by Joyce Alec
Peter shook his head. “No, I do not think so.”
“Then what do you intend to do?”
Shrugging, Peter felt an ache slowly build within his chest, his heart thumping painfully as he forced himself to admit aloud what he already knew to be true. “I must do as I have been told,” he said unequivocally despite the pain he felt. “I must court and thereafter propose to Miss Grey. I must take her as my wife, even if I do not know who is forcing me to do as they request.” He tried to laugh but it came out as a harsh, jagged sound. “I suppose I do need an heir, do I not?”
“But to consider Miss Grey as your wife is quite something,” Lord Blackridge protested weakly, as though he knew there was no immediate solution. “She is loud where you are quiet. She is not ashamed about speaking her mind whereas you would prefer to keep your opinions to yourself, unless you are asked directly. Moreover, she is something of a bluestocking, is she not?”
Peter nodded, looking away. “But what else can I do?”
“You can do nothing,” Lord Blackridge admitted after a few seconds of strained silence. “Unless you discover who wrote this and why they so urgently seek your and Miss Grey’s marriage.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, Peter rubbed at his forehead and heaved another long breath. “I shall court her as I have been asked and attempt, in any way I can, to find out who has done this,” he said slowly, knowing that this was the only option open to him. “I know that I could ignore the letter and do nothing, but I dare not risk Edward’s life nor reputation.”
“That speaks well of your fondness and dedication to your brother,” Lord Blackridge said carefully. “Although you must also consider yourself.”
Peter shook his head, his spirits sinking low. “What consideration can there be? I need a wife in order to produce an heir and Miss Grey is just as reasonable as any, I suppose. I shall do what I have to in order to ensure that my brother is safe. After all, he is the only family that I have left in this world.”
“There is one other option, however.”
Peter stopped dead, a voice that was unfamiliar to him reaching his ears. He froze as Lord Blackridge stared down at him, his mouth ajar as they both tried to work out who could possibly be speaking.
“You will have to forgive me for eavesdropping, but when it concerns my most particular friend, I am afraid that I have very little choice but to intervene.” Something else was murmured—most likely to a companion—and as this was said, Peter forced himself to turn about and look at the lady in question.
He recognized her as she stepped forward, remembering her to be the young lady with whom he had danced some night previously. Miss Smallwood, if he remembered correctly.
“As I said, gentlemen, there is another consideration that you have not once given thought to,” the lady said in a quiet voice.
“And what is that, might I ask?” Peter replied, thinking to himself that Miss Smallwood had not been this articulate nor this determined in her speech when he had first been introduced to her.
Miss Smallwood gave him a small smile, then tipped her head a little to the left. “You can tell Miss Grey the truth,” she said simply. “She has intelligence enough to work alongside you and compassion enough that she will not turn away from you without careful consideration.” Her smile broadened and a small gleam came into her eyes. “And I must also add that if you do not speak the truth to her, Lord Marchmont, then I fear that I may have to do so on your behalf, for I certainly will not allow my friend to be dragged into a marriage without the full understanding of what it is you are doing.” There was a moment’s pause. “Do I make myself clear, Lord Marchmont?”
He swallowed hard, his face and neck burning with a sudden heat and his eyes darting from here to there, afraid that someone else might overhear or that Miss Grey herself might suddenly appear and demand to know what he was speaking of to Miss Smallwood.
“Perfectly clear, Miss Smallwood,” he murmured, relieved that the gloom did not permit her to see just how embarrassed he was. “I see that, yet again, I have no choice but to do as I am instructed.”
Miss Smallwood did not appear to be upset by this, nor did she look even remotely embarrassed. Instead, she simply smiled, curtsied, and then turned to walk away.
6
Ophelia was doing her utmost to appear even slightly interested in Lord Marchmont’s conversation, but given that it was stilted and uneven, she was finding it increasingly difficult to do so. They were walking through St James’s Park and, whilst the day was fine and the sun warm, Ophelia struggled to find any enjoyment whatsoever.
“I do recall that you have always enjoyed walking in the park.”
Sighing to herself, Ophelia looked up at Lord Marchmont, taking in his strained expression and wondering why he was putting himself through such torment in order to court her when she knew that there would be plenty of other young ladies with whom he might find things a good deal easier. “From what I recall, Lord Marchmont, we took three short strolls in the park and you called upon me twice for afternoon tea.” She arched a brow at him as he looked at her again, clearly a trifle uncomfortable. “It was a courtship of a sennight, at the very most.”
“Ten days,” he muttered, lowering his gaze to the path in front of them. “And as I have said, I have found a great affection for you ever since I brought our courtship to an untimely end.”
“Yes,” Ophelia replied dryly. “So you have said.” She sighed again and looked back to the path in front of her, thinking to herself that the sooner this walk with Lord Marchmont ended, then the sooner she would be free of him. She would make it quite clear that she had no desire to continue their courtship and certainly no desire to wed him, even if he had this ‘great affection’ within his heart. The warnings of her aunt rose in her mind, recalling how she had been told that the life of a spinster would be one of difficulty and strife, but try as she might, Ophelia could not even imagine a life lived with Lord Marchmont. He was dull, boring, and, whilst handsome enough, did not smile a great deal but rather seemed to remain almost entirely serious.
