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

by Joyce Alec

  A cloud began to move over the sun and Arthur let out a breath of exasperation, rolling his eyes and muttering in frustration. Squinting, he looked up at the sky and saw that a large, grey cloud was now firmly fixed in place, seemingly quite determined to remain in its position covering the sun.

  Still muttering to himself, Arthur chose to sit down on an unoccupied bench a short distance away from those promenading about. Being close to the edge of the park meant that he would not be in any danger of being disturbed, for most people who came to Hyde Park came simply to be seen, not to walk to the edge of the park and sit down, unnoticed. Not that Arthur found this to be particularly burdensome, for he did not really want to be noticed at this point—although he could not forget that now that his sister was married and settled, he, too, could consider matrimony with a good deal more seriousness than before.

  The cloud, sitting so heavily over the sun, now seemed to sit over his heart, bringing him a good deal of unexpected frustration. He had not thought that he would have any sort of difficulty when it came to matrimony and, even now, he was certain that he would easily be able to find a young lady who would be most suitable for him in every way—except for the fact that she might not care for him in any way at all. Nor might he care for her. That was the way of things, after all. Those who wed did so simply because it was a good match and therefore, all manner of considerations regarding love and affection were easily thrown aside. Arthur had always considered himself a practical sort, which meant that such a marriage was all he would require.

  Except, ever since he had seen his sister and Lord Glenister, so happy in their marriage to one another, he had thought that love might be something worth pursuing, even though that was certain to make things a good deal more difficult for him. Now, it was no longer about finding a suitable young lady; it was about finding a suitable young lady whose heart might be open towards caring for him somewhat. Arthur thought that he would be more than content with a young lady who thought well of him, who was fond of him, if nothing more, for not everyone was blessed with the gift of having a spouse who loved them desperately. Therefore, as much as he wanted to be practical, Arthur had decided that he would give himself the chance to discover a bride who would care for him in some fashion or another—although how he was to go about finding one, he had yet to decide.

  “Lord Wickton?”

  Startled, Arthur turned his head to see a young lady walking towards him. She wore a gown of dove grey, which did not particularly suit her coloring. Her dark curls were held back neatly under her bonnet, with only a few small tendrils resting over her temples, but it was her emerald eyes that caught him with a sudden, sharp intensity.

  “Miss Smythe,” he said at once, getting up from his seat and bowing towards her as she came near. “How very good to see you again.”

  Miss Smythe had never been considered a beauty, Arthur knew, given that she had something of a square jaw, a small, snub nose and very large, green eyes—but when she smiled at him, her entire face lit up with a light that seemed to glow from within her. He could not help but smile back, finding that he was a little overcome with the sight of her again, after what had been a year’s absence.

  “It is good to see you, too, Lord Wickton,” Miss Smythe said, her voice warm and expression friendly. “Do you mind terribly if I sit for a few minutes? My maid is with me, but I am waiting for the return of my companion.”

  Thinking that this companion would be some young lady or other, Arthur nodded at once and gestured to the bench, aware of the maid that hovered nearby. Apparently, Miss Smythe was not yet wed, which he found to be a rather delightful piece of information.

  “It is early enough in the Season for Hyde Park not to be particularly busy,” she said, sitting down carefully and arranging her skirts about her. “I am glad of that, I confess it.” She looked up at him, a small smile playing about her mouth. “As someone used to hiding away in the shadows, it can be very difficult indeed to promenade oneself about, as so many others are doing.”

  Arthur chuckled, thinking to himself that he had missed Miss Smythe’s conversation, which was always so insightful. “Indeed it is,” he agreed, looking about him for a moment or two. “That is why you found me seated here, away from the rest of the ton. I confess I did not much like the idea of parading myself before everyone… not at the moment, at least!”

