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

by Joyce Alec

  Ophelia had not heard from Lord Marchmont aside from a short note that had been sent to her earlier that day, stating that he had something of the utmost urgency to speak to her about and requesting that she seek him out the very moment she arrived at Lord Patterson’s ball. She had not quite known what to make of this note, but had felt her anticipation at the thought of seeing him again rising steadily within her as the carriage took both herself and her aunt to Lord Patterson’s home.

  She smiled softly to herself as she looked out of the window and onto the dark London streets. The last time she had been alone with Lord Marchmont, he had practically taken her in his arms and, had they not been interrupted, she was certain that he would have kissed her. Most likely, she would have leaned into him and accepted it without hesitation, for in her heart, Ophelia knew that this was what she desired above all else. It was a marked change from her first impression of Lord Marchmont, and in a strange way, she was quite pleased that the note had been given to him for it had brought them both back together again. Had it not occurred, then she would have never known the depths of Lord Marchmont’s character. Nor would she have become aware of her own faults, which, of late, she had been doing her best to overcome. Lord Marchmont brought out the best in her and she wanted to know him better still.

  A slight shiver ran down her frame as she considered what he might be wishing to speak to her about. Was he going to propose marriage? Of course, that was to be expected since it had been decisively written in the note Lord Marchmont had received, but if all was discovered and brought to light, would he still have reason enough to propose? And would she have reason enough to accept him?

  Tossing her head so that her brown ringlets bounced, Ophelia told herself to stop being ridiculous. Most likely, Lord Marchmont had found something of interest regarding what had happened to him, and that would truly be of great importance. To know who had done this, who had threatened his brother and the reasons behind the need for Lord Marchmont and herself to wed would bring Lord Marchmont great relief, she knew. Biting her lip, Ophelia wondered silently if Lord Marchmont had heard from his brother. Mayhap that was what the news was. Mayhap he was going to tell her that his brother was quite safe and that there was nothing more that they needed to concern themselves with. It had been nothing more than a ruse, he would say. Their courtship could come to an end.

  “Ophelia?”

  Starting in surprise, Ophelia turned to see her aunt giving her a quizzical look. The carriage, she realized, had come to a stop and the door was already open, waiting for them both to climb out.

  “Sorry, Aunt,” Ophelia muttered, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “I was simply lost in thought for a time.”

  Lady Sharrow smiled. “I can see,” she replied, giving Ophelia a knowing look. “Lord Marchmont is to meet you here this evening?”

  “Yes, he is,” Ophelia replied calmly. “Do go first, Aunt. I shall wait.”

  Lady Sharrow chuckled, obviously aware that Ophelia was doing her best to cover her emotions and feelings by urging her from the carriage first. However, she did as Ophelia had asked and, within a few minutes, the two ladies were ascending the steps into Lord and Lady Patterson’s home.

  “Just so that you are aware, Ophelia,” Lady Sharrow murmured, once they had greeted their hosts. “Your uncle has already approved of Lord Marchmont by post.”

  Ophelia threw her aunt a calculating glance. “I have not yet had any suggestion that Lord Marchmont is thinking of betrothal.”

  Her aunt waved a hand as though Ophelia were being ridiculous. “Regardless of what you might think, I expect an engagement very soon. You cannot pretend that you are not affected by the gentleman. Even I can see it in your eyes whenever he is in the room, or even, indeed, when you are thinking of him.” She chuckled and patted Ophelia’s arm. “You have no need to consider refusing him for fear that Lord Sharrow will reject him, Ophelia. That is all I am saying.”

  Ophelia found that she had no ready answer, her cheeks blossoming with color as she walked into the ballroom alongside her aunt. To know that even her aunt had noticed her regard for Lord Marchmont was a revelation and, in some small way, Ophelia felt glad that her aunt had written to Lord Sharrow in order to seek his approval. She could not guess whether this was what Lord Marchmont had in mind to speak to her of, but if he was to propose, then she would know that the choice would be entirely her own.

  “Ah, there is Miss Smallwood,” her aunt said, tugging Ophelia from her thoughts once more. “Do enjoy yourself this evening, my dear.”

  Ophelia smiled tightly, nodded, and promised that she would, before turning her steps towards Miss Smallwood.

