by Julia London
“Oh,” she said, and stepped over the rocks. “And now?”
“Now you are in the kitchen.” He turned around and pointed to a place he’d marked with rocks. “That is the great room, where the king and his knights decide who they will kill,” he said with relish.
“Ooh,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Giants and that sort of thing?”
For some reason, that made Edmond laugh. He tossed his head back and laughed loudly, his hazel eyes squinting with mirth. And in that moment, Ava knew why the boy wasn’t allowed at the abbey, or in Broderick. She knew why he was a virtual prisoner of the forest.
And she suddenly hated Middleton for it.
Frankly, she was surprised she hadn’t seen it before now, but the child was clearly Middleton’s son. He had the same hazel eyes, the same mouth. And when he laughed, he looked just like his father.
Nevertheless, she was appalled by the recognition, horrified that Middleton had treated his son so abominably, and even angrier that a man of his position and wealth wouldn’t do better by his son, illegitimate or not.
As she stood there, smiling and nodding as Edmond pointed out the rest of his rooms, she wondered if there was anything about marriage that could be recommended. For the moment, she couldn’t possibly think of a thing.
On the following day, when Lord and Lady Middleton were to leave for Harrison’s, Ava finally appeared (having claimed a headache at supper last night), dressed in a traveling gown, her bags in place, her lady’s maid smiling provocatively. Apparently, Jared thought, his wife was ready to make the journey east.
Nevertheless, he approached her cautiously in the event her mood changed as suddenly as it had two nights past. “You seem ready for a sporting weekend, are you not, madam—er, Ava?”
“I am indeed. Jared,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly.
He almost smiled. If there was one thing on which he could depend, it was that Ava Fairchild would rebound from any setback, perceived or real, large or small. “Splendid,” he said. “Then we may proceed. The rain has stopped and it looks to be a glorious day.”
“Doesn’t it,” she said, and turned away from him to fit her bonnet on her head.
He watched her fussing with it. The thought occurred to him that he was proud of her, proud to present her as his wife. Only a few short months ago, he hardly noticed her at all. And now…now he wanted to touch her, to feel her skin. But he dared not—she looked as if she might punch him square in the mouth if he so much as thought it.
She slept for most of the journey until he woke her when they were nearing Harrison’s estate. She came up with a start, wide-eyed and absolutely beautiful. She leaned forward to see out the window, then reared back, pinched her cheeks, smoothed her hair, and turned toward the window to watch the scenery. Jared didn’t press her—he looked out the opposite window.
There were carriages everywhere, footmen running back and forth, gentlemen and ladies standing in the drive and walking up the entry steps.
His coachman barreled around the circle, coming to an abrupt halt before the doors as two liveried footmen raced down the steps of the house to assist in helping them down.
Jared descended first, and turned, one hand behind his back, one hand held up to Ava. As he helped her out, Harrison appeared at the top of the steps and hurried down, his smile big and warm. Behind him, Stanhope chose to make a more subdued appearance by merely walking down the steps.
Harrison grabbed Jared in a big hug, squeezing tightly and clapping him soundly on the back, and remarked that marriage suited him very well.
Jared didn’t bother to respond to Harrison, for his friend had already turned to Ava, grabbing her up in a bear hug, too, squeezing the breath from her by the look of it.
“Harrison, old chap,” Jared said, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Please don’t smother my wife.”
With a laugh, Harrison let her go. “Lady Middleton, you are indeed looking quite healthy and happy in spite of the nuptials,” he said with a playful wink.
Unfortunately, Harrison had no idea how true that was.
“And how do you find Broderick Abbey?” he asked.
“Too large,” Jared said.
“And drafty,” she added, her smile seeming forced.
Harrison howled.
Stanhope put his arm around Ava and ushered her away. “Allow me to rescue you from an ardent admirer,” he said. “Harrison has reserved a special room for Lord and Lady Middleton, on the west side, so you’ll be warm, and painted a bright yellow, so you will be gay. Francis will show you up,” he added, motioning for Harrison’s butler to see them up.
