"Won't I? Three young women in perfectly good health do not need the a.s.sistance of a woman to dressthemselves each day!" he said sternly. "You may help one another. Come, now, I'll not have yourdespair! You shall manage quite well on your own and with Lucille's help, I a.s.sure you! Now, then, goon with you."

The three of them reluctantly gained their feet.

"Here, now, you mustn't look so downcast," Lucille said sternly. "Your face will bear the permanent lines of it if you continue to frown!"

They glanced uneasily at Lucille as they walked out, heads down, lips pressed firmly together.

"Oh dear," Lucille sighed when the door closed behind them. "That did not go very well at all, did it?"

"It went perfectly well, Lucy," Egbert muttered, but his mind had already moved on to how he might release the servants.

The servants were gone by the end of the week. Ava, Phoebe, and Greer stood in the foyer, fightingtears as they bid good-bye to servants who had been in their mother's employ for so long they wereconsidered family-family who had been tossed out onto the street with nothing more than a fortnight'ssalary and the promise of a reference.

"But I ain't got nowhere to go, milady," Old Derreck, their gardener and horseman, said to Ava as hepushed a thick hand through a shock of gray hair. "I got nowhere to lay me head."

Ava caught a sob in her throat, threw her arms around him, and held him tightly to her. "I'm sorry,Derreck. I'm so very sorry."

"Here," Phoebe said, pulling Ava's arms from the old man and taking his hand in hers. "Take this." Shepressed three gold crowns into his palm-the last three gold crowns Phoebe possessed. "It's hardlyanything, but it will at least provide you with lodging for a time."

"Until I can send Lord Ramsey a note on your behalf," Ava interjected, thinking of one of her mother's friends. "He's always in need of a good gardener. I am certain he can find you a position in his household," she promised, cringing inwardly at her lie. She had no idea what Lord Ramsey needed or didn't need, but she would beg him to take Old Derreck in as a favor to her mother's memory if nothing else.

Beverly was the last to leave, and the three of them cried as they clung to the woman who had helped them bathe and dress for as long as they could remember. "There, now, wipe your tears," Beverly said bravely. "I'll not have you carrying on for me. I've been meaning to visit my mother in Derbyshire for ages. So wipe your tears, all of you. Lady Downey would not like you to cry. She'd ask what you would do to improve your lot, wouldn't she?"

Beverly was right, but it didn't hurt any less.

When she'd left, Ava closed the door behind her, feeling the weight of her sorrow and worry of what would become of the three of them like a heavy winter cloak about her shoulders.

"I hate him," Phoebe whispered.

Ava gathered Phoebe and Greer to her, and the three of them retreated to their rooms to grieve in private.

Lord Downey left two days after that, his step amazingly light for a man whose waist circ.u.mference seemed to equal his height. By the following Monday, a little on dit buried deep in the pages of the daily newspaper suggested that three young women known very well about town had lost their fortune to their stepfather and would undoubtedly be in search of another man's fortune as soon as they could put aside their mourning clothes.

That small mention was, as far as the three of them were concerned, a death knell for their social life. Fortune was everything to the ton, and those who did not possess at least a bit of one were not, as a rule, particularly welcome in the salons of those who had fortune in abundance.

They agonized for days what to do, and finally agreed on a course that was unconventional, and in some cases, ill-advised. They were a bit desperate, true, but they were far more determined to find their way in the wake of their mother's death.

Four.

LONDON.

MARCH 1820.

I t was Jared Broderick's bad luck to have returned to London after a particularly harsh winter a full fortnight after his father. It had given the old man time enough to meddle in his affairs, long enough for him to have arranged an interminable luncheon with Lord Robertson and his family. The duke had not, it would seem, mellowed over the winter months while Jared had remained at Broderick Abbey, managing to stay out of his father's sight and, he'd hoped, his mind. He'd entertained Miranda only thrice in an effort to maintain a low profile.

Yet if anything, the old man seemed even more determined in his mission to see his only son married to Lady Elizabeth Robertson.

