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

by Joyce Alec

  “There is nothing of permanence between myself and Lord Davenport,” she stated decisively. “He and I are very great friends, and I am glad to have reacquainted myself with him this last week.” She did not mention that her heart quickened terribly whenever Lord Davenport smiled at her, nor did she state that his presence had helped her forget about the deep, unrelenting affection that she had borne for so many years for Lord Wickton.

  “You shall have to become used to him turning away from you for a time,” Lady Josephine replied, her tone becoming brittle. “You are not, as you know, a particular beauty and therefore, he must find such a thing elsewhere.”

  Emily took in a long breath, accepting the pain that such a statement brought and allowing it to enter her heart. She had not thought that Lady Josephine would be so harsh in her comments but, given that she was of a higher title than Emily herself, perhaps she thought herself able to give whatever remarks she chose without consideration.

  “I do not think that he shall dance with you again this evening,” Lady Josephine continued, shrugging one delicate shoulder. “Look, he is to take Miss Winters out onto the floor.” A dark smile penetrated her features. “What say you to that?”

  Letting out her breath slowly, Emily tried to calm her sudden burst of anger towards Lady Josephine as best she could. “You need not fear, Lady Josephine. I have no concerns as regards Lord Davenport. If he wishes to dance with another, then I shall have no discontent whatsoever.” Her lies fell quickly from her tongue, holding Lady Josephine’s steely gaze. “Besides which,” she added, feeling a small sense of triumph, “I am to have the supper dance.”

  The supper dance was the one that came before the guests supped on refreshments, and was often the best part of the evening. The gentleman who had danced with a lady for the supper dance would then conduct her to the supper itself and treat her with delicacy and a good deal of attention. They would sit together and enjoy pleasant company and conversation. It was a dance often sought by many of the young ladies of the ton and Emily was silently delighted that Lord Davenport had made sure to make her his preference.

  “Is that so?” Lady Josephine muttered, looking somewhat discontented. “That is most unexpected.”

  Emily, whose tongue was now becoming a trifle sore given how many times she had been required to bite back her first response, let out a long, slow breath in order to quell her anger.

  “But I shall have to see it with my own eyes before I believe it,” Lady Josephine continued, as if to suggest that Emily was doing nothing but lying in order to impress her for some reason. “Good evening, Miss Smythe.”

  “Good evening,” Emily managed to say, her hands tightening into fists at her sides as she attempted to regain control of herself. It was not the first time that someone had looked down upon her, not the first time that someone had disregarded her as unimportant. She had been nothing but a wallflower for some years, held back by her own lack of confidence as well as the awareness that she was not particularly beautiful. Not that her father, Lord Hornsby, had cared about her wellbeing in any way. He had already made it clear that if she did not wed very soon, then he would have no choice but to find her a position elsewhere. That meant that she would either be a governess or a companion—neither of which she found particularly exciting.

  Lord Davenport was, at the moment, her only hope. Lord Wickton did not appear to have any particular interest in her, and even though Emily had thought about him and cared for him for some time, it would never be reciprocated. Therefore, it was a wonderful thing to see Lord Davenport’s determination to become better acquainted with her, for his attentions brought her both delight and relief that she finally had the chance to avoid spinsterhood.

  “A glass of champagne, Miss Smythe?”

  A familiar voice behind her made her tremble violently, although she closed her eyes and quelled it immediately before turning.

  “Thank you, Lord Wickton,” she replied with a broad smile. “I knew you were to be in attendance at some event or other this evening, but I did not think to ask you where you were to go. It seems that you are present at the same ball as I.”

  “Indeed.” Lord Wickton was just as handsome as she remembered him. His eyes were still as blue as the sky on a warm summer’s day, his fair hair neatly combed and seeming to shine in the candlelight. The firmness of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders gave him a strong countenance which was something she had always admired about him. Her heart still fluttered whenever he drew near, but as she turned to look back at Lord Davenport dancing a quadrille, she forced herself to recall that it was not Lord Wickton that she had set her heart upon, but rather Lord Davenport, given that he was the only gentleman out of the two that showed her particular attention.

