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

by Joyce Alec

  Finally, he was able to move, stepping away from them both. His face was burning with humiliation, anger and embarrassment rushing all through him. He felt as though all the whispers, all the titters and outright laughter were all due to him, following him through the ballroom and back into the card room, where, finally, he felt safe.

  “Well, that did not go as well as you had intended, did it?”

  George turned around to see none other than Lord Morton standing behind him, one eyebrow raised and a foolish grin on his face.

  “I do not want to talk about it, Morton,” George muttered, taking a glass of brandy from a nearby footman. “And do stop that ridiculous grinning.”

  Lord Morton chuckled, seemingly unbothered by George’s frustration. “Come now, old man, you cannot forbid me from being delighted over winning the bet. When can I expect my tab to be paid?”

  George grimaced, throwing back his brandy in one large gulp. “I did not say I was giving up.”

  “Come, now,” Lord Morton exclaimed, his eyes widening slightly. “You lost, Hartley! The lady will not so much as speak to you, never mind dance with you. There is no earthly way for you to win your bet.”

  Sheer stubbornness had George lifting his chin, his jaw set. “All the more of a challenge then, is it not?”

  Lord Morton laughed aloud, his eyes crinkling. “You are serious!”

  “Of course, I am,” George muttered, his embarrassment fading just little. “I intend to win this bet, Morton.”

  “Why bother?” Lord Morton asked, shrugging. “It does not matter particularly to me or to you. Just pay my tab and move on. There are plenty of other pretty young things, who I am sure would be glad of your attention.”

  George considered it for a moment before shaking his head. His embarrassment had been humiliating enough, but to admit defeat now would just add to his mortification. “I am determined to do what I said I would,” he ground out, his anger beginning to burn away his shame. “Lady Ellen will not always be so disdainful of me, I can assure you of that.”

  The smile faded from Lord Morton’s face, and he sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I do not understand you, Hartley. I cannot understand why you will not simply just admit you have lost and move on.”

  “Because I do not lose,” George bit out, his eyes dark. “And I do not intend to start doing so now.”

  Morton shook his head. “As I said before, then on your head be it, Hartley. And here I was looking forward to my debt being paid.” With another shake of his head, he left George alone, leaving him tied with his frustrated thoughts and burning angst. This evening had not gone as he had planned.

  3

  Ellen laughed aloud as Charlotte commented on one of the gentlemen she had been dancing with last evening, shaking her head at how poorly he had danced. She had very much enjoyed last evening’s ball, even with the sudden appearance of one of the worst rakes in London.

  “You did very well,” Ellen chuckled, as Charlotte wriggled her toes in frustration, complaining that they still ached. “If a gentleman stood on my toes, I do not think I would have continued to dance with him!”

  “But I could not have walked off the floor without him,” Charlotte replied, with a heavy sigh. “That would have caused a scandal, I am quite sure of it. There would be rumors abounding as to what he might have said to chase me away, or what I might have done thereafter.” She shook her head, one eyebrow lifting. “And you know how we have to be careful.”

  “I do,” Ellen replied slowly. “That gentleman who came to speak to me last evening, the Earl of Hartley, I meant to ask you about him.”

  Charlotte quirked an eyebrow.

  “I mean, he is very handsome,” Ellen admitted, her cheeks burning as she spoke. “I presume that is why he is so able to have as many ladies fawning over him as he does.”

  Charlotte nodded sagely. “He is rich and handsome and does not give a fig what society thinks of him. He always gets whatever he wishes, even in terms of the ladies he chooses to chase. He steals kisses from them, until he decides to move on.”

  A little scandalized, Ellen brought one hand to her mouth in shock, her eyes widening.

  “Now do not tell me that I have shocked you,” Charlotte laughed, with a quick shake of her head. “I am telling you the truth about him so that you know to stay well away. He is, after all, a rogue. Best to stay clear of him. I think you did very well to turn away from him as you did.”

