by Joyce Alec
He glared at her, his anger and frustration mounting although it still came without any explanation whatsoever. Ophelia did not look away nor did she recant, as she was certain he expected her to do. She was not about to become recalcitrant, however, making sure to keep her composure steady and her expression calm. The last thing she needed was for any of the beau monde to notice her conversation with Lord Ancrum, which meant that she had to remain as calm as possible.
“You must not marry Lord Marchmont.”
All sense of calmness left her the moment those words came from Lord Ancrum’s lips.
“Lord Marchmont is not a suitable gentleman for you, Miss Grey. He is… poor.”
Ophelia took a moment to gather her wits about her, doing so quickly as she tried to summon an answer to this strange insinuation.
“I hardly think, Lord Ancrum, that my marital state is any concern of yours,” she replied, her voice still a little breathless from the shock of what she had heard. “Good evening.” Making to step away with Miss Smallwood by her side, Ophelia was startled as Lord Ancrum took a few steps closer to her, his hand snaking out to grasp at her arm.
“Miss Grey,” he grated, his head lowering as though he wanted to force her to do as he asked. “You must break your betrothal to Lord Marchmont. I insist upon it.”
Ophelia’s breath was coming quick and fast as she looked into Lord Ancrum’s face. Lord Marchmont had not, as yet, proposed to her, but for whatever reason, Lord Ancrum seemed to believe that she was engaged to him. Why would he be doing his utmost to prevent her from marrying Lord Marchmont? What possible reason could there be for this sudden, inexplicable determination?
“Release me at once, Lord Ancrum,” she hissed, trying to wrench her arm away in as unobtrusive a manner as possible, her heart beating quickly as fear slithered up her spine. Beside her, Miss Smallwood stepped a little closer, offering her silent support whilst ensuring that Lord Ancrum’s grasp upon Ophelia’s arm was hidden from prying eyes.
“You have no right to treat Miss Grey so,” Miss Smallwood added, her words a little tremulous as she fought to summon her courage. “Remove your hand immediately, Lord Ancrum.”
“I shall only do so once you have promised to break your engagement, Miss Grey,” Lord Ancrum growled, ignoring Miss Smallwood completely. “I cannot have you married to that gentleman.”
Ophelia swallowed the ache in her throat and narrowed her eyes. She had to find the strength within herself were she to escape from this confusing and painful situation.
“You and I are not even acquainted, Lord Ancrum,” she bit out, tugging her arm hard away from him and finally feeling his fingers loosen. “You have no right to ask me to do any such thing. How dare you treat me in such a manner!”
Lord Ancrum was breathing hard now, his face a dull shade of red. “You cannot, Miss Grey.”
“I will do as I please, Lord Ancrum,” she replied steadfastly. “And I shall not take advice nor accept the demands of a gentleman who does not even have the grace to have himself introduced to me properly.” She made to swing around and walk away from him through the crowd of guests, only to feel his hand tighten on her wrist again. Trying to tug free did no good and, much to her horror, Lord Ancrum dragged her back towards him and then, without warning, lowered his head and attempted to kiss her.
A gasp rippled through the ballroom as Ophelia tugged her wrist out of his grasp and, with that very same hand, threw a hard slap across Lord Ancrum’s face. Her color was high, her heart pounding furiously as she staggered back.
“How dare you?” she gasped as Miss Smallwood rushed to her side. “How dare you try to do such a thing, Lord Ancrum!” She could not say anything more, knowing that a good many members of the ton had seen what had occurred and that, as such, her reputation was already ruined. She had not taken any part in this, had not known what was coming or what Lord Ancrum’s intentions were, but still she would be the one to find her reputation smeared.
Lord Ancrum chuckled darkly and rubbed his face with one hand. “I will do what I must, Miss Grey. After all, I am only trying to save you from a most unfortunate marriage.”
Ophelia did not know what to say at this. The ripples of whisperings and gasps were spreading outward across the room, leaving her in no doubt that soon, all of London society would know what had occurred. Her face began to heat, and she was entirely at a loss as to what to do next. Thankfully, Miss Smallwood tugged at her arm, breaking her from her uncertainty as her friend whispered to her to come away from Lord Ancrum.
