The Hazards Of Hunting A Duke (11 page)

—at least three dozen roses in a large crystal vase, the scent of them divine, the color of them as brilliantly red as rubies.

Mr. Morris carefully situated the vase on the table, then wiped his sleeve across his forehead before handing Ava a note. “If I may, mu’um…is a foot man to stand in the foyer or out of the foyer when he comes calling?”

“If he is awaiting a reply, he is to stand in,” Ava said. “Is there a footman awaiting a reply?” “Oh no,” Mr. Morris said with a firm shake of his head. “I sent him on his way.”

Ava suppressed a groan. “Very well. And in the future, sir, a lady should never be left to wait on the stoop. Do please bring her in.”

He nodded very slowly, as if committing her instructions to memory. “Thank you, Mr.

Morris.”

He bowed, turned sharply on his he el as the two Mr. Pells had taught him to do, and quit the room.

Phoebe jumped up from her chair. “Who sent them?” she exclaimed, delighted. “It is Greer! Oh yes, they must be from Greer.”

Ava opened the note, saw the flourish of an M and felt her heart swell. She turned her back to Phoebe

and quickly read the note. She laughed; a smile spread across her face. A deep, brilliant smile. She hadn’

t been wrong about what she’d felt in his presence. He did esteem her! “Who?” Phoebe demanded.

Ava glanced at her sister, held the note coyly to her chest, and leaned over to inhale the scent of the roses. “I do believe they are the most beautiful roses I have ever seen.”

“Who are they from?” Phoebe demanded again, her hands going to her hips.

“We must decide which gowns you can make ready for me, for I am coming out of mourning next week.

”

Phoebe gasped. “Lady Purnam will be beside herself!”

“I don’t care,” Ava said, smelling the roses again. “You heard what Lucy said. We haven’t much time, Phoebe. We have mourned our mother properly for one full year and the Season has already begun. We must reenter society before Lord Downey returns.”

“Not before I know who—” Phoebe abruptly snatched the note from Ava’s hand. Ava grinned as her sister read the note with widening eyes. When she finished, she whirled around and gaped at Ava, her expression full of consternation. “Dear God…Ava, what have you done?”

Ava laughed, snatching the note back. “Nothing…yet,” she said, and grabbed Phoebe’s hand and sat her down to tell her everything.

By the next morning, they had determined their new course of action.

First, as Ava had no intention of coming out of mourning without the latest fashions, she allowed Phoebe

to send her to Bond Street with a blue satin gown embroidered in pale gold and lavender.

Phoebe was right—the shop mistress was awed by the gown, and really, of Ava in that gown. It went exactly as Phoebe had said it would —the shop mistress complimented the gown so profusely that Ava

had reason to mention an exclusive modiste who had, unfortunately, suffered a horrible accident that left

her disfigured and missing one leg. Phoebe wouldn’t like that particular description, but it was the only viable reason Ava could think to explain the modiste’s relu ctance to come out herself.

At the end of her ridiculous tale, she had an order for three gowns to be fashioned like the blue satin. And she had a lovely blue satin to wear to the first ball to which she could secure an invitation.

D uring the evening of the Duke of Clarence’s highly anticipated mid -Season grand ball at St. James’s Palace, Lord Stanhope was divested of a considerable sum of cash in a card game while at Brooks, a gentlemen’s club only a short walk from the ball’s main entrance.

Stanhope became enraged by his loss and accused the winner, Sir William of Gosford, of cheating. Sir

William took great umbrage to the accusation and lunged across the table at Stanhope.

Were it not for

Lord Middleton, who fearlessly threw himself into the melee without hesitation, someone might have been seriously injured, if not killed.

But by the time the survivors had made their way to the ball, the crookedness of Middleton’s pristine

white silk neckcloth and the scratch on his cheek were rumored to be the result of a spat with his lover, Lady Waterstone.

Yet it was not Stanhope’s misguided accusation and subsequent fight that explained the dark look in Middleton’s eye or the unyielding set of his ja w—it was that his father had conspired to keep him from Miranda and in Lady Elizabeth’s company.