  “I am very glad to see you this evening, Louisa,” Ophelia said at once. “Lord Marchmont has asked me to seek him out almost the moment I set foot into Lord Patterson’s home, but as yet, I have not been able to see him.”

  Miss Smallwood’s eyes were bright, a smile on her face as she looked at Ophelia expectantly. “What does he wish to speak to you about?” she asked, with the same knowing look on her face that Lady Sharrow had worn only moments before.

  Ophelia tried to laugh but it came out as a wheeze, her chest suddenly tight. “I am certain it is to do with the note and his brother,” she said, her voice a little weaker than she had expected. “But regardless, I have not seen him. Might you walk with me for a time?”

  Miss Smallwood nodded and they began to meander through the crowd, only stopping now and again to greet familiar faces.

  “Miss Grey?”

  Stunned that someone would have the audacity to tap her on the shoulder, Ophelia swung around with the intention of delivering a harsh set-down, only to see a tall, fair-haired gentleman practically leaning over her.

  “Earl of Ancrum,” he stated, without so much as a by-your-leave. “You are Miss Grey, yes?”

  Ophelia blinked for a moment, trying to gather her composure. “I beg your pardon, my lord?” she asked, her voice filled with warning. “We have not yet been acquainted, I think.”

  Lord Ancrum was now looking at her with something akin to frustration, although what he was angry about, Ophelia could not imagine.

  “You are Miss Grey, are you not?” Lord Ancrum asked again, his brow lowering and his sharp grey eyes pinned to her. “Tell me. I must know at once.”

  Ophelia glanced at Miss Smallwood but saw that she was staring into the face of Lord Ancrum, her eyes rounded with fright. Miss Smallwood, whilst she had begun to speak up a little louder and had slowly begun to grow in confidence, was clearly still intimidated by gentlemen such as this.

  “I am Miss Grey, yes,” Ophelia replied, keeping her voice low and looking directly into Lord Ancrum’s fierce expression. “Although what you think you are doing by behaving in such a manner towards me, I cannot understand.” She tilted her chin upwards, not caring in the least that he was an earl and, therefore, higher in status than she. Title and fortune did not make behavior such as this acceptable.

  “I must speak to you at once,” Lord Ancrum growled, reaching out to grasp her hand. “Come, Miss Grey.”

  She stepped back, his hand missing her completely. “I hardly think that would be wise, Lord Ancrum,” she retorted, a little angry that he had thought that she would simply go with him without hesitation. A sliver of fear entered her mind but Ophelia thrust it away as quickly as she could. She would not allow herself to be intimidated.

  “It is urgent,” Lord Ancrum said, his face beginning to darken with apparent anger that she would not do as he asked. “It is imperative that I talk to you without delay.”

  “Then you may do so here,” Ophelia replied clearly, “where I can be seen by all the other guests and overheard by my friend, Miss Smallwood, who, I can assure you, is the very epitome of discretion.” Determinedly, she set her jaw and let her lips pull taut. “Now, what is it that is so urgent, Lord Ancrum?”

  He glared at her, his anger and frustration mounting although it still came without any expla
nation whatsoever. Ophelia did not look away nor did she recant, as she was certain he expected her to do. She was not about to become recalcitrant, however, making sure to keep her composure steady and her expression calm. The last thing she needed was for any of the beau monde to notice her conversation with Lord Ancrum, which meant that she had to remain as calm as possible.

  “You must not marry Lord Marchmont.”

  All sense of calmness left her the moment those words came from Lord Ancrum’s lips.

  “Lord Marchmont is not a suitable gentleman for you, Miss Grey. He is… poor.”

  Ophelia took a moment to gather her wits about her, doing so quickly as she tried to summon an answer to this strange insinuation.

  “I hardly think, Lord Ancrum, that my marital state is any concern of yours,” she replied, her voice still a little breathless from the shock of what she had heard. “Good evening.” Making to step away with Miss Smallwood by her side, Ophelia was startled as Lord Ancrum took a few steps closer to her, his hand snaking out to grasp at her arm.

  “Miss Grey,” he grated, his head lowering as though he wanted to force her to do as he asked. “You must break your betrothal to Lord Marchmont. I insist upon it.”