  Miss Smythe laughed, her eyes gleaming. “I understand what you mean,” she replied, settling her hands in her lap. “It can take some time back in London before one is used to being back amongst the beau monde.” Her expression suddenly grew dark, her smile slipping from her mouth. “They are always watching, are they not? There is always such a danger of one’s reputation being quite ruined by a wrong word or even by the smallest of mistakes. It is dangerous, I think.”

  Surprised by this sudden change in tone, it took Arthur a couple of moments to gather his thoughts. Miss Smythe was not looking at him, her gaze now fixed on the scene behind him. She had a very different experience of the beau monde than he, Arthur realized. Being somewhat quiet and certainly a little shy, Miss Smythe often found it difficult to be noticed by the gentlemen who swanned about, taking the hand of any young lady they wished. He, on the other hand, had always found society to be more than obliging towards him, offering him almost everything he could wish for without any need for him to so much as speak of it. A stab of guilt burrowed its way into his heart. He should have done more to aid Miss Smythe at the end of last Season, as he had promised Charlotte. Instead, he had simply thought of himself, about how tired and distracted he was, and so had chosen to remain at his estate.

  “Miss Smythe,” he began, clearing his throat gruffly in an attempt to find a way to apologize for what he had chosen not to do. “I think that I—”

  “You must forgive my melancholy so soon after our meeting,” Miss Smythe said, interrupting him as her eyes flashed back to his. Her expression now grew regretful, although Arthur was surprised to see a touch of color bloom in her cheeks. What surprised him all the more was that his own heart quickened, quite suddenly and unexpectedly. There was no reason for it to do so, for as much as he was fond of Miss Smythe, given that she had been Charlotte’s close friend for some time, he had never found himself drawn to her in any way.

  Could things change in that regard? Arthur frowned to himself and shook his head, a little irritated at how ridiculous he was being.

  “You think me foolish, I am sure of it,” he heard Miss Smythe say, and opened his mouth to reassure her, only to see her getting to her feet. A smile began to spread over her face, chasing away her embarrassment—although the color remained in her face, he noticed. Dragging his eyes away from her, Arthur turned around to see none other than Lord Davenport approaching them both, although the gentleman’s eyes were firmly fixed on Miss Smythe.

  The reason for her blush became clear at once, slamming into Arthur’s chest with force.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Wickton!” Lord Davenport exclaimed, a broad smile on his handsome face as he bowed in Arthur’s direction. “And may I say just how glad I am to see you again? It has been a year since we last met, has it not?”

  Arthur nodded, wondering why he found it so difficult to form an answer. “Indeed,” he said, agreeing quickly. “You appear to be in excellent health, Lord Davenport.”

  The man was tall and slender, with a shock of dark hair and deep grey eyes that were both unusual and rather striking. Little wonder that Miss Smythe seemed so caught up with the gentleman, particularly if he were paying her court.

  “And how is your sister, Lord Wickton?” Lord Davenport asked as Miss Smythe walked back to his side. “I must say, I am sorry for all the trouble that was caused last Season. Had I known the truth about the Earl of Brentwood, I can assure you that I would not have kept his company.”

  “You need not explain, Lord Davenport,” Miss Smythe said, before Arthur could speak a single word. “You were not to know.”

  Clearing
his throat and wondering why his mouth appeared to be filled with sand, Arthur found himself nodding. “It is just as Miss Smythe says, Lord Davenport. You were not to know. There is no need to worry yourself over past circumstances and friendships. Given that my sister is now married and very contented, I find that there is very little reason to even consider what is in the past.”

  Lord Davenport nodded, appearing to be a good deal more at ease with this remark. “I agree,” he stated, offering Miss Smythe his arm. “I am glad to know that all is well with Miss James.”

  “Lady Glenister,” Miss Smythe corrected him in a gentle, teasing tone. “You have forgotten already.”

  Lord Davenport grinned down at her and Arthur felt a swift kick of anger in his gut.

  “You are correct, Miss Smythe,” Lord Davenport replied, as Arthur struggled in vain to understand his own tumultuous emotions. “I shall have to try and remember such things, will I not? Especially as I know Lady Glenister is very dear to you.”

