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

by Joyce Alec

  Her expression gentled for a moment. “Mary,” she said simply. “You can call me that now, Johnston.”

  The overwhelming happiness that crashed over him was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, stealing his breath and forcing him to steady himself as he stood there in the ballroom.

  “Mary,” he agreed softly, seeing the warm glow in her eyes. “Well, Mary, my dear, I cannot simply linger here and ignore what Lady Moore is doing. It is quite ridiculous, and if she had something to do with the dead man, then the only way we are to discover the truth about it is to ask her outright. You should remain here, however.”

  Lady Ashton closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers tightening on his arm. “I am afraid for you, Lord Johnston,” she admitted, a little tremulously. “Perhaps I too have not suggested we speak to Lady Moore again simply because I am afraid of what she will do.”

  Stephen shook his head. “We must not allow fear to stand in our way,” he said slowly. “I have been neglectful of my duties, of my promise to bring this matter to a satisfactory conclusion, and so I must go to Lady Moore now and ask her directly why she appears to be so displeased with our happiness. Mayhap the surprise of my boldness will stun her into speaking to me with a little more bluntness than she intends.”

  He let go of Lady Ashton’s hand almost at once and made his way across the ballroom floor towards Lady Moore. There was more resolve in his heart, more fire in his belly than there had been in some days, to the point that he felt like dragging Lady Moore away in front of all the other guests and demanding to know what it was she had done.

  “Lady Moore?”

  He saw her turn her eyes towards him slowly, as though considering him with the greatest care. Stephen did not care that he had interrupted her conversation, nor that he appeared rude and abrupt, given some of the looks he was receiving from those who surrounded her.

  “Might I walk with you for a moment?” he asked loudly. “After all, you were seeking my attentions towards you, were you not?”

  Lady Moore’s face colored at once, her eyes narrowing all the more, and Stephen had the distinct impression that, in speaking to her so, he had chosen to walk on sinking sand.

  He continued onwards regardless.

  “Come, Lady Moore,” he demanded, offering her his arm and waiting with an expectant air.

  Lady Moore regarded him coolly, but seeing that there was no easy way for her to refuse him, was forced to step forward and place her hand on his arm, walking with him across the ballroom.

  “What is it you wish to know, Lord Johnston?” she asked in a cold voice. “I have nothing to say to you. Not after you so rudely rejected me.”

  He frowned. “I beg your pardon, Lady Moore?”

  “You cannot deny that you did so,” Lady Moore sneered, her head turned away from him as though she could not bear to even look at him. “I asked you to return to me; I asked you to try once more to capture my attentions. I had every intention of allowing you into my favor —only to hear that you are now betrothed to Lady Ashton! And that you became engaged to her on the very same night that I spoke to you! You can hardly expect me to be glad over your betrothal after that.”

  Stephen could not work out what to say, such was the astonishment that ran all through him. Lady Moore was, as he now saw, more arrogant than any other lady of his acquaintance. She was apparently grievously wounded because he had chosen Lady Ashton over whatever favors she herself intended to bestow upon him.

  “You are a cruel man, and you deserve every punishment that will come to you,” Lady Moore finished, with a toss of her head. “I have never thought much of you, Lord Johnston, nor of Lady Ashton. I was willing to give you another opportunity to prove yourself to me after what was the most tiresome outburst from you. I might add, you only humiliated yourself rather than me. However, I see now that I was much too gracious towards you.”

  Stephen remained entirely stunned. Lady Moore was behaving as though she were some sort of goddess, expecting to be worshipped by all who laid eyes on her. Her expectations not being met had led to her casting out both himself and Lady Ashton from her favors – although how far she had gone, he still did not know.

  “Is that why you tried to have me in the hangman’s noose?” he asked bluntly, turning towards her and stopping dead in his tracks. They were near the back of the ballroom now and able to speak without being overheard, given the crush of guests.

  Lady Moore let out a harsh laugh. “Whatever are you talking about, Lord Johnston?”

