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

by Joyce Alec

  Her mother drew in one long breath, her fingers loosening their grip somewhat on Ellen’s shoulder. “I am afraid, my dear, that you are going to have to marry the man.”

  Ellen shook her head. “No, I cannot. Besides, I am not even sure that he intends to go in search of Father as he said. I cannot believe a single word that comes out of that man’s mouth. I am to be shamed, just as he intended.”

  Her mother sniffed haughtily. “You need not worry, my dear. Your father will make very sure that Lord Hartley fulfils his duty as he ought. There will be no stain to your reputation; we will make sure of it.”

  “But I do not want to marry him,” Ellen whispered brokenly. “Mama, I do not care for him. He will cause me nothing but pain and grief, I am sure of it. He has taken me in once already and has betrayed me in the worst possible way. How could I spend my life with a man who tried to capture me simply to win a bet? It is out of the question!”

  Her mother sighed heavily and got to her feet, beginning to pace up and down the room. “Ellen, listen to me. You must dry your tears and refresh your face. When we enter the ballroom again, you are to hold your head high and smile, as though nothing has gone on. I trust that Lady Fitzgerald will do as she has said and ensure that no word of what occurred goes through the ton. I know her by reputation only, you see, and her word is practically law amongst the beau monde. Lord Hartley will announce your engagement in the paper tomorrow evening, and all will be well. In time, I am sure, you will find a way to endure living with him, although it is not what I would have wished for you, my dear. I would have wished for you to have a life of love and affection instead of a life of simple endurance and tolerance.”

  Ellen, seeing that there was no way out of this scenario, had to simply accept what her mother was saying, her heart tearing into small pieces.

  “Do not fear, my love,” her mother continued softly. “We will find a way through. Lord Hartley will have to do all that your father asks or be called out for his behavior. Now, sit here and let me go and speak with him before we come back to fetch you. Do as I ask and dry your tears, my dear. None of the other guests must suspect that you have been crying, or else rumors will start flying about all over the place, and we simply cannot have that now, can we?”

  The kindness and sympathy in her eyes made Ellen want to weep all over again. She knew that this was a terrible situation to have found herself in, berating herself for what she had allowed Lord Hartley to do, angry that she had been the one to give in to her foolish desires and kiss him when she ought not to have done anything of the kind. Her mother could never know, or else she would be even more disappointed in Ellen, more disappointed than she was at the moment.

  “Very well, Mama,” she whispered, as her mother pressed her shoulder gently. “I will do as you ask.”

  “That is the way,” her mother replied with a soft smile. “Now stay here. I will be back presently.”

  Ellen was forced to remain in the room alone, her heart quailing at the realization she was to marry the man who had tricked her in the worst way possible. He was not a gentleman; he was not a reformed rogue; he was just as he always had been. Whilst Ellen knew that her mother was right – her father would not allow Lord Hartley to escape from matrimony, the thought brought her no pleasure. Instead, it added to her upset and shame, wondering how she was ever to find a way forward with such a man as Lord Hartley.

  The door opened behind her and, thinking it was her mother returning, Ellen did not look around. “Did you speak to Papa?” she asked hoarsely. “What did he say?”

  “I did speak to your father.”

  Stumbling out of her chair, Ellen turned around and pointed one shaking finger at Lord Hartley. “Leave this instant,” she said, not wanting to be anywhere near him. “I have nothing to say to you. I do not want your company, Lord Hartley, not after what you have done.”

  The look in his eyes was one of pain, but Ellen ignored it entirely, wishing she could run from the room but knowing she could not.

  “Your father is speaking to your mother at this very moment, and I asked his permission to talk to you privately for a few minutes,” he said in an almost humble manner. “Lady Ellen, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for what has occurred.”

  “What utter rot!” she shouted, her voice ringing across the room, as she stared at him in disbelief. “I know you do not care for me one jot! You were simply using me to try and win a bet with your friend, and now that it has gone awry, you find that you are forced into a position you never expected. You may try and continue to play the reformed gentleman, Lord Hartley, but I tell you now that I do not believe it. I was a fool to believe you the first time. I will not give you my trust again.”

  There was a short silence. Lord Hartley regarded her carefully for a time, before sitting forward, putting his head in his hands and letting out a long, slow breath. Ellen, who was caught between upset and sheer fury, did not know what to say or do, her entire body trembling as she watched him.

  “There is more I wish to say to you, but now is not the time, it seems,” Lord Hartley said presently, lifting his face toward her again. “I can understand entirely why you will not accept anything I have to say, and I do not hold it against you in the least. I doubt you will ever be able to forgive me, and I will carry that burden for as long as I live.”

  He got to his feet, his eyes filled with something like sorrow – and it was that look that gave Ellen pause.

