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 co rridor, 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 h er, 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 differen t 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 yea r, 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 dis tinct 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 “terribl y” 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.
“Lady Middleton?”
Lady Waterstone’s voice startled her so badly that Ava spilled a bit of wine on the carpet.
She knew
who it was before she even turned, but she hadn’t known until this moment that she would be here, hadn’
t even thought of her being here, and felt horribly betrayed by her unexpected presence.
“Lady
Waterstone,” she managed.
Lady Waterstone smiled and dip ped a curtsy, acknowledging Ava’s superior rank to her now. The
woman was, Ava realized for the first time, classically beautiful, with dark red tresses and dark eyes and lips the color of strawberries. Standing beside her, Ava felt plain and nondescript and even a bit fat.
“Marriage agrees with you,” Lady Waterstone said cheerfully. “You look lovely.”
Ava glanced down at her old crème silk and thought she must look rather drab compared to the vibrant green that Lady Waterstone was wearing. “Thank you,” s he said softly.
“How delightful you have come!” she exclaimed. “I hadn’t thought you would.”
Why hadn’t Lady Waterstone thought it, Ava wondered, instantly suspicious. Had they planned to meet here? Was she in the way of two lovers?
“Are you a hunt enthusiast?” Lady Waterstone asked, breezing past her last remark. “No.
I’ve never hunted.”
“Oh? That’s good,” Lady Waterstone said with a sympathetic smile. “Blood sports can be quite disconcerting.”
She imagined Lady Waterstone knew that better than anyone.
“It’s just not a sport suited to the tender sensibilities of women,” she added.
“Lady Middleton?” It was Harrison, coming around the jade sculpture to join them. “If I may, you should join your husband. We will be going into supper soon.”
“Oh, Harrison,” Lady Waterstone said with a flick of her wrist. “You do know how to snuff out a bit of good conversation. We were just chatting about hunting.”
“Perhaps you might chat with me, Lady Waterstone, for I am desperate to hear your tales,” said Lord Stanhope, appearing suddenly on the other side of Lady Waterstone.
“You know I find your conversation utterly fascinating.”
Lady Waterstone laughed. “My, my, I do believe I am being sequestered.”
Stanhope gave her a cold smile and put his hand on he r elbow. She turned to go, but hesitated, and put
her hand to Ava’s arm. “We’ll have an opportunity to continue our conversation, won’t we?”
“Miranda, you are single -handedly holding up the procession,” Stanhope said with another very cool smile.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Lady Waterstone said with a laugh, and glided away on Lord Stanhope’s arm. Ava glanced up at Harrison. He smiled so sadly that it struck her she was not the only one who guessed
that her husband and his lover had planned to meet so soon aft er he’d married. The knowledge stunned
her. She couldn’t seem to move.
“Your husband is waiting,” Harrison said softly, and put out his arm.
Ava took Harrison’s arm and let him lead her to Middleton, who was still engaged in conversation with
the two gentlemen, but who smiled warmly when Harrison interrupted them. He put a possessive arm around her, pulled her tightly into his side, and made a small jest that he must keep his eye on her lest he lose her to some of the young men in attendance.
The two men laughed at his joke, and Ava smiled as she ought, but she felt ill. She could feel a pair of copper eyes on her from across the room, boring a hole through her, and in spite of Middleton’s arm around her, she’d never felt so cold in her life.
J ared had thought the evening would never end —it was interminably long, the laughter and gaiety grating after a time, the situation extremely uncomfortable.
He was aware of Miranda’s constant attention, could feel her gaze follow his every movement, could feel
it burn him every time he touched his wife.
He should have known she would come —he even felt responsible for it somehow.
Perhaps if he’d answered her letters instead of burning them, demanded she desist in writing him. Perhaps if he’d never taken her as mistress to begin with.
He felt trapped by his own devices.
After the ladies had retired from supper and the men had enjoyed their smoke, the sexes were at last reunited. He’d hardly stepped into the room before Miranda cornered him. As she spoke to him, whispering her affection, attempting to share a laugh over Lord Frederick’s desperate attempt at humor during supper, and very much pretending as if nothing had changed between them, he could not take his eyes from Ava. He didn’t want to be rude, but he was acutely aware of the many looks in their direction, and simply walked away as Miranda was speaking, feeling all eyes on him.
Save one person—Ava did not look at him once.
How unfair it was to have put her in this position. How callous he was to have assumed that they would
—both of them—live peacefully and without conscience in their arrangement. How bloody stupid of him
to have believed they could.
He went to his wife and suggested they retire. She didn’t seem surprised, nor did she hesitate to
accompany him. They made their way out of the room, wishing a cheerful good night all around, then just
as a newlywed couple would, they walked out of the room, their arms around one another.
Ava dropped her arm the moment the door shut behind them. They walked silently to their suite.
Sally was waiting for them—Ava excused her and asked her to return in the morning. As Sally left, Ava turned around. She looked dejected as she walked into the adjoining dressing room and quietly shut the door.
Jared sighed, kicked off his shoes, and began to disrobe. He’d undressed to his trousers when Ava emerged, wearing a nightgown. Her hair was braided loosely down her back.
She said nothing as she walked past him and slipped in between the sheets, her back to him.
Jared stared at her back and the long golden rope of hair. He’d never imagined it would be like this. He’
d never thought, on the day he’d so rashly proposed marriage, that he would be so wretchedly unhappy,
or that someone as vibrant as Ava could be so unhappy.
His head had begun to throb with a massive headache, and he turned away from her, went to the
dressing room, and completed his toilet. When he joined Ava in bed, he noted that she was pretending to
be asleep. Her body was tense, her breathing shallow.
The wind had picked up outside; he could smell rain. The first crack of thunder confirmed it, and as the rain began to fall, the staccato sound of it on the paned glass windows soothed him.