  “You do not take my rejection of you with any grace,” he said slowly, beginning to put things together in his mind. “You say that my outburst, when I first called upon you, was meant to humiliate you – and mayhap you are correct, but it came from a place of deep distress. That night of the ball, when I made to apologize to you, you ignored me completely and instead suggested that I call upon you again, in another attempt to procure your favors. Was that a test, to see if I would agree or not? If I did not, you summoned the footman to hand me the champagne, knowing I would be forced to return home and into my bed. You set the entire situation in motion, did you not, Lady Moore? And all as a punishment for what you considered to be grievous injury against yourself.”

  For some minutes, Lady Moore said nothing. Her eyes searched his, her face draining of color. There was no anger, no frustration, no fury in her expression. Instead, her face showed signs of fear.

  “Remove yourself from my presence,” Lady Moore whispered eventually, slicing the air between them with her arm. “Take your foolish accusations from me and do not come to me with them again—else I shall be forced to have one of my many dear friends call you out, in order to defend my honor.”

  Stephen tipped his head just a little, as though he had found what she had said to be profound. “And which gentleman, in particular, might that be?” he asked softly. “The gentleman who arranged the death of another? Who killed Thomas Copper on your behalf?”

  Her hand flew out and caught him hard, across the cheek. Staggering back and hearing only a few gasps from behind him, Stephen managed to regain his balance. Rubbing his face hard with his hand as though it would remove some of the sting from his cheek, he looked all about for Lady Moore, only to see that she was gone.

  11

  Mary was tired.

  Waking earlier than she had intended, she had lingered over her morning coffee and had allowed herself to indulge in the morning papers. There was not, to her relief, anything about Lady Moore slapping Lord Johnston at last evening’s ball, although that was not to say that it would not come later in the week.

  That done, and recalling that Lord Johnston was to call upon her that afternoon, Mary had spent the rest of the morning bathing, drying her long hair, and having it set by the maid before dressing and preparing herself for his visit.

  Now, she sat in the drawing room, waiting expectantly for him and finding her heart quickening at the thought of his company. The way he had appeared suddenly so determined last evening, suddenly strong and forceful, had captured her heart—although she had been afraid for him too. However, given the little he had been able to say to her about what had occurred, it seemed that his conversation with Lady Moore had gone rather well, even if it had ended up with him being left with a rather red face.

  Not that this was the end of the matter, however, for Mary knew that Lady Moore had not admitted to anything in particular and, even if she had, there was still the question of who had aided her in her plan. For whatever reason, it did not seem in any way ridiculous to Mary that Lady Moore would go to such lengths to “punish” Lord Johnston for his lack of attentions and his outburst in front of both Lady Moore and those with her. Given the callousness and coldness of the lady, Mary felt as though this was almost in character. Yes, indeed, Lady Moore had changed significantly since she had first known her as a debutante.

  “Lord Johnston, my lady.”

  Mary pulled herself out of her thoughts almost at once and
got to her feet to greet her husband-to-be, only to see him stagger in, one hand pressed to his side.

  The butler, who had not noticed Lord Johnston’s stagger until this very moment, rushed to help him, just as Mary did the same. Lord Johnston lifted his hand and stared at the red blood that marked his hand, as though utterly astonished that it was there.

  “Lord Johnston!” Mary exclaimed, as the butler helped the man to sit down. “What has happened?” Looking up at the butler, who seemed to be in shock at such a thing occurring in her house, she reeled off a few instructions, which included sending for the doctor.

  “Mary,” Lord Johnston murmured, closing his eyes as a hiss of pain escaped his lips. “Mary, you must not…I must return home.”

  “No, you cannot,” Mary replied firmly, filled with an awareness that she must not lose her head given the severity of the situation. “You have been stabbed, Lord Johnston. Here now, might I unbutton your waistcoat?”

  It was with trembling hands that she managed to peel back the layers of clothing until the stiff white shirt underneath was revealed. It was already scarlet with blood, making her heart leap into her throat with fear. She had very little idea of what to do and was relieved when the maid came in with the bowl of hot water and white cloths that would very soon turn red.

