Ava set out at a good pace, hoping a bit of exercise would help her. And if it didn’t, Sally Pierce would arrive from London in two days. At the very least, she’d have someone to talk to. She might not agree with everything Sally said—probably nothing, really—but at least it would be better than the quiet that
surrounded her now.
It was so quiet, in fact, and the air so still, that she heard the snap of a twig behind her.
And then twice more. Having been the oldest of three, Ava k new very well the sound of being followed. She instantly
suspected Dawson, and with a roll of her eyes, when the path turned, she ducked behind a tree, held her breath, and waited.
It was only a moment before the footman appeared, walking clumsily along, his shoes ill-suited to the forest path. “Here I am,” Ava said.
The poor man cried out, clapped a hand over his heart. “I beg your pardon, milady,” he said as he
gasped for breath. “I didn’t see you there!”
“Obviously,” she said, stepping out from behind the tree. She stood before him, her hands on her hips. “ Why are you following me, sir?”
The man flushed and averted his eyes. “Mr. Dawson said I should.”
“And did he tell you to watch for roots and limbs a nd anything that I might stumble over and twist my ankle?”
He nodded sheepishly. “That,” he muttered, “and robbers.”
“Hmm,” Ava said, and folded her arms, drumming her fingers against her arm as she considered him. “ Are there robbers in this forest?”
“Not,” he said with a sympathetic wince, “that I am aware.”
“I thought not,” she said with a sigh. “What is your name, then?” “Robert, mu’um.”
“Well, then, Robert, if you must walk with me, then at the very least, walk with me. I can’t abide you sneaking a bout.”
“Aye, mu’um,” he said, and fell in beside her, stepping carefully as Ava walked easily through the forest. They had gone only a little farther when a child’s voice called out to them, “Halt! Who trespasses in the
marquis’ forest?”
Ava stopped and followed the sound of the young voice, looking up. There, in the crook of an oak tree, was a boy, holding a child’s bow and arrow. It was the boy she’d seen at the wedding, the one who had been watching her as he stood apart from the others as they scampered for the coins Middleton tossed.
He was well dressed, she thought, his clothes clean and well fitted. She thought he was the son of someone with a good living —a clergyman, or a lawyer, perhaps.
“Pardon, mu’um,” Robert said gruffly. “He’s a wee ruffian. I
’ll see to him,” he said, and strode forward.
But the boy instantly pointed an arrow at him. “Have you his lordship’s permit to cross these lands?” he asked imperiously.
“Come out of that tree, lad! Do you not recognize your marchioness?”
“Of course I do,” the boy said. “I saw her married, same as you.”
“Then wouldn’t you assume, if she is the marchioness, that she has the lordship’s leave to cross these lands?”
He seemed to consider the question a moment, then shrugged, and hopped down o ut of the tree. On the ground, he looked to be seven or eight. He had a mop of thick dark brown hair and hazel eyes, through which he peered closely at Ava. “You’re prettier up close,”
he announced.
The footman slapped the back of his head. “Mind who you’ re speaking to!” he said sternly.
Ava laughed and touched the top of his head. “Thank you, kind sir,” she said with a playful curtsy. “Have you a name?”
“Edmond Foote, mu’um.”
“Believe he belongs to the gamekeeper, mu’um,” Robert offered.
The child looked too finely dressed to be the gamekeeper’s son. She smiled at the boy again—he was a sturdy young thing. One day he’d be a man as strong and tall as Middleton, she reckoned. “Mr. Foote, we’re to Broderick. Would you care to join us?”
Ava asked.
He squinted up at her and shook his head. “I’m not allowed in Broderick.” “No?”
He shook his head.
“I’m very sorry. We might have used your protection. If we have your permission, we will carry on.”
“I’ll allow you to pass,” he said agreeably, and stepped back, bowing low. Ava laughed, and with Robert glaring at the boy, she walked on.
By the time she and Robert reached the small village of Broderick, she knew that Robert was an orphan,
had been taken in by Middleton when he was a lad, and that he held Charlott e, one of the scullery maids,
in very high esteem. Ava advised him that if he thought to marry her, to marry her because he loved her, and not to marry for the sake of convenience or situation.
