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

by Joyce Alec

  Lord Davenport cleared his throat again, this time with a good deal more gruffness to his tone. “Indeed,” he stated harshly. “It seems I have failed you again, Miss Smythe, although I did not expect you to be so unforgiving.”

  Emily stared at him, the smile dropping from her mouth as she took in Lord Davenport’s words. Was this what he thought of her? Did he think that she would be simple and quiet, simply accepting his mistakes with nothing more than a thought? Did he expect her to bow to his demands, accept his behavior without question? Was that truly the person he thought her to be? Emily felt her heart sink slowly in her chest, her mind burning with a sudden shame, as though she were responsible for Lord Davenport’s view of her. She was not that simple. She was not about to bend to his demands in the way that he clearly expected her to. No, she would not be spurned and rejected and then expected to return to him without question. There was more strength and courage within her for that.

  But then spinsterhood is all that awaits you.

  Emily lifted her chin as though to silence the quiet voice within her mind. No, spinsterhood was not all that awaited her. Lord Wickton was still within her heart and, should she find him again, should he return to his townhouse as she hoped, then Emily had already decided to speak the truth to him. She would make her heart known, regardless of just how much she feared he might reject her. His absence from town had made her realize that, no matter how much she tried to push him from her thoughts, he would not easily flee from her.

  “Miss Smythe?”

  Realizing that she had not been listening to a word that Lord Davenport had said these last few minutes, Emily returned her gaze to his and gave him a small, tight smile. “Yes, Lord Davenport?”

  His jaw worked for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I asked if you would be able to forgive me, Miss Smythe, yet again, for my mistake and folly.”

  She considered this for a moment, tipping her head and seeing him flush with either anger or embarrassment, she could not say which.

  “It is rather shameful that you should have to ask me to do such a thing again,” she said slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on his. “You have twice spurned me, Lord Davenport, even though you say that you have a deep and unrelenting affection for me.”

  “I do,” he confirmed quickly, although she did not believe him since his eyes did not hold any degree of sincerity.

  “I feel as though you have no particular desire to be close to me, Lord Davenport, and that your intentions—that you wish to marry me, given your conversation with my father—are for your own purposes rather than to seek out our happiness.” She did not drop her gaze from his but held it fast, feeling confidence run through her as she told Lord Davenport the truth about what she had been feeling. Emily was tired of the gentlemen in her life seeming to think they could dictate to her what she should or should not be feeling, what she should or should not do. Her father cared very little for her, almost glad that she was a wallflower so that he did not have to do anything for her. So long as her reputation remained intact, he had no concern for her whatsoever. It felt very much as though Lord Davenport were following in her father’s footsteps, ensuring that she did not have much to say for herself regardless of what he chose to do. She was not about to fall into line, or behave in the way he thought she ought to behave. Therefore, she needed to ensure that he realized she was not to be the sort of wife he had, perhaps, first expected her to be.

  “You are mistaken, Miss Smythe,” Lord Davenport replied with an earnestness that she could easily have been taken in by, had she not made up her mind that Lord Davenport was not worthy of her trust. “I have a strong affection for you, I swear it.” He cleared his throat and reached out one hand towards her, setting his fingers on hers. “I should like to prove as much to you this very moment, if I may.”

  The air seemed to disappear from the room, leaving her feeling suddenly very vulnerable. Surely Lord Davenport was not about to propose to her, not after the conversation that had just passed between them? That was not what she had expected and certainly not what she wanted.

  “I think, Lord Davenport—”

  “I have sought your father’s permission to court you and, thereafter, to propose,” he said, interrupting her. “I do not intend to delay, Miss Smythe.”

  Emily swallowed hard, her hands tightening in her lap as Lord Davenport sat back, his hand leaving hers.

  “I think we would rub along rather well together, Miss Smythe,” he continued, his grey eyes filled with a confidence she did not feel. “You and I are similar in nature and I think that, as my wife, you would do rather well.” He smiled at her but Emily could not so much as summon even a modicum of happiness at the thought of being married to such a gentleman.