“Miss Grey?”
She started, turning her head to see Lord Marchmont looking down at her with a question in his eyes. A little ashamed that she had not been paying any attention, she felt a flush rise in her cheeks and, as her face burned, she saw that Lord Marchmont’s lips crooked into a smile.
A trifle irritated, Ophelia resisted the urge to flounce a little, but gathering herself, chose to speak honestly. “I was not listening to you, I fear,” she stated as he smiled. “What was it you asked me, Lord Marchmont?”
Lord Marchmont shook his head and let out what Ophelia made to be an exasperated breath.
“I am rather dull, am I not?” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes lingered on the ground by his feet. “I do not hold your interest, Miss Grey.”
“No,” she replied, but without any malice whatsoever. “I fear you do not, Lord Marchmont.” Hesitating, she considered the flash of guilt that had suddenly sliced through her heart. “Although mayhap I should be more careful in not allowing my attention to drift, Lord Marchmont.” She glanced at him, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Forgive me.”
Lord Marchmont looked surprised, his eyebrows lifting for a moment as he looked back at her. Their steps had slowed, the air around them seeming to grow thick as Ophelia held his gaze. Had his eyes always been such a mixture of dark greens and browns? She had always thought his brown eyes to be rather dull, but now that she looked into them a little more closely, Ophelia realized that she had been wrong in that assumption.
Lord Marchmont cleared his throat loudly, catching Ophelia by surprise and making her jump. “I shall make more of an effort to maintain your interest, then, by being all the more interesting, Miss Grey.”
“I hardly think that such a thing would be possible, Lord Marchmont.”
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Shame crash
ed over her like a wave, sending a flurry of heat from her chest to the very top of her head. She wanted to bury her face in her hands, to step back in horror and to turn and run from him, such was her mortification. Silence reigned for some minutes, leaving Ophelia in such a state of embarrassment that she did not know what to do or what to say. Yes, she knew she should apologize, but she could not even think of how to begin.
Lord Marchmont let out a long, heavy breath and shook his head, lowering it so that he looked the very picture of sadness. “I am not a particularly interesting gentleman, Miss Grey. I have opinions which I keep to myself, for I am unused to sharing my thoughts. I struggle to know what to say to you in order to engage you in conversation for I am not well used to speaking to young ladies such as yourself.”
“I am so terribly sorry, Lord Marchmont,” she blurted out, pressing her hands against her hot cheeks and wishing she could find something more to say other than a mere apology. “It was not meant as it sounded.”
He chuckled sadly and kept his gaze on the ground by their feet. “I fear it was. As I have said, I do not think of myself as a particularly interesting fellow, whereas you have a great many opinions and do not seem to be eager to keep them to yourself as I am.”
Ophelia felt herself bristle but held herself back from reacting strongly, hearing the slight rebuke in his words but telling herself that it was to be expected. A young lady did not often share her thoughts, suggestions, or opinions with others as Ophelia did. Her own aunt had often said so, had she not?
“I am surprised, then, that you are so eager to continue this courtship,” she stated, without putting any sting into her words. “If you consider that we are so ill-suited, then surely in time, your feelings will disappear.” Reminding herself that she did not believe that Lord Marchmont truly felt anything for her, Ophelia held her gaze steady until he lifted his head to look back at her, seeing his jaw clench tight.
“I would try to get to know you a little better, Miss Grey.”
He had chosen not to answer her, it seemed, looking at her with such a steadiness in his eyes that Ophelia felt her frustration begin to fade away.
“I truly believe that we can find a way to rub along quite well,” he continued when she said nothing. “Even though I am somewhat dull and you more than a little… lively, I would hope that we might find a balance somewhere. Pray, do not turn away from the possibility.”
She wanted to bark at him that he was being ridiculous and that she had no choice but to bring this absurd arrangement to an end, but much to her surprise, she felt something twinge within her that made her hesitate. What could it be? It surely could not be that she wished to find that same companionship that Lord Marchmont spoke of, for she knew all too well that such an idea was more than foolish when they so obviously did not suit. Was it because of her aunt’s warnings that she was now torn with uncertainty over what she wished to do?
“Have you ever considered, Miss Grey, that our courtship was of too short a duration?” Lord Marchmont asked, his voice a little softer now. “Mayhap that was all that is required in order to bring us both to a place of certainty.”
Again, Ophelia felt herself hesitate, questioning this. Their courtship had been rather short, but she had thought it to be a good thing, ending what had only just begun out of the realization that they did not suit. Privately, she did not think that prolonging their courtship would bring them closer to each other and certainly would not convince her that he was a gentleman she might grow fond of, but the slight sense of hope about Lord Marchmont forced her to remain silent.
“If you would just consider me again, then we might find a new sense of happiness and contentment that would otherwise have passed us by,” he said, as though he could see the struggle going on in her heart. “Would you not even allow yourself to consider such a possibility?”
