In the Garden of Disgrace (16 page)

Her summons was answered by a small woman so
spare she looked stringy, who introduced herself as the
midwife.

“Come in, come in,” the midwife said in a
hushed voice. “We’re doing fine. We still have some hours to go yet
but she’ll be a mother ‘fore long.” As an apparent afterthought,
she asked, “And who might you be?”

Jillian stared at the bed and Cassandra’s
swollen form, and it was all she could do not to turn and flee. She
had never been to a birthing before, had never been in the same
house where one went on, and she decided then and there ignorance
was a blessing.

“Lady Sutherfield is my brother’s wife. He
wants to know how she fares.” Jillian began to back out the door.
“I’ll tell him you said things are going as they should.”

“Jillian?” Cassandra’s weak voice drifted
across the room.

The midwife took her arm. “Go to her. I’ll
talk to your brother. Husbands,” she shook her head, “they’re more
trouble than their poor wives.” She shoved Jillian toward the
bed.

Jillian tiptoed across the carpet to the
bed, her heart lodging in her throat when she saw her
sister-in-law’s miserable face. Cassandra’s lovely red hair was
plastered to her damp forehead, and her eyes had a wild look.

“I’m here, love,” Jillian said, feeling as
though she might cry. She took the patient’s hand. “Is it very
bad?”

Cassandra smiled wanly. “They say you don’t
remember much but I think I shall. Can’t imagine forgetting
this.”

Jillian couldn’t imagine it, either.

Cassandra’s features contorted suddenly, and
she gripped her sister-in-law’s hand, squeezing hard enough to
stanch the flow of blood to Jillian’s fingers. Cassandra tried,
clearly she tried to hold back, but a cry of misery escaped her
anyway.

Shortly thereafter the midwife bustled back
into the bedchamber. “How are we doin’?” she asked cheerfully.
“Don’t you worry now, sweetie,” she said to the patient. “Each of
those pains brings you closer to when you hold your child.”

Jillian pulled the woman aside. “Are you
certain everything is going as it should? I mean, shouldn’t the
doctor be here to oversee the delivery?”

The midwife gave her a measuring glance.
“This your first time at a birthin’, is it? There won’t be no
delivery for a few hours.” She patted Jillian on the arm. “I’ve
brung scores of babes into the world. I promise there is nothin’ to
worry about. The doctor will be here in time.”

Thus Jillian pulled a chair to the side of
the bed and did her best to provide moral support, murmuring
encouragement, donating her mangled hand when necessary. One hour
blended into the next as the afternoon faded at a slothful pace and
the night began. Cassandra’s contractions grew more intense and her
screams more wretched until Jillian felt near to weeping.

At ten o’clock that evening the midwife
suddenly announced, “Soon now, soon.” And as if he had been waiting
for just those words, the doctor entered the bedchamber. His
appearance signaled to Jillian her chance to escape, and she dashed
from the room as though leaving the scene of a disaster.

She reached a small antechamber at the back
of the house on the bottom floor before she broke down. She sat on
a small wooden settle by doors that led to the garden and began to
weep, great wracking sobs she felt all the way to her toes. She did
not know why something as natural as having a baby should cause her
grief. But she loved Simon and she loved Cassandra, and though
today would eventually lead to immense happiness, right now they
were both miserable. She did know one thing—to wait helplessly by
unable to do anything was awful.

“Come, love, give over.”

She heard Adrian’s voice and felt his arms
around her before she saw him. She glanced into his handsome
features as he sat next to her on the settle, and the concern she
saw there made the tears start all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she gulped on the words, “you
must think me a fool but I can’t seem to help myself. I could never
tend to the ill—the misery is too much for me.”

“I don’t think you a fool at all. You are
sensitive. That hardly brings out my contempt.”

He sounded sincere, having offered his arms
for solace, and Jillian could not resist. She buried her face in
the earl’s shoulder and allowed his reassuring presence to comfort
her. They remained thus for several minutes before she stirred.

“You won’t want to marry me, my lord,” she
said sniffing. “Not after today.”

