In the Garden of Disgrace (17 page)

“She fell in love with you?”

“Not in the sense you mean. I was more a
brother to her, someone with whom she could talk and unburden
herself. Findley could hardly compete against that and it really
bothered him. What a hypocrite he was.”

“I’m surprised,” she said after a moment.
“Men rarely choose women for friends.”

“If you knew her you would understand.”

“W-were you in love with her?”

Adrian smiled, gratified at least that she
sounded displeased by the notion. “I came to love her, though I was
not
in
love with her—a critical difference, I think.”

“And you never spoke to her again?”

“When I was in London this week, I called on
her.” The earl watched her out of the corner of his eye as he
spoke.

“You did?”

“She is married again, a fine man who makes
her happy. I am happy for her.”

Jillian looked relieved, and he could have
laughed aloud because he now knew she was not indifferent. However,
he was a little surprised by how relieved
he
felt knowing
she cared.

“Have you been in any duels since the one I
witnessed?”

Adrian stared at her directly. “No, and I’ll
never participate in another. I allowed pride to dictate to me
something I knew was wrong. I’ve had to live for eight years
knowing I ended a man’s life, took away the father of three
children. I ran and ran and ran round the world, but that fatal
morning will always be with me. I cannot leave it behind.”

“But you were notorious for engaging in
duels, and the gossip did not indicate that you suffered from
conscience.”

The earl looked at her through raised
eyebrows. “I remind you of your own attitude toward gossip, my
lady. Although I’ll admit even the most distorted rumors usually
spring from a grain of truth.” He sighed. “I’m afraid it took the
death of a man to bring me to sanity. I’ll say it again—I will
never take part in another duel.”

“Growing up can be painful,” Jillian said.
“Some mistakes are more permanent than others, less forgiving.”

She reached over and touched his sleeve as
though she would comfort him, and Adrian was glad to see that she
no longer seemed as distant. He did suspect as soon as she realized
she had thawed a bit, she would find some reason to be cool with
him once more. But that was all right, for time was his ally and
what they had in common would always provide a bond for them. As he
glanced at her lovely profile, what troubled him was whether or not
he had the patience to wait.

Jillian stood and pressed the front of her
dress with her hands. “I think I shall seek my bed. I’m
exhausted.”

The earl grabbed her wrist. “What?—no kiss
this time?

Her face reddened. “I was brazen earlier. I
will refrain from doing that any more.” She pried her hand loose
and left the room without looking back.

Damn!
She reminded him of an eel in
the water—just when he thought he had her in his grasp, she found a
means of wiggling free. He looked at the door where she had exited
moments before, and an idea struck him, one that worried him but
caught his imagination nonetheless. Perhaps it was time to end the
sluggish pace of this courtship. Maybe waiting was the wrong thing
to do.

On that tempting thought he also sought his
bed.

*****

The rain had been unrelenting. The skies had
opened and poured for three days—no wind, little lightning—just an
eerie deluge. The house was dark and depressing, and the occupants
appeared as gloomy as the weather. Even Aunt Pru, usually in good
spirits, had lost her buoyancy.

Jillian sat on the window seat in her
bedchamber, gazing at the sky, hopefully eyeing a patch of blue
that peeked through the gray. For as far as she could see large
puddles dotted the landscape. Even if the rain stopped at once, it
would be days before she could go abroad without risking a mud
bath.

Adrian had not come to call since the storms
began. But that was hardly a surprise, for the weather
notwithstanding, his attitude had cooled of late. Since the birth
of her nephew three weeks before, the earl’s visits had been
sporadic. However, when he did come she had the unnerving notion he
watched her, taking her measure as though coming to a decision of
some kind.

She hated herself for missing him but she
did. He brought excitement to her life and, as much as she didn’t
want to admit it, she found his presence stimulating.

Jillian sighed and stood from her seat. The
rain finally had eased, but if she were any judge, it was only a
respite. Dreary, dreary day, she thought in self-pity. She left her
room in search of Aunt Prudence.