  “I am to go to White’s directly,” Lord Wickton muttered. “I only came here for a short time.”

  “Then you shall be able to play a hand of cards with Lord Davenport after all,” she replied, looking up at him but finding no smile on his face. “I do hope you have an enjoyable evening.”

  To her surprise, Lord Wickton grunted loudly, as though what she had said was ridiculous. Nothing more was said on the matter, for Lord Wickton simply took a long sip of his champagne and then turned away, leaving her on her own once more.

  Emily resisted the urge to shake her head to herself, although her mind was filled with questions about what had occurred and why. For Lord Wickton to seek her out and hand her a refreshing glass of champagne was one thing, but then to turn away without a word and leave her standing there alone was quite another. She simply could not make him out, Emily decided, sighing heavily. It was yet another sign that she did not need to so much as think about Lord Wickton any longer. All that was required of her was to continue focusing all of her attentions onto Lord Davenport, in the hope that he might bring something to fruition between them.

  The life of a wallflower was not a happy one, Emily had to admit, looking about her as the music finished and Lord Davenport led yet another young lady from the dance floor. She had been waiting for the supper dance for the best part of an hour now, and even though she knew it was ridiculous to wish for the ball to hurry past her, she could not help growing anxious as she waited. Lord Davenport was the only gentleman who had sought her out and even though he had done so, it had not brought any other attention her way. No other gentlemen had sought an introduction, none had come to her side in order to ask for her dance card. She had been in the shadows for much too long, perhaps. Mayhap a wallflower always remained a wallflower, even if they attempted to remove themselves from the darkness and the gloom that held them fast. Gentlemen were well used to looking past her, to looking through her almost, which meant that even with Lord Davenport’s interest, she could not expect to become popular in any way.

  Sighing inwardly, Emily removed her gaze from Lord Davenport’s smiling face as he looked down at the young lady he was leading from the floor. She was being ridiculous again. She had no need for any other gentleman’s attentions. Nor did she need to become popular with the other members of the ton. All she wanted was a single gentleman’s interest that would then lead to matrimony and a happy, contented future. She had that hope in Lord Davenport, did she not?

  What if he does not do as you hope?

  The silent, burning question in her mind brought her such a stab of pain that, for a moment, Emily could not catch her breath. One hand pressed lightly against her stomach as she sat forward in her chair, praying that no one noticed her sudden change in demeanor.

  “Lady Josephine,” she reminded herself aloud. The lady’s unwanted presence and dark, unwelcoming comments had perhaps thrown Emily’s confidence a little. There was nothing wrong with Lord Davenport dancing with other members of the beau monde, was there? He was a gentleman and more than able to do as he pleased and given that they were only permitted two dances together—so as not to raise eyebrows and spread rumors—she had to be content with the fact that she had already had one dance w
ith him and would have to wait for the other. Lady Josephine’s catty remarks should have been brushed from her shoulders like a delicate spring rain. She should not have allowed them to torment her mind so.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Smythe?”

  Again, the familiar voice of Lord Wickton sent a tingle of awareness running down her spine. He had appeared out of nowhere, it seemed, being the only one in the entire ballroom aware of her change in demeanor. Had he been watching her? Or had it just been by chance that he had seen her pallor change?

  “You seem to be following me this evening, Lord Wickton,” she said, not looking up at him and attempting to keep her voice light. “It is either that or you have simply stumbled upon me at a time of weakness.”

  “Consider it the latter,” he stated firmly, “although if you are unwell, I should be glad to assist you in any way I can.”

  She tried to interject a smile into her voice but was not entirely successful. “I am not unwell, Lord Wickton, I thank you. It is only that I…” Trailing off, she looked away from him, not ready to betray herself.

  Lord Wickton cleared his throat. “You need not inform me of any personal matters, Miss Smythe. I was merely coming to see if you were well.”

