by Joyce Alec
A tight knot formed in Ophelia’s stomach, her hands clasping together with a sudden anxiety. “I do not understand what you mean, Louisa.”
A long, heavy sigh dropped Louisa’s shoulders. “He did not, then. I am sorry for that. However, he will not be allowed to continue on as he has done. I have already told him as much.” She looked back up at Ophelia, a slight tension in her expression. “You would have been rather proud of me, I think, speaking to them both as boldly as I did!”
Growing both frustrated and all the more nervous that her friend was speaking of something she had no awareness of, Ophelia sat forward in her seat and tried to contain her fright and irritation. “You have not told me what you are speaking of, Louisa, and I do wish that you would do so since I am growing increasingly anxious waiting for an explanation.”
Miss Smallwood nodded, now looking apologetic. “I am sorry for not speaking plainly, Ophelia. However, the truth is that Lord Marchmont has not been honest about his reasons for pursuing you again. I overheard him speaking to his acquaintance and knew at once that you ought to be made aware of the truth.” She shook her head, her lips thinning as a frown formed between her brows. “I had thought that he would take the opportunity today to tell you the truth, but mayhap he thought that I was not serious when I first spoke to him.” Her brows lowered a touch more. “But he will find that I have meant every word.”
“What is it that he has said?” Ophelia asked, her anxiety bubbling over. “Come now, Louisa, you must tell me.”
Louisa shook her head. “No, I shall not,” she stated firmly. “Lord Marchmont shall be the one to do so. When do you see him next?”
“Tomorrow,” Ophelia replied, hating that she would have to endure hours of not knowing the truth about Lord Marchmont. “Why?”
Louisa grimaced. “Because I fully intend to be there,” she replied darkly. “And he shall be forced to tell you all, Ophelia, for otherwise you are being led down a path with no true knowledge of why you are being taken there. And I shall not stand for that.”
Ophelia closed her eyes and let her breath shudder out of her. She had no idea what Louisa meant, but needless to say, the happiness that had flooded her soul within the last hour was now completely gone. Having suspected that Lord Marchmont had not been telling her the truth when he expressed his deep affection for her, Ophelia now knew for certain that he had been telling her an untruth. But for what possible purpose? And why had he chosen to lie to her?
“He shall have a good deal to answer for,” she heard Louisa mutter as the door opened to allow in the maid with the tea tray. “But mayhap there might be some good from it in the end.”
Ophelia, feeling as though dark, heavy clouds had wrapped around her and now held her tightly, could not even feel a single flicker of hope. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.
7
Peter muttered under his breath as he walked swiftly towards Lady Sharrow’s townhouse, avoiding the urchins that ran here and there in front of him. Perhaps having chosen not to take his carriage had been a poor idea.
“Marchmont!”
A little surprised to hear his name being called, Peter looked to his right to see a familiar face peering out of a carriage window.
“They will have the money from your pockets if you are not careful!” Lord Whitfield laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Come now, come in here and I shall have the carriage take you wherever you need to go.”
Peter was about to refuse and say that he did not have far to walk, only for one of the street children to shove at him hard, whilst another grabbed at something in the depths of Peter’s pocket. With a yelp, Peter regained his footing and stumbled quickly towards the carriage, shaking his head as he went.
“I do not recall London being as full of urchins as it is now,” he muttered as he climbed into the carriage and sat back opposite Lord Whitfield. “But now it seems that one is not safe even walking in broad daylight.”
“That is why one should always take one’s carriage,” Lord Whitfield said, shaking a finger at him. “Now, where am I to take you?”
Peter let out a long breath and finally managed to relax. “I am to call upon Miss Grey, who resides with Lady Sharrow, her aunt,” he stated, giving the address. “She is expecting me.”
Lord Whitfield looked mightily interested at this and, having instructed his driver where to go, leaned back against the squabs and pierced Peter with a sharp eye. “So, you have gone back to Miss Grey, have you?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrow. “I thought I heard that you had brought an end to such an acquaintance.”
