by Julia London
“At once, my lord,” Dawson said, and with a glance to a footman, sent the man running.
Jared followed the footman out and down the drive, walking slowly to the stables. While he waited, he leaned heavily against a post and put his hand to his forehead. He was feeling this sea change in his life more acutely now that they were here, in his home. His decision was beginning to feel truly unalterable.
Perhaps he was only exhausted—the Lord knew he hadn’t slept at all this week, his mind racing around his whirlwind marriage, those disturbing feelings of being trapped. But he was also feeling wildly empty, as if all his normal thoughts and emotions had deserted him, leaving a void for new, wild thoughts and unfamiliar emotions to fill.
What he wanted was for nothing to change with the singular exception of siring a legitimate son. Everything else he wished to remain the same. That was, he realized with sickening dread, an impossibility given the vows he would take in a matter of days.
A stableman appeared with a young mare. “I beg your pardon my lord, but she’s not your usual—”
“She’ll do,” he said, reaching for the bridle.
“She’s a bit green, sir,” the stableman tried again.
Jared looked the young mare in the eye. The horse stared back at him with a wildness that mirrored what he felt deep inside himself. “Excellent,” he said, and fit his foot in the stirrup and swung up. The horse reacted skittishly, pushing and pulling, trying to get out from beneath him. Jared squeezed his thighs against her. “Steady, old girl,” he said soothingly, “steady.”
The mare was in no mood to steady herself and bolted for the paddock gate, trying yet to dislodge him. It took all the strength Jared had to hold her, but the moment they cleared the paddock gate, he let her go and held on, every muscle tensed with the effort to keep his seat.
The horse was green, but she couldn’t possibly be half as wild as he felt inside. As she raced along, he began to feel that perhaps he could outrun the invisible beast that was pursuing him. But as they approached a stone fence, Jared knew a moment of fear. He didn’t know her, didn’t know if she would clear the fence or balk. But it was too late to pull up, so he leaned low over her neck, gripped the reins, and closed his eyes.
She stumbled, and his heart dropped…but then he felt the horse rise up, and felt the two of them soar.
Miss Hillier gave Ava and Phoebe a quick tour of the main living area of the house before taking them up to what would be Ava’s suite. “The ladies’ rooms are just here,” she said, moving through a grand sitting room and into a suite of rooms that consisted of a bedroom the size of the Downey salon, a sitting room full of silk-covered chaise longues and cherrywood furnishings, a dressing room, and a bathing room with porcelain fixtures. The walls in the suite were painted pale green and the elaborate crown moldings and paper friezes that adorned the ceilings were painted in creamy white.
Ava put aside her reticule and took in her grand surroundings as Miss Hillier walked around, pointing out various features. The bellpull. The brazier, should the fireplace not provide enough warmth. The linens storage, the vanity.
When two footmen appeared with their trunks, Miss Hillier chattered away, directing them left and right, and Ava wandered to one set of expansive windows overlooking a lush green lawn and a very large fountain. She’d never lived in anything so grand. Not even Bingley Hall, for all its splendor, could be counted in the class of Broderick Abbey, and that fact intimidated her on some level. When she’d set out to improve her family’s station in life, she’d not imagined this sort of wealth.
As she stood there, gazing absently at the beautiful landscape, she noticed a movement—a lone rider.
“His lordship doesn’t have a set time for supper. Would you care to set one, madam?” Miss Hillier asked.
“I don’t know—I should speak with him, I suppose,” Ava responded, distracted, as the rider rode full-bore for a stone fence.
“He’s rather unconventional in that regard,” Miss Hillier said with an airy laugh. “Always has been.”
Ava didn’t respond—her pulse quickened as she realized it was Middleton who rode so recklessly for the fence.
“Never been one to stand on custom, not since he was a wee lad.”
