by Joyce Alec
Peter accepted it gratefully but not without a good deal of surprise. Did this mean that Miss Grey was able to forgive him for what he had done?
“I will admit to you, Lord Marchmont, that I am more than a little astonished to hear everything that you have endured and the truth behind your reasons for pursuing me once again,” Miss Grey began, once she had seated herself back down. “I am sorrowful that you did not simply tell me the truth from the very beginning, for then we would have been able to begin this courtship with understanding and acceptance instead of confusion and doubt.”
“I am sorry,” he began, only for Miss Grey to hold up one hand, clearly asking him to remain quiet as she spoke. A flush ran up his cheeks but he did as she asked and fell silent.
“That being said, Lord Marchmont, I can understand why you have done such a thing as this,” she continued, her voice now a touch softer. “Your concern for your brother is to be admired, although it is rather frustrating that you cannot locate him at this present moment.” She sighed and dropped her hands to her lap. “Letters to the continent will, as I understand, take a good deal of time to reach their intended recipient, which is why this person, whoever they may be, has chosen to use him as an impetus for you to do as they ask.”
“Then you think I have acted foolishly,” Peter muttered, passing one hand over his eyes and feeling his stomach lurch with fear. “You believe that I should have simply ignored this note and continued on regardless.”
Miss Grey’s expression twisted with uncertainty for a moment. “I cannot say,” she muttered, looking, for the first time, a little unsure of herself. “I can understand why you have done such a thing, for the fear that unknown consequences might be brought to bear on your brother is to be expected. However, could someone truly reach him when he lives so very far away?”
“If he still resides there,” Peter reminded her. “I do not know if he has returned to England or is in the process of doing so.”
Miss Grey sighed heavily and nodded, her frustration matching his own. “Nor can I understand why I am being added to this situation,” she told him. “What possible reason could someone have for wanting you to marry me? I have no particular need to do so and, from what I know of you, you have no reason to hurry towards matrimony.”
He nodded. “That is so.”
Confusion knitted her brow. “It is all very strange. However, in light of what you have told me, I suppose, Lord Marchmont, that I can understand your reasons for doing what you have done, although I would have preferred that you told me the truth from the beginning.”
He spread his hands. “I did not know what your response would be, Miss Grey,” he told her honestly. “You have a firm mind and when you make a decision, I suspect that no amount of pleading or discussion would change your mind. I could not risk that.”
A flicker of guilt caught her expression but was gone in a moment. “Mayhap that is true,” she agreed, as Miss Smallwood’s eyes rounded in surprise at such a confession. “However, as I am fully aware of the circumstances now, we must continue on as we are, whilst attempting to discover the person behind this note.” She lifted her chin and looked at him steadily, as though daring him to disagree—although all Peter felt was a ripple of surprise.
“You will allow our courtship to continue, then?” he asked, awash with both relief and hope. “You will not bring it to an end?”
Miss Grey’s eyebrow arched. “I am not as unfeeling as all that, Lord Marchmont,” she stated, as though she were a trifle offended. “Of course we must continue. It will look to all of society that we are very fond of each other and that our courtship is progressing nicely—but, of course, we shall simply be doing our utmost to discover who has written this note and demanded such things of you.”
“Appearances only,” Miss Smallwood said, making Miss Grey nod her agreement.
“Precisely.”
“So there will be no need to consider matrimony and the like,” Peter murmured, wondering why he felt no relief at that suggestion. “For once we find the truth and call out the person responsible, we shall have no need to continue the pretense.”
Miss Grey smiled and sat back in her chair, now looking a trifle more relaxed. “That is exactly what I mean,” she said with a gentle wave of her hand. “We shall work together—the three of us—to try and find out the truth and save ourselves from what would be a very difficult and trying marriage.” Her smile grew steadily as she watched him and Peter forced himself to smile back, even though he did not feel like doing so.
“We shall have Lord Blackridge to aid us also, I am quite certain,” Miss Smallwood said, making Peter nod his agreement. “So there will be four of us.”
“And surely that is more than enough to find the truth,” Miss Grey said practically. “What say you, Lord Marchmont?”
Peter tried to smile but found that his stomach was tied up in knots and that his hands were sweaty as he clasped them in his lap. “I say that is a capital idea, Miss Grey,” he replied, as genuinely as he could. “Although I would ask one thing—where might we begin?”
Miss Grey frowned. “Begin?”
“What I mean to say is, how might we go about finding the truth about this gentleman?” he asked, seeing Miss Grey’s frown deepen. “Where do we start?”
Miss Grey hesitated, looking thoughtful for some moments before her expression cleared. “We go back to the beginning, Lord Marchmont,” she said calmly, as though she had thought of this all along. “We return to the boarding house and look carefully all about the room. We study the note. We look at the box. You must try and recall if you can remember anything about the night before you awoke there.” Her smile grew triumphant. “Have no fear, Lord Marchmont—we shall discover the truth, long before you are forced to wed me.”