Robert seemed confused by her advice. “Convenience, mu’um? I didn’t know marriage was meant to be convenient.”
“My point precisely,” she said, tapping him on the arm. “It’s not terribly convenient after all.” “Aye, mu’um,” he said, dipping his head, but h e still looked rather confused.
In Broderick, she stepped into a dry goods shop and chatted it up with the proprietor, who eagerly
agreed to come to Broderick Abbey early the following week and show Ava fabrics for her sitting room, which she found cold an d damp and very dark. Ava decided it was perfectly acceptable to order
materials. After all, she would probably be alone and he had promised to provide for her every need.
At a confectionary, she admired the sweetmeats, but when the proprietor asked if he might wrap some
up for her, she shook her head. “I’m afraid I haven’t any money, sir,” she said.
The proprietor looked at Robert. Robert stepped forward and whispered something in the man’s ear. He instantly set about wrapping up the sweetmeats, and when Ava protested, he shook his head and said
firmly, “Pardon, madam, but I insist.”
“But I—”
“Your husband’s name will do well enough, I assure you,” he said, and with a broad smile, he deposited
a wrapped bundle in her arms.
“You are too kind,” Ava s aid, trying to juggle the enormous package, which Robert took from her to hold.
She and Robert started back under a glorious blue sky, munching on sweetmeats, laughing about the man they’d seen who’d had a row with a goat he was trying to bring to market. It was really a very pleasant
day, and might have ended very well had Robert not very gallantly offered to get her some water from
the stream and then fallen down the embankment, landing awkwardly, leaving his foot at an odd angle to
his leg.
His ankle was, Ava determined when she managed to pick her way down the steep embankment, quite broken.
“You must go on, milady,” Robert said, in obvious pain. “Dawson will have me head if you aren’t returned at a proper hour.”
“Nonsense, Robert. I will not leave you alone.” She glanced up and noted it was getting late. “Surely there is someone close by I can summon for help?”
“The gamekeeper,” Robert said through clenched teeth. “But he’s fairly new to the abbey, mu’um, and I’
ve not met him.”
“Where can I find him?”
“The fork in the road, where we went right. If we’d gone left —”
“I know where it is,” Ava said, and took the light cloak from her shoulders and put it over Robert. “I
shall bring him at once. Don’t fret, Robert.” And with that, she scrambled up the embankment and ran down the path to the fork.
She found the cottage easily enough, but when she knocked on the door, young Edmond Foote opened
it.
“Mr. Foote, we meet again, but under less pleasant circumstances,” she said. “Where is your father?” “Setting traps, mu’um.”
“Then is your mother within?” “She’s in heaven.”
“Oh dear.” Ava glanced up at the sky. The sun had started its descent into late afternoon.
“All right, then, young man, you are the one who must help me . You must go to the abbey at once and tell Mr. Dawson
there has been an accident.”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “What sort of accident?” he asked eagerly, coming out of the cottage to have a look around, obviously hoping the accident had occurred close by.
Ava clamped a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention. “Edmond, listen carefully. The footman has
broken his ankle. You must go to the abbey and bring help.”
“But I’m not allowed at the abbey,” he said, looking very concerned.
Good God, was the child allowed anywhere but the forest? “You have my special permission,” she said. “Now go at once.”
Edmond glanced uneasily at the cottage behind him.
“Now, Edmond. I will speak to your father and tell him that I demanded you go.” “Yes , mu’um,” he said, and set out at a run.
“I will meet you at the fork!” Ava shouted after him.
Jared returned from his rounds to his tenants at teatime, having determined that he should be more accommodating to his young bride until she was accustomed to their
arrangement. But instead of finding
her painting or sewing, or whatever it was wives did to occupy their time, he found a rather frantic
Dawson.
In all the years of their association, he’d never seen Dawson in such a state. “What is it?”
Jared asked.
“It is Lady Middleton, my lord. She walked to the village —” “Walked?”
“I said that she shouldn’t, but she insisted. I sent Robert, the footman, along with her, but they’ve been gone too long. Billy has just come back from the village, but could find neither hide nor hair of them.”
