The Hazards of Hunting a Duke

by Julia London

  It was inevitable. It had been inevitable from the moment of her birth. But it had occurred to her—late one night as she lay awake worrying, as had become her habit—that if marriage was indeed inevitable, then wouldn’t she be wise to take advantage of her stepfather’s absence and shape her own destiny?

  In other words, if she secured an offer for her hand—a proper offer—before her stepfather presented one to her, she could provide for Greer and Phoebe and thereby prevent them from suffering the same fate as she, of having to marry before they were fully prepared to do so.

  She really had no other recourse. She was a woman. It wasn’t as if she could suddenly take up a trade and earn their keep, for God’s sake—or buy a commission in the Royal Navy, or inherit her mother’s estate, or invest the thirty pounds she kept hidden in a porcelain box.

  Yet marriage! It seemed such an astonishingly huge proposition.

  Lord God, how she missed her mother! Her mother would know precisely what to do.

  Life had been so gay when she was alive—Mother embraced life and relished the soirées and dinners she attended, loved more than anything else to shop along Bond Street for clothing and accessories and linens and furnishings for her house. She was always laughing, delighting in the tales the girls would bring back to her from the many assemblies they attended, matching them with tales of her own.

  She’d been a good mother to them. She’d taken Greer in when she was eight, and while Ava’s father was alive, they had all lived at Bingley Hall.

  In the summer, the girls would play in the meadow amid wildflowers and grazing horses. During the long cold winters, Mother would organize plays for them to perform, and they would dance and sing for Father, who always clapped enthusiastically for each and every performance. If they did their schoolwork, they were rewarded with a trip to Mother’s closets to play among her many gowns and hats and shoes.

  “Mind your manners and be a proper young lady, and one day you shall have as many gowns as this,” she’d told them all, twirling around in the latest fashion to arrive from London.

  “I shall make my own,” Phoebe would insist. Even at the age of six she’d had a love of needlework.

  “Shall we all go to balls?” chubby little Greer would ask, and Mother would catch her by the hands and twirl her around and reply in a singsong voice, “You shall attend balls and soirées and assemblies, of course! You shall be the toast of London, my darlings, and every man shall desire to marry you!”

  But then she would grow sober and sink to her knees so that she could look them square in the eye. “But you will promise me, won’t you, my dear lambs, that you will not be silly and fall in love, for marriage is an act of combining money and convenience. Love comes afterward,” she’d add with a wink.

  Of course they’d all dutifully promised, but Ava never really understood her mother’s reasoning. She believed her mother had truly loved her father—the days at Bingley Hall were halcyon days. Surely her father’s fortune hadn’t mattered to her mother. But Ava harbored no illusions about her mother’s second marriage. There was perhaps a bit of affection between her and Lord Downey, but love? All-consuming, heart-stopping love? No, never.

  It wasn’t until Ava came out into society that she understood what her mother had meant—several debutantes had married men who had matched them more in fortune and standing than in temperament. She could think of only two debutantes who had purportedly married for love, and their standing in society had not profited from their unions. If anything, their status had been somewhat reduced.

  But was that so terribly wrong? Was social standing more important than love? Ava couldn’t help wondering if a person’s life was not dramatically improved with a bit of genuine affection for one’s bedmate, regardless of wealth.

  Her confusion on the matter was one of the reasons why Ava had never really settled on a particular suitor. Now she was regretting her carefree life. Now she was worried what would become of them and feared the worst. She could almost hear her mother: “Now it is a matter of convenience, darling. Now it is time for you to have a husband and the security of his fortune.”

  All right, then, she’d marry, but she’d not marry the likes of Sir Garrett. No, she’d decided she would hunt for someone better suited to her tastes, and she had in mind someone far more handsome and far more dangerous: Lord Middleton.

  Since she’d experienced that illicit kiss, which she still remembered with shining clarity, she could think of no one else. As long as she was to be married, she would like to know more of that sort of kiss—and beyond. And if she had to marry for convenience and fortune, what better fortune than that of a man who would one day be a duke?