He tried to laugh but the sound stuck in his throat, leaving nothing more than a rasping sound that ran from his chest towards Miss Grey. He did not have the same hope as she, did not have the same trust and expectation that was so apparent in her expression. But yet, at least now she knew the truth and had not turned away from him once she had learned of it. Together, they would be setting out to try and find the person responsible and he had to be glad of that.
“I thank you, Miss Grey,” he stated, getting up from his chair and making to take his leave. “I thank you for your understanding and your willingness to aid me in this. Not every young lady would have done so.”
She smiled at him. “I think you will find, Lord Marchmont, that I am not like every other young lady of the beau monde.”
This time, his laugh came out from him with ease. “No, indeed not, Miss Grey. But I find that I am rather grateful for it.” This, he realized, was the truth, in all of its entirety. Other young ladies would not have been so willing to listen and certainly might not have chosen to come to his aid. There was a relief in his heart that Miss Grey was so very different and so willing to do what she could to bring this difficult set of circumstances to an end.
“You shall be attending Lord Matthews’ ball tomorrow evening, I hope?” he asked as she and Miss Smallwood rose to their feet in order to bid him farewell.
“Yes, I expect to be,” Miss Grey told him as he took her hand and bowed over it. “You shall have to make it apparent to all and sundry that we are courting, Lord Marchmont. It will mean garnering a good deal of attention, which I know you do not particularly enjoy.”
He inclined his head again and let go of her hand. “I shall do whatever I must,” he replied, finding that he was quite drawn to this gentler side of her that he had not seen evidenced before. “I look forward to speaking with you again tomorrow, Miss Grey. Good afternoon. Good afternoon, Miss Smallwood.”
“Good afternoon,” Miss Smallwood replied, seeming to have retreated back into her quiet demeanor once more.
Peter turned on his heel and made his way from the room, feeling a good deal brighter than when he had first seen both young ladies looking back at him with anger and confusion i
n their eyes. The relief that came with knowing that Miss Grey not only knew the truth but was now willing to aid him in this very difficult situation coursed through him as he walked from the house. There was a gentleness and a kindness to her that he had not seen before and the strength of her character had, for the first time, brought him a good deal of gladness. Had she not had such strength, then she might have turned away from him and left him to deal with the consequences that would follow.
“Thank you, Miss Grey,” he murmured to himself, putting his hat back on his head and allowing his gaze to reach up to the windows of the townhouse as though he might see her there. “You have done more for me than you know.” So saying, Peter turned, drew in a long breath, and then continued down the London street, finding that he was suddenly looking forward to seeing Miss Grey again come the morrow.
8
Walking into the ballroom, Ophelia settled her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch, feeling an uncharacteristic sense of nervousness wash over her. It could not be that the guests and, therefore, all of the London ton were soon to know that she was being courted yet again, by Lord Marchmont, surely? She had no need to feel anxious over such a thing as that, for it meant nothing and she was well aware of that. Once they discovered the truth behind whoever was pushing Lord Marchmont towards her, then their courtship could come to an end again and she would be free to pursue whatever—or whoever—she wished.
Swallowing hard, Ophelia tried not to allow her anxiety to show, wondering if her aunt was aware of it at all. Throwing her a sidelong glance, she saw that Lady Sharrow was much too busy looking out across the crowd for some of her own acquaintances to notice anything else. That came as something of a relief.
“Now, you will be courteous and attentive, will you not, Ophelia?” Lady Sharrow asked as they walked together through the crowd in search of some familiar faces. “You will not allow your tongue to speak without at least thinking about what you are to say?”
Ophelia felt herself blush, which was, again, most unlike her. It was as though what she had said to Lord Marchmont when they had walked through the park had brought her a sudden sense of awareness over her own failings. Normally, she would have simply sighed inwardly and promised her aunt that yes, she would be courteous and careful, whilst having no intention of doing anything of the sort. However, on this occasion, Ophelia felt ashamed that her aunt had been required to point such a thing out, as though she expected Ophelia to embarrass herself by speaking with blunt honesty.
“I shall be very careful, Aunt,” she promised as Lady Sharrow gave her a sharp look. “And I am sorry that you have such concern for me.”
Lady Sharrow’s brows lifted in surprise and for some moments, it looked as though she wanted to speak but could find nothing to say. Ophelia said nothing either, waiting for Lady Sharrow to either give her another warning about her behavior or state that she fully expected Ophelia to fail regardless. However, Lady Sharrow said no such thing, resting one hand on Ophelia’s arm.
“You quite surprise me, Ophelia,” she murmured, her expression growing a trifle concerned. “You have never spoken with such understanding and apparent regret before. Is something the matter?”
Ophelia shook her head. “No, there is not.”
“Then I must hope that this is to do entirely with the company of Lord Marchmont,” Lady Sharrow commented with a sudden gleam in her eye. “You did not tell me how your time was with him yesterday afternoon. I know he called upon you.”
“He did,” Ophelia replied, not wanting her aunt to know even a modicum of what had passed between herself and Lord Marchmont. “Miss Smallwood was present also, as you know.”
Lady Sharrow let go of Ophelia’s arm and gave her an encouraging smile.
