Hopes and Brides: Regency and Mail Order Bride Historical Romance Collection

by Joyce Alec

  Ophelia did wonder if she would ever be able to find a gentleman suitable for her, silently thinking that mayhap her hopes and expectations were a trifle too high, but then again, she did not think that she could bear anything else. To have Lord Rutledge as a husband would be to live a life of being constantly pushed aside, pushed down. Her thoughts and considerations would never be given anything more than a fleeting thought, for she would be considered nothing more than a decoration on his arm. A shudder ran through her. No, indeed. She would be a spinster—and a content one at that—before she married someone such as that.

  “Miss Grey.”

  She jumped violently, one hand pressed to her heart as she turned around to look into the face of Lord Marchmont. He was gazing at her steadily, something flickering in his dark brown eyes that she could not quite make out.

  “Lord Marchmont,” she gasped, trying to regain her sense of balance again. “Good gracious, you quite startled me.”

  He did not smile, his square jaw set and his lips in a thin line. Ophelia grew uncomfortable under his strong gaze, feeling herself fill with concern over his sudden, awkward appearance. A glance over her shoulder told her that her maid was standing close by, although not close enough to overhear Ophelia’s conversation. At least, in that, she was ensuring her reputation remained unstained.

  “Lord Marchmont,” she said again, looking up at him and seeing how he raked one hand through his thick, dark curls that twined together into one thick mass that poured over his forehead. “Were you looking for something in particular?” She gestured to the books that lay on either side of them and made to turn back, only to see him take a step closer.

  “Miss Grey, I have made a dreadful mistake.”

  Her mouth fell open and, with an effort, Ophelia closed it tightly again, feeling waves of shock run over her.

  “I should never have brought our courtship to an end.”

  “It was… not of a particularly long duration,” Ophelia replied carefully, knowing that she was not at all inclined towards the gentleman. “We courted for a fortnight, Lord Marchmont, and in that time, I am certain that we both realized that our courtship was to come to an end. I am not the sort of young lady you wished to marry; I am certain of it.” She frowned, seeing the way he instantly shook his head and feeling herself grow deeply unsettled within her heart. Lord Marchmont did not want to marry her and she had seen the relief in his gaze as he had told her that their courtship was to end—so why now was he telling her quite the opposite?

  “Miss Grey, I must know if you will consider me again.” Lord Marchmont took a step closer to her, sending a twinge of fear into Ophelia’s heart. “Truly, I was mistaken in letting you go from my side. I must have you rejoin me.”

  “I do not think it can be, Lord Marchmont,” Ophelia replied slowly, trying to understand the gentleman’s motivations. “We are not at all suited and I do not think that I—”

  “That is where you are quite mistaken, Miss Grey,” Lord Marchmont interrupted, his loud voice gaining him a dark look from the shopkeeper. “I did not make the effort I should have done the first time we courted. It will be vastly different this time, I assure you.”

  Ophelia stared up into Lord Marchmont’s face, seeing nothing but desperation in his gaze and wondering at it. Why was he so urgently seeking her courtship again? Had something occurred?

  “You are shocked by my urgency, I can tell,” Lord Marchmont continued when she said nothing. “I do apologize, Miss Grey, but when a gentleman realizes that he has made a mistake, what else can he do other than attempt to rectify it just as soon as possible?”

  The eagerness in his voice and the gentle widening of his eyes gave Ophelia pause. He did seem to be genuine in all that he said, although why he had suddenly had such a change of heart, she could not understand. There had not been any flare of interest between them, nothing that would give Lord Marchmont cause to regret separating from her. What had occurred to make him so desperate to have her by his side?

  “Have you found some sort of edict?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she studied him carefully in order to watch for his response. “Have you discovered that you must marry by a certain time in order to prevent the rest of your fortune being given to some poor relative or some such thing?”

  Lord Marchmont’s eyes flared wide and, for a moment, he hesitated. Ophelia’s suspicions rose, suddenly believing that Lord Marchmont was not being entirely truthful with her.

  “I am saddened that you would consider such a thing,” he said glumly, turning his head away from her as though he were deeply sorrowful. “The truth is as I have stated, Miss Grey. I have come to realize that I was much too hasty in bringing our courtship to an end.”

  “It was only some days ago, Lord Marchmont,” Ophelia stated before he could say anything further. “It seems a remarkably short time for you to have considered such a thing and thereafter convinced yourself that you have made a mistake.”

  Lord Marchmont looked back at her steadily, his gaze fixed entirely upon hers. “That may be so, Miss Grey, but mayhap you have not considered that matters of the heart can often prick one’s conscience so deeply and so quickly that it is utterly impossible to ignore them.”

  This made Ophelia pause, seeing the look in Lord Marchmont’s eyes and finding herself almost eager to believe him. To trust that he truly did feel something genuine for her, something that she had not been able to discover with any other gentleman of her acquaintance in these last few years. Her thoughts of remaining a spinster began to die away, the truth of her desires and hopes coming to the fore with such a forcefulness that Ophelia was forced to catch her breath.

  “I can see that I have not been able to convince you, Miss Grey,” Lord Marchmont murmured, as the door to the bookshop opened and voices began to drift towards them, breaking the quiet that had surrounded the two of them for some moments. “But I shall do all I can to prove myself to you. Do not be under any illusions that I have given up, Miss Grey.” He bowed his head, taking a moment before looking back into her face as though afraid of what he would see there. “I shall pursue you until you know the truth with such a certainty that it cannot be denied.”

  Ophelia tried to say something clever, tried to tell him that she would not accept such a thing from him for she did not believe that he was telling her the truth in all its entirety, but found that neither her mind nor her mouth would work in the way she expected. The shock and surprise of seeing Lord Marchmont again, of hearing such strong words from him and the future that he had suddenly rolled out for her to regard, brought her such astonishment that, for some minutes, she was robbed of sense and speech. All Ophelia could do was watch him walk away, seeing his strong back and broad shoulders as he marched towards the front of the shop. The door was pulled open and, in a few moments, Lord Marchmont was gone from her presence, leaving her in a state of disarray as she attempted to gather her fragmented thoughts together.

  “Oh, Miss Grey!”

  Unfortunately, it seemed Ophelia was not to be granted the time she needed to draw her composure back completely, to set aside Lord Marchmont’s words and regain her strength all over again. Instead, she was forced to bury her own feelings and give her attention to one Miss Louisa Smallwood.

  “Miss Smallwood,” Ophelia said, her voice cracking with emotion which she covered by coughing and then apologizing profusely. Thankfully, Miss Smallwood did not seem to mind in the least, her expression almost joyful as she smiled back at Ophelia.

  “It is very good to see you again, Miss Grey,” Miss Smallwood said, her eyes bright as she smiled at Ophelia. “It has been some time since we last talked, has it not?”

  “I believe it was the last Season,” Ophelia replied, her mind beginning to settle as she pushed Lord Marchmont from her mind. “It has been a while, you are quite correct, but it is good to be back in London, is it not?”

  Thankfully, Miss Smallwood chattered quietly for some moments, allowing Ophelia to take her mind f
rom 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.”
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  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.