  “He did not look particularly pleased,” Ellen commented quietly. “In fact, he looked downright angry.”

  Charlotte laughed and looped her hand through Ellen’s arm. “Take no notice of that. Most likely, he is frustrated that he did not manage to persuade you to dance with him. I would think that he is not used to being treated in such a disdainful manner, although I can only hope that he does not see you as some kind of challenge.”

  “Challenge?” Ellen repeated, as they continued slowly along the street. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Looking up at her, Charlotte’s expression grew grim. “I mean, he may wish to try again to be introduced to you, and he may even attempt to have you dance with him. There are ways and means for him to do so, particularly when he knows that you will not allow yourself to be in any way rude in front of the rest of the ton.”

  Ellen felt herself grow tense, her stomach rolling with a sudden fear. “I do hope not.”

  “Do not worry,” Charlotte replied, cheerfully. “I will be beside you and aid you where needs be. Now, come along. Do you need a new ribbon or, mayhap, a new novel?”

  Throwing aside her anxiety, Ellen smiled broadly, as she saw the milliners and the bookshop next to one another. “A new book, I think.”

  “I require a new ribbon,” Charlotte replied, with a chuckle. “Oh look, there is Lady Sarah. Why do you not go on into the bookshop – take my maid with you – and I shall be along in a moment.”

  It was on the tip of Ellen’s tongue to say that she would be quite happy to join Charlotte in the milliners, but her friend was already gone, greeting the elder Lady Sarah with a warm smile. Ellen, who was not particularly well acquainted with the lady, stood for a moment watching them before turning into the bookshop.

  Charlotte did not mean to be rude, and so Ellen did not take any offense. Her friend had always been rather impetuous, and did exactly as she thought, no matter the situation, and so Ellen was well used to her quick changes of mind. Walking into the bookshop, the maid trailing behind her, Ellen drew in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of an old, rustic shop. The shopkeeper smiled at her politely, looking over the top of his glasses to ask if he could aid her with anything.

  “I think I shall just browse for a time,” Ellen murmured, not wanting to break the quiet peace that had settled over the shop. “Do you have any new novels?”

  The shopkeeper directed her toward the back of the shop and up a short flight of rickety-looking stairs, and Ellen, thanking him, made her way there at once. The dusty smell of books, old and new, tickled her nostrils, making her smile broaden. She did enjoy perusing books, sure that she would find a wonderful new story for herself.

  Brushing her fingertips over the covers of a few books, Ellen became lost in her own world, picking up one book and then another, flipping through them to read a few lines here and there. The pile of books she thought she might buy grew steadily, her heart filled with happiness at being so surrounded by stories.

  “Well, well.”

  Startled, Ellen dropped the book in her hands and turned around to see the Earl of Hartley standing behind her, one hand on the rail as he climbed the last few steps into the upstairs section of the bookshop.

  “It seems the heavens wish for us to become acquaintances,” he continued, with an easy smile. “Or are you going to turn and run from me?”

  Ellen frowned, lifting her chin as she did so. “I am perusing books, as you can see. I do not think there is any great requirement for us to interact. I am expecting my friend to join me very
soon.”

  She turned her back on him at once, hating that her heart was still beating frantically within her chest. He had startled her by his sudden appearance, and his continued presence did rather unsettle her. Determined not to give him any attention whatsoever, Ellen continued to ignore him, even though she did not really take in any of the book she tried to read. She was much too aware of him and much too frustrated that he continued to linger when she had made it clear that she did not wish to interact with him.

  “You are rather rude, you know.”

  The harshness of his words caught her off guard, making her whole body tense with a sudden, fierce anger.

  “Turning your nose up at me without even giving me the opportunity to prove myself,” Lord Hartley continued, his voice low and quiet so as not to disturb the peace of the dusty bookshop. “I know you must have heard rumors and the like, but you have not even given me the chance to show that I am not the man the ton has made me out to be.”