  “I do not think that I am prepared for such a thing,” she said slowly, looking at him carefully. “A proposal of marriage is something that should be considered with great deliberation.”

  He chuckled and a shiver ran down Emily’s spine. “Come now, Miss Smythe, you need not toy with me.” He laughed, shaking his head as though she had said something ridiculous. “It is not as though you have been given any other proposals now, surely?” His laughter rang around the room, mocking Emily until her cheeks burned hot with shame. “Your father was very clear that it is either my hand in marriage or going to live with some decrepit aunt in Scotland.” His smile grew hard. “I can hardly think that you will choose that over marriage to a viscount, Miss Smythe.”

  Emily did not immediately answer. Instead, she studied Lord Davenport carefully, looking at him as though for the first time. There was a cruelty within him that she had not seen before, a darkness in his character that had always been very well hidden. She had seen it too late, had recognized that he was not the gentleman he appeared when their acquaintance had already become too close to pull away from. The choice lay before her now: agree to his courtship which, she knew, would lead to a proposal of marriage, or reject him and accept that her future would be in Scotland as a spinster companion to a spinster aunt.

  What of Lord Wickton?

  “What do you know of Lord Wickton?” she asked suddenly, pushing all questions of Lord Davenport’s courtship away from them both.

  Lord Davenport looked surprised. “I do not know of him at all,” he replied with a small shrug. “Why do you ask?”

  “That is not true to say that you do not know of him,” Emily retorted swiftly. “You do know of him. You are acquainted. He was present in White’s with you the night you invited him to play cards.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Emily watched Lord Davenport closely, seeing his eyes dart away from hers for a moment. There was a slight uneasiness about him now, as though he were trying to find what to say when all he needed to do was tell her the truth.

  “I do recall him being present that evening,” he said slowly, drawing his gaze back to hers again. “That was some time ago, was it not?”

  “Indeed,” she replied, before closing her mouth again and fixing him with her gaze. There was more for him to say, she was certain of it.

  A harsh laugh escaped from Lord Davenport’s mouth. “Well, what else can be said?” he asked, spreading his hands. “Yes, he was present, but he quit the place long before I ever decided to return home.”

  Emily, who recalled precisely everything the footman at White’s had told her, tilted her head just a little. “I was told that you and he were having some sort of discussion,” she said, not taking her eyes from Lord Davenport for even a moment. “You need not ask me how I know such a thing, but it is quite true, I am certain of it. The person in question was adamant that there was a heated discussion, Lord Davenport. And since Lord Wickton left White’s, he has not been seen since.”

  Lord Davenport looked startled, his eyes flaring wide, the color draining from his face. “Surely you cannot think that I—”

  “I do not know what to think, Lord Davenport,” Emily replied steadily. “However, I will state that I am gravely concerned over L
ord Wickton’s absence from town. It is not at all like him. I have heard from his sister, Lady Glenister, only this morning. She is to return to London with the greatest of speed, once she can be sure that he is not returned to his estate.”

  Lord Davenport nodded slowly, sitting forward in his seat so that he could look into Emily’s face a little more intently. “That is troubling indeed, Miss Smythe, although I will reaffirm to you that I have no thought as to where he might have gone. We did have a ‘heated discussion’ as you so delicately put it, but all that Lord Wickton stated was that I had behaved terribly towards you that evening. I did not want to listen to what he had to say, I confess it, which is why there was something of an argument. I am certain you understand.”

  Emily nodded slowly, a slow anxiety beginning to grasp at her heart. Lord Davenport was not being entirely truthful, she was certain of it. The footman at White’s had told her that Lord Davenport had gone out after Lord Wickton but, as yet, Lord Davenport had not stated as much.