  She had thought about it long and hard and had concluded that she had nothing to lose by trying to win an offer from him.

  Her only dilemma was, how exactly did one go about hunting a duke?

  Six

  O ne week later, Ava had her butler. Mr. Morris, an elderly jeweler’s assistant who had been dismissed because his eyesight had become so bad he could no longer clearly see the jewels on which he worked, and without income of any sort, had ended up in the parish poorhouse.

  He came to the house on Clifford Street but was quite apprehensive. He seemed to think that having never butlered before might be a hindrance to his performance.

  “Of course not,” Ava assured him, in spite of having no practical knowledge of a butler’s duties. “It’s all very simple, really. You open and shut doors, mainly.”

  That had seemed to appease him somewhat, but nothing could appease Lucille Pennebacker. “He’s not a butler, he’s a clerk, and he smells of sulfur and rotten eggs!”

  “You must remember that we are doing a good deed, Lucy.”

  “A good deed!” she spat. “You are up to no good, Ava Fairchild. Wait until Egbert hears of it. He’ll not have a man smelling of sulfur in his house!”

  Ava rather imagined that was true, but she nevertheless made her way to the parish poorhouse to have Mr. Morris’s name removed from the rolls and to collect the five pounds the parish would pay her for having removed him from their responsibility. It was not an ideal situation to be sure, but she was hopeful that he could be properly trained.

  She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice the three gentlemen emerging from a club on Regent Street, or that one of them paused to look at her. She didn’t notice him at all until he suddenly started walking away from his companions in her direction.

  “Come on, Middleton!” one of the other men called.

  Ava’s breath caught in her throat. It was Middleton. She couldn’t believe her opportunity after several nights lying sleepless in her bed, wondering how she might insinuate herself into his lofty sphere. But as she had assumed she would do so after she had come out of mourning, she couldn’t think exactly what to do with the opportunity that was presenting itself as Middleton came to a halt before her.

  “Lady Ava?” he said, looking at her curiously.

  Three years of honing her skills in ballrooms and salons across Mayfair suddenly bubbled up. “My lord Middleton!” she said, and curtsied deeply, shifting the empty basket in which she had carried fruit to the poorhouse.

  “Middleton!” one of the companions—whom she recognized as Lord Harrison—shouted laughingly. “We’ll be late!”

  He seemed not to hear him. “You’re walking alone?” he asked, peering behind her. “Rather far from home at an odd hour, aren’t you?” he asked as his two companions started back toward her, too.

  “I, ah…why, no, my lord,” she said as Lords Stanhope and Harrison joined them. Now there were three gentlemen eyeing her curiously.

  “Come on, then, Middleton,” Stanhope said with a grin. “You’ll incite a certain friend to jealousy if we are late.”

  “Stanhope, do you not see Lady Ava Fairchild and her basket before us?” Middleton asked grandly, gesturing toward Ava. The three of them peered at the empty basket she’d forgotten she was carrying.r />
  “Oh,” she said, glancing at the basket. “I’ve just come from the parish poorhouse.”

  “Dear God,” Stanhope muttered.

  “All right, then, you’ve seen the lady’s basket,” Harrison said. “Forgive us, Lady Ava, but we really must go on. We are late for an important engagement.”

  Stanhope laughed.

  “You must ignore them, Lady Ava,” Middleton said with a charming smile. “They’ve had far too much whiskey and have quite forgotten their manners.” He said it with an easy, captivating smile that made Ava begin to feel rather warm in her black crape gown.

  “Ach, I cannot wait any longer,” Harrison said, putting a hand on Middleton’s shoulder. “Someone awaits my appearance,” he added with a wink.

  “Go, then,” Middleton responded, flicking his wrist at the two of them. “I shall be along directly, but at present I should like to know what Lady Ava Fairchild is about with her big…basket.”

