by Joyce Alec
Ophelia’s lips quirked, aware that, most likely, Lord Blackridge would not be best pleased to be forced to speak with her again, since he would be embarrassed about the entire scenario. Miss Smallwood had told Ophelia everything, including the fact that Lord Marchmont had been discussing matters with Lord Blackridge. He had been fully aware of the circumstances that had surrounded Lord Marchmont and Ophelia, but had not once suggested, as Miss Smallwood had done, that Lord Marchmont tell her the truth.
“I should be glad to, if my aunt does not protest.” She cast a quick glance towards Lady Sharrow, who made a shooing motion, shaking her head in mock disbelief as she did so. With a chuckle, Ophelia took Lord Marchmont’s offered arm and walked with him away from her aunt.
“Might I say that you look quite lovely this evening, Miss Grey?”
She smiled softly. “Thank you, Lord Marchmont,” she replied quietly. “Might I ask how you are faring?”
Much to her surprise, Lord Marchmont let out a long, slow breath, his head lowering for a few seconds before he replied. The crowd parted before them as they walked, drawing nearer to the edge of the ballroom where it was much quieter.
“I confess that I find my mind still tortured as I question who has done such a thing,” he admitted, speaking openly to her as he had done before. “I cannot imagine why someone would wish the two of us together. What would be so pressing about our courtship that they would threaten my own brother’s reputation?”
Ophelia frowned, her eyes darting about the room as though they might land on the culprit and, in one moment, everything would become clear. “I confess I do not know,” she conceded solemnly. “I have wondered whether my uncle or aunt would do such a thing, but it was nothing more than a momentary thought, for I know full well that neither of them would act with such indiscretion. My uncle is not even in London at this present moment, even though he has been informed of various… events.” She gave Lord Marchmont a sidelong glance, wondering if he knew just how confused her uncle had been to receive one letter from Lady Sharrow stating that Ophelia’s courtship had come to an end, only to receive another a few days later saying that it had been reinstated. His return letter had been short but clear enough to display his confusion over the matter.
“I have had one thought,” Lord Marchmont said as they walked towards the open French doors. “Might you care to walk with me for a few minutes? Ah, there is Lord Blackridge. He can accompany us so you are not without a chaperone.”
Ophelia found herself wanting to state that she did not care whether or not she had any chaperone, but stopped herself from saying such a thing aloud just in time. She was trying to keep a guard over her mouth, was she not? And to speak so foolishly might be a source of embarrassment not only to her but also to Lord Marchmont.
So, with due diligence, Ophelia greeted Lord Blackridge with as much good grace as she could manage, seeing the way that his expression grew somewhat uncomfortable as he looked away from her only to let his gaze dart back to her face for a moment.
“As I have said, Blackridge, Miss Grey is aware of everything,” Lord Marchmont said as Lord Blackridge shuffled his feet in a nervous fashion. “Might you walk with us for a few minutes in the gardens? I have had a thought that I wished to share with Miss Grey, but it is important that it is done so as privately as possible. You may recall that the note stated that Miss Grey was not to know of what had occurred with me and I fear that the person behind the note may be watching us or drawing near to us at this very moment.”
Ophelia had quite forgotten about this part of the note, and felt a shiver run down her spine, trembling suddenly. Lord Marchmont gave her a sharp look of concern, having obviously felt her shake. Ophelia, who hated that she had shown such a moment of weakness, cleared her throat gently and then smiled at Lord Blackridge. “Shall you join us, Lord Blackridge?” she asked, not wanting to cause either gentleman any concern. “All is forgiven, I assure you.”
Lord Blackridge smiled back, although his shoulders dropped in evident relief. “Yes, of course, Miss Grey,” he said, stumbling over his words. “I should be glad to. Please.” He gestured towards the door and Ophelia walked towards it at once, half dragging Lord Marchmont along with her in her urgency to leave the ballroom and the many, many guests within.