  “Your father has made things very clear,” he said, his hands now held behind his back. “The notice of our engagement will be in the papers tomorrow, and the banns called within a month’s time. There is no rumor or gossip about you as yet, and I will do all I can to ensure that Lord Morton keeps his mouth shut about the matter.” A trace of anger flitted across his expression, as though he were truly upset with his friend. That, at least, Ellen could understand, for it was quite clear that Lord Hartley had never had any intention of wedding her. Had Lord Morton been even a trifle quieter, then this might not have occurred. Of course, she would have felt as betrayed as she did, knowing that Lord Hartley had tricked her into winning a ridiculous bet with his friend, but there would be no hasty engagement, no wedding to think of. She might still be free, albeit ashamed of what she had allowed to occur but free nonetheless.

  “You have trapped yourself as well as me,” she whispered, slumping into a chair, as her anger turned to despondency. “I cannot think of marrying you, not when I know what you have done.”

  “And I am sorry for it, even though I know you will not accept that from me,” he said quietly. “I will be the best husband I can be to you, Lady Ellen, in an attempt to make up for my sins toward you. I know it does not mean all that much after what I have done, but it is the only thing I can offer to you.” He bowed toward her and kept his head low as he rose, either unable or unwilling to look at her. “I shall leave you now,” he said quietly. “Do forgive me, Lady Ellen. I shall call upon you in a few days’ time.”

  He walked from the room and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone once more. Ellen could not speak, and she could barely think about what he had said. There had been a look in his eyes that told her he was truly sorry for what had occurred, but that did not mean he felt anything true for what he had done to her. It was simply a sorrow for himself, for the fact that he would have to marry now, when he had never had any intention of doing such a thing.

  She could not allow herself to be taken in for a second time. She was a fool to even think that he might be genuine in his sorrow over what had occurred. He was a trickster, a rogue, a rake, a scoundrel – and now the man she was to call husband.

  Ellen had never felt more alone in her life.

  12

  George could not quite believe that he was now to marry Lady Ellen. The moment Lord Morton had opened his mouth, George had known that it was all about to go horribly awry. Lord Morton was never one to be silent when he was in his cups.

  Closing the door softly b
ehind him, George paused and leaned back against it for a moment, aware of the heaviness in his heart. This had not turned out as he had intended. He had not ever thought he would find himself engaged and certainly not to the lovely Lady Ellen.

  The pain in her eyes when she had looked at him had almost been too much to bear. He had not been able to look at her, dragging his eyes away and burying his gaze to the floor. What on earth had he done?

  Groaning, George dragged himself away from the room that held Lady Ellen and wandered slowly along the balcony, thinking to hide himself in the shadows for a time. She had cried that he had not truly been the reformed character he had been pretending to be but, the truth was, that George knew he had begun to change. When it had come to walking with her outside, he had not wanted to take her, worried that Lord Morton would follow, and it had only been the sight of a great many other guests that had pushed him into stepping into the cool night air. Once outside, it had been her closeness, her warmth toward him, that had made him forget about what it was he had to say. When she had turned toward him, her softness pressed lightly against his, he had been quite unable to prevent himself from doing the one thing he knew he should not.

  It had all gone wrong from there.

  If only he had not been so weak. If only he had not allowed his desire to overcome his better judgement. But she had been so warm and so soft that he had been entirely unable to turn away.

  Slamming his hand down repeatedly on the balcony rail, George lowered his head and stared at the floor, before sitting down into a slumped heap. Should anyone see him, they would most likely think him somewhat merry, but the truth was, he could not be more miserable if he tried.

  How he felt about Lady Ellen could not be denied. There was more to what he felt than a simple fondness, more than just the first kindling of friendship. He did not want to believe that he had any kind of true affection for her, but the reality was that he would not feel such pain and such guilt over her if he did not. Of course, by now, it was much too late to admit such a thing, for he had now ruined any chance of happiness between himself and the lady. She would never forgive him. Their marriage would be one of toil and suffering. Mayhap they would end up living in separate homes as his own parents had done, clearly disinterested in one another’s lives.

  Sighing, George hung his head. He would give Lady Ellen anything she wished, even if it meant an entire home of her own. After what he had done to her, he could not refuse her that.

  A sudden movement caught his eye, and he watched Lady Ellen’s parents walk together slowly toward the door he had just come from. The countess wiped her eye delicately, and the earl patted her back gently, before coming to a stop outside the room.

  Feeling as though he were intruding on a private moment, George watched as the earl gently lifted his wife’s chin, smiling at her and saying something that made her return his smile. With a delicate hand, he brushed the tears from her eyes, and as George watched, the countess ran one hand down the earl’s cheek, her expression soft.

  It was clear that there was a deep affection between them both, and as they stepped into the room, George felt his heart grow sorrowful all over again.

  It was not as though he had never thought to marry, for he had known that it would be a part of his future. He had to produce the heir at some point, he supposed, but that had simply been a formality as far as he had been concerned. He had once thought to find himself a wife who cared as little for him as he did for her. The heir and spare would be produced, and then he would continue his life in as similar a fashion as he could. A host of nannies and governesses would be employed for his offspring, with Eton beckoning for his heir in particular, and he would settle into his elder years with the knowledge that he had done all that was required of him. But now, in seeing the affection between the Earl and the Countess of Fancot, George found himself longing for something he had never thought to have before.

