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

by Joyce Alec

  Much to her surprise, Lord Marchmont was at her heels, catching her hand and, before she could say a word, settling it on his arm. She did not remove it but felt her breath hitch as he looked down into her eyes.

  “I think we have an urgent need for a private conversation, Miss Grey,” Lord Marchmont murmured as Lady Sharrow walked behind them along the hallway. “What say you?”

  She nodded, not quite certain she should trust her voice.

  “I apologize if I was overly familiar and if you did not wish for my attentions,” he continued, in such a low voice that Ophelia struggled to hear him. “But there are emotions in my heart that cannot be hidden for much longer, Miss Grey.”

  Taking in a breath, Ophelia attempted to settle her shoulders and remove the sense of frantic anxiety from her. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lord Marchmont,” she told him, no longer able to look up into his face for fear of what his smile might do to her heart. “And yes, I quite agree. A conversation would be most welcome, although mayhap in a few days’ time, once I have considered all that I feel and decided what I am to do with it.” Shooting him a quick glance, she saw that his smile had faded somewhat and a flicker of a frown was crossing his brow. Nevertheless, Lord Marchmont nodded and accepted her suggestion with quiet thanks.

  Nothing more was said thereafter, for once they were in the carriage with her aunt, there was no opportunity to speak privately. Ophelia took the chance to look out of the window and allow her heart to swim with whatever emotions it wished, letting them climb through her as she accepted each one. This was not at all what she had thought would occur when she had first offered to help Lord Marchmont, and even now, she was not certain that it was what she wanted.

  It was good that Lord Marchmont was willing to listen to her, to give her the time she needed to consider her own heart before sharing his thoughts with her also, but even the thought of allowing herself to feel this deep affection for Lord Marchmont without restraint gave her pause. What would become of their mystery if she thought to accept him again? Would he simply give up the search? Would he want to marry her and forget about the note and the ring? Or would he seek to find the culprit and mayhap, once it had been dealt with, choose to pursue a true courtship with her? Ophelia did not know, feeling a dull ache begin to form between her brows. This was all so new and, in its own way, quite terrifying. She had been certain of herself, knowing what she thought, what she felt, and what she wanted, but now, in this strangeness that surrounded herself and Lord Marchmont, she had very little idea of what she wished for in her future. She was not even sure of her own heart, wondering at the emotions that flooded it whenever she so much as glanced at Lord Marchmont.

  He caught her looking at him and smiled at her, his eyes warm as he held her gaze. Ophelia swallowed hard and looked away, unable to bring a returning smile to her lips. It was all quite overwhelming and she did not feel as though she had the strength to save herself from her turbulent emotions.

  But, then again, perhaps there was no need to do so. Perhaps there was something truly wonderful in what she felt for Lord Marchmont and in what he might feel for her. The only question was, dare she risk the vulnerability that would come with sharing her heart with him?

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  “You have found nothing?”

  Peter shook his head, sighing heavily. “I took the box to various places within London and asked as to who might have made it, but no one gave me any help whatsoever.”

  “Then we must keep looking,” Lord Blackridge stated unequivocally. “There must be someone who knows where this box has come from.”

  Peter nodded but did not say anything more. His mind was, it seemed, not completely focused on the box nor on the note and the ring. Instead, it was beginning to consider Miss Grey with a good deal more urgency than before.

  “Marchmont.”

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  Lord Blackridge narrowed his eyes a little. “Something else has occurred. Something else is distracting you. What is it? Have you heard from your brother?”

  Feeling a twinge of guilt that he was not more concerned for Edward given that he had received no response as yet to any of his letters, Peter shook his head.

  “Then what is it that catches your attention so?” Lord Blackridge asked, frowning. “You appear to be quite caught up with something other than this box and handkerchief.”

  Peter swallowed hard and then shook his head again. “It is Miss Grey, Blackridge, that is all.”