“You’ve known him that long?” Phoebe asked as Middleton came to the fence. Ava felt his recklessness in her veins, felt the split second during which the horse might have balked, killing him. The horse stumbled; she closed her eyes, then quickly opened them in time to see the horse come down on the other side of the fence and crash into the forest, Middleton’s riding coat waving out behind him.
“Oh yes, indeed. I was his nursemaid.”
Ava drew a steadying breath. And another. From what, or to what, do you run?
“Very well, then, it looks as if all is in order. Is there something else I might do for you, Lady Ava?”
Hire a chaise, send me back to London. Ava turned and smiled at the housekeeper. “No…no, thank you.”
Miss Hillier nodded and began to move.
“There is one thing,” Ava said, stopping Miss Hillier’s march.
“Yes, madam?”
“Where might the master’s suite be?”
“Just in there,” she said, nodding to her right. “His dressing room adjoins yours.” Ava and Phoebe exchanged a look to which Miss Hillier clucked her tongue. “You needn’t fret at the impropriety of it, my lady. His lordship will reside in another part of the house until you are wed.”
“Ah,” Ava said, surprisingly relieved. “Thank you.”
“Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Miss Hillier gave them a happy smile and bustled out, pausing only to straighten some linen towels on an étagère before sailing through the door and closing it soundly behind her.
When she left, Phoebe turned around and fell on the bed with a squeal. “My God!” she exclaimed. “Have you ever seen a place so grand?”
Ava looked around the room and shook her head. “No. Never.” She felt almost triumphant. She’d done it—she’d hunted and bagged one of the most sought after bachelors in all of England. Good Lord, she’d even be a duchess one day.
So why, then, did she feel so vulnerable? Was it because he rode so recklessly away from the house? Was it because she was on the verge of being wife to a man she knew so little about? And one day mother to his child? Ava longed for her mother—she would have laughed at Ava’s fears and pushed her out the door with a reminder that after her wifely duties were all said and done, she might have any bauble she wished, and to certainly ask for an expensive one.
Ava lifted her head. She could almost hear her mother. “You’ve made your bed, young lady. Now you shall lie in it. But what a scrumptious bed it is, darling.”
There was nothing to be done for it—Ava had made her bed, had connived and schemed to make it. So now it would seem she most definitely would lie in it.
It was a rather delicious bed.
“Come on,” she said, playfully slapping Phoebe’s knee. “Let us prepare ourselves for ‘luncheon,’ ” she said, mimicking Miss Hillier.
Fifteen
O ver the next two days, so many people arrived at Broderick Abbey that Ava rarely saw her betrothed, save at mealtime, and even then, they were surrounded by family and friends. After supper, the ladies would retire to a sitting room so that Lady Purnam might regale them with tales of what was to be expected of a good bride (deference at all times seemed to be the sum of it), and the men would retire all the way to the village of Broderick, from which they would return in the wee hours of the morning, well into their cups.
Ava knew this because Middleton and his two good friends, Stanhope and Harrison, were possessed of a desire to sing a song to her beneath her window, so loudly and so poorly that they woke the entire house.
Nevertheless, Ava was happy—Broderick Abbey was so elegant, and the grounds so beautiful. She would very much enjoy being mistress here, and more than once, she had to pinch
herself to make sure it was real. What had once been fantasy was alarmingly real, and she was absolutely giddy about her accomplishment.
On the day before her wedding, Lucille Pennebacker arrived, and she and Lady Purnam immediately began to compete with one another in instructing Ava on the proper direction of her large household staff, much to Miss Hillier’s considerable and obvious chagrin.
That did not dampen Ava’s spirits. She and Phoebe privately laughed at the battle of three strong wills. Even the duke’s arrival on the eve of her wedding, which cast a pall over the festive atmosphere, did nothing to sober her. In fact, nothing sobered her until the moment she was to take her vows.
The wedding ceremony took place promptly at nine o’clock Friday morning. Ava wore a gown of pale rose satin. It pleased her enormously that the man who would be her husband seemed suitably impressed with her appearance; as they gathered outside the chapel, one brow arched high above the other as he took her in, head to toe. He took her hand, kissed her lips to the delight of the servants and grounds people gathered, and said, “You are indeed the loveliest bride I’ve ever had the pleasure to see.”
