Ava had expected to find a few figures huddled there, listening to the actors rehearse, but instead the whole theatre was empty.
"They must have finished for the day," she said sadly, as she took in the empty, mocking stage.
"Blazes," the duke cursed, before hastily apologising.
He looked, Ava thought, completely defeated. Fear gripped her, as she realised that she too had run out of ideas; who knew where Georgiana could be? London was a large city, filled with danger for a young, unsuspecting girl.
"Come," she said, touching Kilbride's elbow, "We'll go back to Mary, then set out for Kilbride House—perhaps she will have returned home by the time we get there."
Her optimism was entirely forced, but she need not let Kilbride know that, for he looked as though he needed all the positivity she could muster—false or otherwise. The pair headed quietly back through the doors which led to the foyer, both lost in their own thoughts.
Ava had expected the reception area to be empty, so she gave a start of surprise as she noticed a familiar figure leaning against the banisters.
"Mr McCasey," she called with a yelp, and the actor looked up from the pages in his hand at the sound of his name.
"Your Grace," McCasey said with surprise as he spotted the pair, "My lady. How unexpected—the performance doesn't begin until this evening."
"We're not here for the performance," Raff interrupted, "I'm looking for my niece. You didn't happen to see a well-dressed young lady with blonde hair about, did you?"
"As a matter of fact," McCasey said thoughtfully, "I did. She was watching us rehearse just now, perhaps she is waiting at the stage door. People sometimes do, if they have questions about the play."
"Lead the way," Raff said and McCasey beckoned them to follow him.
They passed down along the stalls and through a door by the stage, which led to the backstage area. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Ava would have taken a moment to appreciate the other-worldliness of it all. Heaps of scenery, props and costumes lay about the place, with no rhyme or reason to their order.
"You'll have to forgive the mess," McCasey said, as he caught her looking at it all, "You'll find that we artistic types are rather messy."
"Oh, no," Ava demurred politely, offering McCasey a shy smile.
He frowned at her thoughtfully and her smile faltered; what was it that he saw in her? The idea that McCasey was her father had, yesterday, seemed rather ludicrous, but now—up close—she could see a striking resemblance between them.
It wasn't just their colouring; it was the shape of their eyes, the bridge of their noses, even their Cupid's bows were similar in shape.
We could be related, Ava thought with alarm.
She had no time to process this thought any further, for they had reached the stage door. McCasey threw it open to reveal—nothing. The little laneway behind the theatre was empty, save for a stray cat huddled against the far wall.
"Dash it," Kilbride cursed, racing to the top of the laneway with Ava and McCasey on his heels. The laneway led back toward Covent Garden, which was occupied by what seemed like hundreds of people. Ava stared about her in dismay; finding a needle in a haystack would be easier, she thought, but then—
"That's her," she cried, pointing toward the Tavistock Road side of the square. In the distance, standing out rather distinctively from the crowd of market goers, was Lady Georgiana. The large silk flowers on her bonnet bobbed as she moved, making her rather easy to keep track of.
All three, Ava, Kilbride, and McCasey, rushed after her, as fast as their feet could carry them. Perhaps it was because Ava was smaller, that she ended up being the quickest of the three. She darted in and out, slipping easily past the farmer's stalls which cluttered the square, until she reached Tavistock Road.
"Lady Georgiana," she called, waving her hand to attract the attention of Kilbride's niece, who was now on the other side of the busy thoroughfare. Georgiana halted at the sound of her name, glancing fearfully across the road.
"Wait there," Ava shouted again, afraid that the girl would bolt.
She lifted the hem of her skirts, darting in between the carriages and carts, as she attempted to reach the other side of the road; she probably would have made it safely across, if a familiar voice had not shouted out her name.
"Ava?" Boris Hobbs, her former employer, stood just a few feet away from Georgiana, staring at her incredulously, "Is that you?"
In shock at seeing Boris—who would certainly unveil her true identity to the world—Ava took a step backwards, right into the path of an oncoming carriage.
"Ava."
"Emily."
She heard two voices shout in horror, and then everything went black.
