The Aristocrat's Charade: Regency Romance (Brides of London)

by Joyce Alec

  Thankfully, Miss Smallwood chattered quietly for some moments, allowing Ophelia to take her mind from Lord Marchmont entirely and draw herself back to other matters. Miss Smallwood was slight, being half a head shorter than Ophelia, and had sparkling blue eyes and dark hair, although the freckles that graced her nose and cheeks were something the lady often complained about. Ophelia remembered her as having a rather sweet character, with a kind spirit and a ready smile for everyone—and why she was not yet engaged or even married, Ophelia could not understand.

  A sudden idea came to her.

  “Miss Smallwood,” she began, her expression suddenly alight as she smiled at her acquaintance. “Might I make the suggestion that you and I become a good deal better acquainted this Season? I can see that we are both in the same situation, where we lack for suitors and are required to find a suitable gentleman by the end of the Season, and it may do us both a great deal of good if we assist each other in this.”

  Miss Smallwood, who appeared somewhat surprised by Ophelia’s sudden outburst, slowly began to smile, her astonished expression leaving her face quickly. “I should like that very much, Miss Grey,” she said, now appearing quite delighted. “I am somewhat shy, as you know, and often find it difficult to speak with the same ease as you appear to have.”

  Ophelia laughed and felt herself warm towards Miss Smallwood all the more. Surely once Lord Marchmont was introduced to Miss Smallwood, he would realize that there were a good many other young ladies whom he might come to care for in time, if only he would permit himself. Ophelia was not at all convinced by his supposed sudden change of heart, wondering if in ensuring that he and Miss Smallwood became acquainted, she might discover the truth behind his renewed interest in her. She was beginning to think that her initial idea that he was seeking her out again so that he might fulfil some clause in his late father’s will had been correct, for it would be much easier to convince a lady that he had previously been courting to wed him than to start all over again with another young lady with whom he had no acquaintance whatsoever.

  “What event are you to attend next, Miss Grey?” Miss Smallwood asked, sounding greatly excited about the fact that she would have a friend by her side. “I am to go to Lord Blackridge’s soiree this evening.”

  “As am I,” Ophelia replied with a broad smile. “I shall look forward to seeing you there, Miss Smallwood.”

  “Please, do call me Louisa,” came the reply. “For if we are to be friends, then I must hope you would be glad to share such an intimacy.”

  Ophelia nodded, a feeling of growing satisfaction in her heart. “Of course,” she agreed. “Then, until this evening, Louisa.” Making her farewells, Ophelia quickly hurried from the bookshop, feeling a good deal brighter about her next meeting with Lord Marchmont now that she had Miss Smallwood by her side. Surely, within a few days, Lord Marchmont will have forgotten all about her and will have, instead, turned his attention to Louisa, who Ophelia was certain would be much better suited to him. She would be free of him in a short time and would not have to worry any longer about his peculiar insistence that she accept his courtship again.

  3

  “You look as though you do not even want to be here!”

  Peter looked at his friend with a somewhat guilty expression. “It is not that I do not wish to attend, Blackridge, but rather that I have something weighty resting upon my mind. I apologize if that gives rise to the impression that I am not truly glad to have been invited.”

  Viscount Solomon Blackridge, one of Peter’s closest acquaintances, let out a snort of disbelief. “What is it that troubles you so, Marchmont? Has another young lady refused to bat her eyes at you, when you have already lost your heart? Have you lost your mistress to another?”

  “No, indeed not!” Peter exclaimed, bristling. “I have no mistress, as well you know, and I am not at all seeking out the flirtations of any…” He trailed off, his anger deflating as he saw the glint of humor in Lord Blackridge’s green eyes. “You are jesting with me.”

  Lord Blackridge shrugged, then turned to grasp two glasses of champagne from one of his footmen, handing a glass to Peter. “I know very well that you are not that sort of gentleman, Marchmont. Therefore, I must wonder what it is that troubles you so.” He arched an eyebrow, looking a trifle more serious. “What is it that makes you appear so distraught, then?”