The gardens were quiet and Ophelia allowed herself to relax, taking in long breaths as she fought to settle her quickening heart. It was the thought that the person who had written the note was within the ballroom that had set her all atremble, even though she had believed herself to have a strong constitution. What was it she was afraid of? Did she fear for Lord Marchmont? For his brother, whom she did not know? Or was it that she feared that her own behavior would be the thing to throw the entire situation into disarray? If she spoke out of turn, if she behaved with her usual brashness and blunt manner, then might she not inadvertently say something that would prove to the person responsible that she knew what was going on? That could, in turn, have disastrous consequences for which she would be solely responsible.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Grey?”
She jerked in surprise, pulled from her anxious thoughts by the voice of Lord Marchmont. He was now looking at her with concern, his eyes darting across her face as though he might be able to make out what she was thinking or feeling. The gardens were well lit with a good many lanterns and so it was easy enough to see the worry in his eyes.
“I am quite all right,” she replied, trying to reassure him despite her slightly tremulous smile. “Thank you, Lord Marchmont. I was just lost in thought for a moment.”
Lord Marchmont nodded and smiled, although the concern did not leave his eyes completely.
“What was it you wished to say?” she asked, trying not to think about the effect his worried gaze was having upon her heart. “Was it something of particular interest?”
Lord Marchmont nodded and lifted his gaze from her, freeing her completely. Ophelia quietly let out her breath, relieved at no longer being the object of his attention.
“Yes, indeed,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and quiet so that only Ophelia and Lord Blackridge could hear him. “I did wonder, Miss Grey, whether you are simply the unfortunate soul in all of this.”
Her frown was immediate. “Unfortunate?” she repeated quickly. “What do you mean?”
“Unfortunate in that you have found yourself tied to me,” he replied by way of explanation. “I was reminded by Lord Whitfield recently that the ton are always aware of the happenings of others. Most will know that we were courting. Had I been courting some other young lady, then it might well have been her name on the note I discovered, as opposed to yours.” He shrugged and looked away. “This may very well have nothing to do with you, Miss Grey, and yet you have become entangled within it regardless.”
Ophelia considered this in silence for some minutes, whilst Lord Blackridge grunted his agreement. If such a suggestion were true, then it meant that she was simply unlucky.
“The note instructed you to resume your court with me,” she stated, seeing Lord Marchmont nod. “The urgency, then, might be presumed to be your marriage, Lord Marchmont.”
Lord Marchmont rubbed at his chin with his free hand. “What do you mean?”
“The note mentioned courtship and marriage, did it not?” she asked, seeing Lord Marchmont glance at her before looking away. “The focus of the note is to have you married just as soon as can be arranged. And the best way for such a thing to occur is for you to resume your courtship with a lady you have previously become fairly well acquainted with.”
“Indeed, that is so,” Lord Blackridge agreed, suddenly sounding a little excited. “Miss Grey is quite correct, Lord Marchmont. To demand that you resume your acquaintance with her might well be because the need for you to marry grows urgent. It would take much longer for you to acquaint yourself with other young ladies and even longer for you to choose one or two to court.”
Ophelia felt Lord Marchmont’s steps slow, his ex
pression thoughtful. “That could very well be the case,” he admitted, looking down at Ophelia with dark, knotted brows. “Which means, Miss Grey, that I must apologize to you profusely that you have been dragged into this.”
A surge of compassion caught at her heart. “It is only a thought, Lord Marchmont,” she told him, reaching to wrap her free hand around his arm as though that might make him aware of just how little she blamed him for this. “It may not be as we have thought. Besides which, even if it is so, it is not as though you are at fault in any way.” She smiled at him, wanting to lift the heaviness from his shoulders and, much to her relief, he finally sighed, nodded, and smiled back, the tension leaving his frame as he did so.
“Then all we must discover is who will benefit from your marriage,” Lord Blackridge suggested, drawing both Ophelia and Lord Marchmont’s attention. “Will that not give us the answers we seek?”
