by Julia London
Ava gasped.
“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 paintings 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 handsome 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 some 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.”
Surprised, Charles lifted her up. “Thank you,” he said, looking into her face. Her large green eyes seemed to sparkle naturally with a winsome smile that curved into dimples on each cheek. Her hair, the color of honey, was artfully swept up and tied with ribbon.
“You have agreed to marry my son,” he said, stating it aloud more for his own benefit than hers.
“I have,” she said, smiling prettily.
“And your stepfather? What is his opinion? As he has not been to call, I can only surmise he is quite pleased.”
“My stepfather is not as yet aware, your grace. He is in France and won’t return for another week or so.”
That was a bit startling, for he would have assumed Jared spoke to the man before speaking to Lady Ava. But then again, he knew that times were changing—the formality of these matches was not nearly as rigid as that of his youth. “Well,” he said, smiling charitably as he gestured for them to sit. “There will be plenty of time to gain his permission, won’t there?”
“I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “I don’t think he shall return before we are married.”
Charles stopped in his move to a chair and stared at the young woman. “I beg your pardon?”
“We are to be married next week,” Jared said.
His chest constricted around his heart. “Next week?” he echoed. “I haven’t heard of this!”
“We have only just decided and have come to tell you.” Jared spoke so easily, so coolly, that it angered Charles. His son smiled serenely, and the smile struck Charles with a disquieting thought—his son hated him.
“Might I inquire as to why the rush to the altar, as if I can’t already surmise?”
“There is nothing to surmise,” Jared said, his smile fading. “But we saw no reason to delay it…do you?”
“It’s absolutely scandalous!” Charles said, barely able to control his anger. “The entire ton will think your fiancée is with child!”
“She is not, sir. And we will be at Broderick Abbey, away from the gossips who feed such rumors.”
“I hardly care where you will be, sir. There will be talk,” Charles said sharply.
“I beg your pardon, your grace…”
Startled by the interruption, Charles jerked his gaze to Lady Ava.
“I…I wanted to go forth,” she said uncertainly.
Jared looked at her with surprise and then chuckled, whether only to annoy his father or because she amused him, Charles could not be sure. But he turned fully to face his would-be daughter-in-law. “I scarcely care, Lady Ava. To marry so quickly is vulgar.”
She blinked her wide green eyes at him, then glanced at Jared. “My fiancée is being kind,” he said. “It was entirely my idea and she has graciously agreed. It is best for us.”
Charles angrily turned away from his irreverent son, frustrated, appalled, and furious. “I want this abomination stopped.”
He heard Lady Ava’s soft gasp, but his son said clearly, “No, your grace. We are committed.”
He jerked around and pinned Jared with a hot look. “How dare you flaunt your impertinence—”
“We are not flaunting,” Jared said calmly. “We would keep this a private matter, with only family and a few dear friends attending. And you, if it pleases you.”
That stopped him. As tumultuous as the subject of marriage and heirs had been between them, Charles was stirred by the prospect of seeing his only child marry. He glanced at the pretty young woman beside him, who had not collapsed with shock and dismay as he would have expected given the tender constitution of women in general, but looked rather hopeful.
He frowned. Looked her up and down. “Is there any reason to expect you are not capable of conceiving or giving birth?” he asked bluntly.
“Your grace!” Jared protested hotly, but Charles stopped him by lifting a hand.
“It is a legitimate question.”
“No, your grace
,” Lady Ava said quickly, her hand going to Jared’s to still him, her porcelain cheeks stained pink.
Charles sighed. “And when might I be subjected to this abomination of a wedding?”
“Next Friday morning,” Jared said tightly.
A lump of something—regret, disappointment perhaps—formed in Charles’s gullet, but he swallowed it down. He looked at Lady Ava once more. She was a sturdy girl, not one given to vapors, he imagined. “Very well, then. I shall witness.”
One of Jared’s brows lifted above the other. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Now go,” Charles said irritably, and turned away from them again, unable to comprehend why he felt so utterly dejected at that moment.
