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

by Joyce Alec

  Henrietta shook her head. Her parents might think well of Mr. Statton, but she certainly did not. She did not like the dark look that came into his eyes at times, did not like the slightly crooked smile that hid more than it revealed, and certainly did not like how he continually spoke of himself rather than even consider others. He had not once asked her how she fared, nor sought to discover more about her or her character. Instead, he had talked at length about his own life and all that he enjoyed from it, as though she ought to find this utterly fascinating. What made it all the worse was that she had caught Mr. Statton with one of the maids, who had not seemed to be particularly interested in his advances. She had been walking from the library to her bedchamber to seek out a book in order to help her fall asleep, when a muffled cry had caught her ears. Mr. Statton had been standing in the passage, with a maid pressed up against the wall and his hands tight against her wrists. Upon seeing her, Mr. Statton had merely chuckled and shrugged, clearly in his cups as he staggered back. The maid had stared up at her with terrified eyes, clearly afraid that she was about to lose her position, but Henrietta had only made certain that the girl was quite all right before sending her back downstairs. Mr. Statton had said nothing to her but had only laughed harshly before turning away.

  Henrietta had despised him from that moment.

  “Mr. Statton may be my cousin, Mama, but we certainly would not suit,” she said firmly, seeing her mother frown. “You need not concern yourself that something untoward is going to happen this Season. I am quite able to seek out a decent suitor, for I am quite certain that there must be someone amongst the ton who will look at me.” She tried to smile, even though the confidence she spoke of did not truly fill her. “Mr. Statton is, as you said, in employment and does not carry a title.” Trying to soften her expression, she looked at her mother, who was still pacing. “Do you not want me to marry well?”

  Her mother sighed and waved a hand. “Your father and I are greatly concerned that someone will know of what occurred previously and that the news will travel all through town!” she exclaimed, her expression tight. “Your brother and his wife are now expecting a child and we cannot have any sort of scandal.”

  Henrietta sighed inwardly. Her brother, Frederick, was married and his wife already in her confinement. He was the one they were most concerned for, even though Henrietta was the one here in town. They did not want any such scandal to touch him and his family’s name and clearly were still quite afraid that something like that might occur.

  “I am certain nothing will happen, Mama,” Henrietta insisted, trying to be as persuasive as she could.

  “Lord Kingsley might be present in town,” Lady Cuthbert protested, throwing up her hands. “What if he says something?”

  Hesitating and trying to throw aside the concern that wrapped about her for a moment, Henrietta shrugged. “I do not think that he would do so, Mama, for it might link him further to Lady Starling and I am certain he would not want such a thing to happen.” Injecting as much confidence as she could into her voice, Henrietta tried to smile. “You need have no concern, Mama. I am certain this Season shall go very well and I certainly do not think that I need Mr. Statton’s presence here either.”

  Lady Cuthbert stopped walking and looked at Henrietta directly.

  “You will consider him, Henrietta,” she said with a good deal more firmness than before. “He might make you an excellent husband.”

  Henrietta shook her head, hating that she was disagreeing with her mother but knowing that there could be no future for herself and Mr. Statton. “Mama,” she said gently, “I am aware that you seek my best, and for that, I am truly grateful.” She saw her mother’s expression soften. “But I cannot lie to you. I will not consider Mr. Statton, not in any way. He is not the sort of gentleman that I can think well of.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her mother how she had seen him behave with the maid, but she quickly prevented herself from doing so. Lady Cuthbert did not need any further distress. “I will not allow him to court me and certainly will never marry him, even though I am aware that you and Papa wish it.”

  Lady Cuthbert sighed heavily, shaking her head so fervently that her grey hair, so carefully in place, wobbled in a slightly alarming fashion.

  “I must do what I believe is right, Mama,” Henrietta continued, knowing that her parents expected her to obey them without question after what had been a severe lack of judgment. Henrietta, however, was quite determined that she would not fall into such a trap again and was, therefore, certain that she would have an excellent Season—although whether or not that concluded with her finding a suitor, she could not say.