Lord Marchmont squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed at his forehead, coming to a sudden stop. “If only it should be as easy,” he muttered, making Ophelia’s heart squeeze with sympathy all the more. “I have no family save for my brother, for my father was an only child. I simply cannot think of who might benefit in the way you suggest.”
Lord Blackridge did not seem to be phased by this. “It may be someone you have not thought of,” he told Lord Marchmont firmly. “Might we meet tomorrow to discuss matters further?”
Lord Marchmont glanced down at Ophelia and then back to Lord Blackridge. “If you would both call upon me in the afternoon, then that might very well suit us all,” he told his friend. “And mayhap you will wish to bring Miss Smallwood also, Miss Grey?”
Ophelia nodded quickly. “But of course.”
“And after we have discussed matters and taken some refreshments, I thought to go to the boarding house where I was discovered and speak again to the proprietor,” Lord Marchmont finished, now looking back at Ophelia. “And yes, Miss Grey, I would be pleased if you would accompany us there also.”
Having just been about to protest that there was no reason why she, too, might not join Lord Blackridge and Lord Marchmont at the boarding house, Ophelia closed her mouth quickly and felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You know me a little better than I expected, Lord Marchmont,” she told him, unable to hold his gaze given the laughter that was within his expression. “You knew I would not be particularly enamored with the idea of remaining behind.”
“Indeed, I did,” he replied with a small chuckle. “But regardless, Miss Grey, I should be glad of your company for I know you have a quick wit that may prove very useful as we discuss things with the fellow. It may be that your manner of speaking will surprise him so much that he will have no choice but to answer your questions truthfully.”
Ophelia’s color heightened even more. Lord Marchmont patted her hand as it rested on his arm, peering down into her face.
“I did not mean to embarrass you, Miss Grey,” he said, sounding deeply apologetic. “It is just that I think you will do wonderfully as we search for the required answers, truly.”
Nodding but still feeling deeply ashamed, Ophelia looked up into his face and saw the frustration at his own lack of consideration written in his expression. Her heart lifted from her mortification, seeing that he truly had not meant to shame her but had meant to encourage her that her unusually honest manner and sharp tone would be put to good use come the morrow. Sighing, she looked away and let her lips quirk gently.
“It seems I am not the only one who can, on occasion, speak without due consideration,” she replied, seeing him give her a wry smile. “Thank you, Lord Marchmont. Thank you for including me in your plans tomorrow. I look forward to speaking to this proprietor and doing what I can to aid you in your search for answers.”
“I am truly grateful to have your support,” Lord Marchmont told her, his hand squeezing hers gently. “It has been a comfort to know that you are willing to help me in my struggles.”
Ophelia smiled and, for a long moment, it seemed as though there were just the two of them in the gardens, all sound and distractions fading away. Even Lord Blackridge’s presence had become nothing more than a shadow in her eyes, looking up keenly into Lord Marchmont’s face and finding a comfort there.
“Shall we return inside?”
Lord Blackridge’s voice jerked them back to themselves, making Ophelia flush and tug her hands from Lord Marchmont’s arm.
“Yes, indeed,” she replied, putting a bright smile on her face to cover her embarrassment. “For it will soon be our waltz, Lord Marchmont, and Lord Blackridge, I do not think you have signed my dance card yet!” She laughed as the gentleman bowed quickly and reached for it, making Lord Marchmont smile too. There was something growing between herself and Lord Marchmont that Ophelia did not even want to acknowledge, for fear that she would become so aware of it, she would not be able to think of anything else. Turning her mind and heart away from Lord Marchmont, she hurried back towards the ballroom, determined that she would enjoy the rest of the evening and would not think about the note and her courtship until the morrow.
9
There was a sense of camaraderie growing between himself and Miss Grey, Peter realized. Gazing at her now, seated across the carriage and deep in conversation with Miss Smallwood, Peter allowed himself a long look at the lady he was courting. Her emerald eyes were glinting with happiness, as though she were very much looking forward to interviewing the proprietor of the boarding house, her chocolate-colored hair carefully pulled back under her bonnet. One or two small tendrils had escaped and played about her temples, bouncing gently as she laughed at something Miss Smallwood had said. She was not markedly beautiful but there was something about her that he could not look away from. Was it the lightness of her eyes? The way her lips curved as she smiled? He simply could not understand what it was about her that caught him now, as it had done the first time he had seen her.