  Miss Smythe laughed softly again and Arthur had to force his expression to a light smile instead of the dark frown that burned at his features.

  “I should continue my walk about the park,” he said, somewhat abruptly. Bowing in Miss Smythe’s direction, he held her gaze for a moment and saw the smile on her face begin to slide away. “It has been lovely to see you again, Miss Smythe. I do hope to continue our conversation at some point.”

  Miss Smythe nodded, her cheeks still a rosy pink. “Good afternoon, Lord Wickton.”

  “Lord Davenport.”

  Lord Davenport touched his hat and inclined his head, appearing at ease with the situation and evidently unaware of the strange, conflicting feelings that were running through Arthur at the sight of Lord Davenport arm in arm with Miss Smythe.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Wickton,” the gentleman said. “I am certain we shall see each other very often these next few months. Might I entice you to a game of cards at White’s this evening?”

  Arthur shook his head. “I fear I have a prior invitation,” he lied, praying desperately that he did have something to attend which would free him from the need to play cards with Lord Davenport. “But I thank you. Good afternoon.”

  It was with a good deal of relief that Arthur found himself walking away from both Lord Davenport and Miss Smythe. He could not understand himself, for surely if he had any consideration of Miss Smythe, then he would not have stayed away from her last summer. He would have returned at once, seeking to do as he had promised his sister, in the hope that he, too, might find such a contented situation. Therefore, since he had not done so, Arthur determined that he did not truly care for Miss Smythe in any way. Yes, she was Charlotte’s dear friend, and yes, she had been invaluable in their difficulties with Lord Brentwood, but that was as far as their relationship went. They were acquaintances only. He had never wanted anything more. So why, then, did seeing her walking with Lord Davenport bring him such anger and frustration? There was no need for him to feel such a thing and he certainly had no right to be irritated over her decision to be courted by Lord Davenport. It was not as though he had any claim over her. No, Arthur concluded, walking towards the gate that would lead him out of the park, he was being foolish and utterly, utterly ridiculous. Perhaps he had simply thought that Miss Smythe, in being a wallflower, would require his company and his assistance to be so much as noticed by the rest of the beau monde. In finding that she did not require him, he should then be feeling relief, certainly not disappointment and frustration. Honestly, his feelings on the matter were utterly laughable.

  “My word, is that you, Wickton?”

  Coming to a sudden stop, Arthur looked to his left and saw a wiry-looking man coming towards him. His fair hair was in its usual state of disarray and the cravat left a lot to be desired.

  “Matthews!” Arthur exclaimed, greeting his friend whom he had not seen since last year. “Goodness, you look a little worse for wear!”

  Viscount Matthews chuckled, giving Arthur a good look-over. “You do not appear to be in the best of spirits either, my friend,” he replied with an arched eyebrow. “Your face is as grey as thunderclouds.”

  With an effort, Arthur rearranged his features. “Is that more to your satisfaction?”

  Lord Matthews chuckled. “Indeed it is. Now, come, tell me all you have been doing since last Season!”

  Arthur rolled his eyes. “Very little aside from estate business,” he replied truthfully, feeling his frustration over Miss Smythe beginning to fade away. “I am to return home at the present, however. Might we talk later this evening?”

  “White’s?” Lord Matthews suggested, grinning at Arthur. “I hear there is some sort of card game to be taking place which, no doubt, means there will be a fair few bets.” He smirked but Arthur shook his head.

  “No, I cannot. I have another prior engagement.”

  “Do not attend,” Lord Matthews proposed, shrugging. “No one will miss you, since there will be, most likely, a great number of guests given that it is early in the Season.”

  Arthur hesitated. He had just told Lord Davenport that he could not take part in the card game due to a prior invitation and now could not simply appear at White’s without betraying himself completely.

  “Come as late as you wish,” his friend said with a jovial smile. “It will not matter to me. I shall be there until the early hours, my friend, as well you know—although you may not find me completely aware of all that is going on later in the evening!”