“You are a disgrace, Lord Ancrum,” Ophelia said loudly, suddenly finding her voice as she began to move from where she stood. “To treat me in such a deplorable fashion without any consideration is utterly despicable. How dare you call yourself a gentleman when you behave in such an uncouth manner?” She glared at him, breathing hard and finding a small sense of satisfaction rising up within her at the sight of his red cheek and his slowly fading smile.
“Whatever your intention was, Lord Ancrum, you have utterly failed. You shall find that I am not one easily affected by the whispers and the gossip that shall soon follow, for I shall know that I have done nothing wrong and therefore, I shall keep my head high and my spirits steadfast.” This was not quite the truth, for Ophelia knew that, regardless of how determined she was, she would find herself badly affected by what Lord Ancrum had tried to do, but she was not about to show any sign of weakness in front of him now, feeling her strength slowly returning.
Lord Ancrum laughed softly as Ophelia turned from him, his eyes dark.
“So long as I have put an end to your engagement, I shall find myself greatly satisfied,” he told her as she turned her head away. “For what gentleman would wish to marry you now?”
Ophelia’s heart turned over in her chest as she thought of Lord Marchmont, but she did not allow her sudden fear to show. Walking alongside Miss Smallwood, she made her way towards the open doors that led to the gardens, seeking a little solace within the darkness there. She should, of course, make an attempt to find her aunt and tell her what had occurred before she heard the whispers about what had happened, but she could not bring herself to do anything other than escape for the time being. Perhaps Miss Smallwood would be able to find Lady Sharrow and bring her to Ophelia, so that she herself would not have to return to the crowd of guests.
“Are you quite all right, Ophelia?”
Miss Smallwood’s anxious eyes looked up at her as Ophelia stepped outside, the cool air sweeping over her hot cheeks.
“I am as well as can be expected,” Ophelia answered honestly, closing her eyes for a moment as she grasped onto the rail and let her fingers curl around the metal, steadying herself. “That was entirely unexpected and, I confess, quite shocking.”
Miss Smallwood let out a long breath, clearly quite taken aback by what Lord Ancrum had done. “And you say you have not even been so much as introduced to that gentleman before?”
“No,” Ophelia replied, sighing and opening her eyes. “No, I have not. I have no knowledge of him and I certainly cannot imagine what he was attempting to do.”
Miss Smallwood tipped her head, regarding Ophelia. “He says that he wished to bring an end to your engagement,” she said slowly, looking at Ophelia carefully. “But I have not heard that you are betrothed.”
A slight tinge of hurt was in Miss Smallwood’s words, obviously a little sad that apparently Lord Marchmont had proposed to Ophelia and that she had accepted—but then not spoken of it to Miss Smallwood.
“I am not engaged,” Ophelia explained quickly. “Lord Marchmont has not yet proposed, Louisa. I cannot say why Lord Ancrum believed this to be true.”
“But you did not correct him,” Miss Smallwood said softly, no hint of accusation in her tone but rather one of confusion. “Why is that?”
Ophelia let out her breath slowly. “Mayhap because I wanted to know the truth behind Lord Ancrum’s strange behavior,” she said, aware that her heart had caught with exc
itement when Lord Ancrum had first suggested that she was betrothed to Lord Marchmont. “If I had denied it, then I feared that he would simply step away without revealing the truth about his concerns.”
“But we have not discovered the truth regardless,” Miss Smallwood added, looking frustrated as her expression was lit by the light coming from the door to the ballroom. “He did not say why he wished you to end this supposed engagement, did he?”
“No,” Ophelia admitted, a little sadly. “No, he did not. I will admit, Miss Smallwood, that I did not think that the consequences would be so dire in refusing to speak the truth to Lord Ancrum. Now, I must consider the fact that my reputation will be damaged due to his actions.”
