by Julia London
He barked at his driver to proceed directly to the Downey town house, where he sprang out of the carriage before the footman could descend and strode to the door, rapping hard with the brass handle.
A man dressed in an ill-fitting suit of black clothing opened the door almost instantly and peered curiously at him. “Aye?”
Aye? Jared was momentarily taken aback, but quickly recovered, reaching into his coat pocket for a card. “Lord Middleton calling for Lady Ava,” he muttered, holding the card up between two fingers.
“A caller!” the butler said aloud, looking terribly pleased. “One moment, milord.” He turned away from the door, walked across the foyer to a small console, and picked up a silver tray, with which he returned and held out to Jared. Jared impatiently dropped the card onto the tray.
“Right, then. Now I’m to take it up,” the butler informed him.
“I am quite clear on the procedure, sir, so if you would hurry it along.”
The butler smiled—one tooth missing, Jared couldn’t help noticing—and stepped back. “You might come in, then.”
Sweeping his hat from his head, Jared stepped across the threshold. He’d never been inside the Downey home, and while he found the décor tasteful, it seemed rather Spartan, the house small.
The butler held the silver tray out from his body, as if he were afraid to touch Jared’s card. “This way, if you please, milord.”
“Would you not deliver it first?” Jared asked as he removed his gloves.
The question seemed to confuse the butler. He wrinkled his brow, seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, milord. You’re to accompany me, I’m quite certain.”
Rather odd, Jared thought, but he supposed they lived without the suffocating bonds of formality here, which, under different circumstances, he might appreciate. He followed the butler up a narrow staircase, then down an even narrower corridor to a pair of polished doors, which the butler instantly threw open without knocking.
Inside, three women gasped and jerked their gazes to the door. Ava was the first to react, practically leaping from her seat and rushing toward the butler. Her sister, seated beside her, jumped up and whirled about, and seemed to be stuffing something in a basket as she stole several furtive glances over her shoulder.
And the third woman—dressed in the gray of a maid’s uniform—smiled so lustfully at him that Jared feared for her employment.
Ava did not seem to notice her at all as she frantically grabbed the silver tray the butler held and pushed the man back toward the door. “Mr. Morris!” she exclaimed, smiling anxiously at Jared. “You’re to announce the guests.”
“I’d do so, mu’um, could I read his card.”
That earned a furious blush from Ava. She glanced nervously at Jared, then the tray, and snatched up the snowy white card. “You should really wear your spectacles, sir,” she gingerly chastised the butler. “It is Lord Middleton calling.”
“Lord Middleton calling, mu’um,” Morris said, bowing slightly.
“Thank you,” Ava responded tightly. Behind her, Lady Phoebe clasped her hands demurely in front of her, but with her foot she pushed a basket out of Jared’s sight.
“How do you do, my lord?” Ava said, curtsying.
“Very well, thank you.” He glanced at the maid, who continued to smile wantonly.
Ava noticed his gaze and frowned at her maid. “Sally, will you kindly find Lucy and have tea brought up? My lord, please do come in,” she said, motioning toward a settee. “Mr. Morris, that will be all.”
“Aye,” he said cheerfully, and walked out of the room.
Sally, however, was not so easily put off.
Ava’s smile faded. “Sally, that will be all, thank you.”
Surprisingly, at least to Jared, who often forgot his servants were even in the same room because they were so deadly quiet and inconspicuous, this maid frowned at Ava. “As you wish,” she said petulantly.
He would have dismissed her from employment on the spot.
Ava, however, merely smiled, smoothed back a loose strand of honey blond hair that had fallen over her eye, and said uncertainly, “How…how good of you to call.”
“Perhaps now is not a good—”
“It’s perfect,” she said, more securely, and reached out her hand to him. He took it and brought it to his lips. “Will you sit?”
“Thank you.” With a flip of his tails, he settled into the seat she had indicated. Ava and her sister sat on an opposing settee at the same moment, side by side, and flashed twin, beaming smiles at him.
