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

by Joyce Alec

  “Then I must prove it to you,” he replied, grasping her dance card before she could protest and writing his name in two spaces. “See now, I have claimed these two and shall be at your side almost before the music has begun.” He bowed again and let go of her dance card, freeing her from him. “I shall not fail you, Miss Smythe. I am fervent in my affections.”

  Emily’s eyebrows rose, her surprise written on her face before she could prevent it. Lord Davenport had never spoken of ‘affections’ or the like before.

  “I have not made myself clear prior to this moment, I know,” Lord Davenport continued softly, appearing for all the world to be quite in earnest—and for a moment, Emily felt a flicker of doubt in her mind. “But I shall seek your father out this evening and urge him to accept my courtship of you, Miss Smythe. You see, I have learned from my mistake. I will not allow you to slip through my fingers.”

  Swallowing a lump in her throat—although Emily was not certain whether it came from fear or from surprise—Emily tried to smile but failed entirely. “I see,” she said, her voice hoarse. “You intend to speak to my father this evening.”

  He nodded, looking determined. “In fact,” Lord Davenport added, looking all about him as though he might find her father somewhere nearby when, most likely, he was already playing cards somewhere, “I shall go and seek him out this very moment. I will not delay, not even for a second, Miss Smythe. Perhaps then you can be assured of my affections and intentions towards you.”

  It was with this declaration that Lord Davenport made his way from her side, leaving Emily standing alone with other guests milling about her. This was not something she had expected at all. Lord Davenport had never appeared to be so determined before, but now, out of nowhere, he had decided to go and speak to her father. It did not quite make sense, for if he was truly as eager as he appeared, then why had he not written her even one note over these last few days? If he had been as desperate to seek permission to court her, then why had he not called upon her father before? Why had he ignored her notes, ignored her request to meet so that they might discuss matters, and simply appeared at the ball in the hope of seeing her there? Frowning, Emily rubbed at her forehead, not at all certain of Lord Davenport or his intentions.

  As much as he wanted her to believe that he was determined to have her by his side—for she had no doubt that the courtship would then lead to a proposal—she was not at all convinced. All that had occurred these last few days had only shown her that she did not know Lord Davenport as well as she had thought. In fact, she was not at all sure that she knew him at all. She had very little idea of his intentions, very little understanding of his desires and plans for not only his future, but hers also. Just what did Lord Davenport want with her? Was it truly that he wanted to marry her? Or were his intentions to have her as his bride and then continue on as he was at this present moment? Emily could not be certain, beginning to fear that there was a façade that Lord Davenport had firmly fixed over his entire character which she was only beginning to break through.

  Wandering away from the rest of the guests and fully aware that, as unchaperoned as she was, she ought not to go anywhere alone, Emily hesitated for a moment at the edge of the room. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably as she looked all about her. She could easily go in search of the card room and attempt to eavesdrop on her father and Lord Davenport, but thereafter, she might then find herself in difficulty. If she was seen, there might be some questions raised over her behavior. Rumors came from very little and yet they could ruin a life entirely.

  Closing her eyes, Emily drew in a long breath and attempted to calm her frantic thoughts. She had spent years being nothing more than a wallflower, fading into the background and being almost entirely invisible to the rest of the beau monde. It had only been her friendship with Charlotte that had helped pull her out from the shadows, although her confidence had never been particularly strong. Was that what she was to return to now? Was she to go back to the shadows that were so welcoming, so willing to shroud her? Or would she force herself along a new path, determined to find out the truth about Lord Davenport, despite the consequences that could fall upon her head?

  Lifting her chin, Emily closed her eyes and took in a long, steadying breath. She let it fill her lungs as she swallowed hard, refusing to let her fears hold her back. Lord Wickton was still gone from society with no explanation and she was determined to do all she could to help him. Lord Davenport might know of what had occurred. She had to do what she could to remain in his acquaintance, even though she had very little intention of marrying him without being fully aware of his character and of his intentions. There was an uncertainty there that she could not rid herself of, but instead of allowing it to fester within her soul, Emily became determined to discover the truth of Lord Davenport’s character. It was the only way to rid herself of this uncertainty and might be the only way to find out more about Lord Wickton.