“He was pleasant enough,” Ophelia admitted, seeing her aunt’s expression brighten. “I have said that we shall continue our courtship for the time being, although I can make you no promises that there shall be anything thereafter, Aunt.”
A broad smile settled on Lady Sharrow’s features. “But that is quite wonderful, Ophelia,” she said, letting go of Ophelia’s arm. “It is more than you have ever allowed a gentleman to do before and I am truly glad that you have seen sense and permitted him to court you again.”
Ophelia closed her eyes briefly, wishing that she could make her aunt understand. “I have not promised that it will continue to matrimony, Aunt,” she said plainly, knowing that, should she and Lord Marchmont find the perpetrator, there would be no need for their charade to continue. “Please ensure that you remember this whenever you speak of our courtship to another.”
Lady Sharrow nodded and waved a hand, which told Ophelia that she was no longer really listening but was, instead, already imagining the wedding that Ophelia might have once she became Lady Marchmont. A stab of pain lanced Ophelia’s heart. She did not want to upset her aunt, especially when she had done so much for her, but Ophelia was not about to marry Lord Marchmont simply to save her aunt some pain.
But what if you grow close to him?
She threw the question aside at once, not allowing herself to even consider it, for she had to simply ensure that she thought of Lord Marchmont as an acquaintance and nothing more. She had always thought him dull and staid, but now that he was entangled in some sort of mystery, Ophelia found him a good deal more interesting. Would their intimacy increase to the point that she would find herself enjoying his company? Would they share so much that it would become difficult for her to pull herself away from him when the time came? Swallowing hard, Ophelia tried to thrust these concerns aside, but found that they seemed to stick to her, entangling her heart as she looked all about her for the very gentleman that was currently on her mind.
With a start, Ophelia recalled how she had brushed aside his hair to look at the injury he had sustained. Miss Smallwood had commented on her behavior once Lord Marchmont had left and Ophelia had laughed and brushed off the comment at once, even though she knew that it had been entirely brazen and certainly not what she ought to have done. And yet, she had needed to know with certainty whether or not Lord Marchmont was telling the truth and that had seemed the easiest way to do it. What she had not expected was to feel such an extraordinary blow to her heart as she had threaded her fingers through his hair. A shock had leapt through her fingers and run up her arms, making her catch her breath. She had never been so close and certainly had not been so intimate with a gentleman in such a way before, but had done her best to cover her reaction completely from both Lord Marchmont and Miss Smallwood. She had done rather well to hide it from even herself, given that she had only thought of it at this very moment.
“Miss Grey, good evening.”
The sound of his voice made her heart lurch in her chest, heat creeping up her spine as she turned to face him. It was, of course, simply because she had been thinking of him in such an intimate fashion that she had felt such a strong reaction, she told herself, curtsying quickly to cover all that she felt.
“Good evening, Lord Marchmont,” she replied, surprised to see the easy smile on his face that she had not often seen before. His whole expression was alight, his dark brown eyes fixed on hers and holding her gaze tightly. Was he truly that pleased to see her?
“Oh, Lord Marchmont, good evening!”
Beside her, Lady Sharrow curtsied quickly, as Lord Marchmont bowed in her direction.
“Good evening, Lady Sharrow.”
Ophelia hid a smile, seeing the twinkle in Lord Marchmont’s eyes as he took in her aunt’s demeanor. Lady Sharrow was practically gushing with delight upon seeing him again, as though she were the one being courted.
“I am very glad to see you again, Lord Marchmont,” Lady Sharrow began, pushing Ophelia forward slightly. “Are you dancing this evening? We have only just arrived and Ophelia’s dance card has not yet been touched!”
Ophelia blushed furiously at this, aware that her aunt was pushing her forward still further, obviously wanting Lord Marchmont to make his interes
t in Ophelia completely apparent.
“I was hoping to secure at least one dance with you, Miss Grey,” Lord Marchmont replied with a soft smile in her direction. “That is, if you will allow me.”
“I would be glad to,” she replied, holding out her dance card and seeing her aunt’s broad smile as Lord Marchmont took it carefully. “You may secure two, if you wish.”
Lord Marchmont glanced at her from under his brows as he looked down at her dance card, a peculiar smile on his face. Was it because he knew that she was doing this simply to play her part? Or was he truly glad that he was able to continue their courtship in such a fashion?
“Two, then,” he replied, writing his initials down. “And one being the supper dance, I think.” Looking back at her, he let her dance card go. “And the first, the waltz.”
She could not explain it, but for some reason, the way he said those words brought a slight fluttering to her heart. Managing to smile at him, Ophelia tried her best to remain almost nonchalant, turning to her aunt with a practiced air of refinement.
“That is most kind of Lord Marchmont, is it not, Aunt?” she said with a slight tip of her head. “I must hope that I find other gentlemen to secure other dances, else I shall be seen to be dancing only with you, Lord Marchmont.” Returning her gaze to him and feeling a good deal more settled within herself now that her heart was no longer misbehaving, she allowed her smile to broaden. “And I should not want that.”
“Indeed not, Miss Grey,” he replied easily. “If you would be willing to accompany me, then I might introduce you again to Lord Blackridge, who is here this evening also.”