Ava had a fair face, he’d give her that, as did her sister. Both of them were pretty in an unconventional way, but it was the joie de vivre in Ava that he found most attractive. Attractive, perhaps…but marriage? He swallowed down a lump of sudden hesitation and looked at his hands.
“How good of you to call,” Ava said again, forcing conversation.
Jared glanced up and saw that her hand was nervously clutching her knee. “Thank you,” he said for want of anything better, and glanced at her sister. “I had hoped we might talk,” he said softly.
Ava and her sister exchanged a quick look.
“If you will excuse me, my lord,” Phoebe said, and stood up. “I was just, ah…just in the midst of writing a letter to our cousin, Greer.” Her eyes flicked to the writing desk, as did Ava’s. The desk was remarkably free of ink or paper. “I mean to say, I was in the midst of thinking of writing a letter—”
“The inkwell,” Ava said evenly, “has been refilled. It’s just there, in the desk drawer. So you might attempt your letter, darling.”
“Yes. A letter,” Phoebe repeated, and stood up, marched to the writing desk, sat hard on the wooden chair, and spread her hands before her, looking at the desk as if she’d never seen it before. She was, Jared realized, doing her best to give them some privacy.
“In the drawer,” Ava said again, smiling anxiously at Jared. “You will find ink and paper in the drawer. A pen as well.” Her smile went brighter, as bright as it had been yesterday in the Prince’s Pavilion at Vauxhall. Moreover, it was a smile that somehow made him feel better about what he was doing, more sure of himself.
He leaned forward, planted his arm on his knee, and said softly, so that Phoebe would not hear, “If you will forgive me…I would hope that we might see our way to the altar sooner rather than later.”
“Oh!” Ava said, her eyes lighting up.
He glanced at Phoebe, who had yet to locate the ink, but was making a concerted effort to find it by opening all the drawers of the writing desk. “I thought perhaps we might marry at my seat, Broderick Abbey, under special license. I have taken the liberty of applying to the archbishop for it.”
She blinked. Her smile faded.
“Lady Ava?”
She likewise stole a glimpse of her sister, who had not found the ink but a letter of some sort, which she was pretending to read very closely, then looked at him earnestly. “I must inquire, my lord—will this…marriage,” she said, stammering a little on the word, “protect my sister and cousin from being bartered off in marriage to the first man who asks? My stepfather will want to see them married quickly and without regard for their preferences. I should like to offer them a haven, if you—”
“Of course.”
“But…but Greer is in Wales just now—at least we hope she is in Wales—and Phoebe, well, Phoebe—”
“Madam, my home will be your home, and therefore, by extension, home to your sister and cousin.”
“Really?” she asked hopefully, and straightened up, beaming at him.
“Then you will agree to travel to Broderick Abbey to marry?” he asked.
“I will. When do you propose?”
“Soon. I cannot bear the wait.”
“Soon?” She suddenly leaned forward again, so that her face was close enough to kiss if he were so inclined. “How soon do you mean?” she whispered.
“As soon as is possible.”
Her pale green eyes lit up and she smiled. “But you realize, my lord, that there will be all sorts of wretched speculation as to why we marry quickly, do you not?” she whispered.
“I don’t care,” he whispered back.
“What of a dowry? Shouldn’t you know the details of my dowry? My mother left a modest amount—”
“A dowry is not necessary,” he said quickly. “Leave it to your sister and cousin.”
Ava straightened again and blinked. “But…but my dowry is the only fund left to me, in the event you, ah…in the event you, well, perished, to say it quite bluntly. Not that you would,” she said hastily. “I mean, unless you were an old man. Which you will be one day, but then so shall I be an old woman, and I wouldn’t have need of it—”
“Lady Ava,” he calmly interrupted. “I shall ensure you are left with adequate pin money should I perish. I will even put it in a separate estate so that it is legally yours if you desire. But I would prefer that we forgo any negotiations with your stepfather about the dowry as well as forgo the posting of the marriage banns so that we might proceed as quickly as possible.”