Much to Ophelia’s surprise, Lord Marchmont reached out and settled one hand over hers. She could feel the heat from his hand through her glove and was even more astonished at the reaction from within her heart. It jumped furiously in her chest and began to quicken almost at once, not slowing until he had let go of her hand.
“You have convinced me, Lord Marchmont,” she replied, wondering why she suddenly felt so unsteady. “I shall allow our courtship to continue for the time being, as you have requested.”
He smiled at her, his eyes alight and his appearance suddenly so altered that Ophelia caught her breath. This was not the Lord Marchmont she knew, the gentleman who remained so stoic and expressionless no matter the conversation or the company. This was a gentleman she did not know, whose smile brightened his entire countenance and suddenly seemed to render him a good deal more handsome. Ophelia was forced to drop her gaze, not at all certain what she was to do with such a strange, unwelcome feeling.
“You cannot tell me how glad I am to hear this from your lips,” Lord Marchmont breathed, looking almost relieved at her admission. “Truly, you have made me happier than you know.”
This filled her with a deep sense of pleasure, which, again, she could not explain. When had she ever considered that bringing joy to Lord Marchmont would add to her own sense of delight? It confused her utterly.
“Might I call upon you tomorrow, then?” Lord Marchmont asked, beginning to walk again and, to her surprise, offering her his arm.
Ophelia swallowed and accepted it after a moment, trying to clear her mind from all the many troubling questions over her strange and curious feelings. Thankfully, the surge of excitement that had filled her when he had taken her hand did not return, allowing her to breathe a little more easily.
“Yes, of course,” she found herself saying, without even considering what other social events she might already be planning to attend. “I should be glad of your company, Lord Marchmont.” Ophelia frowned as she said this, feeling as though her heart were forcing her to say things that she did not understand nor wish to say. She certainly did not want Lord Marchmont’s company, surely? Why, then, was she saying to him that it would be delightful to see him again?
“Wonderful,” Lord Marchmont murmured, looking at her for a long moment before turning his gaze away. “Are you to go out this evening, Miss Grey?”
Ophelia, who could not recall a single thing about her intentions for the rest of the day and particularly for the evening, shook her head so that she would not have to tell him that she did not remember.
“Then I shall make sure to be as interesting as possible when I call upon you tomorrow,” Lord Marchmont quipped, as though he found her previous comment about his dull character to be somewhat amusing. “For I should like you to have some entertainment to look forward to!”
Ophelia did not know what to say, wondering at his sudden lightness of tone and manner and finding that she herself was deeply confused about what she felt and what she thought of Lord Marchmont’s behavior. “Thank you,” she murmured, quite at a loss as to what else she might remark upon. Now, it was not Lord Marchmont who struggled to maintain the conversation, but she. How quickly things had changed.
Suddenly aware that her usual honesty and tendency towards speaking her thoughts without consideration had, in fact, brought her a deep sense of embarrassment and Lord Marchmont a good deal of mortification, Ophelia took care to speak carefully as they returned towards the waiting carriage. She had always thought that her bluntness was a refreshing change that ought to be seen amongst more of the young ladies of the ton, but now that she knew just how poorly she had behaved, Ophelia was inclined to think more carefully about what she wanted to say. Lord Marchmont, for his part, seemed to relax slightly and the conversation certainly flowed with a little more ease, although it was not completely without pause. To her surprise, Ophelia found that she garnered some enjoyment from the remainder of her time with Lord Marchmont. Much to her astonishment, she found herself telling him of her father, who lived on the continent and had not been seen by Ophelia in some years. Lord Marchmont expressed regret at this, and Ophelia, wit
hout having any intention of doing so, told him that her father’s absence brought her a good deal of hurt and a sense of loss. That she should have shared such an intimacy with him was quite astonishing, even to herself.
When he bid her farewell and stated that he looked forward to seeing her again the following day, there was no sigh of irritation that escaped from her lips, nor was there any sense of heaviness or frustration that she was not to be free of him.
Her aunt was going to be delighted.
However, upon entering the house, Ophelia was surprised to discover that her friend, Miss Smallwood, was waiting for her in the parlor. Glad that she would not have to immediately report to her aunt and account for all that had passed between herself and Lord Marchmont—which meant that she would have a little more time to consider the renewal of her courtship with the gentleman—Ophelia hurried into the parlor and greeted her friend quickly.
“I am terribly sorry that you called upon me when I was already out,” Ophelia said hastily, grasping her friend’s hands for a moment. “Had I known that your intention was to seek me out, then I would have let you know that I was already previously engaged.”
Miss Smallwood smiled, although it did not quite reach her eyes. “I knew that you were to be out walking with Lord Marchmont, Ophelia,” she said, sitting back down in her chair and waiting until Ophelia did likewise before continuing. “I spoke to him rather recently, you see.”
Ophelia frowned, not quite understanding what Louisa meant. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she gazed at Louisa in the hope that she might explain herself further.
“He did not say anything to you, then?”
Ophelia’s frown deepened. “What can you mean, Louisa? We spoke of some things, but nothing of importance.”
“He did not speak to you of his reasons for seeking to continue his courtship, then?”