Adrian’s brows came together in a frown.
“What has happened today that could possibly make me not want to
marry you?”

Oh dear, she thought miserably, just when
she had begun to think she might consider his offer. She drew in a
deep breath and squared her shoulders.

“I’ve decided I don’t want children. I’ve
come to believe I don’t have the constitution for it.”

“I hardly blame you,” he said, surprising
her. “Who wouldn’t be afraid after a day like you’ve had.”

She merely stared at him, overwhelmed by his
understanding.

“You know something?” the earl said. “Hard
as this is to believe right now, Cassandra will be talking of
having other children in a few months. And I think you will get
over most of your apprehension as well.”

Jillian looked at him in disgust, for the
first time unconvinced by his reasoning. “Really? Would you?”

He put up his hands as though warding away
the question. “Not me, no. But then I’m a coward as most men are in
a case like this. The good Lord understood exactly what he was
doing when he designated women as the child bearers.”

“That certainly is a help to know that,” she
said dryly. And then, doubtfully, “I suppose I should go back.”

“Not if you find it too distressful. That
baby will be born with or without you, I promise. Everyone will
understand.”

“Yes, but as my brother said, Cassandra does
not have the luxury of flight. If she must endure, then so shall
I.” Jillian came to her feet and looked down at him. “Thank you,
Adrian. I feel better now.”

He took her hand and squeezed it, causing
her to wince. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

“Cassandra has been using my hand to help
ease her pain.” She smiled. “It’s a small sacrifice.”

She did not know what came over her then,
but on a whim she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips.
She spun around immediately and fled from the room before he could
respond, shocked by her own brazen behavior.

Upstairs the situation had reached the
turning point. Jillian entered the birthing room to a flurry of
activity.

“Here, now” the midwife commanded, “take
Lady Sutherfield’s hand. We’re almost there.”

Once again she sat next to Cassandra’s head
and offered support, and as a reward Jillian was witness to an
amazing event. Not that she wasn’t appalled by the proceedings, for
until today she had not realized how much effort was needed to give
birth. But the look of rapture that lit her sister-in-law’s
countenance when her son was placed in her arms told Jillian that
the outcome made the struggle worthwhile.

“Oh, Jillian,” Cassandra said, her voice a
reedy thread, “won’t Simon be proud?”

Jillian looked at the infant, small puckered
features in a tiny red face. She wondered if an aunt could bond
with a child as the parents did, for right now she could hardly
contain the love flowing through her body.

“He’s beautiful, Cassie,” she said,
whispering over a knot in her throat.

The doctor moved to the door but Cassandra
stopped him before he could leave. “Jillian should make the
announcement.” Though she looked exhausted, her gaze shone as she
handed over her precious bundle. “Tell Simon this is my gift to
him.”

No longer could Jillian staunch the tears
that brimmed in her eyes. Weeping openly, she took the infant,
holding him close to her breast. She looked down into a pair of
round eyes like bright blue buttons, and her heart swelled.

“I will tell him,” she said.

*****

Adrian walked the floor behind the marquess,
back and forth, back and forth. Occasionally the men would meet in
the middle of the room and dodge one another, but the earl no
longer tried to talk to his friend. Simon’s preoccupation had taken
him to another place mentally, and communication with him had
become impossible.

Less than an hour before a terrible scream
had reverberated through the house, and Simon had stilled in his
tracks, eyes wide with dismay as he stared at his companion.
Fortunately, that had been the last such occurrence, and they had
resumed their pacing. But the memory of that awful sound was never
far from Adrian’s thoughts. He knew Simon was suffering from the
same condition.

He glanced at the clock on the mantel as it
began the slow, deliberate chiming that announced the changing of
one day to the next. Midnight—had it really been that long?

“I wish someone would tell me something,”
the marquess spoke at last. “I never realized waiting could be so
torturous.”

“It has been silent for some time now,”
Adrian said. “I wager we’ll hear soon.”