  “As you wish,” Harrison said.

  “But…but I thought—” Stanhope stammered, but Harrison slung his arm around his shoulder, pulled him aside, and said something low. Whatever he said caused Lord Stanhope to jerk his head up and peer closely at Ava before smiling broadly.

  “Good day, Lady Ava,” he said politely, and he and Harrison strode away, laughing at some private jest.

  Middleton put his hand on his waist, revealing a strong figure in form-fitting dove-gray trousers, a striped waistcoat, and a coat of navy superfine. “Pay them no mind,” he said breezily. “But you, my lady, you are very curious.”

  “I’m hardly curious, my lord,” she said, trying very hard not to notice his muscular form. “I am a member of the Ladies’ Beneficent Society. Perhaps you have heard of it?”

  “I can’t say that I have,” he said, his smile turning brighter.

  “We are employed in charitable works.”

  “What sort?”

  “What sort?”

  “What sort of charitable works?” he asked as his gaze casually moved down the length of her.

  Really, it was very warm beneath her cloak. “Ah…the usual sort.”

  Middleton lifted his gaze from his casual perusal of her and grinned as if that amused him. “The usual sort…feeding poor foundlings? Tending to the infirm?”

  Looking for a butler. “Ah…reading the Bible,” she said, and focused on smoothing a wrinkle in her sleeve. “To…to the, ah, poor people.”

  “Aha!” he exclaimed. “A worthy endeavor, to be sure!”

  Was that laughter she heard in his voice? She glanced up from her sleeve. He was grinning. For the sake of argument, suppose she were reading the Bible to poor people. What on earth was the matter with that? “Are you…are you laughing at me, my lord?”

  “Not in the least,” he said instantly. “I mean to compliment you on your good works.” He inclined his head.

  “It’s quite true, you know,” she lied indignantly. “I am in the midst of an important charitable endeavor.”

  He smiled fully at that, and Ava felt the force of it all the way to her toes. “Not just a single act, but an entire endeavor. Bravo, Lady Ava. And where are you off to now? To spread more goodness about? You must allow me the honor of seeing you to it.”

  “Thank you, but that is not necessary,” she said. “Your friends are waiting.” Not to mention a certain friend who would be incited to jealousy. What a rogue he was!

  “What friends?” he asked, and before she could respond, he said, “Come, then, let me see you home.”

  The very suggestion alarmed her. If she was to lure him to her, the last place she wanted Lord Middleton was at the door of her home when a jeweler’s clerk and Lucille were vying for the chance to open it. There would be the usual introductions, and Lucille would wonder aloud who he was, and Middleton would undoubtedly wonder aloud why there was no butler, to which Mr. Morris would correct him and say he was the butler, and the rest was too awful to imagine. “It’s really not necessary, my lord.”

  “Perhaps it is not necessary, but it is my pleasure and my duty. It is dusk, madam. I cannot think of letting you walk alone after dark. Don’t you know that wicked men roam these streets at night?” he asked with a wink.

  She had a sense of that, yes, and eyed him suspiciously. His soft chuckle made the hair on the back of her neck stand—not from fright, she realized, but from the expectation of something pleasurable.

  “Please do allow me, Lady Ava. It is not often I am in the company of such goodness,” he said, crossing one arm over his heart.

  He was flirting with her. The Marquis of Middleton was actually flirting with her. Ava suddenly smiled. “Well, then, I suppose one might consider this as doing a small bit of the Lord’s work, mightn’t one?”

  He laughed, a deliciously deep laugh that put crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and held out his hand to her. “I am in your debt,” he said, and gestured for her basket. “To your home, then?”

  “Ah, no,” she said quickly. “To the, ah…the church.”

  “The church?”

  “It’s just over there,” she said, gesturing down the road as she handed him her empty basket.

  “Thank you, but I can at least claim to know where St. George’s church is located. It just seems rather late to find anyone there.”