  “I think we need to press down on the wound,” the maid said gently, seeing Mary’s shocked expression. “I have seen this sort of thing before, my lady. Here, let me.”

  Mary allowed herself to be moved from the sofa and watched with fearful eyes as the maid lifted Lord Johnston’s shirt and pressed down gently onto the wound with a damp cloth.

  Lord Johnston let out a groan, opening his eyes and fixing them on Mary.

  “I will be all right,” he said through gritted teeth. “Did you send for the doctor?”

  “I did,” Mary whispered, feeling her legs tremble. She sat down on the floor beside the sofa, her skirts pooling around her as she did so. Taking his hand in hers, she held onto him tightly, as though to let go of his hand would mean letting his life slip through her fingers.

  “How did this happen?” she asked, just as the butler threw open the door to admit a gentleman she did not recognize.

  “A doctor, my lady,” the butler said, as the man came over to Lord Johnston, a worried expression on his face. His green eyes caught hers for a moment and, for whatever reason, Mary found herself almost immediately reassured.

  “Might I have a look?” the doctor said, as Lord Johnston squeezed his eyes closed again with the pain of it. “That is the ticket, my lord. Keep your eyes closed and focus on your breathing. That ought to help with the pain.” He muttered something under his breath and then nodded to himself. “Looks like I am going to have to stitch this, although it is not a very deep wound. You were rather lucky, if I may say so, my lord.”

  Relief washed all through her, making her weak. Closing her eyes, Mary leaned her head down onto Lord Johnston’s shoulder, tears escaping from her eyes.

  “No need to cry, my lady. Your fiancé will be as right as rain in a few days. I will sew this up and bandage it. The dressing will need to be changed every day or so, just to keep the wound clean and to ensure its healing. Do you think you – or one of your maids could do that?”

  Lord Johnston let out another groan of pain as the doctor began to sew the wound up. Mary lifted her head and nodded, seeing the doctor frown with concentration, his brown curls falling over his forehead. He was, she thought, the youngest doctor she had ever seen, but it was clear he knew what he was doing, and for that, she was grateful.

  “I am sure we can manage that,” she whispered, squeezing Lord Johnston’s hand. “Lord Johnston, what happened? Who stabbed you?”

  Lord Johnston’s face was still white with pain, his eyes tightly shut as his jaw worked. “I cannot say, Mary. The first I realized was when I came into your house to call upon you. I felt a small niggle of pain, and just when I climbed the stairs, a sudden burst of agony overwhelmed me.”

  “Did you walk to Lady Ashton’s house, might I ask?” the doctor inquired, making Mary look at him in surprise. “I only ask because there have been a few of these stabbings recently. The pickpockets are getting worse.”

  There was a short silence. “Yes,” Lord Johnston murmured eventually. “Yes, I did. It was such a fine day that I did not want to take the carriage.”

  The doctor tutted and muttered something under his breath, before snapping off the thread.

  “You will need to be more careful in future, Lord Johnston,” he said firmly, putting everything back in his bag. “You never know who or what is lying in wait for you on these streets. Now,” he continued, “Lady Ashton, do you have brandy or whiskey? I will have to douse the wound with it before I bandage it up.”

  Mary did not understand why this was, but directed the doctor to the decanter in the corner. Quickly the doctor poured himself a glass and, to her surprise, took a small swig. He waited for a moment or two before appearing satisfied with it, taking the rest of the glass over to Lord Johnston.

  “This will sting,” he warned, before pouring the whiskey onto the newly stitched wound.

  Lord Johnston let out a yelp of pain, writhing in agony as Mary continued to grasp his hand.

  “Very good, very good,” the doctor exclaimed, evidently satisfied. “Now let me dress this, and then I shall write you instructions as to what you are to do, Lady Ashton, as well as my bill.”

