Lucianna turned to look up at Ophelia—and she was taken aback by the happiness and warmth in Luci’s smile. “Yes, well, my mother and siblings will be staying with Montrose—for the time being.”
Or until Lucianna’s father relents and approves of her betrothal to Montrose, Ophelia added silently to herself. Not that his disapproval would stop Montrose from taking Luci as wife. They’d agreed on a Christmas wedding, and all hoped Lord Camden would have a change of heart by that time and reunite with his family.
“Ophelia,” Edith called from across the table. “I do hope you can spare a few moments after our meal.”
“Of course,” she conceded with a laugh. “My father’s library?”
When Edith nodded and Lucianna laughed, Montrose and Torrington shared a look of question; however, Ophelia and her friends only ignored the men’s inquiries. It was a tradition they would continue until each was happily, safely, unequivocally wed—in honor of Tilda, in a way. They would disappear into the library to speak in hushed tones and laugh about the night to come. This will be Ophelia’s first wedded night. At Christmas, it would be Luci’s.
They’d even invited Lady Prudence and Lady Chastity to join them.
Torrington would certainly not relish his younger sisters being part of such an intimate conversation; however, friends were friends.
And Ophelia was honored to call Chastity and Pru friend.
“I can hardly contain myself and finish our meal.” Edith giggled, giving her betrothed a sideways glance. “I most assuredly have things to speak of.”
For once, it wasn’t Ophelia’s face that flushed scarlet, but Edith’s.
It would be an utter lie if she didn’t admit she was looking forward to hearing the scandalous tidbits Edith had to share about the marriage bed—though the woman was no more wedded than Lucianna at that moment.
With a wink, Ophelia continued down the table and nestled close to Colin’s side, resuming her seat at the banquet table.
Her husband.
Colin Parnell, Lord Hawke, heir to the Coventry Earldom.
The mere thought that they’d met and wed with such haste still had her mind swirling, but Colin was always there to make certain she remained upright with the frenzy surrounding them.
She glanced around the crowded room; row after row of finely dressed men and women ate, drank, and laughed together as course after exquisite course of delicate dishes were set before them.
Ophelia and Colin, flanked by Edith and Lord Torrington on one side, and Lucianna and Montrose on the other, sampled the savory and sweet plates placed before them as all in attendance celebrated the blessed joining of Baron Hawke to Lady Ophelia Fletcher in wedded bliss.
Lady Hawke.
It was quite simply the only decision she’d made in recent months that no one could dare call a misadventure.
No, everything about their whirlwind betrothal and morning wedding in her family’s gardens behind the Atholl townhouse was exactly as it was fated to be.
Even Molly had given her blessing—by way of some obscure and intimidating dance ritual that could have as easily been her placing a hex on Ophelia and Colin’s entire bloodline. Yet, that did not matter. If Ophelia were cursed, as Colin’s grandmother had once thought, then there was no other person she’d rather share a life of misadventure with than the man at her side.
“You are smiling again, dear wife,” Colin whispered close to her ear. “If you keep this up, everyone will think you deliriously happy and satisfied in love.”
“And if that is exactly what I want everyone in this room—and all of England—to think?” She looked up at him from under lowered lashes with a hint of a smirk caressing her lips. “Is that so awful?”
He placed a kiss to her forehead. “Certainly not; however, we cannot allow all these people to assume we have wedded life figured out. They will demand to know our secrets.”
“We will never share our secrets to finding wedded bliss.” Ophelia shook her head gravely. “Not unless they hold a burning candle to my toes.”
His brow knitted and his tone turned serious. “That is all it would take?”
“Well, that and the promise of plum pudding!”
“Sweets for my sweet?” he said with a chuckle.
Their intimate conversation was interrupted when someone cleared their throat, drawing his and her attention away from one another to the man standing before their table. Ophelia had been so consumed with her new husband that she hadn’t noticed Lord Abercorn approach them.
The older man bowed deeply. “May I offer my sincere congratulations on your union, Lord and Lady Hawke. I am ever so pleased to be included in such an intimate gathering.”
Ophelia smiled at the man, his cheeks blossoming pink at her attention. Her friends, Edith and Luci, had been as surprised as Abercorn at the invitation extended to the duke, who they’d thought only a few short weeks ago was responsible for Tilda’s death. But much had changed with Lady Sissy’s confession that night outside Colin’s father’s townhouse—not only had the woman confessed to pushing Tilda down the stairs, but also to poisoning Lord Abercorn’s two other wives.
They were all victims of Lady Sissy’s need to control and exert power over all who surrounded her.