“All right,” she said slowly. “Shall we say a month?”
“I had in mind a date sooner than that. I had in mind Friday next.”
“Friday next?” Ava exclaimed.
“Friday next?” Phoebe echoed, startling Ava and Jared. “Are you quite mad, my lord? There’s no time for a trousseau or a gown—”
Jared glanced at Ava. “I will provide whatever you need.”
“No, Ava!” Phoebe cried. “What of Greer? You can’t marry without Greer at your side!” she exclaimed just as the door flew open.
Any response Ava might have given was lost as a rather large woman bustled into the room, carrying a silver tea service and a plate piled dangerously high with scones.
Jared quickly gained his feet.
“Good afternoon, good afternoon!” she said as she hurried to the table between the settees and lay the service down. “I am Miss Lucille Pennebacker, Lord Downey’s sister and guardian to these two young women.” She thrust out her hand.
Jared took it. “Lord Middleton, at your service.”
Lucille Pennebacker instantly dipped into a girth-defying curtsy. “It is indeed a pleasure, sir! Please do sit,” she said as he helped her up, “and allow me to serve you tea.” She was already pouring. “How kind of you to offer for our Ava. Now that she is of a certain age, my brother and I had despaired of receiving a proper offer.”
“Miss Pennebacker!” Ava cried, clearly mortified.
The woman shrugged as she handed a china cup and saucer to Middleton first. “It’s very well true!” she said, pouring another cup. “You’re one foot on the shelf, my dear.” She settled onto the settee next to Jared with her back ramrod straight and her cup balanced precariously on her knee as Ava rolled her eyes at her sister.
“My brother is expected within weeks,” Miss Pennebacker said. “I suppose you’ll want to speak to him as soon as he arrives?”
“Unfortunately, we haven’t time to wait,” Jared said politely. “Lady Ava and I have agreed we will not prolong this engagement. In fact, we will be leaving for Broderick Abbey by the end of the week.”
The doughy woman’s cup froze midway to her mouth and her little finger, properly extended for tea drinking, likewise froze. She did not move, did not speak, but could only blink big black eyes at him.
“Ahem,” Ava said, trying to draw Jared’s attention.
He ignored Ava and smiled pleasantly at her chaperone. “Are you quite all right, Miss Pennebacker?”
Miss Pennebacker suddenly sounded as if she was strangling. She put down her teacup with a clatter and gaped at Ava. Then at Jared. “You cannot mean this!” she exclaimed as she pressed a chubby hand to her equally chubby bosom. “You cannot marry without Egbert’s consent! It’s just not done!”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Pennebacker, but have you any reason to believe Lord Downey would refuse my suit?” Jared asked.
“N-no,” she said, shaking her head.
“Then we shall proceed.” He smiled.
The woman’s face turned red, her eyes filled with shock. “Ava?” she squealed.
Ava gave Jared a quick but murderous look, then smiled kindly at Miss Pennebacker. “I agree with Lord Middleton.”
“Oh dear,” Miss Pennebacker said again, and fell back against the settee, staring at the ceiling with shock.
“Oh my lord,” Ava sighed, and handed her teacup to Phoebe as she moved to assist her keeper.
Twelve
L ady Waterstone developed a very sour feeling in the pit of her stomach the day Lady Flynn called. Lady Flynn had been the first on Miranda’s doorstep the day after the bloody charity auction with the news that Middleton had supposedly offered for a young bird. Lady Flynn prided herself on dispensing, posthaste, any and all news concerning Middleton. Miranda had no reason to think today was any different.
Having heard the extraordinary tale of what had transpired at the charity auction, Miranda had smiled and assured Lady Flynn that she was well aware of Middleton’s intentions to marry, and thought nothing of it. “I shall remain his particular friend,” she’d said with a coy smile.
But today, the sour feeling quickly turned to nausea, and she could not hide the bitter taste of it.