*****

Adrian had never seen so much mud. He was
covered in it, the horse he rode was covered in it—in fact the
world looked covered in it. Thankfully he’d had the foresight to
bring a bundle of clothing, or he would be in the unenviable
position of having to borrow from Miss Milford’s gardener
again.

He probably should have waited for the roads
to dry, but as soon as he had witnessed a break in the weather he
had departed from Sutherfield. Now layered in muck, he galloped
down the drive to Aunt Pru’s home, convinced his desire to see
Jillian had impeded his good sense.

Stopping in the stable, he tossed a grin at
the stable boy along with the reins to his mount, for the lad
stared at him in undisguised amazement.

“What’s the matter? Not used to seeing a
peer of the realm looking as though he stepped out of a pig sty?”
the earl asked.

“No, m’lord. You are a might dirty, if I’m
not bein’ impertinent to say so.”

Adrian laughed. “It’s hardly impertinent if
it is the truth, young man, although I think you’ve been tactfully
circumspect. Anyway, pretending not to notice won’t make me a jot
cleaner, now will it?”

The boy smiled. “No, m’lord.”

The earl exited the stable, deciding it
would be best if he entered the house through the kitchen door.
That should put the cook out of temper, he thought, a circumstance
he found amusing, not because he disliked the woman but because he
knew she had no use for him. When she opened the door to his knock
she did not disappoint him.

“M’lord, what happened to you?” She stood on
the threshold, unmoving, her large frame filling the doorway.

“I’ve encountered a bit of mud as you can
see.”

She eyed his grimy clothing and boots. “I
just mopped the floor, m’lord.”

He gave the woman a steely gaze. “Perhaps
you would like to tell Lady Jillian I called, but you could not see
your way clear to letting me in the house.”

Her cheeks reddened and she started to
stammer, “G-good gracious, m’lord, I-I didn’t mean to
suggest…please, come in.” She leapt from the doorway, handling her
considerable bulk with surprising ease in her haste.

Adrian stepped inside and tossed his bundle
on the table before sitting down to remove his boots. “I think I
shall appropriate your kitchen and take my bath in here.”

Her jaw dropped. “M’lord?”

“Yes, I think that’s the best idea. If I
drag upstairs I’ll drag all this mud with me.”

The earl ignored the barrage of incredulous
looks Cook sent his way as she pulled the metal tub, normally used
by the servants, into the middle of the room and began to fill it.
The process took about ten minutes, and Adrian unrolled his clean
clothing while he waited.

She gave him soap and a cloth for bathing,
all the while glancing pointedly in his direction as though she
could not believe he intended to proceed with his plan.

“Thank you. Please send a footman with a
towel. I’ll be done quickly and you can get back to whatever it was
you were doing before I interrupted.”

The cook left mumbling to herself and, as
soon as the door closed behind her, the earl peeled off the grimy
clothing. Much to his surprise the mud had gone clean through to
his drawers.

Adrian sank into the hot water and expelled
a loud sigh of pleasure. Unfortunately, the tub was small and
round, so his knees rested under his chin. He had to scoop water
from either side of his body to wash himself, but even struggling
in the limited space he soon was clean. The water had turned an
unappetizing brown, though.

A footman delivered the towel the earl had
requested, asking if the guest needed anything else. Adrian pointed
to his boots still caked with sludge.

“See what you can do with those,” he said to
the servant.

The man nodded and, picking up the footwear,
retreated from the room.

Adrian came to his feet, deciding he had
done all he could to remedy his filthy state. Water sluiced off
him, dousing the floor.

Before he could step from the tub, when he
was at his most vulnerable, the kitchen door burst open, and he
found himself staring into Jillian’s beautiful brown eyes. Right
behind her came Aunt Prudence, mouth agape, emitting strange
squeaking sounds while her hands fluttered uncontrollably.

It was a helpless moment, one in which he
could merely gawk back, too frozen by shock to do anything else.
Not that Adrian was ashamed of his body
per se
, but neither
was he an exhibitionist. He remained where he stood, in only the
skin God gave him, feeling like an utter fool. He would wonder
afterward why fate had conspired to deal him such a mean-spirited
blow.