“It is an honor to have you among us, my lord.” Ophelia spoke each word with a deep-seated conviction and new appreciation for the man. He’d loved Tilda, as they all had, and she’d been taken all too soon. But Ophelia and her friends hadn’t been the only ones to grieve her passing. “I do hope your sister is settling in at The Retreat.”
Colin placed his hand on the small of Ophelia’s back as if to show his support.
Abercorn nodded several times. “She is adjusting to life in York—and the restrictions she must now live within—as well as can be expected. I plan to visit her as soon as the physicians assure me she is stable and that my attendance will not upset her.”
“I commend your dedication, Abercorn,” Colin chimed in.
“And I very much appreciate your understanding and compassion for my sister’s situation.” Abercorn gave them both a curt bow and made his way back to his seat.
“Are you certain we did the right thing?” Colin asked as they both scrutinized the man when he regained his seat next to—of all people—Lucianna’s mother. “Sometimes, I wonder.”
“We must have faith that we did.” They’d had the right to see Sissy locked away in the Tower—never to see the light of day again; however, Abercorn was a victim, too and if they’d allowed Sissy to be prosecuted, then Abercorn would have had no chance at a decent marriage or a family. “She will remain in York, unable to harm another person until her last day. Condemning Lord Abercorn to a future outrunning the scandal would only punish him.”
“You, my love”—Colin placed a kiss to her forehead—“are a compassionate“—he lightly brushed his lips along her cheek—“understanding”—he lifted her chin when she blushed and tried to hide her embarrassment over his attention—“giving woman. Whom, I might add, I am proud to call my wife.”
“I did what I thought was right.” Even if Luci hadn’t been completely satisfied or in agreement that Lady Sissy had received a punishment worthy of the crimes she committed. Ophelia knew, without a doubt, that Sissy would not have lasted long in the Tower or Bedlam. The harsh conditions prisoners lived under were trying, even on the hardiest of men.
Ophelia looked into Colin’s green eyes, the depth of caring for her she saw there never waning, even after they’d been forced to explain to her parents where she’d gone during her absence from London. Even in his wedding day finery with his golden hair trimmed well above his collar, he was still the man who’d protected her from his own grandmother, not that Ophelia thought Molly would have harmed her if Colin hadn’t arrived when he did.
“I love you,” she sighed.
“And I, you, Ophelia,” he declared loud enough for Montrose and Torrington to overhear and give an appreciative celebratory shout
.
“Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves,” she replied, bringing her sherry goblet to her lips to hide her insanely happy smile. “Do you think every day will be as perfect as this?”
“As long as we are together, not a thing can tarnish the perfection we’ve created for ourselves.”
“Attention, attention!” The Earl of Coventry stood, calling for everyone’s notice. When the crowd quieted, and all guests turned their full attention to Colin’s father, the man held an envelope high for all to see. “It is with great pleasure that I share with my son—and his exquisite bride—a letter that arrived only yesterday from King George III.”
Applause filled the room, nearly as loud as the moment she and Colin had been announced husband and wife—Lord and Lady Hawke.
Coventry shushed the room before making a grand show of opening the letter. “As you all know, my father, Colin’s grandpapa, served our king’s father, King George II, as the royal courier between Sheerness, Kent, and Prussia.”
Ophelia noticed Colin’s chest puff up with pride as his father spoke of Porter Parnell, the first Earl of Coventry. Love swelled within her to see how far Colin’s family had come to mending their ties to one another. It had only taken Colin’s father admitting that he’d known the truth all along. Once that happened, it was as if the chains holding Colin down vanished.
The earl unfolded a single slip of paper and held it high for everyone to see the royal crest at the top of the page. “He sends his good tidings and blessed wishes for Lord and Lady Hawke’s future.” Colin’s father quieted as he read farther down the paper, his brow rising in surprise as his breath hitched. “This cannot be,” he muttered.
“What is it, Father?” Colin sat forward, waiting for the earl to finish reading.
Even Ophelia’s own father stood, alarmed at what else a royal letter from the king could hold.
“Well, this is quite interesting.”
“Don’t be such a tease, Ramsey,” Molly huffed, slamming the tip of her cane into the floor of Ophelia’s parent’s ballroom. Atholl cast a glare in the older woman’s direction but had the good sense to hold his tongue. “Is Georgie think’n ta give me Colin a proper wed’n gift?”
“Ummm, no, it is more that the king wishes something from Colin and Ophelia,” the earl mused.
“What is it, Coventry?” Atholl demanded, drawing back toward his seat. “What can the king want from my daughter?”
Ophelia’s heart stopped for a brief moment, her stare moving from her father to Colin’s sire.
The Earl of Coventry winked at her, a mischievous grin overtaking his face.
How had she not noticed the elder man’s resemblance to Colin?