  He sounded so wounded and so pained that, for a moment, Ellen felt her heart squeeze in sympathy for him. Then, of course, she recalled what Charlotte had said about him being a rogue, and aware that rogues would do whatever they could to get the attention of their quarry, she simply shook her head to herself and continued to ignore him. She hoped that Charlotte would appear soon for she did not want to give Lord Hartley the satisfaction of chasing her out of the bookshop by his mere presence. Should anyone else come into the shop, Ellen hoped that Lord Hartley would simply melt out of sight, for she would not like the suggestion that there had been anything improper going on between them. Her mouth went dry, as she wondered whether or not that was exactly what Lord Hartley had intended.

  “And even now, you do not do me the honor of conversing with me,” Lord Hartley continued, sounding even more wretched. “Whatever have I done in order to have you treat me in such a manner?”

  Moving nearer to the staircase, so that, should there be any difficulty, she could call for the shopkeeper, Ellen threw a scornful glance toward Lord Hartley. “I am well aware of your reputation, Lord Hartley. I do not intend to be another one of your conquests.”

  He snorted. “What makes you think that I should wish to chase after you?”

  Heat mounted in her cheeks, as she turned to look at him directly, aware of the scorn in his expression. “I do not consider that you would, my lord,” she said calmly. “However, even if you did not, there is nothing in me that wishes to become further acquainted with you. I have my sights set on altogether better gentlemen, and therefore, I do not wish to have any kind of interaction with those who are not worth my time.”

  Her words were scalding and harsh, but Ellen did not back down. She wanted to make her thoughts on the matter more than clear, aware that if she appeared to be any kind of shrinking violet now, that Lord Hartley would take full advantage of her weakness. So, she stood tall, speaking to him directly and firmly, hoping to goodness that he would finally leave her alone.

  Lord Hartley’s face turned puce, his arms folded in front of his chest and his bravado beginning to evaporate before her very eyes. Ellen could not help but think that he was, regardless of his ungentlemanly behavior, a very handsome gentleman, with his dark hair and hazel eyes that were, at the moment, slightly narrowed. She could see how easily a lady might become entangled with him, especially when all of his attentions were trained on her.

  “My, my, you have got your claws out today,” Lord Hartley murmured, coming a little closer to her. “Are you truly this spiteful, Lady Ellen?”

  “Not spiteful, but honest,” she replied, aware of just how close he was coming to her and realizing that he intended to use his presence to intimidate her. “I will not allow myself to be so easily bent to your will, Lord Hartley, even if you have managed to get whatever you wish and whoever you wish in the past. I will not be like them.”

  He chuckled softly, even though anger remained in the depths of his eyes. “So, you will not so much as speak to me, will certainly not dance with me, and refuse to have anything whatsoever to do with me?”

  “As few dealings with you as possible would suit me very well,” Ellen replied stoutly, aware that her breath was catching in her chest as he drew closer to her. She did not want to be affected by his presence, and she was confused as to whether what she felt was fear or something altogether different.

  “I think I will be able to change your mind,” Lord Hartley whispered, looking down at her with eyes that blazed with a sudden, furious fire. “I will have you in my arms before the Season is out.”

  “No, Lord Hartley, you will not,” Ellen replied firmly, refusing to shirk away from his intense gaze, aware of what he was trying to do. “Of that, I can give you my word.”

  He did not reply but continued to hold her gaze steadily. As he did so, Ellen saw him frown slightly, a dusting of color on his cheeks. She did not know what it was that he felt, nor what was going on within his mind, but regardless, she remained exactly as she was. He would not be the victor here. He would not push her into agreeing to his demands, no matter how strong his intention.

  The front door of the shop opened and closed, and within a few seconds, the sound of Charlotte’s voice floated up the stairs toward Ellen, inquiring of the shopkeeper where her friend might be.

  Lord Hartley said nothing, his eyes narrowing a little before he turned and strode away from her, clattering down the stairs and then out of the shop altogether. Letting out a long breath, Ellen leaned back against the bookcase and felt herself sag with relief. Her ordeal was over.