  “Henrietta, you are being very difficult,” her mother said mournfully. “Your father and I wish for you to—”

  She was interrupted by a rap at the door, forcing both Lady Cuthbert and Henrietta to end their conversation. Calling for the butler to enter and sending a meaningful glance in Henrietta’s direction, Lady Cuthbert stepped forward, ready to meet and welcome their guest.

  “Mr. Statton,” she said warmly, as Henrietta sank into a bow. “How very good to see you again.”

  “Thank you for your kind invitation,” Mr. Statton gushed, bowing towards Lady Cuthbert and then towards Henrietta. “It is so very good to see you both again.”

  Henrietta did not smile, although she did drop into a quick curtsy, as was expected. She did not think it at all pleasurable to see her cousin again, taking in his expression and thinking him to be a rather false gentleman. He was tall but thin, with a mop of thick, dark hair that fell untidily over his angular face. Henrietta felt that she never quite knew what Mr. Statton was thinking, for he almost always had an oily smile on his face that hid the truth of what he was considering or feeling. There was a falseness about him that Henrietta did not like and certainly did not trust. The only reason her parents were pushing her towards him was simply because they feared that, somehow, a rumor or whisper about her previous misdemeanors might escape from someone and, thereafter, be spread through London and bring the family name into disrepute. Her role in Lady Starling’s schemes had been small, but certainly would be more than enough to bring a fresh shame to Henrietta. However, after two years away from London and without hearing a single whisper, Henrietta was quite certain that what her parents feared would not come to pass, even if they did not believe it.

  Nothing could induce her to marry Mr. Statton, not even her parents’ fear. No, she would rather face spinsterhood than marry someone such as he.

  “Sit for tea, Mr. Statton,” Lady Cuthbert said hurriedly, sitting down quickly and gesturing for the gentleman to sit in a chair opposite. “Henrietta, do come and join us.”

  Sighing inwardly, Henrietta went to join her mother, her feet unwilling yet obedient nonetheless.

  “You are to start your Season, I hear,” Mr. Statton said as Henrietta sat down. “Let us hope it will be more successful than your last one.”

  Henrietta bristled at once, lifting her chin and arching one brow. “I am quite certain it shall be very successful indeed,” she replied, aware of her mother’s warning look but ignoring it entirely. “Although I thank you for your concern.”

  “You are aware, I am quite certain, that there might well be an agreement between us, Henrietta,” Mr. Statton continued, referring to her in such an intimate manner that Henrietta felt herself grow a little angry. “Your parents have made it quite clear to you now, I presume?” He threw a glance towards Lady Cuthbert, who merely smiled.

  “They have,” Henrietta replied quickly, “but I have no intention of doing as they think best, Mr. Statton.” She saw his brows knot together as she spoke, wondering if he had the impression from her father that she would accept him unequivocally. “I intend to enjoy my Season as best I can, Mr. Statton, and do not have any particular concerns that I shall struggle to do so.”

  “Oh, Henrietta,” Lady Cuthbert said sorrowfully. “I cannot understand you.”

  “Nor I,” Mr. Statto
n replied, sounding a little angry. “Your father has arranged for you to have a Season, yes, but I understood it was to be with the intention to allow me to court you, Henrietta. We were to enjoy a few soirees and the like, but the suggestion has always been that—”

  “I have not been involved in any such discussion,” Henrietta said softly, seeing how Mr. Statton’s brows furrowed all the more. “That may have been my father’s intentions, but it was never discussed with me. Had it been so, then you can be certain, Mr. Statton, that I would not have hesitated to make my feelings on the matter quite clear.” She saw him bristle but merely tilted her head, not afraid of his anger. “I do not think we would suit and, whilst I am flattered at your consideration of me, I must decline it.”