  “Might I ask you, Lord Davenport, whether you went out after Lord Wickton, once he had left White’s?” she asked directly, refusing to give into the anxiety she felt over such a question. “You might have seen where he went to.”

  Immediately, Lord Davenport shook his head. “No, I did not,” he answered firmly. “It was a heated discussion and I did not want it to linger. I was glad when Lord Wickton left, I confess it. It meant that I could return to my card game and, thereby, forget all that had gone before.” He shook his head and sighed heavily, again giving the impression of deep regret. “And you are certain that was the last time Lord Wickton was seen?”

  Emily nodded, her stomach tightening with the awareness that Lord Davenport was not telling her the truth. Did he know more about Lord Wickton’s disappearance than he made out?

  “Whilst that is troubling, I am a little surprised that you are so concerned, however,” Lord Davenport continued, his tone suddenly changing to one of rebuke. “How did you first become aware of his absence from town?”

  It was as though Lord Davenport had slapped her, hard. She gazed at him, sitting bolt upright, her shoulders set and her hands tight in her lap. “I do not think that such a thing need concern you, Lord Davenport,” she said sharply. “All you need know is that I am a trifle concerned that the brother of my dear friend, Lady Glenister, cannot be found in London. He appears to have vanished into the gloom and no one has been able to locate him thus far.”

  Lord Davenport did not look particularly pleased at this explanation, his eyes darkening. “I did hear that some poor soul had been dragged from the Thames lately,” he said suddenly, sending a wave of fear crashing over Emily. “I did not think much of it—for, of course, such things do happen upon occasion, although I am always sorry for those poor, unfortunate souls—but you do not think that it could be…?”

  Emily felt the blood drain from her face, aware of the trembling that suddenly shook her. It could not be Lord Wickton! If someone had been pulled from the Thames, then there would surely be an outcry that a gentleman had been discovered in its depths. The cut of Lord Wickton’s clothes would have shown his status at the very least.

  Unless they were taken from him by vagabonds that pulled him from the Thames.

  Emily closed her eyes, steeling herself against the terrifying thoughts that began to swamp her. It was not unheard of for the poverty-stricken folk of London to steal whatever they could from wherever they could—even from the back of a dead man.

  “We can but hope that it is not he,” Lord Davenport continued in a light voice as though he had seen Emily’s distress but did not think much of it. “As I said, it was only something I heard in passing and I did not give it a good deal of my attention.”

  Opening her eyes, Emily drew in a long breath and set her shoulders. “I think you should make some enquiries, then, Lord Davenport,” she said, her voice wobbling slightly. “If it is Lord Wickton—although I pray it is not—then we must inform his sister at once. There will be much to do.” Her heart twisted painfully in her chest and she felt herself grow weak. Surely it could not be him? And yet, his absence from London, his disappearance into the ether, suggested that he might very well have met his end. The Thames was not that far from White’s and if he had imbibed a little too much…

  “I shall do, of course,” Lord Davenport said crisply, a faint look of amusement in his eyes which Emily saw but could not understand. “You need not be distressed, my dear lady. After all, it is not to him that you are engaged now, is it?”

  Emily blinked rapidly, her eyes filling with tears as she battled her emotions.

  “I shall tell your father the good news at once,” Lord Davenport continued, getting to his feet and reaching across to pat her hand. “Thank you for accepting, my dear lady. You have become everything to me and I cannot imagine going through this life without you.”

  Emily could not say a word, her throat constricting as Lord Davenport quit the room. She did not quite know what had occurred, such had been her fear and concern over Lord Wickton and the sudden, dark suggestion that he might be the one dredged from the Thames. Staring after Lord Davenport, watching the door close behind him, Emily suddenly realized, with a startling clarity, that he had just stated that they were now engaged.

  She drew in a quick breath, one hand pressed against her stomach. She had not agreed to any engagement and she was certain that Lord Davenport had not proposed. But, for whatever reason, he now appeared convinced that they were engaged, which meant that soon, all of London town would know of it.