The ladies disappeared as quickly as they
had appeared, scrambling in the doorway for escape as if they had
been witness to something profoundly ugly. He could hear Jillian
upbraiding the cook, asking the woman how she could have allowed
them to walk in on a man taking his bath. He wondered that same
thing himself. Had the servant deliberately spited him?

Adrian stumbled from the tub and grabbed his
towel. But rather than drying off, he sat on a chair by the table,
put the towel to his face and howled with mirth. It was either do
that or indulge in the unmanly art of crying. Since he already felt
emasculated, he gave into the laughter.

Fifteen minutes later as he buttoned his
shirt, the footman reentered the kitchen with the clean boots.
Adrian caught the man looking at him surreptitiously, smirking.

“Out with it,” the earl barked. “Everyone
knows, don’t they?”

The footman gave him a direct look, the
smirk now firmly hidden. “I don’t know about that, my lord—” He
stopped at the incredulous expression Adrian sent him. “All right,
there was quite a ruckus. Ladies take this sort of thing rather
hard.”

“Indeed.”

Adrian sat down again and pulled on the
boots. He came to his feet and squared his shoulders, feeling as
though he were preparing to enter a battle.

He glanced at the footman who stood in the
doorway, an uncertain look on his face.

“Yes?” Adrian asked impatiently.

“The mistress and her niece are in the
parlor, my lord. I...ah, thought you might want to know.”

“What I want right now is to leave the scene
of my humiliation and return to Sutherfield. But knowing how
quickly gossip travels, the story will arrive before I do. I’m
doomed.”

“I’m sorry, my lord.” The servant actually
did seem sorry.

“Right, I appreciate you condolences, but my
hesitation becomes cowardly.”

Adrian left the kitchen and walked briskly
to the parlor. Upon entering, he encountered two sets of
embarrassed female eyes, looking in his direction, but not looking
at
him. Both women sat on the settee, and both were clearly
suffering from distress. At that point he made a decision—meet the
problem straight on and get the worst behind him at the outset.

“I think we need a drink. I’ll do the
honors.” He approached the sideboard, trying to appear
unruffled.

Aunt Prudence perked up immediately. “Yes,
yes, that’s a splendid idea. A dab of brandy always makes the
darkest situation seem brighter.”

“Although I can’t say I’m proud of what
transpired, Aunt Pru, I hope it’s not the darkest,” he said, his
tone droll as he handed the older woman a glass.

He gave Jillian a brandy as well, and when
he did their eyes met briefly. He flinched inwardly.
Whew,
he thought as he moved away. From the look of her, perhaps it was
the darkest. He returned to the sideboard, poured his own drink
and, taking a deep swallow, faced his companions.

“Ladies,” he said to the air above their
heads, “we had an unfortunate circumstance occur, one I would like
to forget. I suspect I can speak for all of us on that score. I
suggest we acknowledge what happened and get past it. I know that
is what I intend to do.”

Aunt Prudence, who had downed her glass of
spirits during his speech, finally met his gaze. “I couldn’t agree
more. But, Adrian, dear boy, next time don’t worry about making a
mess in my guest bedchamber. There are worse things than a little
mud—I think you have proven that.”

Adrian winced. Give Aunt Pru an intoxicating
beverage and she became brutal with her honesty.

“Cook did try to stop us,” Jillian finally
remarked. He was relieved to see a smile playing about her lips.
“We had come downstairs together, Auntie and I, and heard her
muttering about the upheaval in her kitchen. We dashed to see what
she was talking about before she could explain. I know she would
never have allowed us to come in on you.”

“Are you certain?” Adrian asked. “I don’t
think your cook likes me very much.”

“You miss the point,” Prudence said archly.
“She
does
like Jillian and me—very much.”

“Of course,” the earl conceded.

“I suppose after all the commotion dinner
will be late tonight,” the older woman said. “How about another
brandy?”

In short order the constrained atmosphere
had eased, aided by the liberating influence of alcohol. Even
Jillian, whom he had never seen drink more than a single glass of
ratafia,
had mellowed.