  There was a note of formality in his voice that not been there before. Last Season, they had been on fairly good terms, and had enjoyed a few conversations together. Not now, it seemed. Now, it was as though he were stepping back from her, pushing her to one side so that he might make her nothing more than a memory. This pained her terribly for some reason, even though her eyes continued to linger on Lord Davenport as he spoke to not one but three young ladies who surrounded him.

  “You are very kind, Lord Wickton,” she murmured, her voice a little thin as she finally dragged her eyes away from Lord Davenport to look up at him. “I thank you for your consideration. It is…”

  The last words of her sentence were blown away by the sudden appearance of Lady Josephine by Lord Davenport’s side. Emily found herself on her feet in a moment, having pushed herself out of her chair with such force that she stumbled forward. Lord Wickton caught her arm to steady her but she brushed him off without so much as a turn of her head.

  The supper dance was due to begin at any moment and Emily did not want to even consider the fact that Lady Josephine might attempt to pull Lord Davenport towards escorting her to the dance floor in place of Emily! Surely Lord Davenport would not allow such a thing to happen? It would be most improper for one, but mortifying for her if he turned his back on her so easily.

  “Miss Smythe,” she heard Lord Wickton say, his voice seeming to come from very far away. “Is everything all right?”

  Lord Davenport was laughing now at something Lady Josephine had said and, to Emily’s horror, she saw that Lady Josephine rested one hand on Lord Davenport’s arm for the briefest of moments. She was clearly being flirtatious, but Emily did not want to believe that Lord Davenport would be so easily taken in, especially since he had already promised that he would escort her onto the dance floor. She had been waiting for the supper dance for what felt like hours, had she not? She had watched Lord Davenport be sought out by many of the ladies present, had watched him accept their attentions with the utmost propriety and felt her heart sink to her toes. How she had battled with her own thoughts, trying desperately to remind herself that Lord Davenport had been calling upon her regularly and always ensured he took his leave of her—but now, as she stood and watched the way Lady Josephine tipped her head up to look into Lord Davenport’s eyes, she felt her heart sink. Lady Josephine was not a beauty, but she had a presence about her that could almost be felt. Lord Davenport, it seemed, was not immune to it.

  “Miss Smythe.”

  She waved one hand in Lord Wickton’s direction, wishing silently that he would be quiet. Watching Lord Davenport carefully, she finally saw him glance in her direction, only to look at her again more steadily.

  The music began to play and the supper dance was announced.

  Emily could not move. Her feet were fastened to the floor, refusing to move in any direction. This had to come from Lord Davenport. He had to be the one to draw near to her, to offer her his arm so that he might lead her out onto the floor.

  He did not make any attempt to take a step towards her.

  Lady Josephine laughed again and said something that drew Lord Davenport’s attention.

  In that moment, Emily felt herself shrink back into the pale, lifeless wallflower she had always been. She had no presence, not as Lady Josephine had. She had no particular beauty. Lord Davenport, it seemed, was about to forget her.

  She saw him gesture in her direction and felt her shoulders stiffen. Lady Josephine put a hand back on Lord Davenport’s arm, leaving it there for a good few moments as she looked up into his face, saying something more.

  And then, to her shame and horror, Lord Davenport’s smile grew weak, his shoulders slumped and he shrugged. Without another look in Emily’s direction, he turned and led Lady Josephine out onto the floor, leaving Emily standing alone and forgotten.

  Her legs crumpled as weakness filled her. Strong arms caught her and held her tight.

  “Come, Miss Smythe,” she heard Lord Wickton say, her eyes too heavy with misery to look anywhere but at the floor. “Allow me to take you home. Have you a maid or companion?”

  She shook her head. “My father is here,” she whispered dully. “But he will not care.”

  Something in Lord Wickton’s frame stiffened as he helped her to walk along the edge of the ballroom, careful to keep out of the light. “Then I shall give you my word as a gentleman that I shall behave with honor,” he stated, his words harsh and angry. “You need have no doubt about my behavior, Miss Smythe.”