He’d only come to the ball because of his good acquaintance with the Duke of Clarence and because Miranda had wanted to attend what was considered to be one o f the most important social events of the Season. Certainly no expense had been spared for it —

hundreds of white lilies in magnificent porcelain

vases graced small consoles along the walls. Beeswax candles lit the ten crystal chandeliers that hung

over the ballroom, the innumerable sconces along the walls in the passageways, and the dozens of candelabra that lit a dozen or more sitting rooms. The ballroom floor had been polished with beeswax to provide the smoothest of dancing surfaces, and music was provided by a ten-piece orchestra set in a balcony above the dance floor.

A dozen palace rooms full of expensive French and Russian furnishings were open to an enormous number of guests —four hundred by some counts, as much as five hundred by others.

And in that crush of people, the Duke of Redford kept a steady stream of gentlemen dancers at Miranda’

s side. Perhaps even more annoying, the duke stood up with Miranda himself —she could hardly refuse

his request—and had instantly set tongues wagging across the palace.

What was said between the two of them Jared had no idea, for at the conclusion of the dance, his father had escorted Miranda to the opposite side of the ballroom from where he stood and then into an

adjoining room.

In the meantime, Lord Robertson had brought Lady Elizabeth round, and there she stood like a silly little girl, her hands clasped before her, her wistful gaze on the dancers.

“Which dance pleases you the most,

my lord?” she asked Jared after a time of silence.

He looked at her and tried to imagine her as his wife. “I don’t care for one more than another.”

She lifted her chin—a bit imperiously, he thought. “I am most delighted by the quadrille.” How convenient

for her—the dancers were setting up for a quadrille at that very moment.

Jared swallowed a sigh of tedium and forced a polite smile. “Would you care to dance, Lady Elizabeth?” Her face lit up. “I should like that very much, my lord.” She was still beaming as he led her to the dance

floor so they could assume their places. He ha rdly noticed her, however, because he was watching the door through which Miranda and his father had disappeared.

But as the music started, he turned his gaze to Elizabeth and bowed as he’d been trained to do since he was a small boy, then began the steps , taking her hand and crossing over, changing hands and crossing again, stepping forward, stepping back, and turning to his right as Elizabeth turned to her right, which left

him to face the woman of the couple that formed the other half of their square. H e smiled with surprise upon seeing Lady Ava before him.

She smiled and took his hand. “Good evening, my lord,” she said as she crossed him. “A very good evening indeed,” he said as they crossed again.

She smiled again as she stepped up, and then back, and then moved to her left to take the hand of her partner, Lord Angelsy.

Dear God, how had he missed her? She was breathtaking in an exquisitely embroidered blue satin gown that hugged her frame to its utmost advantage. Her golden hair was done up with a string of pearls that

matched the teardrops at her ear lobes and her throat, and her eyes, her pale green eyes, seemed almost gray.

He hadn’t realized she’d come out of mourning.

Jared went round with Elizabeth again, who said, “I’ve very much enjoyed the w ork in the charity

auction.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” He’d left the work on the auction to his good friend Lady Bellingham, and knew only what he received in reports from his secretary, Mr. Bean. “I understand things are progressing,” he added, and looked again to Lady Ava, letting go of Elizabeth’s hand, turning left, and

facing Lady Ava once again. As he took her hand he said, “I didn’t know you’d come out of mourning.”

She said nothing, just smiled up at him with sparkling greenish gray eyes as she crossed him. He took her hand again. “You have not danced a waltz, have you?” he asked as they crossed. “For you have

promised it to me,” he reminded her as they stepped forward. “Did I?” she asked airily as she stepped back. “I don’t recall.”

He grinned at her and turned to his right to meet Elizabeth again, who said, “His grace the duke has said that you might expect as many as four hundred.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Four hundred persons at the auction on Friday,” she clarified as he let her go and she turned right. “As many as that?” he asked, and turned right, facing Lady Ava. He took her hand and squeezed it

playfully. “If you’ve promised the waltz away, I shall have to fight the gentleman for the right,” he said as they crossed, “for it is mine, fairly bargained and won.”

She laughed, her teeth flashing white between rose -colored lips, turned around, and offered her hand again. “Is that how you scratched your cheek? Fighting for a waltz?”

He chuckled, stepped forward, then back, and turned left, to a stoic Elizabeth. She said nothing—just stared hurtfully at him as he took her hand. Would that this dance end !