Clearing his throat and not particularly willing to go into such details, Peter lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I have changed my mind.”
Lord Whitfield laughed heartily at this, although Peter did not find anything of particular mirth within what he had said. “Good gracious! A gentleman who pursues the lady he has, only days before, said goodbye to. I do not think such a thing has been heard about before within society!”
Peter grimaced. “I am to be an object of ridicule, then?”
“Certainly not,” Lord Whitfield replied, looking suddenly serious. “You are not a gentleman who is often within society, I know, and you appear to enjoy a quiet life for the most part.”
Wincing, Peter knew he could not deny it. He had never thrown himself into the Season and did not often seek out new acquaintances so that he might converse and dance with the new debutantes that had arrived in London. Last Season, he had enjoyed watching all that went on for the most part and had not particularly engaged with anyone other than a few close friends. This Season, however, he had thought to behave a little differently, which had begun with his desire to court Miss Grey. He had been overeager and made a mistake as regarded that particular lady and now he was to find himself saddled with her for the rest of his days.
“You shall hear a few comments about your behavior, mayhap, and some gentlemen may laugh at your choice to pursue Miss Grey for the second time, but have no fear… the Season is only just begun and there are sure to be a great many more things to capture the attention of the beau monde. You shall be nothing more than a passing remark.” He shrugged. “You may wish to avoid White’s for the next sennight or so, until someone else has attracted the scrutiny of the ton. That is all you must do.”
This did not relieve Peter’s tension particularly, although he smiled as best he could and thanked Lord Whitfield for his advice and for his aid in escaping the urchins. Removing himself from the carriage, he bade Lord Whitfield a quick farewell and mentally reminded himself not to go to White’s for at least a fortnight, so that he would not have to endure any knowing looks or cutting comments regarding his behavior towards Miss Grey. They could not know of the torment that was in his heart, the suffering and the struggle that came from having to court Miss Grey when he did not wish to.
That being said, he considered, as he walked up the stone steps towards the front of the house, his last conversation with Miss Grey had not been as bad as before. She had made a somewhat cutting remark and had clearly been ashamed of it thereafter. That seemed to have softened her as a result, for she had spoken with a good deal more care and her apology had appeared quite genuine. There had been an easiness that had begun to form between them as they had returned to the house. It did give him the smallest flicker of hope that he would not have to endure a long and difficult marriage with her, when the time came. She might, in fact, be able to set a guard on her lips in time, so that she was not as blunt and cold with her words as he had always known her to be.
“Miss Grey is waiting for you, Lord Marchmont.”
The butler took his hat and gloves and directed him towards the drawing room. Peter quickly made his way towards the door, not wanting to be tardy, and pushing open the door, made to greet her and bow… but was suddenly stopped by the sight of Miss Smallwood sitting directly beside Miss Grey, who was looking at him with ice in her blue eyes.
His world began to shrink.<
br />
When Miss Smallwood had spoken to himself and Lord Blackridge some two nights ago, he had thought that she would give him time to speak to Miss Grey about what was truly going on. In addition, part of him believed that Miss Smallwood would not actually do as she had threatened in speaking to Miss Grey about what she had overheard, given that it was a matter of great seriousness. As such, he had not given it even another moment’s thought, thinking that it would be best to do all he could to promote even the smallest of intimacies between them first. He had not considered that Miss Smallwood would expect him to speak honestly to Miss Grey within the next few days. And now, it seemed, because he had not done so, she had done as she had threatened and spoken to Miss Grey on his behalf.
“Miss Smallwood,” he murmured, dropping his gaze and inclining his head as heat shot up his spine. “Good afternoon. Miss Grey.” He bowed again. “I did not expect to have company.”
“Lord Blackridge will not be attending,” Miss Smallwood said, as Peter took a few steps forward into the room. “I thought it best not to invite him for fear that he would speak to you of this meeting in advance.”
Peter saw the surprised look on Miss Grey’s face as she took in her friend’s strong demeanor and loud, fervent words. Clearly, she had not expected Miss Smallwood to be so determined.
