The Phoenix by Maria Desrosiers

Chapter One

London 1789

What was he up to this time? Lady Aveline DeLarue contemplated from her hiding spot in a dark cranny of the ballroom.

Impeccably dressed in fine blue breeches, beneath his matching frock coat her brother, Mathew, wore a waistcoat with intricate embroidery. He sipped a glass of mulled wine and leaned close to the Duke of Wintersong, Justin Montegry to hear what the Duke had to say above the music and din. Mathew played with his cufflink in the familiar gesture that Ava came to associate with finding her a suitable husband. .

If he thought to wed her to… Ava stiffened her spine, snapped her black fan shut, and stepped out of the corner.

She would discourage this situation just like she’d handled the others. Not taking her eyes from Mathew and the Duke, Aveline squeezed between couples, groups of chattering friends, and servants carrying trays full of wine and canapés.

As she walked by the open window, a slight breeze wafted in, stirring the powder in her hair. She put her hand over her nose and mouth to stifle the violent sneeze. How she hated the powder and the excessive height of her coiffure. Her maidservant placed silly foibles she’d found outside and around the house in her hair, a necessary evil in her ruse to dishearten suitors handpicked by her brother. Love wasn’t something she desired or a luxury she could afford. Not after watching her mother, Lady Katherine, waste away from heartbreak after Papa’s murder.

“Ah, Brother, I’ve found you.” Aveline grabbed his elbow firmly when she reached him. “And what do we have here?” she batted her eyes coyly at the Duke. “Another one of your faro friends? Are you gaming again?”

Mathew’s cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat. “Your Grace, this is my sister Lady Aveline.”

The Duke’s green eyes held indifference when he took her hand and bowed. “Lady Aveline, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He brushed the back of her gloved hand with his lips. “I’m the Duke of Wintersong, Justin Montegry.”

She batted her eyes at him and snapped her fan open. “I’m sorry to hear about your father, Your Grace. I’m surprised that you’re out and about among the ton. If I were you I’d be holed up in my bedchamber for weeks.”

“You have to excuse my sister. I don’t think she meant--”

“I meant every word.” Aveline pursed her bright red lips. “I’m sure Your Grace, doesn’t mind.” she lifted an eyebrow. “Do you?”
A frown marred the Duke’s forehead and the corners of his lips down. His eyes searched the crowd before they settled back on her. “I see Lord Trenton over there. If you’ll excuse me.”

Seeing the Duke’s desperation to take leave, Ava’s impish nature took hold. She smiled. “No, Your Grace, I just arrived and I so wished for you to take me for a spin around the dance floor. Look my dance card is empty. Could you, please?” she grabbed his arm and rested her powdered head against his upper arm. The solid strength surprised her and she fought the urge to tighten her grip. “I would be ever so grateful.”

Pleased, Mathew nodded his approval.

The Duke forced a smile. A deep dimple in his right cheek drew her gaze. The man was handsome, she’d give him that. “It would be a pleasure, lady?

“Aveline.” She giggled and snorted loud. “You may call me Ava. That’s what my friends and family call me.”

He nodded, wrapped his warm fingers around her hand, and led Ava into the next round of dancing, making sure to keep her at a more than respectable distance. “Your brother didn’t mention you were so… um… so unique.”

She grinned. “I can’t help how terribly beautiful I am. My brother was sparing you the shock of it.”

The Duke’s face reddened and he stumbled. “Yes, that’s it.”

She rubbed her finger against his strong tension filled shoulder. “You’re such a handsome man. I wouldn’t mind if you courted me at all.” And he was very handsome, with a strong jaw and impeccable black, curly hair tied at the back of his neck. Pleasant warmth seeped through his jacket and the material of her glove into her flesh. Shaken, she pointed across the room. “Oh, look at Lady Millicent, she’s standing all alone in the corner.” She stared at the Duke. “You should ask her to dance. She’s quite nice and is rather intelligent. Half the time I have no clue what she’s talking about.”

“I still have to see Lord Trenton.” He brought her expertly through the dance steps and ignored her attempt at matchmaking.

Ava stepped on his feet several times on purpose. Why did she have to always act impulsively? The more she felt his touch, the more she looked at him, the more she cursed herself a fool. “I’m sorry for stepping on your foot. Did I hurt you? I can be quite clumsy. I was born with two left feet. Well, not literally but figuratively speaking.”

He was tall, well over six feet. Aveline was a tall woman herself but at five ten she had to look up at the Duke, and suddenly, she found it very disconcerting the way he studied her. She leaned closer. “Is there something amiss? Did my earbob come loose?”

He smiled suddenly. “Yes, I believe you’ll do.”

“What do you mean I’ll do?” She shifted uncomfortably. “If you’re suggesting a tryst, Your Grace, I would never.”

“No, quite the contrary. I’m thinking you’d make the perfect wife.”

