The Hazards Of Hunting A Duke (3 page)

to wait for an offer from a man she might love.

“I do not think Sir Garrett will offer for you tonight,” Phoebe said. “Nor do I think you will dance another

set this evening, as your shoe cannot be repaired. You’d best sit with Lady Purnam until she’s ready to see us home.”

Lady Purnam was their mother’s closest and dearest friend, and had instantly offered to see the three young women to the ball when Lady Downey began to feel unwell. The offer was met with some

reluctance by Ava, Phoebe, and Greer, for Lady Purnam believed, by v irtue of her close association with their mother, that she had a duty to insinuate herself into their lives and instruct them on all matters to do

with propriety. She could be very tiresome in that regard, and the suggestion that Ava might have to sit an entire evening with her was more than she could possibly endure.

“Sit alongside Lady Purnam and listen

to her chatter all evening while I suffer the undying attention of Sir Garrett? Thank you, but I’d rather walk home.”

“Ava, don’t be silly, you can’t pos sibly walk. The rain is turning to sleet and your shoe is broken,” Phoebe reminded her.

“I can think of nothing worse than sitting in a chair at a ball while everyone dances past me,” Ava said. “I’

ll ask Lady Fontaine to send a footman to attend me,” she said, and suddenly smiled.

“Did you see the one with the golden hair and lovely brown eyes?”

Phoebe snorted. “A footman? Now I am convinced more than ever you are daft,” she said, and held out her arm. “Come on, then. To Lady Purnam’s side.”

With a groan of capitulation, Ava took Phoebe’s arm, and listing a little to the left, allowed Phoebe and

Greer to escort her across the room.

Lady Purnam was seated in a thronelike chair near the dance floor, closely peering through her lorgnette

and studying each pair of dancers that waltzed by. She was delighted to have Ava’s company and waved

at a footman to have a chair brought over.

Ava sat, but a little petulantly and frowning at the departing backs of her sister and cousin as they joined

Miss Holcomb at the punch bowl.

“A broken shoe, eh?” Lady Purnam said, directing her lorgnette at Ava’s feet. “Happened to me once, at

Ascot. The heel broke and I couldn’t possibly make my way to the railing to see the end of the horse race.”

“How unfortunate.”

“It was terribly unfortunate. Lord Purnam was in quite a dither, for his horse held the lead until it was bumped by the king’s horse and faltered.” She turned suddenly toward Ava and said dramatically, “He never recovered.”

“The horse? Or Lord Purnam?” Ava asked innocently.

Lady Purnam clucked her tongue. “The horse, of course!” She turned back to the dancing and picked up

a fan, and began to fan her bosom. “To have a broken shoe at a ball is inconvenient, isn’t it? You cannot dance, and you dare not s ay whyever not when a gentleman inquires.

Gentlemen should not hear of such things as flawed garments, shoes, and other personal articles.”

Ava glanced curiously at Lady Purnam. “I cannot mention a broken shoe?”

“No,” Lady Purnam said, shaking her head. “It is uncouth to mention a broken shoe. A gentleman will

want to repair it, which would put him in direct contact with your foot, which is connected to your leg, of course, and it will turn his thoughts to forbidden things.”

Ava failed to see how a broken shoe could bring to mind anything other than a broken shoe. “But I—” “You may politely decline,” Lady Purnam said sternly, with a pointed look at Ava. “But you must never

give a gentleman such a personal reason for your decli ne.”

Dear God. Lady Purnam’s idea of propriety seemed positively medieval and all too meddlesome. But

Lady Downey had trained Ava to be nothing if not exceedingly polite, and with a slight sigh, she resigned herself and leaned back in her chair.

“Up, dear,” Lady Purnam said, tapping her knee with her fan. “Up, up, up,” she said with each subsequent tap to her knee.

Ava sat up, her back straight and stiff, her feet tucked carefully under the hem of her gown, her hands folded in her lap. After a moment, ho wever, she was already beginning to feel mad with tedium. She could not sit like a duck on a pond all night, so Ava carefully began to persuade Lady Purnam to have

her new barouche plucked from the stream of carriages outside to drive Ava home.