  Knowing Lord Matthews’ penchant for excellent French brandy, Arthur found himself nodding. “Very well,” he stated, a trifle reluctantly. “I shall go to my first engagement and, thereafter, come to White’s to converse with you. Although,” he added, making to turn away, “do have them save the best French brandy for myself also. Tell them I will pay them handsomely for the trouble.”

  Lord Matthews chuckled at this, one finger waggling back and forth. “You can demand the very best brandy once you arrive,” he stated, his grin still plastered on his face. “Until this evening, then.”

  “This evening,” Arthur agreed, walking away from his friend and silently praying that Lord Davenport would either not catch sight of him this evening or conveniently forget that Arthur had stated he could not attend White’s. For whatever reason, there was something about Lord Davenport that Arthur did not like, although he could not quite put his finger on what it was precisely.

  Walking out of the park, Arthur felt the sun warm his neck as the cloud drifted away from where it had been covering it. Unfortunately, Arthur felt no happiness or gladness at this, for his heart was much too pained, much too conflicted over the sight of Miss Smythe and Lord Davenport walking together. It was all rather confusing and Arthur suddenly found himself looking forward to this evening. Perhaps a game of cards and a bottle of the best French brandy were all he would need to put Miss Smythe from his mind for good.

  2

  If there was one thing Emily did not like, it was the sight of Lord Davenport making his way around the ballroom.

  It was ridiculous to feel such a way, however, given that there had been nothing of any seriousness spoken between them. She had only been back in London for a few short weeks and Lord Davenport had come to call upon her a fortnight ago. She had enjoyed his company greatly and had been hugely encouraged when he continued to seek her out, despite the appearance of the new debutantes as well as a good many others from the beau monde, all eager to take part in and enjoy the London Season.

  However, despite this, Emily found herself growing somewhat frustrated. It was humiliating in a way, seeing Lord Davenport conduct himself with such ease, and she certainly had not missed the way the young ladies were practically fawning over him. It was, she supposed, to be expected, given that he was both handsome and titled, but since she was not exactly a diamond of the first water, she could not compete with some of the more striking young ladies.

  And yet, he returns to your side, does he not?

 
; This thought brought her a good deal of relief, making her realize that she was being quite foolish. Lord Davenport might wish to enjoy the company of others in the ton, but the truth was that he always returned to her. She had not yet gone home from an occasion or event where he had been present without him taking his particular leave of her. It had only been a fortnight, yes, but there had been at least eight occasions she had attended where he had made sure to bow over her hand and bid her farewell, so that she would have no doubt of his attentions towards her.

  “You appear to be watching someone in particular, Miss Smythe.”

  Glancing up at the young lady who had come to stand beside her, Emily chose to remain silent. Lady Josephine, the daughter of Marquess Longton, was neither a beauty nor a lady of kind character. Rather, she was sharp and abrasive in almost everything she did and everything she said. Emily was not at all fond of her.

  “I said, you appear to be watching someone in particular, Miss Smythe.”

  Charlotte bit back her first response and glanced up towards the lady. Lady Josephine was relatively tall for a young lady, with hair pulled back much too tightly from her face, Emily thought. Lady Josephine already had sharp features and a long, narrow nose which was only accentuated by such a choice of coiffure as this.

  “I am enjoying the evening,” she said quietly, not wanting to either upset Lady Josephine or give her the truth. “Are you not, Lady Josephine?”

  Lady Josephine sniffed and looked away, as though Emily had asked her something most displeasing. “It is as you say,” she replied with a tight smile in no particular direction. “I am enjoying the evening.” She threw a sharp glance down towards Emily. “But you are seeking the attentions of Lord Davenport,” she finished, her voice a trifle too loud for Emily’s liking. “Is that not so?”

  Clearing her throat quickly and praying that her face would not burn with embarrassment, Emily turned so that she might look up into Lady Josephine’s face a little better.