  Ophelia’s breath was coming quick and fast as she looked into Lord Ancrum’s face. Lord Marchmont had not, as yet, proposed to her, but for whatever reason, Lord Ancrum seemed to believe that she was engaged to him. Why would he be doing his utmost to prevent her from marrying Lord Marchmont? What possible reason could there be for this sudden, inexplicable determination?

  “Release me at once, Lord Ancrum,” she hissed, trying to wrench her arm away in as unobtrusive a manner as possible, her heart beating quickly as fear slithered up her spine. Beside her, Miss Smallwood stepped a little closer, offering her silent support whilst ensuring that Lord Ancrum’s grasp upon Ophelia’s arm was hidden from prying eyes.

  “You have no right to treat Miss Grey so,” Miss Smallwood added, her words a little tremulous as she fought to summon her courage. “Remove your hand immediately, Lord Ancrum.”

  “I shall only do so once you have promised to break your engagement, Miss Grey,” Lord Ancrum growled, ignoring Miss Smallwood completely. “I cannot have you married to that gentleman.”

  Ophelia swallowed the ache in her throat and narrowed her eyes. She had to find the strength within herself were she to escape from this confusing and painful situation.

  “You and I are not even acquainted, Lord Ancrum,” she bit out, tugging her arm hard away from him and finally feeling his fingers loosen. “You have no right to ask me to do any such thing. How dare you treat me in such a manner!”

  Lord Ancrum was breathing hard now, his face a dull shade of red. “You cannot, Miss Grey.”

  “I will do as I please, Lord Ancrum,” she replied steadfastly. “And I shall not take advice nor accept the demands of a gentleman who does not even have the grace to have himself introduced to me properly.” She made to swing around and walk away from him through the crowd of guests, only to feel his hand tighten on her wrist again. Trying to tug free did no good and, much to her horror, Lord Ancrum dragged her back towards him and then, without warning, lowered his head and attempted to kiss her.

  A gasp rippled through the ballroom as Ophelia tugged her wrist out of his grasp and, with that very same hand, threw a hard slap across Lord Ancrum’s face. Her color was high, her heart pounding furiously as she staggered back.

  “How dare you?” she gasped as Miss Smallwood rushed to her side. “How dare you try to do such a thing, Lord Ancrum!” She could not say anything more, knowing that a good many members of the ton had seen what had occurred and that, as such, her reputation was already ruined. She had not taken any part in this, had not known what was coming or what Lord Ancrum’s intentions were, but still she would be the one to find her reputation smeared.

  Lord Ancrum chuckled darkly and rubbed his face with one hand. “I will do what I must, Miss Grey. After all, I am only trying to save you from a most unfortunate marriage.”

  Ophelia did not know what to say at this. The ripples of whisperings and gasps were spreading outward across the room, leaving her in no doubt that soon, all of London society would know what had occurred. Her face began to heat, and she was entirely at a loss as to what to do next. Thankfully, Miss Smallwood tugged at her arm, breaking her from her uncertainty as her friend whispered to her to come away from Lord Ancrum.

  “You are a disgrace, Lord Ancrum,” Ophelia said loudly, suddenly finding her voice as she began to move from where she stood. “To treat me in such a deplorable fashion without any consideration is utterly despicable. How dare you call yourself a gentleman when you behave in such an uncouth manner?” She glared at him, breathing hard and finding a small sense of satisfaction rising up within her at the sight of his red cheek and his slowly fading smile.

  “Whatever your intention was, Lord Ancrum, you have utterly failed. You shall find that I am not one easily affected by the whispers and the gossip that shall soon follow, for I shall know that I have done nothing wrong and therefore, I shall keep my head high and my spirits steadfast.” This was not quite the truth, for Ophelia knew that, regardless of how determined she was, she would find herself badly affected by what Lord Ancrum had tried to do, but she was not about to show any sign of weakness in front of him now, feeling her strength slowly returning.

  Lord Ancrum laughed softly as Ophelia turned from him, his eyes dark.

  “So long as I have put an end to your engagement, I shall find myself greatly satisfied,” he told her as she turned her head away. “For what gentleman would wish to marry you now?”