There was silence for a few moments and Ophelia felt her spirits begin to sink. She had always considered herself to have a fairly strong character, but now knowing that she would have to face the beau monde again, and that she would see nothing but rejection in their faces, was beginning to tug her heart low. She would be given the cut direct from some, she was quite certain of it. They would not allow her to be a part of their conversation, their social circles. Due to Lord Ancrum’s actions, she would find herself quite disgraced.
“I do not think that Lord Marchmont will care about your damaged reputation, Ophelia.”
Miss Smallwood put one hand on Ophelia’s arm, breaking her out of her despondency.
“What do you mean?” Ophelia replied, trying not to allow her heart to quicken at the thought of Lord Marchmont and how he would respond to the news of what Lord Ancrum had done.
Miss Smallwood smiled softly. “I think that you care for Lord Marchmont greatly, Ophelia, and that he cares for you also. You need not protest,” she continued, holding up one hand as words sprang to Ophelia’s lips, “nor pretend that such things are not true, for it has become quite apparent to me these last few days that you have an affection for Lord Marchmont that cannot be hidden.”
Ophelia felt her color rise, her cheeks growing hot as she looked out towards the townhouse gardens, not quite certain what to say.
“I am certain that Lord Marchmont will not allow Lord Ancrum’s actions to stand,” Miss Smallwood finished, her hand dropping from Ophelia’s arm. “He will not let another gentleman’s actions prevent him from considering a future with you, Ophelia. Have no fear, my dear friend. It will all come to rights.”
Ophelia tried to say something but found that her throat was working furiously in an attempt to rid herself of the lump that was growing within it. She was overcome with emotion, realizing that part of her feared that Lord Marchmont might turn from her now that Lord Ancrum had treated her in such a way. Miss Smallwood had managed to recognize that fear and was doing her best to reassure Ophelia in any way she could.
“I pray that you are right,” Ophelia whispered, knowing that she could not deny that her heart was filled with none other than Lord Marchmont. “I fear that it may not be so.”
“He will not turn from you so easily,” Miss Smallwood insisted, her voice and expression firm with determination. “Have faith that his affections for you are true, and that he will not be swayed by something such as this. He will believe that Lord Ancrum is the one at fault. His concern will be for you, not for your reputation. He will not fail you, Ophelia. Simply trust that he will understand all once you have spoken to him of it.”
Ophelia nodded slowly, realizing that Miss Smallwood was quite correct. She needed to trust that Lord Marchmont would believe her when she told him what had occurred. She had to believe that he would not turn from her, as Lord Ancrum believed he would. Her fears continued to dog at her mind, but she pushed them away hard, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath as she did so.
“You are quite correct, Miss Smallwood,” she murmured, one hand pressed against her stomach as she turned around to face the ballroom again. “And I must continue to behave as I have always done. I shall not allow Lord Ancrum’s behavior to place any guilt upon my heart.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and set her shoulders. “Now, I should go and seek out my aunt. Most likely she will be dreadfully upset and I will need to reassure her.”
Miss Smallwood smiled and nodded and made to step back into the ballroom with her—only for a gentleman to come hurrying out of the ballroom, his eyes roving here and there in the gloom until they landed firmly on Ophelia.
“Miss Grey!” he exclaimed, his small eyes seeming to bulge from his head. “Miss Grey, I hear that you are engaged to Lord Marchmont! Tell me that Lord Ancrum has not succeeded in his endeavors. Tell me that Lord Marchmont has not turned from you. Please, speak the truth to me for it is of the utmost urgency!”
Ophelia felt her heart quail within her for a moment, staring at this gentleman with no understanding as to who he was or why he sought such an answer from her. “I—I do not know, my lord,” she said honestly, thinking that this evening was most peculiar in all that had occurred. “Might I ask if we have been introduced? I confess that I do not recall—”
The gentleman held up one hand and, with the other, pulled out a large white handkerchief and mopped at his brow. “Miss Grey, if you please!” he exclaimed, as though she were doing wrong in speaking to him. “Remain here. I shall seek out your betrothed and ensure that he has not turned from you.” His expression grew somewhat grim. “After all, if Lord Ancrum interferes, then there can be no reason why I cannot also.”