  Lord Blackridge looked greatly astonished for a moment, then began to chuckle. “Indeed?” he replied, laughing softly. “That is, you are considering a proper courtship with her?”

  Peter shrugged. “I do not know what it is I am considering,” he replied truthfully. “Other than I cannot seem to remove her from my thoughts. I greatly enjoy her company and no longer find her as loud and outspoken as I did before.” He sighed heavily and would have run his hand through his hair in exasperation at his own lack of clarity, were it not for his hat. “My estimation of her has changed significantly.”

  “That is excellent news,” Lord Blackridge exclaimed as they drew near to White’s. “It means that if we do not find the person behind the note and the threats, then you may find yourself rather contented in the fact that you must marry Miss Grey after all.”

  Frowning, Peter tipped his head. “I cannot be certain if that will be the case,” he said slowly. “I am not certain as to what Miss Grey herself feels and I should not want to press the matter if she does not feel the same as I do.” He did not tell Lord Blackridge about how he had drawn close to Miss Grey the previous evening, before they went to the theatre. Nor did he tell him about how her breath had quickened, how color had come into her cheeks, and how her eyes had sparkled as she had looked up at him. She had been utterly breathtaking and even now, Peter was not certain that it had actually occurred.

  “I think, then, that you must speak to her of what you feel,” Lord Blackridge said authoritatively. “I know you are not inclined to speak your thoughts and opinions aloud, but mayhap in this case, it is merited.”

  “I have every intention of doing so,” Peter told him, seeing the surprise in Lord Blackridge’s expression over Peter’s sudden decisiveness. “I have even told Miss Grey as much. However, I am to wait a day or so first, I think. I simply need to consider what it is that I wish to proceed with, as does Miss Grey.” He smiled at Lord Blackridge, seeing the surprise turn to sincere happiness. “But in any case, you are correct. There is still the need to find the culprit for I do not wish either myself or Miss Grey to feel obliged to proceed with any deepening of our acquaintance. I would have it come from the heart, if it is to come from anywhere.”

  Lord Blackridge nodded his agreement. “Quite. Now, what say you to a drink, old boy?”

  Peter glanced up uneasily at White’s. He had not gone into that establishment for some weeks, fearing that he would be ridiculed and mocked by the gentlemen within. It was not as though he could not brush off such comments, but merely that he did not want to be the center of attention. Nor did he want to feel obliged to defend himself over his decision to reacquaint himself with Miss Grey. “I do not think that it would be wise,” he told Lord Blackridge. “Lord Whitfield was quite clear that there would be those within who would enjoy nothing more than to mock my choice of lady.”

  Lord Blackridge’s eyebrows rose. “I see,” he said slowly, looking at Peter with a curious expression. “And you do not think you can meet such a challenge?”

  Stiffening, Peter tried not to allow the barb to sink home. “It is not as though I cannot withstand it, Blackridge. It is simply that I do not wish to. I am permitted that, am I not?”

  His friend chuckled. “You are of course, permitted to do as you wish. However, I fear that you are being a little too cautious, Marchmont. The rumors and whispers will have moved on to someone new by now, I am quite certain. After all, have you not heard that Miss Lambert has found herself engaged to some rog
ue or other? I cannot quite recall his name, but it is more than a little astonishing that someone as proper and as choosy as Lady Elgin—that is, Miss Lambert’s mother—would see fit to attach her daughter to a scoundrel.”

  Peter, who was not at all interested in Miss Lambert or in why her mother had chosen to push her into the arms of a rogue, could not help but roll his eyes.

  “You see?” Lord Blackridge insisted. “There will be no one to so much as glance at you now that this gossip has taken hold.”

  Sighing inwardly and telling himself that in fact, he would quite like a drink, Peter shrugged and turned towards White’s. “I suppose I could do so,” he replied slowly. “But if I choose to leave, for whatever reason, then you shall have nothing to say about the matter.”

  Grinning, Lord Blackridge hurried towards White’s as though he were a child eager for some special treat. “Of course I shall not,” he replied drolly. “Come now. I am certain you will find a great deal of enjoyment within.”