Lady Elizabeth Robertson had not improved in looks or mien, as one might have expected after a full Season out. To be fair, Jared was basing his opinion on one exceedingly dull luncheon at which he was still engaged. The woman had said very little and eaten much less, which was not, he supposed, sufficient information by which to judge a person's entire character.

But his opinion of her had not changed.

He thought he would crawl out of his skin if he was forced to endure one moment more of this luncheon, and as he watched Lady Elizabeth take precisely measured bites of her whitefish, his mind wandered again to his father's most recent threats.

It was his own fault-he should have held his tongue yesterday when his father asked him if, after a winter of contemplation, he realized he must put Miranda aside for the sake of the dukedom.

"No," Jared had said wearily.

"No? That is all you will say?" the duke had asked incredulously. "I do not think you understand me, sir. If you refuse to put her aside, then I am prepared to expose your greatest mistake and all those a.s.sociated with it."

At first, Jared thought he'd misheard him, but when he saw the look of triumph in his father's eye, he was stunned. "Are you threatening me, your grace?"

"Threaten is perhaps too harsh a word. I am trying to impart the depth of my conviction," the duke responded evenly.

"You have a rather cold way of imparting your conviction."

"I do what I must to ensure the sanct.i.ty of the name Redford."

Jared had scoffed at that. "Can you truly say that in the same breath you use to threaten me? My G.o.d, I don't believe you care for anyone or anything other than your blessed name!"

"That's ridiculous," his father had said, waving a bony hand at him. "I care for you, but you are too b.l.o.o.d.y stubborn to see it. Yet I care for your honor more, which you have so carelessly squandered. Do as I ask, Jared," the duke continued at Jared's groan of exasperation. "Marry Lady Elizabeth. Her family is awaiting your offer. Perhaps you will speak to her father at luncheon tomorrow."

"I will not speak to him," Jared said calmly. "I will not be forced into marrying her."

The duke sighed, and he looked, Jared thought, older than he had at their last meeting, four months ago. "I am warning you-don't push me to do something you will regret."

"I don't push you to do anything, your grace. I have only asked that you leave me to live my life as I see fit. It is a request any man might make of his father," he snapped, and walked out, ignoring the duke's shouted warning that he would do what it took to keep his name from being tarnished.

Jared had left Redford House feeling as he always felt after these interminable interviews-as if his father had placed an invisible vise around him and was slowly turning the screws, torturing him with his demands, forcing his hand.

London was swelling with the Quality as they began to make the trek from the country to town in antic.i.p.ation of the Season, and he rather supposed yesterday's row had already spilled across Mayfair, for his father's servants, he believed, were amazingly fast in their ability to spread untoward gossip among the ton.

To stave off any more gossip-and for deeper, more complex reasons that he did not fully understand- Jared had come to the Robertson luncheon as commanded. He'd come to keep the peace, he supposed, fearful that his father would make good on his threat and hurt more people than just Jared. It had pained him to do so, for the day was lovely and quite warm for an early March day.

But here he was-stuck in a drafty mansion, seated across from a demure Lady Elizabeth while hermother spoke of their winter-imagining days and weeks and months and even years of such tediumstretching before him.

"We had a repair done on the east wing," Lady Robertson was saying, as if he might possibly care what they did. "But what with all the rain and snow, the work was not completed."

"Ah," he said, forcing himself to look away from Elizabeth's deliberate chewing.

"Once we have completed the work, we shall host a weekend affair for all of our good acquaintances.We've a dozen bedrooms in that wing alone."

"Very good," he said idly, and glanced at Elizabeth again. She smiled shyly. He smiled very thinly, trying to think of one thing-anything!-that would be more excruciatingly painful than to spend an entire weekend in the country with this family.

He could think of nothing.

Elizabeth carefully folded her linen and put it on her lap. She was so proper he was certain the slightest breach in etiquette would break her in two. He shifted his gaze away, caught his father glaring at him, and shifted his gaze to his plate.

