The Hazards of Hunting a Duke Page 13

  “I suppose,” Ava said airily, “that he was attracted by my inherent charm.”

  Phoebe, who was seated across from her, almost spit her tea as Miss Frederick and Miss Williams exchanged a look of astonishment at her cheek.

  “You are indeed quite charming,” Miss Williams lied solicitously. “But I should think you would not like to be married to someone who is known for reckless behavior.”

  “Reckless? Lord Middleton?” Ava responded with a gay laugh. “My fiancé does indeed enjoy a good sporting event,” she said, crafting her response from the things she had read or heard of him. “But I rather think he shall tame his ways once we are married.”

  Behind Miss Frederick’s head, Phoebe rolled her eyes.

  “I am certain he will,” Miss Frederick said with a thin smile. “But nevertheless, I should not like to be married to a rogue.”

  “Indeed?” Ava said, and smiled wickedly. “I should think marriage to a rogue would be far more exciting than marriage to a vicar,” she said, knowing full well that a parish vicar had made his intent to marry Miss Frederick well known.

  And, in fact, Miss Frederick colored quite red and did not mention the rogue again.

  When they had left, Phoebe folded her arms across her middle and shook her head. “You are shameless.”

  “Why?” Ava demanded. “Why should I explain my decision to the likes of them? Why is everyone so anxious to know how it is the Marquis of Middleton offered for me, poor Ava Fairchild? Why can’t they just accept that he esteems me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…perhaps because it happened so quickly without any sort of courtship?” Phoebe asked.

  Ava ignored her. She ignored all the prying callers. She had her doubts, of course she did, but she found it insupportable for anyone to believe she was not as deserving of his esteem as anyone else. She was certainly as deserving as Lady Elizabeth. She met their prying questions with scorn—but none of them had prepared her for the arrival of the temptress herself, Lady Waterstone.

  She called one day in the company of some of the women from the Ladies’ Beneficent Society. “How very happy you must be,” she’d said, taking Ava’s hands and smiling in a way that made Ava’s blood run cold.

  “Indeed I am,” Ava said, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

  “Do you think you’ll prefer Broderick Abbey to town?” Lady Waterstone asked, her eyes glittering.

  “I…I don’t know,” Ava answered honestly. “I’ve not seen Broderick Abbey.”

  “I think you will find it lovely and the country air divine. It’s a wonderful place for children,” she said. “I’ve seen it often,” she continued as she took a seat Ava had not offered. “I particularly admire the master suite. The colors are very inviting.” She looked up, saw Ava’s look of horror, and smiled. “The house is open to the public when he is abroad, you know.”

  “No,” Ava said weakly. “I did not know.”

  For the remainder of the call, Ava could hardly speak—she was completely obsessed with the question of just how many times Lady Waterstone had seen Broderick Abbey—and in particular, the master suite? How long had they been lovers? How was it he had left someone as worldly and beautiful as Lady Waterstone for her?

  She despaired the visit would ever end, but when it did, she vowed she’d not accept another caller.

  Of all the women who had called on her, only Miss Grace Holcomb was kind to her, and seemed truly excited that she was to marry a marquis. “He’s quite handsome and so charming. I am so happy for your good fortune, Lady Ava. I hope I will know such fortune one day,” she’d said sincerely.

  Not even Phoebe was particularly kind—but then again, Phoebe was very exacerbated by the whole affair, as she was making Ava’s wedding dress by sewing well into the night, as well as helping make arrangements to pick up Ava’s life and move it to Broderick Abbey.

  “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking,” Phoebe snapped at Ava the morning she was to meet Middleton’s father, the duke. “Granted, you have made yourself a match, Ava, but to wed him in a week? There is no time to do anything properly!”

  “And what will you do for a lady’s maid?” Lucy demanded just as adamantly. “You cannot be a marchioness without a lady’s maid! Everyone will talk!”

  “That’s very true,” Ava said thoughtfully.

  No one said anything for a moment, and then slowly, all eyes turned to Sally, who was sitting on the chaise.