  “Henrietta,” her mother groaned softly, but Henrietta remained unmoved. Getting to her feet, she did not wait for the tea tray to be brought nor did she sit back down as her mother requested. She had to make her feelings and her intentions about Mr. Statton quite clear and this was precisely how she had to do it.

  “You will excuse me now,” she told him, seeing how his expression had turned rather ugly. “I am sorry for the trouble such a misunderstanding might have caused you, Mr. Statton, but I can assure you that it was not intentional.” Bobbing a quick curtsy and keeping her head high, she turned away from Mr. Statton and her mother and walked towards the door, pulling it open and stepping through it almost at once. Her heart was hammering furiously as she did so, making Henrietta wonder if she was a little afraid of Mr. Statton’s dark looks, or whether it stemmed from the realization that she was about to be berated rather heavily by her mother soon after.

  Closing the door behind her, Henrietta told herself it did not matter. She was not about to be cajoled into a marriage with her cousin, not when she thought so little of him. Her parents were too afraid, too scared, that something terrible would occur now that she had returned to London. All she had to do was prove to them that they were mistaken and surely, their intentions for her and Mr. Statton would begin to fade.

  “I will prove it to them,” she told herself aloud, her voice echoing off the walls of the passage as she made her way to her bedchamber. “They will see that there is nothing to concern themselves about.” Her heart began to slow as a gentle smile tugged at her lips. There was nothing to be overly concerned about. No one would remember her and, even if they did, her part with Lord Kingsley and Lady Starling was entirely hidden. She had no doubt of that and she was not about to let the shame of her past dictate what she now did in the present. Her parents might expect her to wear it as a cloak about her shoulders, making her small and weak and entirely obedient to their every wish, but Henrietta had determined not to become such a creature.

  Sighing to herself at the thought of the letter her mother would write to Lord Cuthbert, and having no doubt as to the reply she herself would soon get from her father thereafter, Henrietta pushed open the door to her bedchamber and stepped inside. Closing the door tightly, she turned the key so that it was tightly locked and then fell back to flop onto her bed, not caring about her skirts and the wrinkles and creases that would come from her behaving so. Her heart was heavy, her mind heavier still, and this silence, this aloneness, brought her a little peace.

  “They will see,” she whispered aloud, her eyes closing for a moment as she took in long breaths of air. “And they will be reassured. Mr. Statton will become nothing more than a momentary thought, a past consideration that no longer holds any weight. You are quite safe from him. Quite safe.”

  2

  James, the Earl of Carrick, sighed inwardly as his younger brother, Oliver, stepped into the study with a rather guilty look on his face.

  “You are come for a reason, I must surmise,” James said heavily as his brother bowed low. “And not a good one, I think.” He studied his brother with a sharp eye.

  “I am sorry, brother,” Oliver began, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he shoved one hand through his fair hair, which was only a little lighter than James’. “It was a mistake, only.”

  James sighed again, but loudly this time, making his brother look up at him with the guilty look remaining in his eye.

  “I went to play cards down by the docks,” Oliver continued, throwing himself into a chair opposite James’ desk and rifling one hand through his hair again. “I had enjoyed a little too much liquor, I grant you, but I had enough sense to know that such a thing held a little more danger than playing in White’s.”

  “A little more danger?” James repeated, throwing one hand up into the air in exasperation. “You know that the docks are filled with rogues and thieves and the like. They do not care for the nobility down there! You ought not to have—”

  “Spare me the lecture, brother,” Oliver muttered darkly. “I have had enough on my conscience of late and know very well that I made a somewhat foolish decision. It is not of any benefit to me for you to state what I already know.”

  With an effort, James stayed his tongue, knowing that he wanted to say a good deal more but choosing not to do so. His brother was quite right to say that he already knew the dangers of playing at the docks and that he did not need James to state it again, but still the urge to rail at his brother remained.