  4

  The tailor cleared his throat and looked at George with a critical eye. “I think that does you very well, my lord.”

  George looked at his reflection, turning this way and that as he took in his new shirt, cravat, and jacket. “Yes, it does look rather fitting,” he murmured, thinking that the tailor had done just as he had asked him to.

  “You look every bit the respectable gentleman,” the tailor continued, repeating back George’s very words to him. “Not that you did not appear so when you first came in, if I might be so bold as to say.”

  George chuckled, carefully shrugging out of the jacket. “Good of you to say so. But yes, I require an entirely new wardrobe, I think, with none of the usual colorful cravats or the like. From now on, I must appear to be entirely sensible in every way. And that starts with what I wear.” George had always been fond of a colorful cravat to set him apart from the crowd – and to catch the eye of any particularly interested young lady who might look his way. Now, however, a week after his encounter with Lady Ellen, he had decided to take a different approach in order to get to know the lady. She was determined to rebuff his every attempt to engage her even in simply conversation, and he was determined to find a way to crack her determined spirit.

  Having paid the tailor and made sure that his order would be with him by the beginning of the following week, George continued his way along the street, looking in various shop fronts and wondering whether or not today he might stumble across the elusive Lady Ellen.

  Of course, it would have been remarkably easy to find her had he chosen to go to one of the many balls and recitals he had been invited to, but that would have been too easy. If he was to have her believe his change in character, then he had to play the part. A week out of society had been almost torturous, but George was convinced that it would be worth it.

  Lord Morton had mocked him mercilessly when he had discovered George’s intentions, telling him that his pride was the only reason he was going to such lengths – and George had been unable to disagree. His pride would not be knocked; his resolve would not be shaken. He would claim his prize of Lady Ellen’s lips pressed against his, even if it were only for a second. In that moment, he would have found his triumph, his victory, his success.

  George paused as he came near to the bookshop, his memory filled with how he had accosted Lady Ellen within the very same shop only last week. Shame filled him, as he recalled how
aggressively he had pursued her, thinking that it might be the thing to have her fall into his arms, but instead, she had presented just as strong a front – and George had been unable to do anything but step away. Now that a week had passed since the encounter, George had been able to look at his behavior and realize just how forceful he had been, and how wrong he had been in doing so. Whilst he had every intention of apologizing to the lady – even though it was done more to soften her toward him – it did not mean that he was not a little ashamed of what he had done. He should not have been so aggressive, so threatening in his demands for her to open herself up to him. Were he honest with himself, he would say that he had lost his temper somewhat, angry with how dismissive she was of him. That was pride, just as Lord Morton had pointed out, but George did not consider it an altogether bad thing. It was, in fact, simply how he was. It was part of his character, and he had no intention of changing.

  Clearing his throat, George opened the door of the bookshop and stepped inside, hoping he might find Lady Ellen within and offer her the flowery apology he had been rehearsing for some days now. The bookshop owner looked up and nodded, lifting one eyebrow inquiringly, but George shook his head.

  “I am just going to look around, thank you,” he murmured, his eyes already roving around the room. “I have a few ideas of what it is I am looking for, but I am sure I will be able to find it without your assistance.”

  The bookshop keeper smiled and returned his attention to the book he had on the desk in front of him, bending to write something carefully within it. George continued on his way, walking up the staircase and then back toward the end of the shop, feeling almost a little claustrophobic as he did so. He had never been particularly interested in books, for they held no meaning for him. The stories were too dull, the heroes much too romantic. The only reason he was here was to find Lady Ellen.

  Sighing to himself, George wandered up and down the shop, glancing disinterestedly at the books. He would give it, maybe half an hour or so, and then he would return home, ready to try tomorrow. If he was to win his bet, then he was going to have to put in as much effort as he could – and that meant coming back to the bookshop again and again until he found her.