  “Of course,” Mary said at once, not so much as looking at the doctor as Lord Johnston lay back on the sofa, his eyes still closed and his face still rather pale. Tentatively, she brushed back his hair from his forehead, both relieved and anxious that the worst was over. She did not know what else to do for him, wanting to find a way to take some of the pain away.

  “I can prescribe laudanum,” the doctor suggested, as he finished dressing the wound. “Shall I leave some for you, Lord Johnston?”

  Lord Johnston shook his head. “No,” he stated firmly, opening his eyes just as the doctor turned his back to write some notes. “Thank you. I have had enough of that vile concoction to last a lifetime.”

  The doctor chuckled. “Yes, I am sure you have. Now, Lady Ashton, I shall leave the instructions here.” He set down a small piece of folded paper on the table, his kind green eyes settling on her again. “And I shall take my leave. Make sure to keep up his strength now, will you not? I am quite sure Lord Johnston shall make something of a terrible patient, so I wish you the very best of luck.”

  Mary managed the smallest of smiles as Lord Johnston attempted to sit up, only to drop back onto the sofa. “Thank you, doctor. You have been most helpful.”

  The doctor nodded, smiled, and then quit the room, reminding her to read his instructions carefully just before the door was closed behind him. Mary let out a long, heavy breath, closing her eyes to steady herself as silence settled across the room. This was what she had feared the most. This was the consequence for speaking to Lady Moore so openly, she was sure of it.

  “Can we not just marry and leave town?” she begged, as Lord Johnston opened his eyes to look at her. “I am done in with all of this, Lord Johnston. I want nothing more than to begin life with you, at your estate, where no fear nor danger may haunt our steps.”

  Lord Johnston smiled tightly, his eyes anxious. “I would be more than glad to agree, my dear, but I discovered something this morning that has made it entirely impossible for me to do so.”

  She searched his face, her heart quickening into a panicked rhythm.

  “Do you recall how I told you that the night I met Lord Shafer was the night I was heavily drugged with laudanum?” he asked quietly. “When I recovered, I came to your house to speak to you, but that was some days after.”

  Nodding, Mary pressed his hand. “Yes, I recall you speaking to me of it.”

  Lord Johnston’s expression tightened. “I have discovered that someone has been within my house and has stolen some items of great importance f
rom me. I can only imagine that they would have done so when I was lying abed, with all my staff focused on caring for me. It allowed the person responsible time to search my property and find the keys for the house.”

  Mary did not immediately understand. “Keys?”

  He nodded. “The housekeeper and the butler share one set of keys to my townhouse. The other, I keep in a locked drawer in my study, but it is not a drawer I often unlock in order to access.” A small, rueful smile caught his lips. “Why should I need to, when I have such reliable staff?”

  “And they are gone?” Mary asked slowly, her mind beginning to place everything together.

  “Yes, they are gone,” Lord Johnston stated sadly. “That explains how the person responsible for all of this was able to gain access to my house and to place a man into my study. In addition, when I realized that my keys were missing, the butler, footmen, and I undertook a thorough search of the house. A few smaller items of mine have disappeared completely – a handkerchief, one of my pocket watches, and—to my eternal shame, for I ought to have noticed it gone before now—my seal.”

  Mary gasped. “Your seal?”

  He closed his eyes, his lips thinning. “Indeed. I ought to have noticed long before now, but I have not been required to write any letters for some time and, if I was to do so, I would use my writing desk as opposed to my study desk, which is the desk missing the seal that was kept there.” It was all becoming clear to her now, as Lord Johnston continued to explain what he had discovered. “The footmen and butler turned up a few smaller items that are not my own and certainly are not any of theirs. I would guess that they belong to Thomas Copper, God rest his soul. Had you not stayed by my side that night, Mary, then the Bow Street Runners would have searched my house and found his things within.”

  Closing her eyes tightly, Mary fought the urge to cry, suddenly aware of just how close Lord Johnston had been to tragedy. “And they took the seal to perhaps forge a letter or two to Thomas Copper in your name.”