  Sally’s eyes widened. “Me?”

  “Yes!” Ava cried.

  “Oh no!” Sally protested, gaining her feet. “I won’t go off and live with country bumpkins!”

  “That’s a bit high and mighty if you ask me,” Lucy said.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, mu’um, but I never met a country bloke who knew his arse—”

  “I’ll pay you handsomely,” Ava quickly interjected before Sally could finish her sentence.

  “Pay?” Sally said, relaxing a little. “How much?”

  “One hundred and fifty pounds,” Ava said, ignoring Lucy’s squeal of shock and dismay. “You’ll come to Broderick Abbey a week after I arrive there with as much of a trousseau as Phoebe can throw together.”

  Sally put her hands on her hips, puffed out her cheeks a moment, then exhaled and nodded. “Done. But I won’t live in the country forever, mu’um. Six months is all I’ll give you.”

  “Fair enough,” Ava said.

  “Well, if you must take her, I will show her the trunks and how to fill them properly, like a good lady’s maid,” Lucy said, seeming quite cheerful that Sally would be leaving, too. “Come along, then,” she said imperiously.

  “I’m coming. Don’t lace your corset so tight,” Sally groused, and proceeded to follow Lucille out.

  “What of Greer?” Phoebe demanded when she and Ava were alone. “You can’t go through this without Greer. It would hurt her so.”

  “Even if I were to send for Greer, she wouldn’t come back,” Ava said. “She is up to her elbows in trouble.” Indeed, a letter had come from Greer just yesterday. She claimed to be quite surprised by the changes at her old family home, and, particularly, how impoverished it all seemed to be now.

  Nothing is as I remember, she had written.

  The estate is in disrepair. Mr. Percy believes that perhaps my uncle incurred a rather sizable debt as a result of his fondness for horses.

  “Mr. Percy again!” Ava had exclaimed as they read it.

  In spite of the many changes, however, I am confident that I can and will determine what has happened to the family estate and will return forthwith to you. Mr. Percy has urged me to call on a solicitor, who might be able to shed a bit of light on my family’s affairs, such as they are.

  “Who is this Mr. Percy?” Phoebe cried. “How can we possibly trust him?”

  “We cannot. I don’t like it at all,” Ava said darkly. “Write her straightaway and tell her that she cannot trust this mysterious Mr. Percy!”

  “I will, after supper. At present, we have too much to do with your blasted nuptials to stop and write Greer,” Phoebe said testily.

  “All right, Phoebe, I know you are displeased, but what choice did I have?” Ava exclaimed. “You know as well as I that if I hadn’t made this match, when Lord Downey returned, he would hand me off to Sir Garrett straightaway! At least this way, we shall rest assured that we shall not want!”

  “Surely his fortune is not the only consideration! Do you esteem him? Do you have anything in common with him that might suggest you will live compatibly as man and wife? Isn’t the point of a proper courtship to determine if you suit?”

  Ava snorted at that. “Don’t be naïve. This is about convenience and fortune, Phoebe—”

  “And if it’s not convenient? If it is about something entirely different than his fortune, what will you do then?”

  “What do you mean?” Ava demanded. “This is a good match of fortune and standing! And if I displease him, then I suppose he shall go his way and I shall go mine
!”

  “He shall go his way, all right,” Phoebe snapped. “Into the bed of Lady Waterstone.”

  Why that should sting so terribly, Ava could not say, but she glared at her sister. “You don’t know him,” she said quietly.

  “And neither do you,” Phoebe responded tightly. “So at least allow time for a proper courtship.”

  “No,” Ava said stubbornly. “There is no need. He truly esteems me, I can see it.”

  She truly believed he did esteem her in some way. Certainly she had come to esteem him. He was kind. And playful in a way she found charming. And when he smiled…dear Lord, her insides turned to soup.

  Phoebe sighed, shook her head, and sat. “You’re mad. I don’t care what you say,” she said and refused to speak again as her needle moved in and out of the gown Ava would wear to marry Middleton.