Across the ballroom, near the French doors leading to the terrace, Middleton and Harrison stood near a small side cart that held various spirits. They’d just come from the gaming room, where they had both

been successful. Harrison was two hundred pounds richer fo r his trumping of Lord Haverty, a notorious gambler, and Jared had wagered —and won—a private ride around Hyde Park in his coach in the

company of Lady Tremayne. It was an assignation Lady Tremayne had spent several months pursuing, and with a bit of whiske y in him, Jared was happy to oblige her.

As he gave Lady Tremayne the requested half hour to extract herself from her friends and, more

important, her husband, Jared joined Harrison in the ballroom to have a drink before Harrison returned

to the gaming tables and Jared escaped this affair altogether. As he sipped his whiskey and idly watched

the dancing, his gaze inadvertently landed on the woman he’d seen dancing with Sir Garrett. She was seated next to Lady Purnam, looking very bothered by something or someone.

He nudged Harrison and nodded in her direction. “Who is she?” he asked. “The woman in the blue, seated next to Lady Purnam.”

“Lady Ava Fairchild,” Harrison said instantly. The man surprised Jared at times with his knowledge of what seemed to be v irtually everyone in the ton. “One of Lord Downey’s stepdaughters.”

That was mildly interesting. Lord Downey was not the sort of man Jared could ever call friend.

“She’s been out two, perhaps three years now. Rather remarked for being a bit of a coquette.” He

glanced at Jared sidelong. “Why the interest? It’s not as if you have an eye for debutantes.”

Jared shrugged. “I have no particular eye for her or anyone else.” He shifted his gaze past Lady Ava, scanning the crowd, and unfortunately, caught Lady Elizabeth’s eye. She smiled brightly, as did several birds in her little flock. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

Harrison followed his gaze and chuckled. “Go on, then, have a dance with anyone but her,” he

suggested. “Nothing will turn a woman away as quickly as one dancing with another partner. They can’t abide being ignored, you know.”

That sounded like sage advice to Jared, and he handed his glass to Harrison. “Than k you, sir, for a most excellent idea,” he said, and without thought, started in the direction of Lady Ava Fairchild.

He reached Lady Purnam first, a woman he’d known for years. “My lady,” he said, taking up her hand and bowing over it, “your beauty conti nues to astound.”

“Middleton, you rogue!” Lady Purnam cried happily. “I’ve not seen you about in ages and ages. I rather began to believe the rumors that you were no longer amused by debutantes and balls, but only poor widows.”

“How heartening to know th at the ton’s good opinion of me is still intact,” he responded cheerfully, and

Lady Purnam tittered.

He clasped his hands behind his back and glanced at the young woman to Lady Purnam’s left, who remained seated, serenely watching the dance floor.

“Oh,” Lady Purnam said, following his gaze. “Do please forgive me, Lord Middleton.

May I introduce to you Lady Ava Fairchild?”

“Indeed you may,” he said, and cast a warm smile in the young woman’s direction.

Lady Ava turned her head toward him and smiled demur ely as she gracefully held out her hand. “It is a pleasure, my lord.”

“The pleasure,” Jared said, taking her hand and bowing over it, touching his lips to her knuckles, “is most assuredly mine.”

She smiled shyly, then glanced away.

Jared smiled, too. He was quite practiced with young debutantes —knew how to charm the stockings right off of them. “Forgive me, Lady Ava, but did I see you at the Season’s opening ball? I am certain that I did, for my eye is naturally drawn to the rarest o f beauties.”

One of Lady Ava’s fine brows rose above the other. She smiled and shook her head and said, “I think you must have seen someone else, my lord, for I did not attend.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I can assure you I did not.”

“But surely you did, Ava,” Lad y Purnam said anxiously.

“Surely I did not, Lady Purnam,” she said, and smiled up at Jared with such a serene countenance that,

for a brief moment, he felt a bit off balance.

“Forgive me, you are quite right,” he said. “

For I could not have forgot ten a single detail of you.”

Her smiled widened and she blushed a bit as she gently pulled her hand from his grasp.

“Ah, they are playing a waltz now. Lady Ava, would you do me the honor of standing up with me?”

Lady Purnam practically levitated out of her chair as she looked at Lady Ava, but Lady Ava lifted her gaze and said sweetly, “Thank you, my lord…but regrettably, I must decline.”

“Must you? If a waltz is not to your liking —” “Oh no, sir, it is very much to my liking.”