  Peter let out a long breath and shook his head. He recalled the note that he had discovered in the wooden box, reminding him that no one else should know of what had been written there and felt the heavy weight fall back on him all over again.

  “Come now, you must tell me,” Lord Blackridge stated, now appearing a good deal more concerned. “I have never seen you with such a heaviness about you.”

  “I cannot,” Peter said, looking about him at the other guests. “This is your soiree and I should not be taking up so much of your time.”

  Lord Blackridge let out a harsh laugh, jolting Peter somewhat. “You need not concern yourself in that regard, Marchmont. In fact, I believe you would be saving me from the fate of being dragged towards Lady Elgin and her most unfortunate daughter, whom she is determined to force into my acquaintance.” He suppressed a shudder and looked over Peter’s shoulder tentatively, as though expecting the lady to appear at any moment. “She is always nearby, no matter what occasion I am attending.”

  “Then why did you invite them here to your own soiree?” Peter asked, confused, only for Lord Blackridge to sigh heavily.

  “Because I must, as you well know,” he stated, as though Peter ought to understand. “It would appear as a slight if I did not, given that my mother and Lady Elgin are very dear friends.”

  Peter frowned. “And you have not yet met Lady Elgin’s daughter?”

  “I have, on one occasion,” Lord Blackridge admitted wearily. “Quietest young lady I have ever had occasion to meet and certainly not a diamond of the first water. However, her mother is insistent that we would make an excellent match and has not stopped attempting to further our acquaintance whenever she can.” He turned sharp eyes back onto Peter. “Which means that I am more than able to listen to whatever it is that is troubling you.”

  Having thought that he might have escaped such questions from his friend, given how distracted Lord Blackridge had become over Lady Elgin and her ‘unfortunate daughter’, Peter let out a long breath. “I am not certain that I can truly explain and certainly could not do so here,” he said slowly. “But I must, it seems, resume my acquaintance with Miss Ophelia Grey.”

  Lord Blackridge’s eyes widened, his expression one of deep concern. “I see,” he murmured quietly. “That is…unexpected.”

  “And I should like to give you an explanation, truly,” Peter added hastily, “but now is not the time to do so.”

  Lord Blackridge frowned hard, lines drawing down in between his brows. “But you only just drew your acquaintance with Miss Grey to an end, did you not? Why are you now so eager to pursue her?”

  Peter shook his head, then winced at the pain that jolted through his skull, reminding him of his injury. He had not yet healed completely from it, but the injury itself was hidden by his thick, dark, twisted curls that grew like heather all over his head. “I shall have to explain to you all at a later time,” he said, looking about him and becoming increasingly aware of just how many guests were nearby, some of whom were glancing towards Lord Blackridge with an ever-increasing frequency. “Besides which, I believe that your guests will require your company soon.”

  Clearing his throat, Lord Blackridge slapped one hand down on Peter’s shoulder. “Call here tomorrow, Marchmont. We will speak then.”

  Peter could only nod, ice running down his spine as he remembered the note he had read and how he had been warned not to speak of it to anyone. He had to hope that telling Blackridge about it would not put his brother in danger. “Tomorrow.”

  “Oh, and Miss Grey should be present here this evening,” Lord Blackridge stated, as he began to move
away from Peter. “She and her aunt, Lady Sharrow, were both invited and, from what I recall, they did accept.”

  Peter swallowed hard, his hands tightening into fists for a moment as he battled against the fierce anxiety that ran through him. His first meeting with Miss Grey had not gone particularly well, for she had clearly been confused by what he had said and certainly had not seemed very inclined to accept his offer to renew their courtship. Her eyes had held so much confusion that any thought he had considered about Miss Grey herself being involved in all that was going on went from his mind almost at once. In fact, she had been so disinclined to accept his offer that he could not even begin to believe that she knew what had occurred with him.