Ophelia blinked, her confusion mounting. “Interfered?” she repeated, taking a step forward. “I do not understand.”
“Remain here, if you please,” the gentleman replied abruptly, not answering her questions. “I shall return with your betrothed at once, Miss Grey. Please, it is of the utmost importance.”
And, with that, he turned on his heel and hurried back into the ballroom.
13
“Did you see what occurred?”
Peter frowned to himself as he walked into the ballroom, wondering what had happened. Whispers and murmurings were running rife, for this was the fourth time he had come across ladies talking rapidly together about whatever it was that had happened at this ball. He shrugged inwardly, thinking that, most likely, a debutante had done something unfortunate or that a gentleman had made a disgrace of himself in some way. It would not be the first time such a thing had happened at a ball.
“The room seems to be abuzz with whispers,” Lord Blackridge commented as they made their way through the crowd in search of Miss Grey. “I confess that it does fill me with curiosity over what has happened.”
Peter snorted. “It will be idle gossip and nothing more,” he replied. “And I confess that I feel a little sorry for whoever will be dragged through society’s lips with harshness and disgrace.” He shook his head, taking in a breath to settle his nervousness. “Can you see Miss Grey or Lady Sharrow anywhere?”
Ever since they had discovered the truth about the wooden box, Peter had found himself almost desperate to return to Miss Grey’s side. He still could not be certain as to why this particular gentleman had set Peter up in such a fashion, nor why he was so desperate for Peter and Miss Grey to wed, but he had to find the lady and tell her of what he knew. He also had to ensure that she knew that the beau monde expected them to be engaged—and felt himself hoping that she would consent to such a thing regardless. It had been done in quite the wrong way, he knew, for he should have spoken to her first before ever even mentioning an engagement between them to another living soul, but it was too late to go back on what he had done now.
The truth was, Peter wanted desperately for Miss Grey to accept him. He could not hide his affection for her even from himself, knowing that to be by her side was something that he now longed for. The truth of his affections would be spoken to her with all honesty and hope, praying that she would believe his heart to be true and would accept his proposal of marriage. How much he hoped that she would accept him in the knowledge that he cared deeply for her and not out of any sense of duty.
Silently, he prayed that she f
elt something akin to his own affections, for that would be joyous in itself, filling him with light as he allowed himself to consider it. Most of the beau monde married out of duty and responsibility, finding themselves wed to someone who matched them in title and in fortune, but certainly not in affection. It was not something Peter had sought, even though he knew that he had needed to find a wife. He had, he recalled, accepted that there might be nothing more than a fondness between himself and the lady he chose to marry—but now that he had this strong affection in his heart for Miss Grey, he knew that he could not settle for mere fondness anymore. There was too much emotion between them for that.
“Miss Grey was quite right to slap him in such a manner.”
Peter stopped dead, his thoughts flying from his mind as he heard someone speak her name. Turning swiftly, he came upon three ladies speaking eagerly to one another, their eyes widening when they saw him approaching.
“Be careful, Marchmont,” he heard Lord Blackridge say behind him. “Do not show yourself too interested.”
Peter did not care how he came across, even though it might very well add to the gossip that was obviously winging its way around the room. “Might I ask,” he said with a tight smile, “what has occurred with Miss Grey? I have found myself a little tardy this evening and, as such, have missed the uproar.” His smile faded as he saw the three ladies exchange glances, one putting her fingers to her mouth as though in shock.
“I hear that you are betrothed to Miss Grey,” said the first lady, whom Peter knew to be Lady Whitehall, having been introduced to her before. “I am sorry that it will have to come to an end, Lord Marchmont.”
His gaze narrowed. The news of his betrothal had, as Lord Blackridge had predicted, made its way through London with a good deal of swiftness, but it was not this that brought Peter such concern.
“Why should you think it would come to an end, Lady Whitehall?” he asked, as calmly as he could. “What occurred here this evening?”