“I did not think that you expected me to speak to Miss Grey immediately, Miss Smallwood,” Peter said, trying to appear calm and collected despite his churning stomach. “Miss Grey, whatever your friend has stated, I had every intention of speaking the truth to you once our companionship had grown somewhat.”
Miss Grey fixed her eyes back onto his, her face a little paler than he remembered. “You should have told me the truth, whatever it may be, from the very beginning, Lord Marchmont. I am grateful to Miss Smallwood for her insight and her insistence that I know all.”
“I confess that I do not quite understand everything,” Miss Smallwood interjected, glancing at Miss Grey. “But I knew that Miss Grey could not be permitted to continue in her courtship with you under false pretenses, Lord Marchmont. Surely you were aware of my determination to speak openly to her, given what I had said?”
Peter cleared his throat and, even though he had not been invited to seat himself, sat down in a chair that faced both the ladies. Miss Grey’s hands were tight in her lap, her eyes never lifting from him, and Peter felt a rush of nerves run through him. A sense of shame rose up within him and he cleared his throat again, much more gruffly this time. What was he to say?
“Lord Marchmont.”
Miss Grey’s voice was quiet yet firm and Peter had no choice but to look up at her.
“I confess that I did not believe you when you stated openly that you had some affection for me. To change your mind so quickly did not seem reasonable to me and, for that, I am grateful that Miss Smallwood came to speak to me as she has done. But now I wish to know the truth, Lord Marchmont. In all its entirety.”
Peter closed his eyes and let out a small groan. “I fear that if I tell you, Miss Grey, you will no longer agree to our courtship and I simply cannot allow that.”
“Allow?” She laughed harshly, the sound bouncing around the room. “Lord Marchmont, you forget yourself! I am not yours! You cannot order me about nor demand that I do whatever it is you wish me to do! I have my own mind and therefore, I shall make my own decisions despite what you might think is best. Now, may I suggest that you start at the beginning and tell me everything plainly.” Her eyes lifted to his and she arched one eyebrow. “For if you do not, then you can be assured that our courtship, such as it stands, is now completely at an end.”
Peter swallowed hard, knowing that he had spoken out of turn but finding that his desperation was such that he did not know what else to do. “I was told to court you, Miss Grey. I was told that not only did I need to court you, but that I had to make you my wife.” He winced as her eyebrows rose and her mouth hung ajar for a moment. “Had I any choice in the matter, I would not have returned to you, Miss Grey, but as things stand, I am entirely without power in this situation.” Quickly, and as calmly as he could, Peter began to speak openly to Miss Grey and to Miss Smallwood, thinking that he had no need to hold anything back from either of them. He told them of the injury to his head, of waking up in the small room and of finding the box and the note that was contained within. Miss Grey said nothing as he spoke, her lips clamped together in a thin, hard line.
“My brother, Edward, is on the continent—or was, as far as I am aware. I have no knowledge as to where he might be at this present moment, and as such, I fear that the threats contained within the note might very well be brought to fulfilment should I not do as has been asked of me. Along with the note was a ring. A ring that I recognized as belonging to my brother. I have very little idea as to how the perpetrator had it in his possession, but it does, I admit, strike fear into my heart as regards my brother’s safety.” He said nothing more, his words drying up on his tongue as he let his gaze pass from Miss Grey to Miss Smallwood and back again. Miss Grey was watching him with careful eyes, her expression no longer dark and angry, nor filled with anxiety. It was as if, in telling her all, he had allowed her a freedom that had brought with it both relief and clarity.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Peter lowered his gaze and let out a long, slow breath, trying to find a calmness that seemed to elude him. He did not know what Miss Grey was thinking nor what she would say, and the fear of it began to bite at him, hard. If she refused to court him any longer, as she had every right to do, then he would have no choice but to wait and see what punishments would fall on Edward’s shoulders, once he discovered his whereabouts.