  Heavy metal shackles seemed to settle over her hands. She was captured, it appeared. Captured by Lord Davenport, regardless of what she herself thought or felt. She had not agreed to marry him and yet the news would be making its way through the beau monde within the next few hours.

  There was nothing she could do. Somehow, Lord Davenport had trapped her into a betrothal and now her future was entirely laid out. She was caught.

  10

  “I’ll just take this away.”

  Arthur looked up at Polly, his heart sinking low. The footmen had returned to their post outside his door whenever Polly came and went, which meant that he was not at all able to speak to her about his difficulties any longer. It had been ten days now since he had been taken by Lord Davenport. Ten long days where he had been flung between hope and disillusionment. Polly had not done as he had asked, not yet, at least. Each time she came into the room, he would look up at her hopefully, but she did nothing but avoid his gaze. It was as though she could not bring herself to look into his face, for fear that he would lose all hope and be quite broken in both his spirit and his mind.

  Arthur had to cling to something. He had to trust that, despite her fears, Polly might one day find the courage to bring him what he had asked. Surely there had to be some way for him to escape from here, to stop Miss Smythe from even considering Lord Davenport any longer.

  The sound of the footmen murmuring to themselves as the door remained open, waiting for Polly to return, reminded Arthur of just how little conversation he had enjoyed with anyone of late. He missed the freedom of simply conversing with his acquaintances, of being able to talk without constraint. This was more than a prison. This was torture.

  “Here.” Polly walked back into the small room holding the now clean chamber pot. Arthur looked at her steadily, aware that the footmen were still talking to each other and not listening to whatever Polly might say.

  “Thank you, Polly,” he said quietly. His eyes were still caught on hers and to his surprise, he saw that she appeared rather afraid. Her eyes were darting towards the footmen before back to his face, as she set the chamber pot down with a good deal more care than before. Her face was pale, her hands now tight in front of her as she bobbed a quick curtsy in front of him.

  “I’ll be back for the tray later,” she said, giving him a long look. “Your dinner will be coming then.”

  He nodded slowly, not certain what she meant bu
t realizing that there was more to this chamber pot than he realized. A sudden burst of hope flared in his heart.

  “Thank you,” he said slowly, looking at her as she backed towards the door. “Thank you, Polly.”

  She said nothing more but pulled the door closed tight behind her and Arthur heard the key turn in the lock once more. The footmen, he knew, would take the key and hand it back to Lord Davenport, who would be expecting it. There was no means of escape there.

  Waiting until the sound of the footmen’s voices had faded away, Arthur ignored the contents of the tray that had been set on the small table and hurried around to the other side of his bed where the chamber pot would be. Pulling it out carefully, he saw, to his astonishment, a small piece of paper and what appeared to be a thin pencil. Part of him wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he had been for requesting that Polly bring him paper, a quill, and ink when, in truth, he ought to have realized that a pencil would have been much easier to procure.

  The paper was small and dirty and it would not hold much writing at all, but it was a good deal better than having no paper at all. At least, this way, he had a chance of informing Miss Smythe about the truth of his predicament. He might have to rely on her to help him find his freedom once more, but surely she would be able to do such a thing?

  He hesitated, holding the paper and the pencil in his hand. It was a heavy burden to place on her shoulders, he realized. He would be asking her to find a way to discover his whereabouts within Lord Davenport’s townhouse and thereafter, to find a way to locate the key and then free him from his cell. It was something of a formidable task, he realized, beginning to wonder whether he should, in fact, ask someone else for their help.

  Sitting down on the bed, Arthur let out a long breath and tried to think clearly. His first desire was to stop Miss Smythe from entangling herself with Lord Davenport, so that she would know the truth about Lord Davenport and therefore not tie herself to him without consideration. Therefore, the first thing he needed to do was to write to Miss Smythe so that she would know of Lord Davenport’s villainous character.