“Have a bit of a rest, why don’t you?” Harrison suggested behind her. “We’ll all gather for wine at eight, supper at ten, and the hunt will begin at daybreak on the morrow. Middleton,” he said, turning from Ava and winking slyly at Jared, “I’ve a horse the likes of which you’ve not seen. She stands fourteen hands high, is as broad as a river. Would you like to see her?”
Jared glanced at Ava, who shrugged. “I will be quite all right.”
“You’re certain?”
“Of course,” she said, already climbing the stairs, Sally close behind her. Harrison’s butler hurried to catch up to them, and Ava disappeared inside without looking back.
Harrison waited until she’d stepped inside before he turned, withdrew three cheroots from his pocket, and handed one to Jared, another to Stanhope. “I bought her in Madrid, just last year. Had a Spaniard train her for the hunt. She’s unbeatable,” he said, and gestured for them to walk to the stables.
Harrison had always been something of a horseman—racing ponies, big grays to pull his carriages, steeds for battle in the event he was ever called to war—and he was no less enthusiastic about this hunter. Jared pocketed the cheroot and listened to Harrison talk about his new horse.
He wasn’t exaggerating—the hunter was a beauty, and Harrison was positively giddy with glee as he stroked her nose. Jared appreciated horses—and especially good horses—but not as much as Harrison. He bored of the fawning after a few minutes of it and stepped back, admiring the other horses stabled there as Harrison captured Stanhope and continued his intricate review of the new horse.
As Jared looked down the stalls, his eye caught sight of a familiar shape, and he turned fully.
Miranda was watching him, smiling softly. She was wearing a riding habit, her long dark red hair braided down her back, her hat tipped at a jaunty angle. She was holding a crop in her hand, and tapped it against her leg as the corners of her lips curled up into a sultry smile.
He started to move—to where, he didn’t really know—but Harrison’s hand to his arm stopped him. Startled, Jared looked at Harrison and was surprised at the look on his face. “I didn’t know she was here,” he said. “I asked you here but to see my horse.”
“I know—”
“No,” Harrison said, shaking his head as he glanced down the stables at Miranda. “We’ve known each other since we were lads, eh?” he asked, shifting his gaze to Jared. “I wasn’t aware she’d come with Westfall, or I certainly would have stopped her—”
“What?” Jared asked, having to force himself to focus on what Harrison was saying. “There is nothing more between us.”
Harrison colored slightly. “It’s none of my affair, Middleton—but I’m not party to it.”
Jared was shocked. He and Harrison had been friends for years and never once, not once in all those years, had Harrison ever voiced his disagreement with something Jared did. For him to do so now pushed Jared under the surface.
Harrison obviously saw his surprise—he glanced sheepishly at his feet, then at Miranda from the corner of his eye. “I happen to believe a vow taken before God should not be broken. Say what you will, but I believe it.” And with that he turned away from Jared and began to walk toward the stable doors, where Stanhope had already escaped. “Wine at eight!” he said over his shoulder.
Jared didn’t respond—he wa
s stung by Harrison’s admonishment that he be faithful to his wife. He had been faithful, hadn’t even thought of Miranda since he’d decided to wed Ava. Yet his very best friend thought very little of his integrity. But why shouldn’t he? More than once, Jared had bemoaned the fact that marriage would limit his ability to bed whomever he pleased.
He glanced again at Miranda, a woman who, he’d come to realize, thought more of his title and money than she did of him. She was walking toward him, her hips moving seductively, her smile sultry, and all he could think was, what had he ever seen in her?
She stopped just inches from him and sank into a deep curtsy, her eyes never leaving his. She rose up, gave him a knowing smile, and shifted almost imperceptibly closer to him. “You look very well.”
She looked older than he remembered, her skin a bit sallow. Not fresh. Not Ava.
