave. I
wanted to talk with you and he was perceptive enough to understand
that.”

Jillian continued to stand in the middle of
the room, hands in tight fists at her side. “You’ve stolen another
one if my relatives.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me. When did you become friends
with Phillip?”

“Why do you assume we are friends?”

“He just told me he likes you. A right one,
he called you. Are you going to tell me he made that determination
based upon your reputation? If that were true I think he would have
called you a scoundrel.”

He smiled, seemingly unperturbed. “A right
one?—did he now? I like him as well.”

“You haven’t addressed my question.”

“If you’ll sit down and talk to me without
spitting fire, I’ll try to answer as best I can.”

Jillian took the creaky seat Phillip had
recently vacated, sitting primly, hands clasped in her lap. She
didn’t speak but merely looked at him, impatient.

“I’m disappointed, Jillian,” he said softly.
“I was hoping you had missed me.”

“How do you know Phillip, my lord?” she
asked, refusing to be diverted.

“I missed you.”

She was appalled by how sweet those words
sounded, how they tripped along her nerves making her heart sing.
“Lord Wickham—Adrian—please, tell me about Phillip.”

The earl drew in a lungful of air and
released it. “All right, love, you defeat me. Phillip approached me
in London a few days ago.”