Fortunately, Lady Robertson turned her attention to the Season's social calendar, noting-for his benefit, he supposed-the number of b.a.l.l.s to which Elizabeth had received invitations. Jared scarcely heard a word she said, for her endless monotone gave him ample opportunity to relive the spat he'd had with Miranda last evening.

Miranda was growing weary of the ongoing disagreement with his father, which seemed to have grown more vitriolic since they had returned to London. "I can't possibly imagine why you won't do what he asks to appease him," she'd said as she sat prettily on her chaise in her silk dressing gown. "Once you put a child on some girl, then we might continue on, shan't we, and it won't be the least bit different than your father's affair with Lady Sullivan, will it?"

At the mention of his father's long-standing affair with a woman who had survived his mother, Jared flinched inwardly. He was never really certain why, but the notion of his father bedding someone other than his late mother had always p.r.i.c.ked him. He supposed it was because it was done so openly. He could remember a time when he was a boy, the servants discussing before him the need to send linens up to Lady Sullivan's house, for the duke did not care for her coa.r.s.e sheets. Even then, it had seemed insupportable for his father to take vows of fidelity before G.o.d and then forsake them.

Yet here he was, contemplating that very thing.

It wasn't unusual, really. In some circles-his, to be exact-it was expected. Marry one woman for pedigree and fortune; make love to another. It was, for better or worse, the way of many couples among the Quality.

"For G.o.d's sake, just do as he asks, Jared," Miranda said again with great exasperation as she began to brush her long dark red hair. "It is the only way we shall ever be together in any measure of peace-of that I am convinced."

"We might be together in peace if we were to marry," he said, surprising himself as much as Miranda. He was fond of Miranda in a lover's way, and in that moment, it occurred to him that if he would be forced to marry, why not marry Miranda? "My father might disown me, but at least we would live as man and wife and bring our legitimate children into the world."

Miranda made a cry of alarm and dropped her brush. "I think all that clean country air has made youmad, darling. Of course he would disown you, for I will never possess the credentials necessary toappease your father. And if he disowned you, you could not give our children the things you had as achild. I daresay you would never forgive yourself." She'd turned and looked at him pointedly. "And Idaresay, neither would I."

Her response had stung him. He understood how women were taught to think of marriage-power and wealth meant everything, apparently even to Miranda. Yet the confirmation that his t.i.tle and fortune meant more to her than he did cut like a knife.

Now, as the Robertson meal was ending-just before he feared he would be driven to leap from the table and fling himself out of the windows onto Audley Street below-Lord Robertson suggested the ladies take their ices in the solarium with the duke. "I thought perhaps Lord Middleton and I might enjoy a cheroot. You do enjoy a good cheroot, do you not, my lord?"

Jared glanced at his father, whose expression was so full of expectation that he wanted to scream. He shifted his gaze to Lord Robertson and smiled. "Thank you, my lord, but I must beg your leave."

No one said anything for a moment until Elizabeth made a small sound of despair, and the duke...well, the duke turned dark. A very unpleasant shade of red.

"Please do forgive me, but I have another engagement I simply cannot miss," he added, almost cheerfully. "It is a parliamentary matter."

"Middleton-" his father started, but Jared was already rising from his chair.

"I had quite forgotten it until this morning, your grace," he said pleasantly, and smiled at his host. "You will forgive me?"

"Of course," Robertson said, looking confused.

Jared quickly went to the mother and took her hand in his. "Thank you, Lady Robertson, for a lovely luncheon," he said, and turned to Elizabeth. "Lady Elizabeth, I have thoroughly enjoyed your company. I look forward to the time we might dine again," he said, and took her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed her cold knuckles, and quickly let go.

Elizabeth looked at her mother, her eyes wide with consternation, but Jared walked on, to the head of the table, pa.s.sing a string of footmen who had, no doubt, been brought out to impress him. He offered his hand to a stunned Lord Robertson. "Thank you again, my lord."