  Ophelia’s heart turned over in her chest as she thought of Lord Marchmont, but she did not allow her sudden fear to show. Walking alongside Miss Smallwood, she made her way towards the open doors that led to the gardens, seeking a little solace within the darkness there. She should, of course, make an attempt to find her aunt and tell her what had occurred before she heard the whispers about what had happened, but she could not bring herself to do anything other than escape for the time being. Perhaps Miss Smallwood would be able to find Lady Sharrow and bring her to Ophelia, so that she herself would not have to return to the crowd of guests.

  “Are you quite all right, Ophelia?”

  Miss Smallwood’s anxious eyes looked up at her as Ophelia stepped outside, the cool air sweeping over her hot cheeks.

  “I am as well as can be expected,” Ophelia answered honestly, closing her eyes for a moment as she grasped onto the rail and let her fingers curl around the metal, steadying herself. “That was entirely unexpected and, I confess, quite shocking.”

  Miss Smallwood let out a long breath, clearly quite taken aback by what Lord Ancrum had done. “And you say you have not even been so much as introduced to that gentleman before?”

  “No,” Ophelia replied, sighing and opening her eyes. “No, I have not. I have no knowledge of him and I certainly cannot imagine what he was attempting to do.”

  Miss Smallwood tipped her head, regarding Ophelia. “He says that he wished to bring an end to your engagement,” she said slowly, looking at Ophelia carefully. “But I have not heard that you are betrothed.”

  A slight tinge of hurt was in Miss Smallwood’s words, obviously a little sad that apparently Lord Marchmont had proposed to Ophelia and that she had accepted—but then not spoken of it to Miss Smallwood.

  “I am not engaged,” Ophelia explained quickly. “Lord Marchmont has not yet proposed, Louisa. I cannot say why Lord Ancrum believed this to be true.”

  “But you did not correct him,” Miss Smallwood said softly, no hint of accusation in her tone but rather one of confusion. “Why is that?”

  Ophelia let out her breath slowly. “Mayhap because I wanted to know the truth behind Lord Ancrum’s strange behavior,” she said, aware that her heart had caught with excitement when Lord Ancrum had first suggested that she was betrothed to Lord Marchmont. “If I had denied it, the
n I feared that he would simply step away without revealing the truth about his concerns.”

  “But we have not discovered the truth regardless,” Miss Smallwood added, looking frustrated as her expression was lit by the light coming from the door to the ballroom. “He did not say why he wished you to end this supposed engagement, did he?”

  “No,” Ophelia admitted, a little sadly. “No, he did not. I will admit, Miss Smallwood, that I did not think that the consequences would be so dire in refusing to speak the truth to Lord Ancrum. Now, I must consider the fact that my reputation will be damaged due to his actions.”

  There was silence for a few moments and Ophelia felt her spirits begin to sink. She had always considered herself to have a fairly strong character, but now knowing that she would have to face the beau monde again, and that she would see nothing but rejection in their faces, was beginning to tug her heart low. She would be given the cut direct from some, she was quite certain of it. They would not allow her to be a part of their conversation, their social circles. Due to Lord Ancrum’s actions, she would find herself quite disgraced.

  “I do not think that Lord Marchmont will care about your damaged reputation, Ophelia.”

  Miss Smallwood put one hand on Ophelia’s arm, breaking her out of her despondency.

  “What do you mean?” Ophelia replied, trying not to allow her heart to quicken at the thought of Lord Marchmont and how he would respond to the news of what Lord Ancrum had done.

  Miss Smallwood smiled softly. “I think that you care for Lord Marchmont greatly, Ophelia, and that he cares for you also. You need not protest,” she continued, holding up one hand as words sprang to Ophelia’s lips, “nor pretend that such things are not true, for it has become quite apparent to me these last few days that you have an affection for Lord Marchmont that cannot be hidden.”

  Ophelia felt her color rise, her cheeks growing hot as she looked out towards the townhouse gardens, not quite certain what to say.

  “I am certain that Lord Marchmont will not allow Lord Ancrum’s actions to stand,” Miss Smallwood finished, her hand dropping from Ophelia’s arm. “He will not let another gentleman’s actions prevent him from considering a future with you, Ophelia. Have no fear, my dear friend. It will all come to rights.”