  That was just as well—Ava was preparing to meet the Duke of Redford and didn’t have time for Phoebe’s angst. She lifted her chin and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a soft plum day gown Phoebe had made for her, trimmed in black. “What do you think?” she asked with her back to the mirror so that she might see the train that fell from between her shoulder blades to the floor.

  Phoebe glanced up and frowned. “How will you explain to the duke that you are so quick to wed without your stepfather’s consent?”

  It was a very good question, and while Ava would never admit it, she was actually afraid of meeting the duke. She’d seen him only once or twice, usually across the room at a ball or gathering, and he’d always seemed so stern and tall and forbidding. “I don’t know how I shall explain it,” she muttered. “I can scarcely explain it to myself. Now do please tell me how I look!”

  Phoebe’s grim expression softened a little and she smiled. “Lovely, Ava. He cannot find fault with your appearance. You will give him beautiful heirs.”

  Heirs. Ava sighed. Yet something else she had not thought through entirely. God, she longed for her mother!

  She had precious little time to long, however, because a few minutes later, there was a rap on the door, and Mr. Morris shouted from the other side, “A carriage awaits, milady!”

  Just then the door flew open and Sally burst through, passing Mr. Morris. “And what a carriage it is,” she squealed, grabbing Ava’s hand and pulling her to the window to see. Below them on the street was a landau carriage so new that the gold Middleton crest emblazoned on the side glinted in the sunlight. It was pulled by a team of two huge grays, adorned with black and gold plumes.

  “Dear God,” Ava murmured as Phoebe pushed her aside to see.

  “Oh my,” Phoebe said, her voice full of wonder. “I’ve never been so close to a carriage as fine as that.”

  “I have,” Sally said, peering down at it.

  Ava and Phoebe looked at her, then at the carriage again. “Do you suppose the squabs are velvet?” Phoebe asked in a whisper.

  “Oh, they’d be velvet, all right,” Sally quickly assured them.

  “If you don’t mind, milady,” Mr. Morris called from behind them. All three women whirled about. “The driver is waiting.”

  “The driver? Did not Lord Middleton come to escort me?” How could she possibly arrive on the duke’s doorstep without her fiancé?

  “I wouldn’t know, mu’um. I only say what they tell me, I do.”

  “Tell the driver I shall be along momentarily.”

  As Mr. Morris went out, Phoebe looked at Ava suspiciously. “Where is he?”

  “He’s obviously waiting for me in the coach or at Redford House,” Ava said firmly, and rather unconvincingly, as she picked up her reticule.

  “Remember,” Phoebe said kindly, “be very pleasant and smile often. The duke wants to know you are the pleasant sort and not one to give trouble.”

  “But—”

  “On second thought,” Phoebe quickly interrupted as she handed Ava the matching redingote she’d altered for her, “perhaps it is best you do not speak at all if you can avoid it.”

  Ava snorted as she shrugged into the coat. “Thank you, darling.” She picked up her bonnet, kissed her sister, and waved to Sally on her way out.

  She should feel happy, she thought, but she didn’t feel happy at all. She’d never dreaded anything quite as badly as this in her life—it felt a little as if she were marching off to a funeral.

  Thirteen

  M iddleton was not waiting for her in the carriage as she’d hoped, and, in fact, had sent no word at all. The driver said he was to see her to Redford House on Park Lane and no other instruction was given him.

  When the carriage pulled into the small courtyard of the palatial Redford House and the footman opened the door, Ava’s stomach clenched. What was she to do? Proceed without her betrothed?

  Proceed, apparently, as the footman had put down a step for her and was holding up his gloved hand. Ava leaned forward and glanced out into the courtyard, where two more footmen had suddenly raced from the front door to stand attentively at the bottom of the steps.

  “Ah…” she said, wincing a little, “is Lord Middleton about?”

  The footman glanced over his shoulder. “I do not see him, my lady.”

