Free The Hazards Of Hunting A Duke by Julia London Page A

n Mr. William Pell and his son, Mr. Samuel Pell, who had both been
    injured in a horrible carriage accident. Mr. Pell the senior had lost a leg and therefore could no longer
    light lamps, as was his profession. His son, an apprentice, had a mangled arm that hung at a strange angle
    on his left side. But between the two of them, they managed to make one fairly decent footman.
    The Fairchilds did not, however, have the services of a butler, and Ava could imagine nothing worse than
    if someone were to call and be greeted at their door by Lucille Pennebacker. She was determined to
    pluck a suitable butler from the ranks of the poorhouse at once, so that she might teach the lucky man a
    bit about butlering before they reentered society.
    She was preparing to do just th at when Greer stood. “Ava. Before you go, there is something I must tell you.”
    Both Ava and Phoebe, who was working to hem a gown —she was altering old gowns to make them look new for their reentry —turned and looked at her.
    “I’ve been doing quite a lot of thinking about our situation, and…well, here it is: I’ve an uncle on my
    father’s side to whom I believe my father’s fortune was bequeathed when he passed,” she said, clasping
    her hands tightly together. “Uncle might be of so me use to us, for if I am correct, there are no other male heirs to whom the family fortune would naturally go. There is a good chance that I may be the sole heir. Therefore, I have written my uncle requesting an audience and I intend to make a plea that h e advance a bit of my inheritance now. An annuity or something very near to it, to help us make our own way. What
    do you think?”
    “It’s a marvelous idea!” Phoebe exclaimed at the same moment Lucy bustled in carrying an armful of
    freshly laundered linens. “ Where is he, then? Berkeley Square, I should think —there are scads of elderly folk milling about there.”
    “Who is at Berkeley Square?” Lucy instantly asked.
    “Berkeley Square?” Greer asked incredulously, ignoring Lucy. “That’s not as much as a mile from here, Phoebe! Wouldn’t you suppose that were he in Berkeley Square, I might have called on him? No, no — he’s in the Marches, silly!”
    “The Marches?” Phoebe cried, clearly taken aback. “Greer! You cannot possibly think to go there! It’s practically all the wa y to America!”
    “No…but it is Wales,” Greer said with a thoughtful frown. “I’ve not seen it in some time.”
    “You’ve not seen it since you were eight, Greer,” Ava reminded her as Lucy dropped the linens and gaped at Greer.
    “But I’ve not forgotten it,” Gree r said quickly. “I have rather a good memory of it, actually, and a letter
    with a direction in my mother’s things. I can make my way about.”
    “Dear God, she is serious,” Phoebe said, aghast.
    “I shall be away for only a few months,” Greer doggedly cont inued. “Perhaps three at the utmost. How long could it possibly take to reach Wales and then convince my uncle to loan me a bit of my own inheritance? I think it should be very tidy, really.”
    “Tidy? Don’t be absurd!” Ava cried. “How do you think to even get to the Marches?”
    “In a public coach…with Mrs. Smithington. She asked Lady Purnam for recommendations of a good traveling companion, and Lady Purnam thought of me.”
    “Oh, I am certain she di d!” Ava exclaimed with great exasperation. Lady Purnam’s meddling in their lives had not abated in the least since their mother’s death.
    “But it’s so far away!” Phoebe said.
    “Don’t be a ninny, girl,” Lucy said harshly. “Let her go if she wants. She’
    s got a proper traveling companion and it’s one less mouth to feed, isn’t it?” “Lucy!”
    Phoebe cried.
    “What, then, you think it is easy to feed you and the poorhouse rats underfoot on what Egbert allots?”
    “Lucy, please,” Ava said irritably. “The parish pay s us five pounds per person to take them off the poorhouse rolls,