  Much to Peter’s relief, it seemed that Lord Blackridge had been correct. No other gentleman came near him, aside from a few of his acquaintances greeting him, and Peter soon found himself relaxing in a chair in a quiet corner of the establishment with a large brandy in his hand. He allowed his gaze to rove over the crowd of gentlemen, wondering why Lord Whitfield had thought that Peter would find such trouble here. Perhaps it had been as Blackridge had said. Other rumors and pieces of gossip had become much more interesting to the gossip mongers and therefore, he was free to go about his business without interruption.

  “Got a pretty little thing now, do you not?”

  Peter knew that it was not his business to eavesdrop, but the three gentlemen seated to his left were not making any effort to keep their voices low.

  “I do, as it happens,” said a second gentleman. “Intend to keep this one too, I think.”

  The third laughed raucously, as though this was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

  “I do!” the second man protested, sounding offended. “She means a good deal to me.”

  “And it helps that her father is exceedingly rich and is likely to bestow a large dowry upon her,” the first gentleman said dryly. “Is that not so, Carrington?”

  Lord Carrington muttered something under his breath whilst the other two gentlemen laughed aloud. Peter winced, feeling sorry for Lord Carrington, who was clearly caught up with the young lady in his own way—although whether it was on her own merits or due to the wealth and prestige that she brought with her, he could not say.

  “I intend to buy her a beautiful set of pearls,” Lord Carrington announced, sounding as though he had just hit upon the idea. “I shall bestow them upon her and make sure to let her know the depths of my affections.”

  “My goodness, that does sound rather serious,” said the first gentleman, his tone still teasing. “And it shall cost you a great deal of money, I am quite certain of that.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Lord Carrington draw himself up.

  “It does not matter the cost,” he replied primly. “I shall spend whatever I wish on my lady, if I am to prove to her the depths of my affection.”

  The third gentleman chuckled. “Then you must call upon Mr. Huntly.”

  Lord Carrington hesitated. “And who is Mr. Huntly?”

  “He is nothing more than a simple tradesman,” the third gentleman replied with a slight sniff. “Although the creations he produces are quite remarkable, he will charge you a good deal for one of his pieces. Lives fairly well now, from what I understand. One of his wooden boxes would make the perfect presentation for these pearls you intend to buy.”

  Peter shot out of his seat almost at once, his brandy sloshing over the side of the glass as he slammed it down, hard. He stared, wide-eyed, at the three gentlemen, who were all looking at him with the most peculiar expressions on their face.

  “This Mr. Huntly,” Peter said at once, not caring that he was showing that he had been listening to their conversation. “Where might I find him?”

  The second gentleman frowned, his eyes a little angry as he sniffed with disdain. “And why, might I ask, should you wish to know that, sir?”

  “I must know,” Peter insisted quickly, racking his brains to find a suitable excuse. “It is only that I am to propose to my dear Miss Grey and have been searching for the perfect gift to go along with my words of affection. I have, as Lord Carrington has done, purchased something valuable, but I felt the presentation was lacking somewhat.” He tried to smile, despite the hammering of his heart. “This may be precisely what I am looking for.”

  The first man glanced at the other two before addressing Peter. “You are Lord Marchmont,” he said, to which Peter nodded. “And you are to propose to Miss Grey, then?”

  “I am,” Peter said hurriedly, catching Lord Blackridge’s eye as he began to meander towards Peter from where he had been standing, talking to another acquaintance.

  “Then I should be delighted to help you!” said the second gentleman, grinning as though Peter had given him some sort of wonderful gift. “Mr. Huntly is located near the docks. He has a decent establishment, although why he does not move into a better part of London I cannot tell. He makes a good deal of money from what he sells; I am quite certain of it.”

  Nodding swiftly and quite certain that he was appearing a little frantic, Peter asked a few more questions in order to find out the exact location of this Mr. Huntly, seeing Lord Blackridge’s eyes widen as he came nearer and overheard what was being discussed.