He heard a bit of whispering, then heard them quit the room. For a long time after they’d gone, he stood at the window, looking out over Hyde Park. And then he retired to his desk, took a hand portrait of Jared’s mother from the bottom drawer and gazed at it.
And he hoped, with every fiber of his being, that Jared would at least find the happiness that had eluded him with Jared’s mother.
Fourteen
T he morning Jared took his intended and her retinue to Broderick Abbey passed quickly—they were only a half hour away from his home when Jared realized it, he’d been so lost in thought.
He glanced at Ava and her sister, both of whom had slipped into naps when their idle chatter could no longer sustain the three of them, being the strangers they really were. It had occurred to him, on the long ride home, that he did hold some affection for Ava—but the thought of marrying her still shocked him. It seemed quite unreal to him that he was on the verge of committing himself for all time, and moreover, to a woman he scarcely knew. In spite of being attracted to her, in spite of the way she appealed to him in some primal way, he could not help feeling trapped. He was about to be chained forever to a life he did not want and had never sought until his father had forced it on him.
The carriage turned up a familiar, tree-lined road that led to the abbey entrance. This was the point in the journey Jared normally felt a sense of peace wash over him. His estate was the one place on earth he was free of his father’s criticism, the one place he was free to live as he pleased. Today, however, he felt nothing but a sense of dread, almost as if his father had somehow managed to invade Broderick Abbey.
Another mile and the road widened beneath tall, towering oak trees, meticulously manicured, which provided a dramatic entrance to the abbey grounds. What was left of the medieval abbey had been swallowed up by Georgian architecture; his home stretched long on either side of what had been the abbey, four stories high and U-shaped around lawns and gardens that were the envy of many a nobleman.
Jared nudged Ava; her eyes fluttered open and she smiled sleepily, pushed herself up, and yawned as she stretched her back like a cat.
“We are home,” he said, surreptitiously admiring her slender form as she stretched.
“Home,” she repeated dreamily—but then her eyes sparked. “Broderick Abbey?” she asked excitedly, and leaned across her sister to see out the window.
The forest was thick along the road. It was a fact that Broderick Abbey had some of the finest hunting in all of England, and it was precisely because Jared had kept the forests as pristine as possible. The coach rounded a corner, and the lake came into view, stocked with trout and pike. On the far end of the lake, he could see a part of the herd of cattle he raised at Broderick Abbey. It was ironic, really, for the Broderick fortune had been made on sheep trading in Europe centuries ago.
His father still raised sheep on his estate; Jared raised cattle.
“What’s that?” Ava asked as Phoebe roused from her nap and joined Ava in looking out the window. She was pointing at the old Bridget Castle ruins that still marked a hill on his estate.
“That was once the home of my mother’s ancestors. They were ousted by the Yorks.” He glanced at the ruins and saw a young boy atop a mound of rocks, waving as the coach sped by, and felt his heart skip a beat.
Ava laughed with the enthusiasm of a young girl at a circus as they rolled past fields where workers were cutting hay, stone cisterns used to store rainwater, more cattle, a few sheep, and stacks of hay. “Perhaps I should have asked after your family history, sir, for my father’s family ancestors were on the side of the Lancasters,” she said, referring to the medieval Wars of the Roses. “I hadn’t—oh!” she exclaimed, losing her train of thought as the stone gates marking the entrance to the grounds of Broderick Abbey came into view.
He supposed that there were any number of things they should have asked one another before coming here.
“Oh, Ava,” Phoebe said reverently. “It’s beautiful.” A few moments later, they sailed through the gates and around a stand of trees, pulling to a halt in front of the ivy-covered arched entry that led into a small garden courtyard before the main entry.
The carriage rumbled to a halt, then listed slightly as the footmen clambered down. Jared leaned forward to see through to the courtyard and the double oak doors of the entry as they swung open. As the footmen put a bench down and opened the door of the coach, a string of servants came running out of the house, the women in the familiar gray gowns and white aprons, the men in standard Broderick livery of black and gold. And of course, his butler, Dawson, who was quickly lining up the staff by rank to greet the marquis and the woman who would be his wife and their mistress.