  Which made things all the more confusing. Peter still could not imagine who had not only struck him and dragged him to a small room, but left him the note with such demands inside. When he had seen the open door and stumbled towards it, he had discovered that he was in the attic rooms of a boarding house and the proprietor had been none too pleased to discover him attempting to leave without paying for his stay. Peter had been so confused and upset that he had promised to return and pay whatever he owed before making his way outside. He had not done so as yet, but he would have to go back and speak to the man again, to see if he could shed any more light on how Peter had gotten there in the first place.

  However, his main consideration at the moment was to attempt to court Miss Grey all over again. The note had been very specific as to what he was to do and, given that he had very little idea as to who had written the letter, he had to ensure that his pursuit of her was quite obvious for fear that the letter-writer would be watching him carefully.

  His breath hitched as he saw the very lady in question step into view. She was clad in a gown of light green, which he was certain brought attention to her vivid green eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, with only one or two tendrils brushing at her temples, and her lips were curved into a broad smile as she talked with another young lady he did not know. This young lady was shorter than Miss Grey, with very dark hair, and clad in a contrasting cream gown. She was laughing at something Miss Grey had said, her eyes roving across the crowd as she spoke. Peter watched her for a moment before returning his attention to Miss Grey, filling with nervousness as he forced his feet in their direction.

  “Miss Grey.”

  The words were rushed, harsh, and brash as he looked into her face. Miss Grey came to a dead stop, her mouth a little open as though she had been in the middle of saying something to her friend but had been interrupted by his sudden, unexpected greeting. A flush rose in his face as he realized that he had come across as a little rude in his interruption.

  “Good evening, Lord Marchmont,” Miss Grey murmured, giving him nothing more than a cursory glance which gave him no hope of encouragement in his pursuit of her. “I did not expect to see you here this evening.”

  His flush deepened. “Lord Blackridge is a close friend,” he said, by way of explanation. “Although why you should think that I would not wish to attend something such as this, I cannot imagine.” He saw her glance back at him, a wry smile touching her lips, and felt his embarrassment mount all the more. They had managed a few conversations together when he had first courted her and knew full well that he had told her on more than one occasion that he did not derive pleasure from filling his life with nothing more than one social occasion after another. She, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy every moment of them.

  “I see,” Miss Grey murmured, sounding entirely unconvinced. “Might I then introduce you to my dear friend?” She gestured to the young lady beside her. “This is Viscount Marchmont,” she began, talking to her friend before returning her attention to him. “And this is Miss Louisa Smallwood, daughter to Baron Churston.”

  Peter bowed at once. “Miss Smallwood.”

  Miss Louisa Smallwood was smiling at him with a brightness in her eyes that would have given him pause had it not been that his attention was being drawn, once again, to Miss Grey. It was she that was his quarry, not her friend, not any other young lady in this room. He had to find a way to speak to her alone.

  “Are you enjoying this evening, Lord Marchmont?”

  Miss Smallwood’s cheeks had turned pink as she spoke to him, her eyes holding a little anxiety as she waited for his answer. Was it because she had seen just how caught up he was with Miss Grey?

  Clearing his throat, he managed to give Miss Smallwood a small smile, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “It has been most enjoyable, yes,” he lied, having found no joy in his time thus far, given his worry. “And you?”

  Miss Smallwood made to speak, only for someone to strike up at the pianoforte.

  “Oh, they are to dance!” Miss Grey exclaimed, clapping her hands together in apparent delight. “How wonderful. I know you greatly enjoy stepping out onto the floor, Miss Smallwood.”

  Miss Smallwood blushed furiously and Peter found himself wincing inwardly, suddenly fully aware of what Miss Grey was attempting to do. She was trying to encourage him towards Miss Smallwood instead of towards herself, as though that would make all the difference to his intentions.

  He groaned quietly, lowering his head for a moment as the delighted exclamations from the other guests surrounded them. Couples began to make their way to the space now prepared for them, leaving Peter to look into the faces of both Miss Smallwood and Miss Grey, seeing the hope in both their eyes. Miss Grey was hopeful that he would take Miss Smallwood to the floor and, thereby, remove all thought of pursuing her from his mind, whilst Miss Smallwood, it seemed, wanted desperately to be noticed.