“You say that your brother is abroad?” Miss Grey said slowly, surprising Peter with her question. She had not become angry with him nor spoken with a harshness that he knew he deserved. Instead, she was speaking calmly and quietly, as though she were trying to work something out in her mind.
“I believe he is. He has lived there for some years, ever since the death of our father. I believe he has made something of a home for himself there, although he always promised to return to England. His letters have been infrequent but I have never had cause to worry for him…until recently.” He spoke honestly and the flicker in Miss Grey’s eyes seemed to tell him that she was appreciating his openness.
“You fear, then, that since you cannot be certain of where he might be, the person who is responsible for this note will do exactly as they state, before you have the time to discover Edward’s whereabouts.”
Peter nodded, suddenly finding himself quite glad for Miss Grey’s sharp mind and quick thinking. “Indeed. I have written to various places in the hope that he may be discovered there, but as yet, he has not replied to me. I cannot risk his reputation and good name, Miss Grey, not when it is to be my fault for such a thing.”
Miss Grey held up one hand. “It would not be your fault, Lord Marchmont. It would be the fault of whoever is trying to manipulate you.” She sighed and dropped her hand. “Although I can understand your fear. The ring being sent with the note only confirms that this is a matter to be taken with all seriousness.”
He swallowed hard, unable to shake the guilt from him. “Edward is the only family I have remaining,” he admitted. “I would do all I can to protect him. Believe me, Miss Grey, I wish to do all I can to discover the truth about who has written this note and why, but in the meantime, I must do as they have asked.”
Miss Grey arched one eyebrow. “And lead me down a path that is filled with nothing but untruths?”
“Because I had no other choice,” he stated quickly, interrupting her. “I had no assurance that you would understand and agree, Miss Grey, so therefore I spoke lies to you in the hope that you would accept my courtship. And, thus far, it appeared to be working.”
Color rose in Miss Grey’s cheeks, the angry sparkle returning to her eyes.
“I know that you want me to apologize and I will beg your forgiveness if you wi
sh me to,” Peter continued, without allowing her a moment to interrupt. “But I pray that, under the circumstances, you can see why I chose to do as I did and that, mayhap, you will have kindness enough in your heart to aid me in this.” His gaze rested on Miss Grey and he saw, as a few moments of silence passed, that the anger began to leave her expression.
“Do you still have the note, Lord Marchmont?”
Miss Smallwood spoke for the first time in some minutes, her eyes wide with both astonishment and anxiety.
“I do, Miss Smallwood,” Peter replied.
“Then might you bring it to Miss Grey?” Miss Smallwood asked, throwing a glance towards Miss Grey. “She may recognize the hand.”
Miss Grey gave Miss Smallwood a half smile. “I may,” she replied with a knowing look. “And it will give me the opportunity to confirm that what you have said is true, Lord Marchmont.”
He frowned, feeling a deep flare of anger rise up in him. “If you wish, Miss Grey, you may come and inspect the side of my head if what you seek is the truth. The injury I sustained—which can only have come from a heavy blow—has not yet healed. If you look here,” he gestured to the side of his head, just behind his ear, “then you will see the evidence which you so obviously seek.”
Of course, he did not expect Miss Grey to immediately get to her feet and come and do just as he had suggested—but then again, Miss Grey did not behave as most of the young ladies of the ton did. She stood by him and looked down, waiting for him to indicate where she was to look, and Peter, brushing aside his surprise, did just that.
Her fingers were gentle as she pushed aside his thick, dark curls that wove so tightly together. Peter let out a hiss as his head burst with pain all over again, reminding him that the injury to his head had been a significant one that he was oft inclined to forget.
“Goodness,” he heard Miss Grey murmur, feeling himself suddenly relieved that he had proven the truth to her. Her fingers ran through his curls for a moment, as if she were putting them back in place, and for some inexplicable reason, Peter felt his heart leap with a sudden awareness of her. He dared not look up, his heart beating a trifle more quickly as Miss Grey rested one hand on his shoulder for a moment before making her way back across the room. She did not sit but poured a small measure of whisky into a glass which she then handed to him.