Lady Purnam looked like a large fish, opening and closing her mouth as if she intended to speak but

could not find the words. “You mean that you are not feeling well, don’t you, my dear?”

she asked with a slightly menacing look in her eye for the young wom an.

Lady Ava smiled sweetly at the older woman. “Oh no. I am feeling perfectly fine.”

Frankly, Jared was speechless. He couldn’t remember a time that a woman declined to dance with him. Particularly not in front of an audience. He was, he was starting to realize, suffering a direct cut. For the

first time in his memory, he was being directly cut, before half of the ton.

“Perhaps another time, then,” he said, and bowed again. “It has been a delight to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you.” “Lady Purnam.”

Lady Purnam twisted about in her chair, looking quite distressed. “My lord, I do believe there has been a tragic misunderstanding —”

“I assure you, Lady Purnam, there has not,” he said politely, and with a curt nod for the two of them, he walked on, feelin g, frankly, a little deflated. Yet in an odd way, it was the most interesting thing to have happened to him in a crowded ballroom in the years since he’d come of age.

He’d had enough of ballrooms, however, and decided to await Lady Tremayne in the comfort of his coach. Now there was a woman who would appreciate his attention.

Lady Purnam glared at Ava. “What is the matter with you?” she hissed as Middleton disappeared into

the crowd.

“My shoe is broken—”

“Yes, yes, I know your shoe is broken, you lit tle ninny, but you just refused the Marquis of Middleton!” “But I can’t possibly dance!”

“No, but you might have offered more explanation!”

Of course she might have, and she really wasn’t sure why she hadn’t, other than the things Greer had said about Mid dleton and Lady Purnam’s edict rambling about her head.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Purnam,

but you told me—”

“Dear God,” Lady Purnam said, fanning herself so violently that it was a wonder the feathers in her hair didn’t take flight. “It is exactly as I told your mother —you can be entirely too obtuse at times, Ava. Yes

indeed, I told you not to be so carelessly p ersonal with the gentlemen in this room, but I did not intend for you to insult the Marquis of Middleton!”

“I did nothing to insult him!” Ava protested. “At least I didn’t mean to insult him.

Honestly, I would have preferred to dance with him, to kick my shoes off and dance, but you quite clearly told me I could not.”

“Oh!” Lady Purnam said with much exasperation. “You know very well what I meant!

As I live and breathe,” she sighed irritably. “To have witnessed your tragic dismissal of a fine lord, one who is unquestionably the best catch in all of London —Have you any idea of his fortune?”

No, but Lady Purnam would enlighten her, Ava was very certain. Before she did so, however, Ava saw

her opportunity in this so -called tragedy. “Now will you allow your c arriage to take me home? I cannot possibly bear to see him again after my gaffe,” she insisted.

“Yes, dear, do go home at once and tell your mother what you did, and hope for your sake that she can see a way to repair it, for I certainly cannot!” she said , signaling a footman.

Ava would indeed go home and tell her mother. In fact, she couldn’t wait to tell her mother that while

Lady Purnam might be her dearest friend, she was far too easily excited by the smallest things. She had

not insulted Middleton. S he simply had refused to fall at his feet just because he’d tried to seduce her with a smile. Admittedly, it was a knee -shaking smile, but that was neither here nor there.

And so it was, a quarter of an hour later that, having announced to Phoebe and Gree r that Lady Purnam was sending her home in the coach, Ava stood in the foyer, her cloak gathered tightly about her, waiting

for the footman to return and tell her that Lady Purnam’s new barouche had been brought round.

The footman entered the foyer a mome nt later, along with a cold gust of wind that hit Ava squarely in the face. “Weather’s taken a turn, milady,” the footman said apologetically. “Unusual for this time of year.”

“So it is,” Ava said, and peered out. There were no fewer than three crested ca rriages in front of the house, all of them shiny testaments to the caliber of guest Lady Fontaine had in her house.

Unfortunately, Lady Purnam’s grand new carriage looked exactly like the other two, save the crest, and

for the life of her, Ava could not r emember the Purnam crest. “Which one is Lady Purnam’s?” she asked.

“That one there,” the footman said, pointing to the three carriages. “The one with the bird in its crest.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Ava mumbled, and took an uncertain step outside. The sleet had turned to snow, and fat, wet flakes were making it very hard to see.