  “Don’t you?” she asked weakly, craning her neck to have a look about the courtyard. “I confess to being a bit at a loss. Are you quite certain his lordship did not send a message to me? Perhaps with instructions to wait somewhere other than the duke’s drive?”

  With the barest hint of a smile, the footman helped her down. “He did not, madam. Perhaps the duke’s butler could be of some assistance.”

  “The butler, of course!” she exclaimed, relieved. “I should have thought of it myself. Thank you.”

  The footman was smiling fully now, and he touched the tip of his hat. “A pleasure,” he said, stepped back, and looked straight ahead as she straightened her redingote and bonnet.

  Once she was completely straightened out and had passed as much time as was possible without drawing attention to herself, Ava reluctantly proceeded to the steps leading up to the house and smiled at the two footmen there. It seemed entirely too late to turn back now—she supposed she was about to meet her future father-in-law without benefit of introduction from her future husband. And why was that? God forbid, had he changed his mind? Had he discovered he no longer wanted to marry her, but his letter explaining his change of heart had not yet arrived at her door?

  No, that was ridiculous. He wouldn’t have sent a carriage for her if he’d had a change of heart. Perhaps he did indeed intend to marry her but leave her fully to her own devices, beginning with the proper introduction to his father. Whatever the reason, this did not augur a particularly good beginning, did it?

  As she stood pondering her predicament, the massive pair of entry doors opened, and a small, impeccably dressed man stepped out. “My lady? Might I be of assistance?”

  “How do you do. I am…” Waiting for my betrothed to do me the courtesy of introducing me to his father.

  The butler cocked his head to one side.

  “I am Lady Ava Fairchild,” she said, and lifting her chin, marched up the steps. If there was one thing the Fairchild women did fairly well, it was to stare down adversity and muddle through. It wasn’t as if she’d never met a duke before—of course she had. This one was no different—he wore the seal of the royal order of something or other on his chest just like all the others.

  When she reached the door, the butler stood to one side to allow her entry. She swept in as if she were queen of the castle, stopped directly in front of a console, and went about removing her bonnet.

  “Shall I tell his grace what your call regards?” the butler politely inquired.

  “Is he not expecting me?” she asked, and thrust her bonnet at him. “I don’t believe I have come with a card—”

  “It is not necessary. I shall tell him you have called.” He bowed deep, put her bonnet aside on the console, and walked away.

  His grace would think she was a loose woma
n, calling on him all alone. The more she thought of it, the angrier she became, and she jerked her gloves off, one finger at a time, and tossed them onto the console next to her bonnet. The footmen had returned, and she shrugged out of her redingote and held it up to one of them on the tip of her finger.

  The footman rushed to take it.

  As she stood there, lost in thought, the front entry opened again and Middleton swept in, his cloak snapping around his ankles as he strode across the marble foyer to the console. “Forgive me,” he said, and leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek. “I was unavoidably detained.”

  Detained? The man smelled of whiskey and smoke. She could just imagine how he’d been detained and glared at him.

  He did not seem to notice her expression as he impatiently shook off his cloak and handed it to a waiting footman. “Are you quite prepared then?” he asked, straightening his cuffs.

  “Prepared?”

  Middleton glanced at her sidelong. “To meet the Duke of Redford.”

  She was here, wasn’t she? “I suppose I am,” she said.

  “Very well,” he said briskly, and held out his arm. “Let us repair, then, to the lion’s den.”

  Ava started to ask him what he meant by that, but he’d already picked up her hand, placed it squarely on his arm, and begun walking. “I would advise you to use an economy of words,” he said flatly, his expression grim. “It will not do to prolong this conversation. Respond when spoken to, allow him to have a look at you, but otherwise, do not speak.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Ava asked indignantly, and yanked her hand from his arm.

  Middleton stopped midstride and sighed irritably as he turned to face her. “Lady Ava,” he said shortly, sounding terribly formal for a man who would marry her in a matter of days, “allow me this—I am well acquainted with the man. He is not a particularly congenial sort, and as he did not personally select you to be my wife, he is not in a particularly welcoming mood.”