Ava blinked against the light that was tickling her eyelids, stirring her from her dreamless slumber. In annoyance, she threw her hand over her eyes to cover them from the irritating light, but while that blocked the light somewhat, it also brought a new sensation; noise.
Whisper, whisper whisper.
Against her overwhelming instinct to sleep, Ava's ears pricked at the distant sound of people talking, struggling to discern what was being said.
"Look, she's moving."
"Such a hard blow—she'll have a headache for weeks."
"It's a miracle she survived it..."
Slowly, Ava's mind began to process the words she was hearing and the sharp pain at the back of her skull, until after a few minutes she began to remember what had happened.
Georgiana. Boris. The accident.
"Lud," she croaked, as she struggled to sit up; panic made her movements jerky, which in turn sent a shooting pain through her head.
Ava blinked her eyes open, despite the pain it caused, and found a roomful of people staring at her nervously.
"What happened?" she asked in a raspy voice, her eyes resting on Mary, who sat nearest to the bed. "Is Georgiana safe?"
"Hush, my lady," Mary cried, rushing forward to straighten the pillows behind Ava's head, "Lady Georgiana is fine as fivepence—it's you we're all worried about. You took a nasty bang to the head, though luckily Dr Philips said you've no broken bones."
"Really?" Ava replied weakly; it certainly did not feel like that—every bone in her body ached. "I feel like I've been hit by a carriage," she joked weakly, though rather than laughing, Mary burst into great, heaving sobs.
"You could have died," Mary wailed, dabbing at her eyes, "How sad it would have been, when you and Lady Emily had only just—"
"Mary!"
Ava, despite her pounding head, managed to cut across the lady's maid before she babbled Ava's secret to the room. She sat up on her elbows, causing Mary to rush forth and once again fuss at the pillows behind her, until at last Ava was seated upright and able to survey the room.
Three pairs of eyes looked back at her; Mary's, a man whom Ava presumed to be Dr Philips, and Lady Georgiana—who looked petrified.
"How is my patient?" Dr Philips asked, striding forward to peer down at Ava through thick, wire-rimmed spectacles.
"Just a slight headache," Ava replied quietly.
"'Tis to be expected," the doctor gave a shrug, "I'll away and tell your father that you've woken."
"Lady Emily," Georgiana said,once they were alone, her eyes rimmed red from tears, "How sorry I am, for causing so much trouble. I simply wished to lose myself in watching the actors rehearse—I did not think it would cause so much fuss."
"Don't be sorry," Ava protested, "I'm just glad that you are safe. Tell, me Georgiana, what happened?"
Ava now remembered full well what had happened—but she wanted to hear Lady Georgiana's version of events. It was possible that Boris had already revealed her identity to Lady Georgiana and the duke.
The relief that Ava felt as she thought this came as something of a shock to her—she had not thought how liberating it would feel to be free of the guilt which burdened her.
"Well," Lady Georgiana began, "You were rushing across the road to me,
when a strange man shouted out and distracted you, causing you to slip. You fell backwards into the path of an oncoming carriage, but luckily the driver was able to swerve to avoid you, though you did hit your head off the ground."
"And the man?" Ava probed, "The one who distracted me?"
"Well, he quite vanished," Georgiana replied with a little laugh, "And I don't blame him; I have never seen my Uncle so fearsomely angry."
So, Boris had not revealed her identity; Ava heaved a sigh of disappointment. What a relief it would have been to have had someone else explain the whole torrid situation.
"He's been waiting all day for you to wake up," Georgiana continued blithely, "Shall I fetch him? He's desperate to see you."
Ava looked helplessly at Mary; surely, a man would not be permitted into her bedchamber, but the Irish woman was studiously avoiding her gaze. Georgiana, having heard no protest, leapt to her feet and rushed off in search of the duke.
"Imagine you had died," Mary said, the moment that the door closed behind Georgiana, "And you and Lady Emily would have been parted again, forever. I've had enough of this charade, Missy; my poor heart cannot handle it."