"But I thought...I thought we were to have the afternoon," he said weakly.

"Another time, perhaps," Jared said, and bowed low. He scarcely looked at his father. "Your grace," he said before he walked out of the room.

Let his father make good on his threats. Jared was beyond caring at the moment, for he could not possibly endure another moment in that dining room. If he had to marry, so be it. But he would not, under any circ.u.mstance, marry Lady Elizabeth Robertson.

He went directly to his club and sent word for Harrison to join him if he was able. When Harrison appeared an hour later, Jared felt restless, and given that the day was bright and unusually warm, he convinced his old friend that they should ride in Hyde Park.

Naturally, he gave Harrison a brief account of the latest argument with his father and the luncheon he'd ruined.

"Sounds frightfully tedious," Harrison agreed. "Does he still threaten to disown you?"

Jared laughed wryly. "Not only does he threaten it, I would suspect that as we are speaking, he is drawing up the order for the king's signature."

Harrison smiled a little, then looked at his friend. "What if he carries through with his threat? Have you determined your course?"

Oh, he'd considered it. Through many sleepless nights, he had wandered Broderick Abbey's halls, considering it. He had his own t.i.tle, his own seat. Granted, he did not have nearly the wealth his father had, and would lose the substantial stipend he received as the son of the Duke of Redford. But he was ready to face it-he had studied agriculture and was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with ideas for improvements to his estate. And besides, what he valued and wanted more than anything on earth was not a fortune, but the freedom to be who he was.

Yet the duke had raised the stakes with his latest threat.

"I have considered it," he said simply, and meant to say something more, but a sound brought his head up -a laugh, a word, he wasn't certain what-but his gaze landed squarely on the woman with blond hair and pale green eyes.

Fair...Fair ...Fair-something.

He could not bring her name to mind, but he remembered her quite clearly. She was in the company of two young women who resembled her, and all three of them were dressed in the black bombazine of mourning.

"Her name," Jared said, taking in their black gowns. "I don't recall it."

"Fairchild," Harrison offered.

Fairchild, of course. Lady Ava Fairchild. "Who pa.s.sed?"

"Her mother, Lady Downey," Harrison replied, and glanced at Jared from the corner of his eye. "You should pay more attention to the society pages, Middleton. Occasionally, there is an interesting on dit about someone other than you."

"Astonishing."

Harrison chuckled and looked again at the three young women walking toward them. "I have heard that Lady Downey died suddenly and without provision for the fortune she'd brought to the marriage. By law, it reverted to Lord Downey. Unfortunately, that has left the three of them somewhat dest.i.tute, save a small dowry for each of them. It's a pity, really, for they seem to be agreeable young women-yet I daresay the lack of fortune won't help them in the marriage mart this Season."

"Perhaps," Jared said thoughtfully. "But there are some men among us who don't care a whit for fortune -yourself included," he remarked, glancing at his friend.

Harrison laughed. "Ah, but I've neither a father pushing me to wed a fortune nor a fortune so entailed that I must wed for money, as Stanhope will likely do one day," he said, referring to the fact that Stanhope's fortune was entailed to the hilt, leaving to him very little real income. "As my circ.u.mstances stand, I have the luxury of time to wait for the perfect wife."

The perfect wife. Jared snorted. The perfect wife, to his way of thinking, had little to do with fortune. The perfect wife would be a comely woman with an agreeable personality and a l.u.s.ty appet.i.te in his bed. She would have a sufficiently high birth to satisfy his father, but for G.o.d's sake, without a fortune so large as Lady Elizabeth as to necessitate what felt like the joining of nations. And she would be an orphan if he had his way, so that she would not have dreadfully dull parents who could fill an entire hour of conversation with talk of repairs made to the east wing- A jarring thought suddenly occurred to Jared and he looked at Ava Fairchild again. A moment later, he abruptly swung off his horse.

"What are you about?" Harrison asked.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l if I know," Jared muttered, and stepped into the path as the women came upon them.