  I can be strong, she told herself, opening her eyes and letting the noise of the guests and the orchestra’s music fade into the background. I do not need to remain a wallflower.

  With a decisive nod of her head, Emily began to climb the stairs that led out of the ballroom and up towards a few smaller rooms where she knew she might find the card room. She had to pray that there would be a small nook or cranny where she could hide herself, otherwise this might prove to be one of the most disastrous decisions of her life.

  The card room was filled with smoke and Emily had to struggle to keep her cough contained. She was, fortunately, hidden in a small alcove to the left of the door, although anyone walking past her might be able to spot her simply by a turn of their head—but it was better than having to linger in the doorway itself. Her hands were clammy, her skin prickling with fright as she tried to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. Much to her delight, she could hear her father’s loud voice ringing out from within the card room and, for the first time, Emily found herself grateful that her father often became somewhat raucous when he imbibed.

  Not that she could hear much of what Lord Davenport was saying, given that his voice was a good deal quieter and therefore not more than a murmur. At least she knew he was within. He was talking with her father, just as he had stated—and again came that flicker of uncertainty in Emily’s mind.

  “Good gracious!”

  Emily jumped visibly as a tall, fair-haired gentleman stopped in his tracks and stared at her.

  “I—”

  Emily’s mouth went dry as she stared at the fellow, suddenly aware of just how much could go wrong simply by her being here alone and unchaperoned.

  “You are not waiting for someone, I hope,” the fair-haired gentleman said, putting both hands on his hips and turning to face her. “If you are, I should advise you—”

  “No, no, I am not,” Emily stammered, going cold all over at the darkness that clouded the gentleman’s blue eyes. “It is only that…” She closed her eyes tightly, aware of the trembling that was beginning to take over her frame. “I am trying to discover the truth about Lord Wickton and I fear that there is someone of my acquaintance who might know where he has gone, but I cannot tell whether or not he will speak to me of it, so therefore, I have come to… to…” Opening her eyes, aware that she had talked excessively without making a good deal of sense and certainly revealing more than she had intended, Emily let out a long sigh. “I came to see if I could overhear something. I know that it was foolish of me to do so and now I am behaving in an even more foolish manner by speaking to you of such a thing when we are not at all acquainted.” Hanging her head, Emily closed her eyes again and wondered what on earth had possessed her to speak so openly about Lord Wickton to a gentleman she did not know in the least.

  “Lord Wickton, did you say?”

  Emily’s head shot up and she looked at the gentleman questioningly. “You are acquainted with Lord Wickton?”

  The gentleman nodded slowly, his eyes fixing upon hers. “Might we talk a little more, Miss…?
”

  “Miss Smythe,” she said, stepping out of her alcove although she stayed some distance away from the gentleman still.

  “Viscount Matthews,” he said with a quick bow. “I am acquainted with Lord Wickton, yes. I was expecting him last evening, but he did not appear. I called upon him this afternoon but was told he was not at home.” He spread his hands. “I see now that I am not the only one concerned over his disappearance.”

  Emily let out a long breath of relief, seeing the concern in the gentleman’s eyes and finding that her instinct was to trust him entirely. “Might I ask when you last saw Lord Wickton?” she asked, as Lord Matthews gestured for them to return to the ballroom together, falling into step together as another gentleman appeared ahead of them. Emily let out another breath of relief, glad that she would not be alone with Lord Matthews as they re-entered the ballroom.

  Lord Matthews frowned. “We were to play cards at White’s a few days ago, but I confess that I was late and did not arrive when I had expected. He was not present then, but he had not given me any assurances that he would certainly be there.”

