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 m uttered. “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 M iddleton 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’v e 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. “T hank 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.
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 t he 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 s traight 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 disc overed 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 h er 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 woman, calling on him all alo ne. 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 impat iently 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 t hat, 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.” Ava ga sped.
“Therefore,” Middleton continued, ignoring her shock, “I advise you only so that this interview will be over quite rapidly and you emerge free of harm. Understood?”
“Free of harm?” she echoed, mortified. “You would choose this moment to tell me your father is not
happy with the match?” she exclaimed, and glanced frantically over her shoulder.
“Really,” she whispered loudly, rising up on her toes so that her lips were near his ear,
“shouldn’t you have said something before now?”
Middleton actually laughed. “Before now? Have you forgotten that I proposed marriage to you only this
Friday past?”
Ava colored slightly. “It still seems you might have found time to mention it.”
He smiled again, and touched his fingers to her jaw. “There was no time to tell you,” he said. “And to have told you any sooner wouldn’t have altered my father’s feelings.”
That was an excellent point, and really, when he smiled, she couldn’t help but be charmed by him.
Standing there in that wide, carpeted corridor, with the painti ngs of Middleton’s ancestors staring down
at her, Ava wished that he really did love her.
“Well then?” he asked, his gaze falling to her lips. “Shall we proceed? Or would you prefer to postpone
the meeting?”
“No,” she said softly. “On to the lion’s den.”
The Duke of Redford was a proud man, but if there was one thing that gave him pride above all else, it was his son, Jared. He loved him dearly, and wanted to see his son succeed him, to have the respect he
was due.
But Charles worried that his son was too much like his mother in some respects. He was something of a dreamer, just as she’d been. Jared’s blind spot had always been that he believed he was free to be like
any man, free to come and go and do as he pleased, answering to no one. He’d never understood or would not accept that his responsibility tethered him. He was not free —in some respects, he was a prisoner to his life. Every move he made was watched by his peers, every smile he turned on a woman was reported. Every bit of business he transacted was discussed in gentlemen’s clubs about town.
Of course there were many privileges to offset the immutable rules of the aristocracy. His wealth alone afforded him grand opportunities. His title and handso me appearance meant he could have any woman of proper pedigree that he desired. Why Jared couldn’t see it this way, why he had to buck against the reins
of his fate, his father simply could not understand.
But his son had never accepted it and had made so me very foolish decisions in his life that had affected others as well as himself. Even as recently as a few months ago, Jared had made a rash decision Charles could scarcely believe. Whether his son did it to defy him or because he truly, if misguidedly, believed in what he was doing —he could not seem to understand how such decisions impacted the entire duchy.
As the sole heir, every misstep, every bit of disregard he showed for his birthright and the establishment weakened the Redfords. A man’s duty was to his crown and his family.
Not to himself.
And now this. After cavorting with the whore Lady Waterstone, Jared had bowed to pressure and offered for a woman whose pedigree did not match that of Lady Elizabeth Robertson. He’d gone and found compatibility with the daughter of a woman who had definitely married up when she snared the
Earl of Bingley in her web, a young woman who was now the stepdaughter of Lord Downey. The duke shuddered just thinking of that man.
Even now, Charles did not consider himself to be a coldhearted man, and he did sincerely wish his son
well. He was determined to make his peace with Jared —he’d done what Charles had asked of him, and while he didn’t approve of the match, Charles was accepting of it.
He was therefore pleasantly surprised when the woman who would be his daughter made her entrance.
He expected a mousy little thing, awed by her surroundings, frightened of his stature.
Lady Ava was no such woman. She walked across the room, her chin high, her eyes bright, and extended her hand to him
as she sank into a perfect curtsy. “Your grace, it is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”