“How are you faring?” she asked, her smile fading, her eyes searching his face.
How was he faring? He was miserable. He didn’t really know who he was any longer. “I’m fine.”
“I miss you terribly. I can’t bear to be apart from you, Jared.”
He recoiled at the sound of his name on her breath. She used it easily, as easily as he used hers—and yet he could scarcely bring himself to say Ava’s name aloud.
Ava was right.
That simple act, that intimate knowledge should be reserved for those he loved, and he hadn’t had the courage to admit that perhaps he truly loved Ava.
Miranda was smiling up at him now, her eyes full of hope. She glanced around the stables, as did Jared, and saw only a stableboy, brushing down a horse. “Perhaps we could walk,” she said, moving closer. “Someplace we might be alone and talk?”
“There is nothing to say.” He couldn’t stop looking at her, trying to imagine himself with her. He couldn’t understand why, since he’d been gone from London, he’d felt sheer joy some days and sheer despair other days. He couldn’t understand how a few short months could change everything and feel like a lifetime.
“Have you received my letters? I wonder what you are doing every moment of every day…and night,” she added, letting her gaze drift down his body.
Where he once might have enjoyed illicit banter, now he found it obscenely faithless to his wife.
“You remember our nights, don’t you, my love? Or has she captured your nocturnal imagination?”
His blood began to rise with anger. “You have no right,” he said low, “to inquire about the private affairs of my marriage.”
Miranda gasped. And then she laughed, the sound bursting forth from her lips. “Oh my!” she cried, laughing. “Your marriage? She’s a poppet, darling, a girl with a womb. She’s not a marriage.”
His blood began to pound at his temples, and he took hold of her arm, wrapping his fingers tightly around it. “Heed me, Miranda, have a care what you say.”
“Darling, what has come over you? Have you developed tender sentiments for her? I couldn’t blame you if you had, for she is very endearing. But she’s not me, Jared.”
“No, thank God,” he agreed. “She is not you.” He pushed her away and strode from the stable, his heart pounding with fury, his head aching.
Ava sent Sally away when Middleton made his way to their rooms, looking uncharacteristically grim and fatigued. She sat on the settee and watched him walk restlessly from the armoire to the basin and back again. Clearly, he was not in a jovial mood, nor did he feel like talking, for when she asked about Harrison’s horse, the only thing he said was “Splendid.” That was all. “Splendid.”
After a half hour of watching him stalk about, Ava rose. “I shall go and have a look about,” she announced.
He barely spared her a glance. “As you wish.”
She wished—she definitely wished—and left him, walking down to the main floor where guests were still arriving and servants were hurrying about, carrying fresh linens and lugging portmanteaus.
Ava wandered into the main corridor, pausing as she went to admire the artwork to pass the time. When she came to the grand salon, she noticed three men standing about at the hearth drinking whiskey. When one of them happened to see her there in the door, he called out to her, “Lady Middleton! Come and join us, will you? Tell us how it is to be married to the Marquis of Middleton.”
His two companions snickered unpleasantly.
“Thank you, but no,” Ava said, and quickly walked on.
She was drawn by the sound of ladies’ voices and came upon an inviting sitting room. Four women were seated before a crackling fire having tea. As she knew two of the women, if only casually, she felt that she’d at last stumbled into a bit of refuge, and entered the room smiling.
Lady Blanton, the first to see her, smiled when Ava asked if she might join them. “Of course, dear. Do be seated.”
“Tea, madam?” a footman asked.
“Please,” Ava said, and sat next to Lady Blanton on the settee.
“May I introduce you, Lady Ava? Oh! I do beg your pardon, I meant to say Lady Middleton,” Lady Blanton said, nodding at the other women. “She’s only recently married—aren’t you, dear?” she asked, shifting her gaze back to Ava, her lips pursed in something of an odd smile. “I’ve not had the pleasure of wishing you happy tidings on the occasion of your nuptials.”
“Thank you.”