The edge of panic nosed Jared. He would never forgive himself if something had happened.
He quickly strode outside with the intention of getting his mount and riding the walking path himself, but
he was brought up short by the appearance of a boy on the drive. He knew the boy —of course he knew him. He’d seen him about the grounds, but he’d never seen him so close and was taken aback.
The boy looked frightened and was wringing his wool cap in his hands. “I know I’m not to come to the house, my lord, but the marchioness sent me.”
“Where is she?” Jared asked, snapping out of his surprise. “Is she all right?” “There’s been an accident,” the child said, and Jared felt his heart plummet.
He caught the boy by the shoulder and shook him, forcing him to look up at him. “What sort of accident?
Is she all right?”
“She is!” he cried. “It’s the footman! He’s broken his ankle!”
Jared instantly let go of the boy and turned to the servants who had rushed outside to see what had happened. “Have Billy bring two mounts —he and I will go and fetch them.”
One of the footmen began running, and Jared turned and looked at the boy, his gaze taking in his face—
his dark red lips, the tilt of his nose. His ey es…his eyes. “Well done, Edmond,” he said quietly, and the child’s face broke into a gap -toothed smile.
By the time Jared and Billy found Ava and the footman, they had been rescued from the stream by the
gamekeeper. Jared swung down from his mount, then helped Edmond down. Edmond had ridden in front
of Jared, leaning forward, stroking the horse’s mane along the way. The boy ran to his father, who instantly put a protective arm around him and held him close to his side.
“Mr. Foote,” Jared said, ackno wledging the gamekeeper. “Your son is to be commended for coming to
the marchioness’s aid.”
The man nodded and glanced at Robert, who was gritting his teeth as Billy, Jared’s longtime
grounds-keeper, had a look at his ankle. “I was setting traps for the b oar,” Mr. Foote said,
“and I come across them, down by the stream.”
Jared nodded and swallowed hard. “It would seem I owe you yet another debt of thanks,”
he said, but
Mr. Foote shrugged and tightened his grip on his son.
Jared moved to Ava’s side. The light was beginning to dim, but he could see her muddied walking gown and the thick strands of hair that had fallen loose from her bonnet. Robert was as gray as a winter sky.
Jared didn’t say much—he couldn’t seem to find hi s voice, either from relief that she was unharmed or anger that she’d come so close to harm. He helped Billy put Robert on the back of Billy’s mount, then
moved to put Ava on his horse. But she darted away from him, to the side of the path and a bundle he’d
not noticed before that moment. She picked it up, walked back to his horse, and stuffed it into the bonnet that was hanging from her wrist.
He looked into her eyes; she smiled a little. “Sweetmeats, from the confectioner’s shop. I hope you don’t mind.”
Still unable to speak without emotion, he shook his head, put his hands to her waist, and lifted her up, setting her atop the big gray he’d ridden. “Hold on to the pommel,” he told her.
Ava shifted her bundle and held on to the pommel as instructed. Jare d swung up behind her and put his arms securely around her, her bare head tucked beneath his chin.
He sent the bay trotting along the path. Billy and Robert would follow behind, but at a slower pace to keep the pain from Robert’s ankle as best they could.
When they were a good distance from Billy, Jared said, “Lady Middleton, you are not to walk to
Broderick.” “But I—”
“You may have a carriage take you, or you may ride horseback in the company of a servant. If you do not ride, I will teach you, but you ar e not to walk. Am I perfectly clear?”
“Perfectly,” she said in a small voice.
He let another moment pass and asked her gently, “Do you ride?”
She said nothing for a moment; her hand went to the nape of her neck, as if she were somehow debating her answe r. At last, she admitted, “I do not.”
“Then I shall teach you when I have returned from Marshbridge.”
She said nothing at all, but slowly sank back against him, her head on his shoulder, the warm weight of
her against his chest.
He dropped one arm from the reins, slipped it around her middle, and held her tightly to him. He took in
the rosewater scent of her hair, felt the softness of her body, and felt that little nudge inside him, just as he
’d felt when Dawson had said she’d go ne missing.
It was the edge of panic again, only a panic born of a different sort of fear entirely.