by Alec, Joyce
Peter felt himself grow slowly cold, horrified to hear how Miss Grey had been treated. Lord Ancrum had no right to lay a finger on her and why he had attempted to kiss her was quite beyond him.
“This is worrying indeed,” Lord Blackridge said, taking a step closer to Peter and to the ladies he was talking with. “Why did Lord Ancrum attempt to do such a thing?”
The second lady shrugged. “Mayhap he wishes to marry her himself?” she suggested, a small smile crooking her mouth.
“We believe that to be the case,” Lady Whitehall replied sharply, frowning in the lady’s direction. “It is because he sought to bring her engagement to an end, as he stated, although I fear that Miss Grey will refuse him.” She looked back at Peter, her expression growing curious. “Will you reject her now, Lord Marchmont? Will you free her to marry Lord Ancrum?”
Peter’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching as he sought to find some semblance of composure. All he wanted to do was to go in search of this Lord Ancrum and to take his vengeance upon him, to defend Miss Grey in any way he could.
“I shall not,” he stated crisply, aware that the three ladies were still watching him closely. “Instead, I shall demand that he make recompense for the disgrace he has attempted to bring upon Miss Grey.”
The three ladies gasped, their eyes widening. “A duel?” the third asked, agog with interest. “Truly?”
Peter gave them a small bow, not wanting to say anything more. “I shall do what I must in order to preserve Miss Grey’s reputation,” he declared unequivocally. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must find her.”
He did not wait to hear more but stepped away at once, Lord Blackridge by his side.
“I cannot understand it,” Lord Blackridge murmured as Peter held his head high and hurried through the crowd. “Why would Lord Ancrum attempt to do something so foolish?”
“He has quite ruined her,” Peter muttered darkly. “I have every intention of calling him out, Blackridge.”
His friend nodded, knowing precisely what he meant. “That is your prerogative, of course,” he allowed. “But mayhap finding out the truth behind his decision to do such a thing would be a wise course of action.”
Peter frowned, glancing across at Lord Blackridge. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that it may be in some way connected to this wooden box—to this entire mystery,” Lord Blackridge explained. “There is a good deal of strangeness still about what has occurred ever since you woke up in that room, and I cannot help but wonder if what has happened this evening is connected with it all.”
It was something Peter had not yet considered, his mind whirring with the idea. Could it be? Could Lord Ancrum have something to do with all that had occurred with him?”
“Oh, Lord Marchmont! There you are.”
Peter stopped dead as the one gentleman he had been seeking ever since they had discovered the truth about the wooden box hurried towards him, his face a little red. He stiffened at once, his hands still tight as his fingers curled together.
“Lord Whitfield,” he grated, his anger rising within him. “I have a good many questions for you.”
Lord Whitfield’s eyes widened.
“I have discovered that it was you who left the wooden box beside me when you had me placed in that attic room,” Peter continued, taking a single step closer to the fellow. “You purchased it, did you not? You left it beside me.” He saw the red begin to fade from Lord Whitfield’s cheeks, the man’s eyes widening. “You will explain yourself at once.”
Lord Whitfield shook his head, his cheeks wobbling as he did so. “You must speak to Miss Grey first, Lord Marchmont,” he stammered, beginning to step backwards. “She is waiting for you and I said that I would find you for her.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed, his anger tightening his chest. “What have you done, Lord Whitfield?”
“I have done nothing!” Lord Whitfield protested, his hands raised in defense. “I did not know that Lord Ancrum would behave in such a fashion, in an attempt to change the situation. It is most unfortunate.”
The man said nothing more but turned on his heel and hurried away from both Peter and Lord Blackridge, leaving them with no other choice but to follow him. Peter’s jaw was tight as he did so, his anger growing so quickly and so steadily that he felt as though it would be almost impossible to contain once he had his hands on Lord Whitfield. Walking quickly towards the open doors, Peter felt the eyes of the remaining guests lingering on him, quite certain that he would soon become a part of the fodder that fed the gossip eaters. He did not care. All he wanted to find now was the truth.