Of course, the first time he had sought to court her, he had been much too eager. Having decided that he was to do all he could to find himself a wife, he had been transfixed by Miss Grey’s seeming ease of manner as she conversed easily with a good many acquaintances. Having sought an introduction, he had been delighted with her seeming interest in him and eagerly asked to call upon her. Their first afternoon visit had gone well, although it was rather brief. Thinking that Miss Grey might soon be caught by another gentleman once the Season began to progress, he had acted rashly and asked to court her after only one visit. She had been surprised but had agreed—and things had only worsened from there. Now, however, Peter had to admit that he was seeing something markedly different about Miss Grey. Now that she knew the truth about his difficulties, she had shown both compassion and understanding, and instead of turning away from him had sought to share in his troubles and help him find a satisfactory end. Moreover, she was doing her utmost to not speak rashly and was obviously taking a good deal more time to consider her words. Whilst he had come to appreciate her honest manner, he could not pretend he was not grateful for the consideration she had begun to show in that regard. Perhaps, if she continued to do so, then he might…
He shook his head to himself, stopping his thoughts at once. He could not allow himself to become caught up with Miss Grey, not in any way. He had to ensure that, whilst they continued to give the appearance of courtship, he did not allow his heart to become fettered. Yes, he was growing more considerate of Miss Grey and yes, he had come to appreciate her greatly in her willingness to help him, but he did not need to begin to feel anything of consequence for her. That would be entirely foolish, given that their courtship would come to an end once the identity of the person who had written the note came to light.
“Are you quite all right, Lord Marchmont?”
Looking up, he saw Miss Grey watching him curiously.
“It is only that you just shook your head and then murmured something,” she explained, looking apologetic for interrupting his reverie.
“Oh.” He shrugged, thinking q
uickly to come up with some excuse as to what he had been thinking about. “I was just hoping that the proprietor will be more willing to speak to me than he was the last time I spoke with him.”
Miss Grey chuckled. “I shall make certain that he is,” she replied, making him grin. “Might I ask what he said to you last time?”
Peter frowned, trying his best to recall. “I was in something of a haze when I left the boarding house at first,” he replied slowly, looking out of the window. “I recall the proprietor being rather angry with me for not paying my dues.”
“Your dues?” Miss Smallwood repeated, speaking aloud for the first time since they had climbed into the carriage.
Peter nodded, looking back at her. “Apparently, I was to pay for using the room I was in,” he replied with a shrug. “I had no knowledge of this but the man was most insistent.” Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what else had occurred. “My head was in a terrible state, but I recall asking him who had brought me there. However, he was so angry that I had not paid him as he had been promised that he refused to say anything more until I brought him the money.”
“And you have not done so as yet,” Lord Blackridge stated with a half-smile. “But you shall do so now, then?”
“I shall pay him more, if he will speak the truth to me,” Peter replied with feeling. “And whilst I hope he will allow us to look about the room again, I fear that it will hold no answers for us.” He opened his eyes, feeling the carriage slow. “Ah. I see the hackney is waiting.”
Miss Grey blinked in surprise. “The hackney?” she repeated, sounding confused. “I thought we were to drive directly to the boarding house.”
Peter hesitated, not wanting to frighten either Miss Grey or Miss Smallwood but knowing that he had to be honest with them both. “I am taking precautions, Miss Grey,” he said softly. “Taking my carriage to the boarding house is, in my estimation, a little unwise. It would be easily spotted and mention of its presence—as well as of those within—might well make its way to the ears of the man who put me there in the first place.” Miss Grey’s eyes flared for a moment before she nodded slowly, giving him a small smile. She was not afraid, then. Rather, she simply accepted that what he said was necessary. Peter felt his admiration for her begin to build.
