by Julia London
“Oh dear,” Ava said, dabbing at the corner of her eye with her napkin. “I beg your pardon, my lord…I don’t know what’s come over me.”
He reached for her hand. “She was very dear to you, obviously.”
She nodded, and when she’d regained her composure, she turned her attention back to her plate and took a bite of pike. “Do you remember your mother?”
“Of course,” he responded. But he didn’t tell her that his memory of her was fading more with each passing year.
“If I may…where is Redford?” she asked.
Just the mention of his father’s estate and his childhood home caused him to flinch inwardly. “North,” he said tightly.
“What was it—”
“It is nothing but a distant memory now that I really don’t recall,” he said, interrupting her before she could quiz him endlessly on a period of his life he’d just as soon forget.
She looked at him with surprise.
He could see that the tone of his voice had upset her—really, almost everything he’d done since marrying her—with the exception of bedding her—had upset her. He sighed wearily and put aside his fork. “Do forgive me, but I don’t recall a particularly happy childhood. As you can imagine, my father was quite…stern,” he added.
She asked nothing else, and they continued their meal in silence. It seemed to Jared to stretch into hours. He ate and thought of London, of the many things he would be doing were he there, and how he could not bear to wile away the days here in pursuit of some elusive domesticity.
When supper was finished, and the footman had cleared the last of the dishes away, Jared reached into his coat pocket and extracted a cheroot. He held it up to Ava. “If it offends you, I shall step outside.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, and gestured for him to smoke it.
He lit it, exhaled a ring of smoke, and smiled at her. “You must be tired. If you should like to retire, then by all means, you must do so.”
She smiled. “I’m not tired,” she said. “I can stay as long as you like.”
That was precisely what he was afraid of. Just looking at her now, her cheeks rosy from the dinner wine, her long, tapered fingers dancing on the stem of the glass, he felt a tug of desire to take her to his bed. And once again, that desire unnerved him, and put him on uneven ground. He didn’t want to physically desire her at all, for that only made the situation more difficult.
He had determined, during the long stretch of day, that he would do his duty by her, but no more than that. How could he? Anything more would feed expectations, and the less they expected of one another, the happier they would both be.
He ground the cheroot out, stretched his hands on the table before him, and said evenly, “You needn’t wait for me, Lady Middleton. There is some correspondence I must review before retiring.”
She blinked, glanced uneasily at the footman. “Won’t you call me Ava?” she asked softly. “Lady Middleton seems so…formal.”
“Ava,” he said reluctantly. The formality served to hold her at arm’s length, where he wanted her. “If you will excuse me, I have some correspondence I must review.”
But before he could go, she shifted in her chair, closer to him, and leaned forward, obviously aware of the footmen. “But…but can’t you see to it on the morrow?” she whispered. “I thought perhaps we might read, or—”
“It cannot wait,” he said curtly.
Her disappointment was clearly evident, and it pricked him much more sharply than he cared to admit. After a moment, she sagged against the back of her chair and released a long sigh.
“Is something wrong?” he asked calmly.
“Not at all, other than I rather thought that as we’d only joined together in matrimony day before yesterday,” she said, lifting her gaze to him, “we might spend at least a bit of time together.”
He’d been so certain she understood their match, so certain she would be little trouble when she had what she wanted. Now he felt pressed to explain when he really couldn’t explain himself at all because he couldn’t understand what was happening inside him.
The situation perturbed him; he glanced at the two footmen. “That will be all,” he said, and waited for the two men to quit the room. When they had gone through the pocket door leading to the next room, he turned an unwavering gaze to his wife and said, “I prefer we not discuss the details of our private lives before the servants, Lady Middleton.”
“Private life? As we have not as yet established any sort of life, I do not deserve your admonishment.”
His gaze narrowed. “We do indeed have a life, and it is none of the servants’ concern.”
Ava shrugged and looked away.
Women, he thought with an internal sigh. “Lady Middleton,” he said quietly but firmly, “look at me.”
She lifted her chin, just like a child, and refused to look at him.
“Look at me,” he said again, his voice brooking no argument.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He leaned forward, put his hand around her wrist, and held it tightly. “We had an agreement, you and I,” he reminded her. “We agreed to further one another’s ends.”
“I understand—”
“I don’t think you do,” he interrupted. “We made a bargain that came with certain defined expectations for us both. Beyond those expectations, there is nothing more, and you should not wish for it.”