“As stated here, the king so decrees that Lord and Lady Hawke’s first child born with hair the color of pure, red-hot fire is to be named George—after him. If the child is female, she will be called Georgina!”
The silence that had settled on the entire room as they waited in stunned shock to hear what their king demanded of the new couple broke as a shriek echoed through the space.
Molly shot to her feet, lifting her cane and thumping it on the long, wooden table before her. The crystal glasses, now drained of sherry, shook with her forceful strikes, and the other guests at the table—Lady Prudence and Lady Chastity—pushed their chairs back to avoid being caught in the woman’s snare.
“That bloody, yellow-tailed, sniveling weasel!” Molly faced reddened deeper than Ophelia’s auburn hair. “The contemptible, lick-spittle imp!”
“Mother!” Coventry shouted over Molly’s tirade. “I am—“
“The man thinks ta have me great-grandbabe named for him?” she seethed. “Ye bet on everything I possess, no Parnell babe ever be named George—or Georgina!”
Ophelia burst out in laughter, doubling over as the sound filled the room, only to have other sounds of merriment join her own.
“What is so bloody amusing, Ophelia?” Molly demanded.
She sobered enough to notice her new grandmama’s injured expression and rushed to soothe the woman’s ruffled feelings. “It is only that I am surprised it is a name you find unsuitable and not the thought of being the great-grandmama of a red-haired babe.”
Molly slumped into her seat with a chuckle of her own, folding her arms. “Don’t be think’n the child be escape’n me search for evil marks.”
“Evil marks?” Ophelia’s father’s glare flipped between Coventry, Molly, and Colin before settling on Ophelia, who laughed again—the other guests seeming to enjoy the banter between the newly joined families.
“Do take your seats.” Colin stood, resting his hand lightly on Ophelia’s shoulder. “Lady Hawke and I thank everyone for bearing witness to our joining on this day. However, I think it long past time my bride and I retire.”
Ophelia stood quickly, smoothing the wrinkles from her light blue gown. “Before we go…” She didn’t dare glance in Colin’s direction. There was much she longed to say, though she’d planned to say nothing. “I have something to share.”
All eyes were on her, and Ophelia took several deep breaths to calm her rising nerves. She’d never had the urge to put herself in a place of great attention; however, for the man next to her, she’d live every waking moment in the spotlight of the ton if that continued to make him happy and content.
“While many of you were not acquainted with my husband prior to our betrothal, I can attest to his kind heart and giving nature. He loves his family and friends—both new and old,” she said, gesturing to everyone in the room. Edith nodded encouragingly when Ophelia fell silent. “I know he will cherish me and our family as much as he does others in his life.” She risked a glance at Colin then, her mouth going dry, and her words sticking in her throat. She coughed, gaining a few precious moments to gain her composure. “I am so very thankful that similar to my two dearest friends, Lady Edith and Lady Lucianna, I have found my true path in life. I have been blessed far beyond what I deserve, and though many may consider our meeting a misadventure of sorts, I have come to realize it was far more than a mere adventure—or misadventure—but the first step toward the grandest accomplishment of my life…finding love.”
“Hear! Hear!” the guests chanted in unison.
Ophelia made no attempt to hide her tears of joy as they slid unabated down her cheeks.
She was happy—and utterly in love with the man next to her.
She’d feared for so long that love was not something in her future, and even if it were, that there was the chance her life would mirror Tilda’s tragic one.
But that was not the only course available to Ophelia and Colin.
No. They were free to love one another without fear or reservation.
Colin leaned down and pulled her body against his, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. One that conveyed the way he felt about her—and her words.
He released her mouth, the same mischievous smile lighting his face as had his father’s only moments before. “Lady Hawke, I dare say you have a marvelous way with words. I can only wonder why you have not taken pencil to paper as yet. You would make a fine storyteller—or perhaps, a columnist for the London Daily Gazette.”
Edith and Lucianna burst into laughter, mingled with the more reserved chuckles from their betrotheds.
Colin waited not a moment longer before bringing his lips to hers—masking her stunned expression.
The cheers that erupted reverberated off the walls and high ceiling, causing a nearly deafening commotion as Colin slipped his arm beneath Ophelia’s knees and carried her from the room.
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About the Author
USA TODAY Bestselling Author Christina McKnight writes emotional and intricate Regency Romance with strong women and maverick heroes.
Her books combine romance and mystery, exploring themes of redemption and forgiveness. When not writing she enjoys trying new coffeehouses, visiting wine bars, traveling the world, and watching television.
@CMcKnightWriter
ChristinaMcKnightWriter
www.christinamcknight.com
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Author’s Notes
Thank you for reading The Misadventures of Lady Ophelia
(The Undaunted Debutantes, Book Three).
The Misadventures of Lady Ophelia (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 3) Page 22