  “I thank you,” Peter said, bowing quickly as Lord Carrington nodded. “You have been very kind. Allow me to purchase you all a drink.”

  The second gentleman chuckled. “Thank you, Lord Marchmont,” he said, getting up. “And may I be one of the first to offer you my congratulations.”

  Peter stared at the gentleman’s outstretched hand blankly, not quite understanding what he meant.

  “On your upcoming betrothal,” the gentleman said with a slight frown. “You have not forgotten that you are to propose to Miss Grey, have you?” He grinned again and Peter, trying to laugh, grasped his hand firmly and shook it. He had indeed forgotten that the premise of his explanation for seeking out Mr. Huntly was that he was to propose to Miss Grey, but did not want the fellow to know that.

  “But of course,” he said, letting go of the man’s hand. “Although she has not accepted me as yet!”

  “I am certain she will,” Lord Blackridge interrupted, jerking his head towards the door. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen, I will accompany Lord Marchmont in his search for Mr. Huntly.” He sighed heavily as though it had been a great burden to him to be in Peter’s company thus far. “At least now I shall have an end to the constant concern that he shall not be able to find the perfect gift for his lady.”

  The three gentlemen laughed and bid Peter and Lord Blackridge farewell. Peter remembered to order and pay for three drinks for the gentlemen before he left and then hurried out into the afternoon sunshine with a sense of growing anticipation within him.

  “It has to be this Mr. Huntly,” he said as Lord Blackridge made to hail a hackney. “There can be no other.”

  “I think you are right,” Lord Blackridge replied as a hackney stopped. “Although you do realize that you must now do as you have said and propose to Miss Grey?”

  Peter climbed into the carriage, his brow furrowing as he did so. “I—I had not thought of such a thing.”

  “Those gentlemen will have that news all around White’s within the hour,” Lord Blackridge said darkly. “And thereafter, the beau monde will continue to pass it from person to person until Miss Grey herself hears of it! You had best inform her before that occurs so that she is not taken by surprise with the news.”

  Peter nodded slowly, feeling a tight ball of tension settle in his stomach. “I understand,” he muttered, feeling both excitement at discovering Mr. Huntly and anxiety over what he had just said about Miss Grey. “I s
hall try and speak to her this evening if I can, although we were not due to meet again until tomorrow evening at Lord and Lady Patterson’s ball.” He tried to settle his mind but felt as though his skin had just been pricked all over by a thousand needles, his hands clasping and unclasping in his lap.

  “Do you think that this Huntly will be able to give us the information you are so desperately seeking?” Lord Blackridge asked, obviously aware that Peter was more than a little hopeful. “What if he knows nothing?”

  “I must believe that he knows something,” Peter replied, his mind returning to his brother. “I must know who is attempting to threaten Edward and this is my only opportunity to do so. If nothing comes from this, then what have I left?”

  Lord Blackridge shrugged. “You have the handkerchief and the name Wilson.”

  “That is even more obscure!” Peter protested, flinging up his hands in frustration. “The handkerchief could belong to anyone. It may even have been picked up from the ground or the ballroom floor and pressed to my head, which gives it no significance whatsoever.” He shook his head. “No, this is my only hope, Blackridge. If this comes to naught, then I shall have no other choice but to give up my quest.”

  “And marry Miss Grey,” Lord Blackridge added, lifting one eyebrow in what was a knowing look. “Is that what you mean to say?”

  Peter closed his eyes momentarily. “I think I intend to marry her regardless,” he replied honestly. “Although I hope that I can speak to her before the rumors reach her ears.”

  Lord Blackridge chuckled, although Peter did not find anything of amusement in what he had said. Clenching his hands tightly together, he silently prayed that he would have both the time and the courage to speak to Miss Grey about his proposal of marriage long before the whispers came to her ears—and, deep in his heart, he found himself hoping desperately that she would say yes.

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