  Emily nodded, walking back into the ballroom with Lord Matthews but making sure to stay near the side of the room so that they might speak without being overheard. Briefly, she told Lord Matthews about her enquiries at White’s, about being told that Lord Davenport had followed after Lord Wickton and that she had, of course, written to Lady Glenister, Lord Wickton’s sister, to inform her of the situation.

  “It is a little worrying,” Lord Matthews murmured, his eyes now drifting away from her as they filled with concern. “It is unlike him to do such a thing.”

  “If he has been taken ill, then would not some note have been sent to his staff?” Emily asked, finding a sudden camaraderie with the gentleman beside her. “And if he is injured, then surely the same thing would have occurred?”

  Lord Matthews nodded slowly. “Unless he is unconscious,” he suggested, as Emily gasped with the horror of such a thought. “I confess I am glad to have found someone else concerned over Lord Wickton.” He gave her a sharp look. “You say you are acquainted with his sister?”

  “I am acquainted with them both,” Emily said, ignoring the pang of longing that went through her heart at the thought of Lord Wickton. “I am dear friends with Charlotte, and I know she will be gravely concerned.”

  “And so, you were attempting to overhear Lord Davenport in case he might state something about Lord Wickton that he would not inform you about,” Lord Matthews finished, as though he had only just understood.

  Emily nodded. “He—he is speaking to my father,” she explained, her stomach twisting suddenly. “I believe he wishes to court me.”

  Lord Matthews looked surprised. “I see.”

  “I shall accept, of course,” Emily continued firmly. “I must discover what Lord Davenport might know of Lord Wickton and the only way to do so is to ensure I remain in his acquaintance and, in time, his confidence—although, of course, I hope that Lord Wickton is found before then.”

  Lord Matthews nodded slowly, his eyes turning away from hers. “I should like to aid you in this if I can, Miss Smythe,” he said determinedly. “I do not know what else I can do other than speak to the footman again at White’s, for I am not well acquainted with Lord Davenport.”

  An idea suddenly flashed into Emily’s mind. “It is quite a ridiculous thought,” she began, “but if Lord Wickton hailed a hackney that night, then there might be someone who would know where he went, or where he was taken to.” She saw Lord Matthews nod and felt her heart lift a little from the worries and concern that bound it. “There are a good many hackneys in London, I know, but—”

  “I shall begin tomorrow morning,” Lord Matthews said decisively. “That is a very wise idea, Miss Smythe, and I shall not shirk from it. I will, of course, inform you of any news.” He inclined his head. “Might I request the pleasure of the next dance?”

  Emily looked down at her dance card. It was to be a waltz and Lord Davenport had written his name very firmly into that particular space. The music was already beginning and couples were taking to the floor all at once. Looking all about her, Emily saw no sign of Lord Davenport. Had he not promised to be at her side almost before the music started? Had he not promised that he would prove his loyalty to her by doing so?

  “I would be glad to dance with you, Lord Matthews,” she replied, suddenly resolute. “Even though we have not been properly introduced.”

  Lord Matthews chuckled as he bowed again and offered her his arm. “Indeed we have not, Miss Smythe, but given how I stumbled across you, you must forgive me for my lack of manners.”

  She smiled back at him, refusing to let her mind linger on Lord Davenport’s absence and on his failure to keep his promises. “I shall indeed,” she replied, surprised to find that she felt a good deal better than she had done before. It seemed that, with Lord Matthews now eager to help her in her search for Lord Wickton, the feelings of loneliness and struggle were a good deal lessened. “Then shall we take to the floor, Lord Matthews?”

  And, so saying, Emily took Lord Matthews’ arm and allowed him to lead her onto the floor to begin the waltz.

  8

  The only way Arthur could mark the number of days he had been within this room was by making a mark on the wall with a small piece of broken pottery he had found on the floor beneath his bed, when he had been searching for his chamber pot.

  It appeared now that he was a day short of a sennight. He could not believe it. To have been stuck in this small room with only a few short interactions with another living soul had been torturous and had felt a good deal longer than only six days.