  “And now, it seems, I have to return to the docks,” Oliver continued, after taking a long breath. “I have debts and it seems the seafarers do not take vowels.”

  James snorted at the ridiculousness of this statement. “Of course they do not!” he exclaimed, seeing how his younger brother seemed to sink lower into his chair. “Might I ask just how much you owe?”

  The sum that his brother named made James flinch visibly, causing his brother to squirm in a most uncomfortable manner.

  “I am sorry,” Oliver finished plaintively. “And I know it is wrong for me to come to you to beg yet more coin when I have already run through my allowance for this quarter, but I cannot think of what else to do.”

  James grimaced. His younger brother was precisely that—younger. His late mother had given birth to two children before bearing Oliver, but sadly, both had died in infancy. Therefore, there were a good few years between him and Oliver and James still felt a great deal of responsibility for him. He had his own small house and grounds and was expected to have some sort of income of his own using his grounds for cattle, sheep, or grain—whatever was the most profitable—but as yet, Oliver showed no sign of having any such interest in it. And James continued to give him more money from his coffers, feeling almost guilty that Oliver had been left without a father to guide him.

  Mayhap he had been too soft-hearted, however. Oliver continued to behave in such a way whether he was in Bath or in London, and this time, just as before, he was showing no inclination to do anything other than squander his time and his money. It was only a few weeks into the Season and already, Oliver had lost so much money that he was now forced to come and beg James for more. Grimacing, James shook his head. Now was the time to be a little more forceful, to be a trifle more determined. His brother would never change his ways unless James made it clear that he was not about to aid him any longer.

  “This shall be the last time I will help you,” he said slowly, seeing how Oliver’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I shall not come to your aid again, Oliver. You have a good steward and excellent grounds. There is no reason for your lands not to become profitable. Therefore, I shall not be aiding you again.” He rose to his feet, leaning on his table so as to fix his gaze more intently upon his brother. “I will expect you to return home now and tend to your duties there. That is, of course, unless you intend to find a young lady and marry her?”

  This was met by a sudden, swift shake of the head, which James could not help but chuckle at. No, his brother was not at all inclined to wed, which James could not criticize, given that this was his sixth Season and, as yet, he had not found any young lady to interest him.

  “Then, you will return home?” he inquired, seeing Oliver’s brows hang low
over his eyes. “You will not remain in London?”

  “I do not see that I have any other choice but to do as you ask,” Oliver replied gruffly. “Although I should not like to give the impression that I am ungrateful, brother. I am truly glad that I am able to come to you with such difficulties.”

  “You shall not be able to come to me any longer,” James replied starkly, making certain that his brother understood that things were about to change. “This is the last, brother. I mean it.”

  Oliver nodded, rose, and stuck out his hand. “Thank you.”

  Sighing inwardly and wondering if Oliver would truly do as he had been asked or if, in time, he would fall back into such habits as he had already displayed, James shook his brother’s hand firmly. It would take a good deal of strength for him to refuse to help Oliver again, for if his brother came to him in dismay and regret, as he had done so often, there was a good deal of compassion within James’ heart that almost always rose to the surface. James supposed it came from his feelings of responsibility toward Oliver. Since their father had died when Oliver was still at Eton, James had felt determined to be the one to care for his brother in the place of their lately deceased father. It had been a struggle to teach Oliver what a father ought to have taught his son, and in many ways, James felt as though he had failed.

  “You will come to the docks this evening, then?”

  Tugged from his thoughts by Oliver’s quiet voice, James looked up to see his brother standing at the door, looking uncertain.

  “What I mean to ask is whether or not you would be able to attend with me this evening,” Oliver said, appearing rather self-conscious. “I will not pretend that I am entirely confident about returning there alone, brother, for I cannot be certain how I will be treated should I return alone.”

  “No, that is wise,” James replied honestly. “I will, of course, attend with you and shall have the money spread between three of us—for I will take one of my men also. One of the tigers might do very nicely.”