  “Au contraire,” she said pertly. “Charity can be performed at all hours, my lord.” She put her hand on the arm that he offered her.

  “Then you are to be commended on your devotion, Lady Ava.”

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You seem surprised,” she remarked as they began to walk.

  “It is a bit surprising, for I had not noticed you at church services, and one would think a pious person would attend services regularly.”

  “Hadn’t you?” she asked airily, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t attended Sunday services in quite some time. “Perhaps if you were to turn your head to the left and right and say good morning to those around you instead of staring solemnly forward, you might see me.”

  “Ah. But that would take my attention away from the sermons of our vicar,” he said, and looked at her with hazel eyes that had gone dark. “And were I to see you, Lady Ava, I would be tempted…quite tempted…to forget the good vicar entirely. Until, of course, should come the moment I would beg him for salvation for thinking improper thoughts,” he said, taking in her figure once more. “In truth, I might be in need of salvation this very evening,” he added softly, and lifted a dark gaze to her eyes once again, regarding her with an expression she could only term ravenous.

  Ava’s stomach dipped to her toes.

  She was no stranger to flirting—she rather fancied herself a veteran at it. But there was something different about Middleton’s gaze—it seemed so intense that she had the feeling she was standing before him without a stitch of clothing.

  She struggled to think clearly. “In need of salvation, truly?” she asked softly.

  He smiled a little. “You should know better than most. I’m in constant need of salvation—you’ve read the newspapers, I trust?”

  He was walking so close to her, his head inclined in her direction, and she couldn’t help but think of that kiss for perhaps the thousandth time. “Indeed I have, my lord,” she said slowly, her thoughts growing muddled as she looked into his dark hazel eyes. “In passing, of course…when I am searching out the news of Parliament.”

  “Charity and politics, too?” One corner of his mouth tipped up; a smile danced in his eyes. “Most ladies seem to be interested only in dancing and poetry and rumors of who has offered for whom.”

  “I assure you, sir, a woman’s interests are wide and varied and go well past the dancing and poetry and…gossip.”

  “Not in my experience. Many of the remarks made to me by the fairer sex lead me to believe that females think of little more than gowns and shoes and which gentleman stood up with which lady more than twice in the course of one evening.”

  “Oh,
” she said with a nonchalant shrug. “I wouldn’t know, really. I can scarcely abide ballroom gossip.”

  He laughed softly. “You are indeed a paragon of virtue, Lady Ava. Perhaps your interests would extend to a charitable auction to benefit the Foundling Hospital? I am lending it my name and I know the effort is in need of good volunteers. I should very much appreciate your assistance.”

  His suggestion surprised and elated her. The thought of working alongside him on some important charitable event was almost too good to be true—it was precisely the opportunity she needed to gain an offer from him.

  “May I impose on you?” he asked. “It’s rather a large event, one to which the full ranks of the aristocracy will be invited to donate goods to be auctioned. I will host it at Vauxhall Gardens in June, before too many of the ton have escaped to the country.”

  “I should be delighted,” she said earnestly. “Anything to further a good cause,” she added, thinking of her own cause. “Ah, here we are,” she said, nodding to the cross street down which the parish church was located.

  He glanced around, looking a bit confused.

  Ava laughed. “The church, my lord. Have you forgotten where it is located?” she teased him.

  He smiled and took her hand in his. “Thank you for allowing me to escort you,” he said. His eyes were shining as he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his mouth to her gloved knuckles. His gaze was intent, his lips warm through her glove, and a flood of heat raced up her arm and swirled around inside her.

  He lifted his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “And thank you for agreeing to help my charity,” he added softly, and slowly turned her hand over, and pressed his lips to her palm. “But thank you most of all,” he said, as his hand caressed her arm, “for agreeing to dance with me at your next opportunity.” He bent over her arm and kissed the flesh on her wrist that peeked out between the buttonholes of her glove.