"Nor can mine," Ava confessed, as a knock came upon the bedroom door.
"Excuse me for disturbing you," Kilbride said as he stepped into the room, "I just wanted to..."
His face, Ava saw, was deathly pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes from worry. Not for the first time, guilt pierced her heart at the sight of him. How much would he regret worrying for her, she wondered, once he realised that she had been lying to him this whole time?
"I am quite well," Ava said, offering him a wan smile, "Thank you kindly, Your Grace, for your concern."
"Concern?" Kilbride gave a rueful grin, "That is rather an understatement; I was out of my mind with worry. To think of what could have happened to you, I would never have recovered. I have never felt this way about anyone—"
"Please," Ava held up a hand to silence him, "I cannot let you continue. I have something to confess."
There was a sharp intake of breath as poor Mary realised what was coming. The Irish woman looked from Ava, to the towering duke, and turned rather red in the face.
"Excuse me," Mary whispered frantically, "I have to go check on the chickens..."
Coward, Ava thought, as her lady's maid vanished quicker than a bottle of wine on Prince George's table. The door shut, with a soft click behind Mary, leaving Ava and Kilbride alone.
"A confession?" Kilbride cocked an eyebrow in question. He looked so intimidating—tall, austere, dangerously handsome—that Ava felt herself gulp in fear.
"I am not who you think I am," she said, wishing that she was dressed so that she could stand and face him, rather than looking up at him from her bed, "I am not Emily Fairfax; I have been lying to you this whole time."
The reaction that Kilbride gave was not the one that Ava had expected. Instead of snarling at her in anger, Kilbride took a few steps forward, concern etched across his face.
"You hit your head," he said soothingly, reaching out to take her hand, "I'm sure that it's all a little confusing, but let me fetch Dr Philips and see what he has to say."
"No," Ava wrenched her hand from him, shaking her head stubbornly, "You have to believe me; my name is Ava Smith. I am no lady, just an orphan girl from the Lambeth Asylum—I used to see you in Mr Hobbs', when I worked there as his assistant. I didn't mean to hurt anyone, but then when the chance came to live—just for a month—the life of a lady I couldn't refuse. I did not think that I would fall in love, or that I would end up hurting you. I am so sorry; please, believe me."
"Hush," Kilbride replied soothingly, though his eyes were troubled.
"You have to believe me—I am sorry for lying to you," Ava continued on, hot tears stinging her eyes, "I am not Lady Emily, I am her twin."
"I think," Kilbride murmured, "That your fall must have been worse than we suspected; you are terribly, terribly confused."
"She's not."
A voice from the door interrupted them; Ava did not have to look to see who it was, for the shock on Kilbride's face told her exactly who had spoken.
"Ava speaks the truth, we are twins, separated at birth. When we found each other, we decided to swap lives," Emily said, stepping forward into the room. She was dressed in one of Ava's prim work-dresses, with her hair pulled back from her face in a severe bun, but there was no denying who she was.
"You—you?" Kilbride stuttered in shock.
"We swapped," Emily repeated, looking as uncomfortable as Ava felt, "I did not want to marry you and I thought that Ava might somehow be able to end our engagement."
"If you did not wish to marry me," Kilbride said, without missing a beat, "All that you had to do was say."
Both Ava and her twin hung their heads in shame; it was clear from Kilbride's face that he was annoyed and, worse, hurt by their actions.
"And you?" Kilbride turned to Ava, "Just who exactly are you?"
"I am who I said I was, Your Grace," Ava lifted her head, so that she could look him in the eye—she owed him that much at least. "I am Ava Smith; just an orphan, just a nobody..."
"A nobody," Kilbride echoed her, "Indeed. If you ladies will excuse me, I must take my leave."
"Please," Ava cried out, and Kilbride paused momentarily, "Please, believe me that the only thing I lied to you about was my name—everything else was real."
The duke did not respond, he merely spun on the heel of his Hessian boot and left the room, closing the door very quietly behind him.
"Oh, dear." Emily looked thoroughly wretched as she glanced from the closed door to her sister and back again; "I've messed everything up, haven't I?"