A footman from the house stepped in front of one covered by the grime of the road and held up his hand to Ava. She hesitated slightly, glanced at Jared as Phoebe helped her on with her coat, then shifted her gaze to the assembled servants, who were all peering around one another to see her. With a noticeable draw of breath, she gave her hand to the footman and stepped down. And she proceeded to shake out the skirts of her traveling gown, avoiding the curious gazes of the staff as she waited for Jared.
He followed Phoebe out and offered Ava his arm. She glanced up, to his neckcloth, before lifting her gaze to his, where he could see the consternation in her eyes. He understood her uneasiness—it was a big house with a big staff, much larger than what he assumed she was accustomed to. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I have long admired your courage. Do not let it desert you now,” he urged her, and dipped his head to see her better, nodding almost indiscernibly to the staff. “They will certainly respect you more if you show them no fear.”
Lady Ava pressed her lips firmly together. “Right you are,” she muttered, then gave him a resolute nod and put a hand on his arm. He led her into the courtyard, where he began the introductions to her new staff by introducing her to his butler. “Lady Ava Fairchild,” he said, “please allow me to introduce you to my butler, Mr. Dawson.”
Dawson instantly bowed at the waist, and Ava extended her hand. “I’ve heard quite a lot of good things about you, and it is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Bloody hell if old Dawson didn’t look a bit surprised. He was accustomed to people like Miranda, who had a bad habit of sweeping past him as if he did not exist. The butler smiled at Ava and inclined his head. “The pleasure, my lady, is most assuredly mine.”
“You’ll show me about, will you, Mr. Dawson? The abbey is overwhelmingly enormous, and I am certain I shall be lost.”
“It shall be an honor,” Dawson said, clearly pleased to be asked.
Jared next turned to Miss Hillier, his erstwhile housekeeper, and once, a long time ago, his nursemaid. Miss Hillier smiled warmly, as if she wanted to take him in her arms like a mother. In truth, she had been the only mother he’d known for the first ten years of his life. Unfortunately, Miss Hillier still had a tendency to be too motherly.
Jared put his hand on the small of Ava’s back. “Lady Ava, my fiancée,” he said, and to Ava, “Allow me to introduce Miss Hillier, our housekeeper.”
Miss Hillier turned a beaming smile to her new mistress. “Oh my, how lovely you are, my lady.”
Ava blushed self-co
nsciously. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hillier. I shall need your expert assistance to guide me through my duties as mistress of such a very grand house.”
And on down the line they went, meeting the staff that kept Broderick Abbey functioning. The footmen, the housemaids. The cook and scullery maids. The groundsmen, including the gardener and his men, and the stable hands, the game manager. There were three dozen of them, a veritable army.
And Ava greeted each and every one with a word and what seemed like an honest expression of interest in what they did. Moreover, Jared noticed, she touched their hands, their elbows, their shoulders, looked them squarely in the eye and smiled. It was no wonder that the staff members were all gazing rather approvingly at his intended bride, for which, Jared realized, he was relieved and pleased. Broderick Abbey was his treasure; the staff and their satisfaction with their employment were important to him. He had not realized how important until this moment.
They proceeded inside, with several of the staff running ahead to open rooms for his inspection. Dawson instructed two footmen to have their trunks brought in, and the cook to have the tea readied.
“Miss Hillier, if you will please show the ladies to their suite of rooms,” Jared said as they entered the foyer and he helped Ava remove her pelisse. “When they are ready, I shall meet them for luncheon in the west dining room.”
“Very good, my lord.” Miss Hillier gestured for Ava and Phoebe to come along.
With another anxious glance at Jared over her shoulder, Ava, in the company of her sister, who had yet to take her eyes from the walls and ceiling, dutifully followed Miss Hillier, taking in the surroundings as they went.
Jared handed his hat to Dawson.
“If I may, my lord?” Dawson asked.
“Yes?”
“Felicitations on your upcoming nuptials. She’s bonny, if you don’t mind me saying.”
A small smile crept across Jared’s mouth. “She is indeed. Thank you, Dawson. Have a mount saddled, will you?”