“You must forgive me, Lady Elizabeth. I am all at sixes and sevens trying to remember where to step.”

She nodded slightly as she crossed him.

Jared finished the dance without speaking to Lady Ava again, but he couldn’t help overhearing her laugh

of pleasure at something Angelsy said. He could well imagine the flirting between them—she was especially beautiful tonight, and any man with even a bit of a brain would realize the woman needed to make a match.

He really had no time to squander —for that and other more pressing reasons.

When the dance ended, he escorted Elizabeth to the side of the dance floor and excused himself, making some mention of gaming. As he walked from the room, he scanned the crowd, looking for Lady Ava, but

she had disappeared from view. He was, he realized, surprisingly disappointed. There was something about the woman that continued to intrigue him.

But it was just as well—he really needed to find Miranda and assure himself that his father hadn’t done anything to harm or upset her .

Ava found Phoebe in the company of Lady Purnam and her two friends, Lady Botswick and Lady

Hogan. Predictably, Lady Purnam had been quite upset by Ava and Phoebe’s decision to reenter

society, and had insisted on accompanying them to the Clarence mid -Season ball when they received the invitation.

“Ah, there you are,” Lady Hogan said, reaching for Ava’s hand. “Oh my, how lovely you are. Was that

your mother’s gown?” “No, I—”

“Phoebe was just telling us that your cousin, Greer, is Mrs. Smithington’s traveling companion! What an agreeable occupation for her!”

“Yes, I think she enjoys it very much,” Ava said.

“I remarked to Lady Purnam that I thought it was something that perha ps the two of you might consider likewise,” Lady Botswick said.

Ava looked at Phoebe, then at Lady Botswick. “Traveling companion?”

“Yes, of course,” Lady Botswick said, nodding her head so that the corkscrew curls at her ears bounced

up and down. “Traveling companion, or perhaps governess. Have you considered the position of governess?”

“I…No, we have not considered it,” Ava said. “Ever.”

“Oh well,” Lady Botswick said, exchanging a look with Lady Purnam. “I just assumed, what with your circumstances, you might have considered it.”

“Our circumstances?” Ava echoed, and looked at Lady Purnam. The woman turned a curious shade of pink, and Ava understood instantly that she had betrayed their confidence and had told her friends of

their lack of fortune. “I c an’t imagine we’d have opportunity,” Ava said, turning her attention to Lady

Botswick again. “Phoebe and I hope to marry soon.”

For some reason that made Lady Hogan smile and Lady Purnam begin a very serious study of her shoes. “Ooh, I am certain that you do,” Lady Botswick said sympathetically.

Her patronizing tone made Ava bristle. Apparently, she and Lady Hogan assumed —no doubt along with

the rest of the bloody ton —that she and Phoebe were no longer particularly marriageable.

“How lovely your gown,” Lady Botswick said, changing the subject. “I think I should like a glass of wine. Lady Hogan, would you care for a glass of wine?”

“

I would indeed.”

The two ladies excused themselves, leaving Phoebe and Ava to glare at Lady Purnam.

“You told them of our situation?” Ava asked. “How could you?”

“I did no such thing!” Lady Purnam said, looking quite uncomfortable. “When the subject came up, it

was clear that they already knew. I am guilty in that I did not deny it.” “Really, Lady Purnam.” Phoebe sighed.

“I wouldn’t ask that you deny what is true, Lady Purnam, but I should hope that as our mother’s dearest friend you would not confirm it,” Ava said ster nly.

Lady Purnam looked very chagrined, and she grabbed Ava’s wrist before she could turn away. “You mustn’t be so cross, dear. In truth, your situation seemed to be well understood by most long before even I knew of it.”

“I see,” Ava said coldly. “The v ultures gathered as soon as Mother died, did they? If you will please excuse us.”

“Ava, darling, please—”

“I really must speak with my sister.”

Lady Purnam sighed and dropped her hand from Ava’s wrist. “Very well. But you harm only yourself in pretendin g your situation is rosier than it is,” she said, assuming a high -

handed tone. “It does you not a bit

of good to flit about society as if things were the same as they were before your mother died, for they are not. Your situation has been drastically alter ed, and the sooner you accept it, the sooner you may find a proper situation.”