  The same maid had returned each and every day and even though Arthur had tried to speak to her, she had ignored him completely, her wide eyes betraying her fear. Perhaps, Arthur thought, she had been punished for speaking to him, for taking too long to set down his food and hurry from the room. He had little doubt that he was meant to be kept here for some time, but to have no specific answers was both frustrating and difficult.

  Time had seemed to slow around him as he spent hour after hour wandering around his small room, trying to find a way to escape from his prison. The tiny window was his only view of the rest of the world, the only light that he could enjoy. The sun had warmed his face in the afternoons as he had pressed his face up against it, his mind becoming more and more troubled as the sun began to set, leaving him to struggle with his thoughts. What was to become of him? Who would know that he was missing from his home? Of course, the staff would know that he was not at home and would worry for him, but with his sister Charlotte married and settled, there would be no easy way for her to discover his absence, not until perhaps a few weeks later.

  Yes, he had friends, but that did not mean that they would think him gone from his own house without explanation. Given that the Season was in full swing, they would simply assume that he was either a touch unwell or had gone to some other occasion from them. There would not be anyone to call upon him and discover his absence.

  What about Miss Smythe?

  Arthur sighed and rubbed his forehead. Miss Smythe was, indeed, a lovely creature and he wished to goodness that he had done more to further his acquaintance with her before all of this had occurred. Had he done so, had he done as he had promised his sister, then she might never have allowed Lord Davenport to court her. He himself might have been the one to do so, might have stepped into Lord Davenport’s place and might now be contemplating marriage.

  The thought of marriage to Miss Smythe did not surprise him. Indeed, these last few days, he had done nothing but think of her and what might have been. It was as though the separation from her, from society and all that it contained, had made his heart suddenly fill with thoughts of her, his mind to cloud with images and memories of their acquaintance. He could not forget how she had appeared when Lord Davenport had stepped out with Lady Josephine instead of with her, as he had promised. The look on her face had bro
ken his heart, for he had seen the pain she had felt and, in that moment, had been filled with anger towards Lord Davenport and frustration directed towards himself and his own lack of wisdom when it had come to Miss Smythe. He had been determined to do something about Miss Smythe’s predicament but now found himself entirely unable to do anything whatsoever.

  The sound of a key scraping in the lock had him jumping in surprise and he turned his head, expecting to see Polly walking in with a tray as she usually did. Instead, however, he saw the tall figure of Lord Davenport walk into the room. A smug smile was plastered on his face, his expression dark—and Arthur felt himself fill with rage.

  “I would not even think of attempting to move past me, Wickton,” Lord Davenport began, holding up a hand as though he knew precisely what Arthur was thinking. “The maid told me that you were fully aware of whose house you were in and I supposed that I would have to come and speak to you at some point… but I felt no urgency in it.” His smile spread across his face as though Arthur’s detainment was not a matter of concern in any way. “Not that I intend to keep you here for much longer, of course. Only until the marriage has taken place.”

  Arthur stiffened. “Marriage?”

  “Marriage to Miss Smythe, yes,” Lord Davenport replied, shrugging. “I cannot have you interfering, you understand.”

  Arthur swallowed hard, trying to contain his fury and yet struggling to do so. “You cannot mean that—”

  “I confess that I was quite furious the day we met in White’s,” Lord Davenport continued, as though he had not heard Arthur speaking. “I did not know you had such feelings for Miss Smythe, nor that you intended to separate us simply on the basis that you believed me entirely unsuitable.”

  “You are entirely unsuitable!” Arthur roared, taking a few advancing steps towards Lord Davenport who did not move but held up his hand as if such a small thing would stop him. “You shot a man in order to stop me from speaking to Miss Smythe, and now you have detained me here so that she will be duped into considering you.” His hands curled into tight fists as he moved closer to Lord Davenport, who, to Arthur’s frustration, did not seem to be in the least bit perturbed.