“It happened rather quickly, didn’t it?” Lady Blanton continued. “I think the whole of London was caught unawares.”
The other women perked up and looked curiously at Ava, obviously smelling a piece of scandal. Lady Blanton smiled sweetly, and Ava couldn’t determine if she meant to make her uncomfortable or if she was merely, and rudely, curious.
Either way, Ava’s skin began to crawl. “We did not see the point in a long engagement,” she said.
Lady Blanton nodded. A woman across from her—one who looked vaguely familiar—cocked her head to one side and peered closely at her. “Are you not the daughter of the late Lady Downey?” she asked.
“I am indeed,” Ava said, now wishing that she’d stayed in her room. Or Broderick Abbey, if not London altogether. Downey House—yes, yes, if she could only turn back time and never have married him! Downey House had an entirely different set of problems, but they hadn’t seemed so heart-wrenching as did her worries now.
“Oh dear, how tragic was your loss! I was quite sorry to hear of her passing, for she was always quite cheerful.”
“Thank you.”
“How long has it been now? Scarcely a year, has it?” she asked, glancing at Ava’s crème-colored silk gown.
“Ahem…” Ava paused to accept the tea the footman offered her. “It has been more than a year,” she said. The other women glanced at one another, then their teacups, as they clearly put together the fact that she’d married almost as soon as her period of mourning had ended. It was little wonder what they must be thinking.
If only she could tell them that she’d done it to survive, that she’d done it to make sure her sister and cousin wouldn’t be married off to the first men to offer a home without regard for their character. But of course she couldn’t explain any of that and had to endure their quiet disdain.
The women avoided her gaze.
Miserable, Ava sipped her tea. It had been a mistake to come here, a mistake to think she could step into society and pretend all was right. Her mother would have known what to do. Her mother would have laughed at these women, offered some pithy retort, and flitted off to regale another group. Ava possessed neither her mother’s wit nor confidence nor fortitude, and she would have been better off to have crawled in a hole.
The conversation fell silent; there was nothing but the clink of china and the occasional indelicate slurp. After several moments of that, Lady Blanton put aside her teacup, folded her hands in her lap and smiled at Ava. “And where shall you and Lord Middleton make your home? In the country? Or in London, do you suppose?”
“London,” she answered, grateful for the change in conversation.
“Oh how lovely for you. You may see your family as often as you like. I find it is quite important to have such diversions as family close by. Then your husband may carry on with his business and you may carry on with yours.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” one of the women said, and the others tittered politely.
“As long as he has his club and his hunts and his other amusements, he is perfectly happy,” Lady Preston said with a subtle wink.
The women tittered again. Ava tried to titter, but she felt nothing but weariness. Did no one marry for love? She put aside her tea, stood and walked to the tea cart to help herself to the finger sandwiches there, and noticed, with her back to the room, that the conversation had fallen silent again. She had the distinct impression there was a bit of whispering, but when she turned around, the women were sipping tea and looking at their laps.
This would be an intolerable weekend.
It wasn’t until the evening hours, when Ava and Middleton—whose mood had improved slightly—descended to the grand salon for wine and supper, that Ava realized the true hell she’d stepped into.
It didn’t help that two gentlemen instantly closed in on them the moment they appeared, pulling Middleton to the side to discuss something “terribly” important with him and unwittingly leaving Ava to stand awkwardly aside, a glass of wine in her hand. When she’d once pictured herself married, she’d imagined her life would be much the same as it had been up until now—she would attend social gatherings and flirt with handsome young men. And while she was attending a social gathering, and there were several handsome young men in attendance, she didn’t have the heart for any of it.
The only thing she wanted was for her husband to love her. What made that wish so heartbreaking was that she was now convinced he was incapable of it. Were he capable of love, he would not have treated Edmond so abominably.
In an attempt to avoid meaningless conversation, she wandered across the room to admire a beautiful jade sculpture of a woman, and she was joined by another.