  Did he really think he would be happy with a life where he would live apart from the lady he had promised himself to for the rest of his days? Especially when that lady, as he now knew, was to be Lady Ellen? The agony coursing through his veins told him that, no, he would no longer be content with such a picture, not when his wife was to be Lady Ellen. He could not simply have a child with her and then turn his back on her. That was no longer the kind of gentleman he wanted to be. He could not be so cruel hearted, so selfish and inconsiderate any longer.

  The change he had pretended to take on was now so much a part of his being that George knew he could not easily return to the life he’d once had. As much as she might not believe him, George knew that Lady Ellen had been the one to bring about such a severe change of heart and mind within him. Had it not been for his desire for her, then the affection he now felt would never have become a part of him, and he would never have begun to leave the man he had been behind.

  Putting his head in his hands, George groaned aloud again, the sound echoing off the walls behind him. He did not know what Lady Ellen would be saying to her parents, but he could tell that her father already despised him. It had been a difficult conversation to have with the man, and George had not held anything back. The only thing he had not told the earl was how Lady Ellen had reacted toward him, how she had been the one to kiss him first. That had been something of a surprise even to him, and as far as George was concerned, the Earl and Countess of Fancot did not need to think badly of their daughter. He wanted their anger, their frustration, their fury, to be entirely directed toward him. In fact, he welcomed it. It was his just punishment for what he had done and for the wonderful woman he was to gain.

  Guilt rattled through him as he got to his feet, looking down at the swirl of guests. He did not want to return there and have to paste a smile on his face and pretend that all was well, but it was necessary for him to do so. There could be nothing but happiness on his features so that, when the announcement was read by the beau monde of his engagement to Lady Ellen, no one could suggest that he had been unhappy about it the evening before at the very ball where he had supposedly proposed to Lady Ellen. Straightening his shoulders, George lifted his chin and made his way purposefully down the stairs, trying his best to ignore how wooden his limbs felt and how dead his heart was within him.

  Unfortunately, instead of putting on a cheery smile and greeting those around him with his usual affectionate manner, George’s gaze landed on Lord Morton.

  His supposed friend was standing idly by the wall of the ballroom, his gaze roving over three particular young ladies just to his left. There was a slight leer on his face, his eyes dark and glittering. George did not need to guess what was on his friend’s mind.

  “Morton!”

  The anger coursing through his veins sent fire to his belly, his limbs heating up, as he stormed toward Lord Morton. The man turned to look at him in surprise, his face paling as George drew near.

  “Now, hold up there for a moment,” Morton stammered, raising one arm as though to ward off blows. “You know I was just jesting.”

  Aware that there were already people turning to look that them, George grasped his friend’s arm.

  “Come with me, Morton,” he said, turning to the ladies and rolling his eyes. “You had best get home or, at the very least, get yourself to the card room. For heaven’s sake, you can barely stand up!”

  Thankfully, the ladies turned around again, their interest waning, as George gave Morton a slight shove in the direction of the card room. Morton, thankfully choosing not to refuse George’s request, walked along to the stairs and began to descend. In a few minutes, they were both walking to the card room when George, his anger still burning furiously, rounded on his friend.

  “What in heaven’s name were you thinking, Morton?”

  His friend, his eyes a little glazed, gave a slight shrug. “What? I do not understand what the matter is!”

  Seeing a slight alcove, George shoved Lord Morton toward it. “You have got me married off to Lady Ellen, that is the problem
!”

  Lord Morton turned toward him, goggling at him. “You have agreed to marry her?”

  “What else could I do?” George hissed, his hands slowly curling into fists, as he realized just how much of an imbecile Lord Morton was. “You had me over a barrel.”

  Lord Morton gaped at him for a moment, his jaw slack.

  “Why on earth were you following me?”

  “To win the bet,” Morton replied with a frown.

  “Then why make our presence known to the other guests?” George asked, his low voice harsh and grating as a vision of him slamming his fist into Lord Morton’s face overtook him. “What possessed you to call out in such a way? The lady’s reputation is now perilously in danger of ruination thanks to you.”

  Slowly, Lord Morton’s face grew pale, as he suddenly seemed to realize just how angry George really was.

  “I did not think anything would come of it,” he mumbled, looking away. “It was just a bit of a laugh. Why would you mind if there was dirt clinging to a lady’s name anyway? It is not as though you have ever cared about your own reputation, nor for anyone else’s before now.”

  Closing his eyes, George let out a long breath and tried to shake some of the tension from his body. What Lord Morton said was quite true, and the thought of it made him sick. Lord Morton had assumed that this was something George would be able to laugh off, that he would not care if the lady in question would be, somehow, tainted by his presence and effect on her – and had he been the man of only a few weeks ago, then that would have been entirely true.

  For the first time, George saw himself in the light of how others must see him. There was filth clinging to his name, filth that he had never cared much for before now. How much Lady Ellen must despise him. How much he despised himself!

  “You are not to breathe a word of this, Morton, do you understand?” George hissed, leaning closer to the man. “If you say a word about Lady Ellen to anyone, then I shall have your head.”