“I hope you will forgive me for pointing out that you were far more charming before we married,” she said, yanking her wrist free of his grasp. “I understood our mutual expectations, my lord, but I did not think we’d be complete strangers to one another.”
He snorted at that. “We are no longer strangers, madam, and well you know it. But I would advise, for the sake of your happiness, that you do not ask of me what I cannot give. Do you understand? I can give you a name, and my protection, and extend that protection to your family, all in exchange for your bearing me a son. That was our tacit agreement and that is all I can give you.”
Ava’s green eyes went wide. She blinked, with anger or hurt or perhaps both. But before she could argue the point, he stood up, walked around the table to her, put his hand on her shoulders, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Sleep well, wife,” he said, and walked out of the dining room.
Nineteen
A nother sleepless night, and Ava was up just after dawn, staring forlornly out her window—which gave her opportunity to see her husband ride out on his brown horse as the sun was rising, his speed reckless.
She pulled her dressing robe tightly around her as she watched him disappear down the road. When she couldn’t see him any longer, she walked back to her bed and flung herself on it. She’d never felt so lost, not when her mother died or Greer left. No, nothing had prepared her or warned her for the loneliness of marriage. She felt as if she were wandering aimlessly, seeking any direction.
This was most certainly not what she had bargained for. It was not what she’d expected, not what she wanted, and not something she thought she could possibly bear.
Granted, she’d been fully prepared to live a life separate from her husband—except for the relations they would have to produce children, obviously, and, all right, except for the fabulous routs she had dreamed of them hosting—but then again, she’d not expected to feel so differently about it all after her wedding night.
That was something her mother had neglected to tell her—that strong emotions would accompany relations with a man so handsome and dashing as her husband. Ava had never suspected she could feel so tender of heart that she would need to see him, need to touch him, need to bask in the warmth of his smile.
This was not the carefree existence her mother had touted. This was not pleasant, nor was it convenient. It was, in fact, quite painful. Ava felt like a fool, like a trollop who had carelessly and foolishly traded her happiness for wealth and social position.
Worse, she had absolutely no idea what to do about it and
no one to help her. She could scarcely confide in Miss Hillier—she didn’t know the woman, and besides, she clearly loved Middleton like a son. There was simply no one to whom she could unburden herself.
“Well, then,” she said to no one, “you must endeavor to think quite hard on it, Lady Middleton.”
She frowned at the sound of her new name. She found it distasteful when he said it, as if she were more a mistress than a wife, and hardly a mistress at that.
All the moping was making her restless. She’d never been one to mope, actually, and made up her mind she would not start now. A walk—that is what she needed. A walk to help her think.
She marched to her dressing room, where all her clothes had been pressed and put away by a staff so efficient that she was actually beginning to think that if she did do something entirely on her own, they would be highly offended. After rifling through the few gowns she’d brought, she found a serviceable, somber day gown.
At her solitary breakfast, Ava inquired of Dawson if there were any walking paths to which he might point her.
He looked surprised by her question. “There are some walking paths, madam, but the gardens are much more enjoyable.”
“Thank you, but I would prefer a good walk with sun and fresh air.”
Dawson frowned lightly. “I would not think his lordship would want you to walk alone, my lady. Perhaps you might wait until he returns?”
Just the mention of his absence rankled Ava, and she abruptly stood up, smiled brightly at Dawson, and shook her head. “I think not, sir, for he could very well be gone quite some time. Days, even. I should like to walk today.”
Dawson hurried after her to show her the path, pleading with her not to go alone. But Ava fit a bonnet on her head and asked, “What is there to fear, Mr. Dawson? Cows?” She laughed at her own joke.
“There is nothing to fear, Lady Middleton, but you might twist an ankle—”
Ava gestured for the footman to open the door. “I assure you I am quite capable of walking, and frankly, I think I do it rather well. I will be quite all right. Is there a chance I might stumble on a village or some such thing?”
“Madam,” he said, clearly mortified, “you cannot mean to go as far as Broderick!”
“Can’t I?” she asked airily, fitting her hands into her gloves. “How far can it be? Three, perhaps four miles? I shall return this afternoon. Oh do stop looking so alarmed, Mr. Dawson!” She patted his arm. “I assure you, I will be quite all right. Where is the path, then? To the east? The west?”
Mr. Dawson frowned and reluctantly pointed out the path.
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 knew 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 and 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 about.”
“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 out 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 Charlotte, 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 he 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 and 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 confe
ctionary, 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 said, 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.