"No," Ava shook her head, as she reached her hand out for her twin sister, "It was I who ruined everything. I tried to push Kilbride away, but I felt there was a connection between us, and instead of ignoring it..."
"You fell in love."
Ava bit back a smile, as her twin sister finished her sentence. She nodded her head sadly, and Emily stooped down to embrace her in a hug.
"I should have tried harder," Ava said through her tears, "For I knew that all Kilbride wanted was a wife to bear him pedigree heirs. How silly I was, to think that there might be a fairytale ending for us."
"Hush," Emily whispered, "You were not silly; there is nothing wrong with wanting to fall in love. Maybe there will not be a happy ending for you and the duke, but we still have each other."
"We do," Ava agreed with a smile, but then she frowned; "But first, we need to tell your father who I am."
"And he needs to tell us," Emily replied, with a glint in her eye, "Just how we came to be separated."
After Emily had fetched a dress for Ava to change into, both ladies went in search of Lord Fairfax. They found the marquess seated in his library, sipping on brandy and smoking a cheroot.
"Father," Emily said, as she breezed into the room, "We have something to ask you."
"We?" Lord Fairfax looked up at his daughter in confusion.
"Yes, we," Ava said, as she followed her sister into the room.
You could, Ava wryly observed, have knocked Lord Fairfax over with a feather, such was his surprise. His face paled and he looked from one girl to the other, then back again, at least a dozen times.
"What on earth?" he asked Ava, dropping his cheroot onto the Persian rug.
"Oh, Father," Emily remonstrated, springing forth to pick it up, before it did any damage, "What have I told you about smoking cigars in the library?"
"Only by the window," Lord Fairfax parroted, staring at Emily with a dumbfounded expression, "So you are Emily?"
"I am," Emily confirmed with a smile.
"Then you are..?" Lord Fairfax looked at Ava.
"Ava Smith, my Lord," Ava said shyly, offering him a slight curtsy, "Emily and I found each other, just a few weeks ago. We decided to swap places, just to see how the other lived, before we told you what had happened."
&nb
sp; "Indeed," Lord Fairfax looked, to Ava's relief, more amused than annoyed, "So you have been pretending to be Emily all this time?"
Ava nodded, her cheeks red with embarrassment. The idea of swapping places had, at the time, seemed a great adventure. What a pity, she thought, that neither she nor Emily had realised how much explaining it would entail at the end.
"The Shakespeare, the water glasses," Lord Fairfax mused aloud, "I should have guessed—you did not seem yourself at all."
"Indeed," Emily replied to her father, taking a seat on the leather couch opposite him, "I have not felt myself for these past few weeks father—for I have no idea who I really am."
The atmosphere within the library, which had been one of shocked excitement, turned rather sombre, as Emily gave her father a sad look. For her part, Ava felt rather uncomfortable, as father and daughter exchanged melancholy glances.
"I suppose, Emily, my dear," Lord Fairfax said, gesturing for Ava to take a seat beside her sister, "That I'd best explain how you came to be my daughter. Do you recall how we used to joke about how much your mother wanted a daughter?"
"She wanted a girl so much that she had twelve names picked out, but you only allowed her six," Emily answered, with an affectionate smile to her father.
"Emily Louisa Margaret Anne Augusta Constance Fairfax," Lord Fairfax listed the names off on his fingers, "I swear, I spent days arguing with her about it, but I digress. Your mother wanted a girl so badly that she entered into her pregnancy against the orders of three physicians. She laboured for three days and it very nearly killed her."
Lord Fairfax paused and gave the two young ladies before him a rather worried glance. He cleared his throat nervously, before he continued.
"I am not," he began, "Proud of what I did, but at the time, I saw no other way. The babe that your mother bore did not live long, and I was afraid that the news might kill her—she was very, very weak. So, the laying-in woman, went to one of the orphanages and swapped my poor girl for you, Emily."
"So, I am not your real daughter?" Emily asked with a frown.
The Duke's Bride in Disguise (Fairfax Twins Book 1) Page 15