  Emily could not say a word, her throat clogging with tears as she stumbled alongside Lord Wickton. It was not as though any of the guests would notice her, given that she was as invisible to them as she was to Lord Davenport. No one would care about her behavior, her struggle or her trials. Everyone would be more than caught up with the sight of Lady Josephine, daughter of a marquess, dancing with Lord Davenport.

  Quite how she made it into the carriage, she did not know. Relief and sadness wrapped around her like a blanket as she sat in the darkness with Lord Wickton sitting opposite her.

  “I am sorry, Miss Smythe,” Lord Wickton said, his tone still somewhat brusque. “I presume that supper dance was meant for you.”

  She nodded, hating that tears were trickling down her cheeks.

  “Then he is a cad,” Lord Wickton declared firmly. “I shall have words with him on your behalf, Miss Smythe.”

  “No.” She looked up at him, her vision blurred. “You need not have anything to do with this.”

  Much to her surprise, he leaned forward and took her hands in his. “But I wish to,” he stated honestly. “You have no one to fight for you, Miss Smythe. Allow me to do so.”

  Emily swallowed hard, her tears dripping down onto her gown as she looked into his eyes. At least there was one person amongst the ton who did not see her as invisible.

  “Thank you, Wickton,” she whispered, dropping her head as his thumb ran lightly over the back of her hand. “That is very kind of you, especially when we are barely acquainted.”

  “We are more than that,” he retorted swiftly. “I made a promise and I have not kept it, Miss Smythe. I intend to do so now.”

  Emily did not want to ask what such a promise was, nor to whom he had made it. Her heart was too sore to even speak.

  “You will not be overlooked, Miss Smythe,” Lord Wickton said with feeling, withdrawing his hands and turning his gaze towards the window. “Not any longer.”

  3

  “Davenport!”

  Arthur was doing his level best to remove every last trace of anger from his heart so that he might speak openly with Lord Davenport, but given just how broken Miss Smythe had seemed as he had taken her home in his carriage, it was proving rather difficult to achieve.<
br />
  Of course, one could argue that taking Miss Smythe home in his carriage without maid or companion was also most improper, but Arthur knew that no one had taken any particular notice of her. Not even her own father, Lord Hornsby, whom Arthur was certain would be more than a little overcome by liquor at this present moment.

  “Ah, you decided to come to the card game after all!” Lord Davenport exclaimed, appearing quite cheerful despite the lateness of the hour.

  “No,” Arthur stated grimly. “I have not come to play cards, Davenport. A word, if you please.”

  Lord Davenport hesitated for a moment or two, looking at his companions as though wondering whether or not they would tell him what to do.

  “Now,” Arthur stated flatly. “It will not wait.”

  Lord Davenport’s smile faded almost entirely, although it was clear that he was attempting to put a jovial look of some sort on his face.

  “As you wish,” he said with a grand bow that had his friends chortling. “But do make it quick, Lord Wickton. I have a game to begin.”

  Arthur held back his retort that he cared nothing for a hand of cards, waiting impatiently as the gentleman finally unfolded himself from his seat and moved towards him. Grimacing, he gestured for Lord Davenport to walk a little ahead of them, until they reached a quiet corner of White’s.

  “What is the matter, old boy?” Lord Davenport asked, as though they had been friends for a great length of time. “You do seem put out about some matter or other, although quite how it relates to me, I cannot say.”

  Arthur arched one eyebrow slowly. “Are you certain?” he asked, tilting his head just a little. “You do know that I am acquainted with Miss Smythe, of course.”

  Instead of shame or embarrassment seeping through Lord Davenport’s features, there came instead a somewhat arrogant smile.

  “I hardly think that my acquaintance with Miss Smythe concerns you, Lord Wickton,” Lord Davenport began, his expression angering Arthur all the more. “She and I are very well acquainted thus far and I must hope that it shall continue.” He laughed softly, as though something humorous had just occurred to him. “Are you taking the place of her absent father in seeking to ensure that she is well taken care of?” he asked, slapping Arthur hard on the shoulder as though this was all some wonderful joke. “I know Viscount Hornsby is utterly selfish, but I did not think that he would have asked someone such as you to take his place.”