“Miss Grey!”
Her eyes flared as he walked out towards her, seeing her leaning back against the balcony rail.
“Lord Marchmont.”
Much to his surprise, she put her hands out to him and he took them without hesitation, squeezing her fingers gently so as to reassure her. Miss Grey’s eyes were wide with confusion and her pallor was a trifle grey. Clearly, she had endured a great deal this evening.
“I have heard what Lord Ancrum attempted to do, Miss Grey,” he told her, seeing her shoulders slump. “I am sorry for it.”
“It has no bearing on you,” she told him, her voice as firm as ever. “But yes, it was something of a shock.” A small smile crept across her expression. “Although I am glad that you have not thought ill of me because of it.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms, to reassure her that he did not consider her to be at fault, but restrained himself. “This has nothing to do with you or your behavior, Miss Grey,” he said firmly. “It is entirely to do with Lord Whitfield and Lord Ancrum.” Turning around, he allowed one hand to settle about her waist, whilst holding her other hand tightly. “You shall explain, Lord Whitfield.”
Lord Whitfield did not do so at once, as Peter had expected. Instead, he looked from Peter to Miss Grey and back again, a look of satisfaction settling on his expression.
“Speak.”
Lord Blackridge’s voice was loud and authoritative, making Lord Whitfield jump with the suddenness of it. The man began to stammer all at once, his expression now a little fearful.
“There is nothing to say,” he protested weakly, spreading his hands. “Lord Ancrum has behaved abominably and I am delighted that your engagement is to continue.”
Beside him, Peter felt Miss Grey stiffen and his embarrassment crashed over him like a wave.
“I fear that I have not asked you to marry me as yet, Miss Grey,” he murmured, looking down at her as her green eyes lifted to his again. “I have every intention of doing so, however. I am sorry that the ton has known of my intention before you.” His heart quickened as he waited for her to respond, his stomach churning as he feared she might refuse him—only to see her smile softly and nod her agreement.
“We can discuss such matters later,” she told him, her fingers pressing his for a moment. “But you need not fear that I am in any way offended, Lord Marchmont.”
This came as something of a relief to him and, for a few moments, Peter held her gaze, finding her to be truly lovely in both her character and her expression. He felt his heart lift free of its fears, his tension rushing out of him as he looked down at her, thinking himself to be one of the luckiest gentlemen to have ever lived to have found such an incredible young lady.
“You are to tell us the truth, Whitfield.”
Lord Blackridge spoke again, making Peter tug his gaze, reluctantly, from Miss Grey.
“We have found the box you left for me to discover the day I awoke in the boarding house,” Peter reminded him, making Miss Grey’s breath catch with surprise. “I found the maker of such a box. Mr. Huntly, is it not?” He watched Lord Whitfield keenly, seeing how he looked away sharply. “He recalled that you paid handsomely for such a box, even though it had none of his ornate carvings or the like. Why you purchased it, he did not know, but he was quite certain that it was to you that it was sold.”
Lord Whitfield let out a lo
ng breath, dropped his head, and ran one hand across his forehead.
“The truth, Whitfield,” Peter demanded, finding his anger beginning to burn once again. “Else it shall not only be Lord Ancrum that will face a duel.”
At this, Lord Whitfield whitened terribly, trembling visibly at the thought. “I should not speak of this to you,” he said eventually, pulling out his white handkerchief to mop his brow. “It is in the agreement.”
“The agreement, whatever it is, is at an end,” Lord Blackridge interrupted crisply. “Speak.”
For a few moments, Lord Whitfield did nothing but sigh and shake his head, mopping his brow and muttering to himself. Peter’s anger was burning hot within him, searing his veins and filling him so completely that it was all he could to do remain standing beside Miss Grey. Had it not been for her touch, he was quite certain he would have lunged for the fellow and thrown him hard against the wall until the truth was forced from his lips.
“I had no other choice,” Lord Whitfield sputtered eventually, his eyes lowering to the ground by Peter’s feet. “I made a ridiculous bet and knew that unless I did something, I should lose a great deal of money.”