“They are to marry at once, at Broderick Abbey,” Lady Flynn said as she picked over a basket of pastries. “What do you suppose that means?”
“I couldn’t rightly say,” Miranda said. “He has not taken me into his confidence.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what all of London thinks it means,” Lady Flynn said pertly. “And it’s scandalous.”
Miranda rather imagined it was.
When Lady Flynn had taken her leave, she told her butler that she was not receiving any more callers, closed the door to her bedroom suite and locked it, then sat down on her chaise, her hands pressed against her abdomen and the uneasiness at the core of her.
He hadn’t even told her he would marry. He hadn’t responded to her letter, either. He hadn’t spoken to her since the day he had come to tell her he was done.
Miranda’s pulse had leapt dangerously when he said that he was ending their affair, and she’d quickly crossed the room to him, put her hand against his square jaw, and gazed up into his eyes. “Surely you cannot mean it, my love,” she’d whispered in a sultry voice. “You can’t possibly put me aside for long—not after all that we’ve shared.”
He smiled coldly, his eyes raking over her as he wrapped long fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand from his face. “We shared nothing more than a mutual physical desire for one another. My situation and responsibility to the title are immutable. I have a duty to perform.”
“Yes of course! But what has that to do with me? With us?”
He’d gazed into her face, his lips pressed firmly together. “Nothing,” he said quietly. “That is why I am ending it. We really are nothing to one another.”
She’d been stung by the easy way he said it and had gasped with grief. “How cruel of you.”
“Do you deny it?”
“Of course I deny it! I love you!” she cried, but she didn’t love him, not really. She was fond of him, fonder still of their physical relationship. What she truly loved about him was his position in society, his remarkable wealth and generosity, and suddenly she felt entirely too vulnerable. For the first time since their passionate affair had begun, she was fearful of losing him as a benefactor.
The queasiness of fear only intensified when he bid her farewell.
But Miranda was not defeated so easily. She would have him back in her bed, his favors filling her house, her closet. The moment he had done his duty by his sweet little bride, he’d want a woman.
To convince herself this was true, Miranda decided to have a look at his little bride.
Phoebe declared Ava had lost her mind. Ava agreed that it was entirely possible, but as eve
rything was happening so quickly, she didn’t have time to think—she had only three days to prepare for her departure, and then, once at Broderick Abbey, only three days to prepare for her wedding. There was no time at all to dwell on the thought that she would be the wife of a man who one day would be a duke.
A man she scarcely knew, really.
That thought occurred to her quite often.
As often as the thought that she had nothing to wear.
To make matters worse, as word spread around Mayfair, she was plagued with a sudden rush of callers. People she knew only casually were suddenly calling as if they were old friends, sniffing around about the details of her wedding and her courtship.
Lady Purnam was, naturally, the first to call, the tone of her voice as disapprovingly unpleasant as her mien. “How is it possible,” she demanded without preamble, “that you could agree to something so indecorous?”
“I beg your pardon!” Ava protested.
“Don’t behave so missishly with me, madam! This rush to obtain a special license so that you may marry within a fortnight is scandalous! The entire world will think you are with child!” she’d all but shouted, banging her parasol on the floor with each word.
“I hardly think the entire world will be concerned with my wedding, Lady Purnam, but in the event the entire world is concerned, I don’t care!”
Lady Purnam gasped with shock. “Have you any idea how extremely disappointed your mother would be?” she shrieked.
“My mother would congratulate me on a match that was convenient and inspired!”
“Oh! You are incorrigible!” Lady Purnam cried. She did not stay long, so incensed was she that Ava would not listen to reason.
When Miss Molly Frederick and Miss Anne Williams called, Ava suspected that their mutual friend, Lady Elizabeth, had put them up to it. After the obligatory congratulations and talk of the wedding, Miss Frederick mused, “How do you suppose Lord Middleton came to his decision to offer for you? After all, there were so many debutantes for whom he might have offered.”