The compliment sent a shiver down Ava’s back and made her feel a little flush with pride.
“Are you quite ready?” he asked.
She laughed. “Are you?”
He seemed to consider the question for a moment. “I suppose I am,” he said, and smiled at her. “Shall we carry on, Lady Ava?”
“We shall,” she said, and put her hand on the arm that he offered.
But as they walked into the church, her nerves began to fray and her thoughts got the best of her. Up until this morning, she’d been so blessedly busy that she hadn’t really had time to think about the vows she would take. But now, standing before a parish vicar, everything seemed a little blurry. How was it, she wondered, as she promised to honor a man she really didn’t know, that she had come to this point? She’d been so pleased with herself up until this moment—and now she couldn’t quite discern why she suddenly felt so unsettled.
She glanced at Phoebe on her left. The small bouquet of peonies Phoebe held shook so badly that it was a miracle any of the blooms remained intact. Ava wanted to tell her sister that it was all right, that she’d done it, she’d married for convenience and fortune, and they never would need worry again. Only the vicar’s words—the bits about honoring her husband, loving and comforting him—made her realize that what she really wanted was to marry for love.
Suddenly, she didn’t feel victorious or particularly clever. She felt a bit disingenuous.
Ava glanced at Middleton from the corner of her eye as he repeated the vows the vicar put to him. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?”
Middleton hesitated a moment.
Wilt thou have this woman? Ava silently echoed.
His lids fluttered, but then he cleared his throat and said plainly, “I will.” He glanced at her and gave her a slight wink.
What was he thinking? What thoughts crowded his head in this moment? she wondered as he slipped a plain gold ring on her finger. Did he, like her, find it strange to stand up and vow to commit to her for the rest of their natural lives, knowing so little about her? Or did he think that it was merely a matter of convenience and that his life would go on, unchanged, with possibly the exception of planting a child in her?
The vicar pronounced them man and wife before Ava could ever really focus on what was happening. She dutifully turned her face up to her husband, who put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her possessively.
There it was again—that strange, niggling feeling inside her, that tiny but fervent desire that he love her. If he loved her even only a little, then this would seem right somehow.
In spite of the morning hour, the champagne flowed freely at the wedding breakfast that followed the ceremony. Outside, the servants and groundsmen shared in the champagne and food that had been prepared with the help of villagers from Broderick. Family, friends, and local dignitaries were seated inside the terrace sitting room, which had been set up with tables to host the wedding breakfast.
Middleton and Ava made their way through the small crowd of servants gathered outside, smiling and nodding to their lusty calls of congratulations. As was customary, Middleton tossed coins to the children. One boy, Ava noticed, did not scramble for the coins with the other children, but looked at her curiously. She smiled at him. The boy returned a very bright and charming smile.
Inside, men happily clapped Middleton on the shoulder while the women professed happiness for Ava and eyed her beautiful dress. A trio of musicians, hired from the village, played lively music for them. The room was full of laughter and joyous celebration, save one person, who did not seem to enjoy the celebration in the least: the Duke of Redford.
Ava was standing near her new husband, who had been swallowed up by his friends, when Lady Purnam sailed to her side, took her by the hand, and dragged her aside. “What are you waiting for?” she hissed.
“I beg your pardon?”
Lady Purnam glanced at Lord Redford standing by the wall, an untouched glass of champagne on a table beside him. “He’s your father-in-law now and it is frighteningly unrefined to leave him to stew in his own juices! Go to him at once and make sure he is put well at ease!”
Ava glanced doubtfully at her new father-in-law. Lady Purnam gave her a bit of a shove with her elbow. With a heavy sigh, Ava walked forward. The duke did not acknowledge her as she approached, but stared sourly at the guests. He was, Ava thought, being terribly rude on the occasion of his son’s wedding.