Peter’s anger drained from him in a moment, leaving him feeling cold. “A bet?” he stated harshly. “This was all due to your attempts to win a bet?”
“It was a great deal of money,” Lord Whitfield wailed, looking utterly distraught. “I believed that you would wed Miss Grey. After all, you had not been looking with any urgency for a wife prior to this and I believed you to be quite enamored with the lady. I was in my cups and made this ridiculous bet for more money than I could possibly afford to lose.” He shook his head again, as though angry with himself for what he had done. “When I heard that you had ended your courtship, I knew that I had to do something in order to draw you back together again—although it could not be known that it was I who had done such a thing, since the agreement was that neither of us would involve ourselves with you in any way.” Miserably, Lord Whitfield drew his gaze up towards Peter, his sorrow evident. “I did not mean to bring you any harm, but I could not think what else to do.”
Miss Grey drew in a long breath, leaning into Peter. “You mean to say that you were the one who injured Lord Marchmont so terribly that he was knocked unconscious, only to set him in an attic room of a boarding house and leave him with a note that threatened his brother if he did not do as was demanded?”
Lord Whitfield looked at her for a long moment and then, sighing terribly as though he were truly distraught over what he had done, nodded.
“Where is my brother?” Peter demanded, his fear growing suddenly. “What have you done with him?”
“I do not know where your brother is!” Lord Whitfield exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “That was nothing more than a lie, Lord Marchmont, although it did me no end of good to know that you would be coerced into acting as I wished because of what I held.”
Closing his eyes, Peter swayed suddenly, relief flooding him. Edward, it seemed, was quite safe. “The ring,” he said hoarsely, his voice rasping. “How did you come upon it?”
Lord Whitfield waved a hand. “I won that from him a long time ago,” he replied, shaking his head. “I do not think that your brother ever spoke to you of it, for he knew that it was dear to your family.”
“That cannot be so,” Peter replied, shaking his head. “I saw him with it often. It was never removed from him.”
“He had another one made to his specifications, I believe,” Lord Whitfield replied, still looking quite distraught. “The ring I placed in the box I won from your brother before he left England,” he told Peter decisively, his eyes finally lifting to his. “I had to use it in order to have you do what I asked.”
Peter swallowed hard, relief coursing through him as he felt Miss Grey’s hand tighten in his. His brother was safe. There was no threat. It had all been nothing more than a ruse.
“Might you explain the bet that you made, Lord Whitfield?” Miss Smallwood’s voice was thin but clear, and Peter nodded in approval. “Why did you seek to have Lord Marchmont and Miss Grey courting?”
“Not only courting, but wed,” Lord Blackridge interrupted before Lord Whitfield could speak. “Is that not so?”
Lord Whitfield nodded glumly. “Betrothed.”
“Betrothed,” Peter repeated, as thought that meant something. “Why did I need to become betrothed to Miss Grey? What was the purpose of it?”
“That was the purpose of the bet, do you not see?” Lord Whitfield exclaimed, throwing up his hands in apparent exasperation. “I have tried to explain this clearly to you Lord Marchmont, but it seems I have failed thus far.” He took in a breath and dropped his hands—although whether he was irritated with himself or with Peter, it was not clear.
“I placed a bet,” Lord Whitfield continued after a moment of silence. “I have something of a tendency to do such a thing without due consideration, particularly when I have drunk overly much.” He shook his head again, a soft groan escaping from him. “Therefore, when I came to my senses and realized what I had done, I had to pray that things would progress as I hoped. Unfortunately, when it appeared that you had decided against Miss Grey, I had to take matters into my own hands.” He swallowed hard and glanced up at Peter, appearing rather embarrassed. “I did not mean you harm, Lord Marchmont, but I could not afford to lose so much.”