Ava’s mouth dropped open. Did the Duke just say what she thought he had? “Pardon?” she leaned closer. “I believe I heard you quite wrong, Your Grace.”

“Come now, the prospect of being a Duchess should be pleasing.”

The music ended, shocked by the turn of events, Ava wanted to swoon and then thought it a good idea. He surely wouldn’t desire someone with such a weak constitution. “Did I mention I swoon quite easily?” she gasped, fanned herself fast, rolled her eyes up into her head and let herself fall.

Amazingly, he caught her before she hit the floor, hefting her into his strong arms like she weighed nothing more than a small child. At that moment she was impressed by his strength. Not many men could carry her so effortlessly.

Her mind raced for ways to escape him as he carried her out of the ballroom, afraid to open her eyes.

Mathew caught him. “What happened to Ava?”

“She’s in shock.” The Duke’s voice crisp and all business. “Come we have much to discuss.”

The Duke set her gently down on a settee. “Does your sister always swoon so?”

She moaned and fluttered her eyes, and hoped that he would leave soon and forget about his silly notion.

“I’m afraid she swoons quite often.” Her brother pinched her upper arm hard, to her dismay. She bit back a yelp and inwardly cursed him.

“Get some water.” The Duke sounded irritated.

When he tapped her on the cheek, Ava groaned and slowly opened her eyes. She theatrically placed the back of her hand over her forehead. “My head, did I hit it?”

“No, you never reached the floor.” The Duke grabbed the cup of water from her brother, lifted her head and pressed it to her lips. “Drink and you’ll feel better in a minute.”

As she drank the cool liquid Ava swallowed as much air as she could. “Mathew, what have you done?” Ava said and fought the out of fashion farthingale as she tried to sit up, using the edge of the chair to drag herself into a sitting position. The darn hoop at the best of times a nuisance now made her even more ungainly, which suited her.

“Nothing.” Retribution promised, his angry gaze swept over her.

Ava returned the look, not backing down. She’d bailed him out of his gaming debts for the last few years. How dare he force her into this unfortunate situation?

“I assure you that the idea was all mine.” The Duke stood and paced around the library, stopping to study a shelf lined with books. He kept his back to her as he spoke in a bitter tone, “As you know my father--”

“I know your father passed... I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” She stood. “But I’m going back to the ballroom. I have gossip to attend too and--”

“No, this was part your idea too.” The Duke began to pace again and waved his hand in the air. “After all, you expressed it wouldn’t be a hardship if I courted you.”

The air she’d swallowed came up in an unladylike belch. Heat stole into her cheeks as both men stopped and stared at her. She’d put her fist to her mouth, but it didn’t stifle the length or loudness. “I beg your Pardon.”

Her brother spoke in a rush. “She doesn’t always do that.” His fingers bit into her elbow. Mathew leaned close and growled in her ear, “I suggest you stop making a spectacle of yourself.”

Aveline took that opportunity to burst into tears. Loud sobs racked her body. Her shoulders shook, and she wailed, “You are so unkind. It’s humiliating enough when that happens but you do not have to make it worse by being so cruel.”

To her surprise the Duke came over, put his arms around her shoulders and glared at Mathew. “You should be more tolerant of your sister’s humiliation.

“Humiliation? Now, you’re taking up for my brother.” She moved away from him and backed to the door. She sobbed with big tears rolling down her cheeks and she swiped them with her sleeve. “My feelings are immensely hurt.”

The Duke seemed to lose patience. “Sit down and stop being trifle. We’ve got a marriage to arrange.”

“I’m not marrying you.” She shuddered. “I would never marry a man that thinks I’m trifle.”

He grabbed her elbow, pulled her to the settee and pushed her down. “Sit and listen.”

“If you insist.” She slouched and smoothed the bright fuchsia silk gown.

“As I was saying, my father--”

“Passed away recently.” She interrupted.

“Before he died he stipulated in his will that I’d have to remarry in order to inherit--”

“Oh, how horrid.” She wrung her hands. “How dare anyone force you to marry! How about Millicent, she’d make a marvelous duchess?”

The Duke stopped, crossed his arms. White powder from her hair coated his black jacket, and he stared at her. “No, I believe you’ll be perfect. Besides it will be only for convenience.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I mean you can do whatever you wish.”

“What?” Aveline didn’t like this. The Duke only asked to marry her because he needed to get his inheritance.

“I’m a realistic man.” He grabbed a decanter of cognac and poured himself a glass. “I loved my wife tremendously and I do not intend to love anyone again.”

“Your Grace, you insult me.” She slammed the fan shut. “I may be a twit, I may even be eccentric, but I’m not brainless.” She walked to the door in a huff and paused, “You may go to hell.” She slammed the door shut with all her strength, rattling the sconces on the wall.

©The Phoenix by Maria Desrosiers