It wasn’t until she was standing almost directly before him that he shifted his gaze to her. “Your grace,” she said, dipping into a curtsy. “Are you unwell?”
“Unwell?” he repeated, surprised. “I am very well, thank you.”
His gaze flicked over her as if she were a villager standing in his way. He really did disdain her, didn’t he? “I am pleased to hear it, although there must be something that concerns you, sir, for you seem quite cross.”
“I’m cross now, am I?”
Ava forced a smile. “I don’t blame you in the least. It’s not an ideal situation, to be sure.”
“That, madam, is an understatement,” he said, and turned his gaze back to the guests.
“Nonetheless, it is my wedding day, your grace, and I would be very honored if you’d sit with me and try to smile at least now and again.”
Her cheekiness startled him; he jerked his gaze to her and frowned. “Lady Ava—”
“—Middleton.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am Lady Middleton now.”
The duke blinked. And then, miraculously, he offered the barest hint of a smile. “Indeed you are.”
“It could be far worse, you know,” Ava said with a conspiratorial glance about. “I could be a dreadful bore. I would come to supper and bore you unto tears, and bear you dullard grandchildren.”
Now the duke was smiling. “I must trust your word that you are not a bore, mustn’t I?”
“I assure you I am not in the least. What I lack in finesse I always make up in knowing a bit of news about our closest friends.”
Amazingly, the duke actually laughed and offered her his arm. “You must tell me all, Lady Middleton.”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “For example, did you know that Lady Purnam was once a favorite of our new king?” she whispered as the duke led her to a table.
He squinted at Lady Purnam across the room. “I daresay I did not,” he answered honestly, and turned back to Ava, anxious to hear the tale.
And Ava was so engrossed in the telling of it that she didn’t realize her husband had joined them until the duke looked up and nodded curtly.
“Your grace,” Middleton said, and put his hand to Ava’s shoulder and leaned over to ask softly, “Are you quite all right?”
She smiled up at him. “I was just telling his grace about Lady Purnam. She was
once a favorite of the king’s.”
He looked at her as if he thought she had lost her mind, but straightened and exchanged a look with his father.
“A toast!” someone called out. “A toast, a toast!”
“Join me,” Middleton said, and slipped his hand beneath Ava’s elbow and pulled her up.
Lord Harrison was the first to step forward and gain the attention of the small crowd with his crystal flute of champagne raised high. “If I may, my lord,” he said, bowing theatrically to Middleton’s nod that he should continue. “I have been told that the secret to a long and happy matrimony is that you should never go to bed angry with one another—stay up and argue.”
The guests burst into laughter, shouting “Hear, hear!”
“What do you know of marriage, Harrison?” Middleton scoffed.
“Absolutely nothing,” Harrison said jovially. “The same as you, my lord.” The crowd laughed again, and Harrison lifted his crystal flute in toast. “May your marriage be blessed.” Middleton inclined his head and lifted his flute.
“Fools, the both of you,” Stanhope said, and stepped forward, next to Harrison, and put a collegial hand on his shoulder. “Here, sir, is my best advice. Learn these four magic words and learn them well, and trust me, sir, they will smooth the roughest of roads with your beautiful bride.”
Middleton laughed. “And they are?”
“ ‘You’re quite right, darling,’ ” Stanhope said. Once again, the crowd laughed uproariously, Ava and Middleton among them. But then the duke rose from his seat, and a hush fell over them. Beside her, Ava could feel Middleton’s entire body stiffen as the duke turned to them and lifted his glass.
“A toast, if I may?”
“Of course,” Middleton said instantly.
He looked at Ava. “To Lady Middleton,” he said quietly. “May you find joy.”
No one said a word—they scarcely even breathed. But then Lady Purnam, God bless her, shouted, “Hear, hear!” and the rest of the crowd followed suit, lifting their glasses and toasting Ava’s joy.