Peter nodded slowly, his anger slowly beginning to fade as he saw the truth for what it was. Lord Whitfield had not done anything out of malicious intent, for it seemed he had wanted simply to win the bet—although doing what he had done to Peter in order to force his hand had been entirely wrong, of course. Glancing down at Miss Grey, Peter saw her looking back at him with wide eyes, as if she herself were not quite certain what to do with such information.
“I do not appreciate being manipulated in such a fashion, Lord Whitfield,” he said, turning his attention back to the gentleman in front of him. “You made me believe my brother was in danger.”
Lord Whitfield had the decency to look ashamed. “I quite realize that, Lord Marchmont,” he said, sounding almost humble. “I should not have done such a thing, but, as I said, I could not see another way out of such a thing.”
“Wait!” Peter’s eyes widened, suddenly recalling how Lord Whitfield had managed to discourage him from attending White’s on a few occasions. “You prevented me from returning to White’s. I see it quite clearly now. You were afraid that I would see the entry in White’s’ betting book, did you not?”
Lord Blackridge’s eyes widened in astonishment, nodding slowly as he realized the truth. “And did you not fear that a gentleman would speak to Lord Marchmont of your bet?”
Lord Whitfield shrugged. “Those who were present vowed secrecy, otherwise the bet would have failed should you have become aware of it. But yes, I feared that you would spy the entry in White’s’ betting book and call me out for it.”
“Goodness,” Miss Grey murmured, sounding surprised but not upset. “And might I ask, Lord Whitfield, if the gentleman you have bet against is Lord Ancrum?”
“It is,” Lord Whitfield admitted, looking at her whilst Peter gazed down upon her in admiration. “I am sorry for what he has done, Miss Grey. I did not expect him to attempt to ruin your reputation.”
Miss Grey hesitated, throwing a quick look up into Peter’s face before turning back to Lord Whitfield. “I do not think any particular harm has been done,” she said kindly, as though Lord Whitfield was nothing more than a foolish child who had done something silly and now was paying the consequences of it. “Lord Marchmont, as you can see, has not stepped away from me because of it.”
“No, indeed I have not,” Peter murmured, leaning closer to Miss Grey for a moment. “Nor would I.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes aglow.
“And I consider, Lord Whitfield, that whilst you have been incredibly stupid and whilst I shall not thank you for the injury to my head nor the threat to my brot
her and the worry and anxiety it has caused me since, I cannot pretend that I have not found a happiness with Miss Grey that I did not ever expect.” He did not look to Lord Whitfield as he spoke but rather gazed down into Miss Grey’s eyes, seeing her expression gentle as he continued. “For that, I think, there must be a modicum of gratitude within my heart. You have managed to procure some good out of your foolishness, it seems.”
Lord Whitfield shuffled his feet, clearing his throat gruffly and forcing Peter and Miss Grey to look back at him.
“Then, might I be so bold as to ask if the betrothal still stands?” he asked, looking to his feet as his color rose. “I know I have no right to ask it of you after all I have done, but the truth is, the bet…”
“Lord Marchmont is aware of the bet now, is he not?” Miss Smallwood asked, sounding confused. “Therefore, the bet no longer stands.”
Lord Whitfield looked all the more embarrassed. “It need not be known that Lord Marchmont is aware of what was agreed upon between myself and Lord Ancrum,” he said, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “It is, as I said, a great sum of money which the Earl of Ancrum might be able to afford to lose but I certainly cannot.”
Peter considered this for a few moments, looking down at Miss Grey and seeing her smile softly up at him.
“You do not deserve any kindness, Lord Whitfield,” he stated coldly, keeping his tone measured as he looked directly into the gentleman’s face and seeing him shrink before him. “You made me fear for my brother’s life. However, as it stands,” he continued, his tone softening, “it seems that, regardless of the bet and the money you stand to either make or lose, the betrothal between myself and Miss Grey will soon be confirmed.” He looked down at her again, hoping that she would not turn from him now. “That is, if she will agree.”
“I will.”
Her answer was immediate, coming to her lips without hesitation as she looked up at him. Had they been standing alone, then Peter would not have hesitated to lean down and kiss her hand, giving in to every emotion that washed over him.