As if his words had conjured the moment, the
earl saw Jillian come to stand in the doorway of the drawing room.
In her arms she carried a swaddled infant and, though her lovely
face was streaked with tears, she smiled radiantly.

“You have a son, Simon,” she said
softly.

Simon whose back was to her turned slowly.
He gazed at his sister, a wondering look. His attention slipped to
the small bundle.

“Cassandra?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

She moved to his side. “The doctor says
she’s fine. She is sleeping now.” Jillian held the baby out to him.
“ Cassandra called him a gift to you.”

Simon was undone. No one could have missed
the wrenching emotion that played across his face. With hands that
shook he reached for his son then sat in a high-back chair next to
the fireplace, his companions clearly forgotten.

“Perhaps we should give him some time alone
with the baby,” Adrian said to Jillian in an undertone. “I think
our presence becomes unnecessary.”

Smiling, she nodded. She walked across the
room and kneeled by her brother’s chair. “Simon?”

“Hum?” He continued to watch his son.

“Adrian and I are hungry. If you need
anything, we’ll be eating.”

He dipped his head absently.

Jillian stood and placed her hand on the
earl’s arm, and together they strolled to the dining room.

Covered dishes, still warming, were laid on
the sideboard. Evidently someone had anticipated empty stomachs
needing sustenance once the urgent situation had passed.

Adrian put an assortment of foods on his
plate and, though everything smelled good, his hunger did not
extend to caring about what he ate.

Filling her plate, Jillian sat to the table,
and the earl joined her, plunking in the seat on her left. Neither
spoke as they commenced to eat.

Abruptly she put her fork on the table. “I
believed I was hungry but now I’m not so certain. The meal is going
down like a lump. What are we eating anyway?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he said.

They shared a grin. The tip of Jillian’s
nose was still pink from crying, and Adrian thought she had never
appeared more beautiful. The look in his eye must have reflected
the warmth he felt, for her smile drifted away and she dropped her
gaze. In that brief moment he sensed her retreat from him.

“Jillian?”

“Yes?” She picked up her fork, but rather
than eating, she stabbed at the food, pushing this and that around
on her plate.

“Is something the matter?” He reached over
and touched her arm, stemming the aimless activity.

She raised her eyes to his and he could see
the uncertainty there. “I don’t know.” She smiled once more, but it
didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s not a very definite answer, is
it?”

“No, it’s not.”

Jillian shrugged. “It’s been such an
emotional day, my nerves are jangled. I think I could sleep for a
year.”

The earl wanted to yell in frustration. Her
attitude was as dry and remote as a desert. An inanimate object
exuded more feeling than she did at present. What could have
happened in the intervening twenty minutes to make her look at him
as though he were a stranger?

“You’re not going to confide in me
then?”

“Adrian,” she glanced at him, meeting his
eyes, and for a moment her reserve seemed to crumble, “I don’t know
how to answer you, honestly I don’t. I’m confused right now.”

“I can understand that.”

“Can you? Can you really?” She paused,
taking a deep breath. “Since Simon and you have joined forces, I’ve
felt as though I’ve lost control of my life, a control I’ve gone to
great lengths to acquire. And I hate it. Do you understand that, my
lord?”

“You won’t believe this, Jillian, but I felt
much the same way when I left England—a victim of a situation not
of my making. I didn’t want to participate in that duel. But I had
gained a reputation. I was challenged, and I was expected to play
the game—and that’s what it was, you know—a game. Findley was a
coward, and I despised him. But I did not want to kill him.”

“Did you really sleep with his wife?”

Adrian cringed inwardly, ashamed that he
must address the sensitive matter.

“Lady Findley and I were not lovers but I
won’t lie to you. If that was what she had wanted, I would have
complied. But what she needed was someone to caress her ego. Her
husband was a philanderer, and she was hurt. I gave her the
admiration she desperately needed, and we became friends. I suppose
you could have called me her cicisbeo, although I detest the term.
I don’t think her husband would have cared if I had merely slipped
into her bed. What he minded was that I had slipped into her
heart.”