  “Miss Smallwood,” he said, all too aware of Miss Grey’s immediate sigh of relief. “Might you be willing to take to the floor with me?”

  “Oh, I should be delighted,” Miss Smallwood stammered, going pink with evident pleasure. “I thank you, Lord Marchmont.”

  “And you thereafter, Miss Grey,” he stated, not looking towards Miss Smallwood but fixing his gaze intently upon Miss Grey. “I shall not accept a refusal, Miss Grey, I should warn you.” Looking at her steadily, he saw how she frowned, her expression slightly wary and her eyes now holding some frustration. There was no easy way for her to refuse him given his apparent steadfastness. Some moments passed and still Peter waited, determined to have what he wished.

  “Very well, Lord Marchmont,” Miss Grey muttered, clearly exasperated that she had been forced to accept him. “I shall wait for you here.”

  He smiled and nodded, thinking that she was one of the most infuriating creatures he had ever had the chance to lay eyes on. Why, when he was not at all attracted to her, did he find himself forced to pursue her? What was it about Miss Grey that was, for whatever reason, forcing him towards her? It was almost galling that he should have to consider her as his future bride, given that they were so unequally matched in both character and temperament.

  “Lord Marchmont?”

  He was pulled from his thoughts by the quiet, anxious voice of Miss Smallwood, who was looking up at him rather cautiously.

  “I do apologize,” he murmured, clearing his throat and refusing to let his own embarrassment mount all the more. “Come, Miss Smallwood. I see the dance is about to begin.”

  Offering her his arm, he walked towards the other dancers, quite prepared to dance with her so that he might then have a few minutes to dance and speak with Miss Grey again. However, as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that Miss Grey had already stepped away from where they had been standing, seemingly melting into the shadows. His irritation rose, his frustration burning all through him.

  Miss Grey was gone.

  4

  “There is a gentleman who wishes to see you, Miss Grey.”

  Ophelia looked up in surprise, her book now lying forgotten on her lap. “He wishes to see me?” she asked, seeing her aunt rise to her feet at once in apparent delight. “But I have no one expected this afternoon.”

  Her aunt clapped her hands together
, an excited smile spreading across her face. “It seems that you have someone entirely unexpected,” she stated, hurrying around to ring the bell for tea. “Do you have his card?” She held her hand out to the footman who handed it to her at once. Lady Sharrow peered at it with small, narrowed eyes, as though she could not quite make sense of it.

  “It is Lord Marchmont, Ophelia,” she said eventually, dropping her hand and looking at her niece with confusion. “But I thought that you told me he brought your acquaintance to a rather swift end.”

  Ophelia managed a tight smile, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. “It is as you say, Aunt,” she replied honestly. “He did state that our courtship was at an end. However…” She trailed off, feeling all the more uncomfortable in telling her aunt the truth. “However, he has since stated that he feels as though he has made a mistake in doing so and now wishes to renew our acquaintance once more.”

  Her aunt stared at her, her mouth falling open just a little, her eyes widening.

  “I am not at all eager for such a thing, which is why I did not tell you at once what had occurred,” Ophelia continued hastily, not wanting her aunt to have the wrong impression. “I found it quite unacceptable for a gentleman to behave in such a manner.”

  Lady Sharrow blinked rapidly, then came towards Ophelia with a desperate expression on her face. “But you cannot be so flighty about such things, Ophelia. It is not as though you have a great many gentleman callers who are all eager to further their acquaintance with you.”

  Ophelia winced, feeling as though her aunt had slapped her hard with her words, but Lady Sharrow either did not notice or did not particularly care.

  “Lord Marchmont may simply have made a mistake!” her aunt continued, waving her hands about. “And he has attempted to rectify that mistake by coming to you to seek your forgiveness and to bestow on you the renewal of his affections.”