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

by Joyce Alec

  “I am sure the lady would be very grateful,” Lord Matthews said quietly, evidently trying to reassure her. “Whatever you might think, Miss Smythe, and as painful as it is for you to hear this, I fear that there may be a good deal more that Lord Davenport knows of Lord Wickton’s movements than he has said.”

  Emily nodded, sniffing rather indelicately before lifting her head to look into Lord Matthew’s concerned eyes. “You need not think that I have any affection for my betrothed, Lord Matthews,” she replied honestly. “This engagement is not of my choosing. As I have said, I believe that Lord Davenport has not told me the truth about what occurred that evening at White’s.”

  “And he will not tell you?”

  Shaking her head, Emily prevented a sigh from escaping from her mouth. “I have no particular intimacy with Lord Davenport, Lord Matthews, as odd as that may seem.”

  There was a brief silence. Emily felt her stomach twisting this way and that, a flurry of anxiety climbing through her as she considered what they were to do next. She could not exactly demand that Lord Davenport tell her the truth, especially when he had already manipulated her into their betrothal which, now that her father knew of it and a ball was being planned for them both, she could not turn away from. Closing her eyes, Emily forced a sudden rush of tears back behind her eyes. She could not allow herself to think of her unwelcome engagement now, nor could she let herself consider Lord Wickton and what might have been between them, had she only been honest with him about the depth of her feelings. All that mattered at the present was finding Lord Wickton and restoring him to society. What would follow thereafter, she could not say.

  “I think, Miss Smythe, that—”

  The door to the drawing room suddenly flew open and a young woman hurried into the room, quickly followed by the horrified butler.

  “I am truly sorry, Miss Smythe,” the butler protested, trying to grasp the arm of the young woman who dodged him easily, her eyes fixed on Emily. “This young lady insisted upon seeing you but as you can see…” He gestured hopelessly to the young woman, who had now placed herself behind a chair so that the butler could not grab at her without the chair getting in the way. “It would not be at all proper.”

  Emily, still a little taken aback by the young woman’s sudden appearance, looked back at her steadily, trying to decipher what could possibly be of such importance. She had never met this girl before and, from her appearance, Emily thought she must be in service. But in whose townhouse? And why was she so desperate to see her now?

  “I must speak to you,” the young woman said urgently, her hands twisting and turning in front of her as she held them tightly. “I said I would, but I can’t be gone for long.”

  Something in the young woman’s eyes made Emily’s breath catch. She did not know what it was the young woman wanted to tell her but there suddenly came a sense of urgency that flooded straight through her.

  “It is quite all right,” she said quickly, looking back at the butler and gesturing for him to leave the room. “I shall see to this matter. You may return to your duties.” She put on a sweet smile so that the butler would not feel offended at being so quickly dismissed and saw, to her relief, that it appeared to do exactly what she had hoped. The butler left with a murmur of disapproval, the door closing behind him tightly.

  “Now,” Emily said, the moment they were alone. “What is so terribly important? And what is your name?”

  The girl looked anxiously towards Lord Matthews, her lips pressing together tightly.

  “This is Lord Matthews,” Emily said, seeing her uncertainty. “You need not fear him. He will not say anything to another living soul about your presence here.” She held the young woman’s gaze, determined to convince her to speak openly. “Now, sit down, please. Tell me what it is you wish to say.”

  The maid hesitated for a few moments longer before nodding and then stumbling towards both Emily and Lord Matthews. She did not sit down but stood almost directly in front of Emily, her hand now straying to her pocket.

  “Here.”

  In one swift motion, the young woman pulled something out of her pocket and shoved it in Emily’s direction. Frowning, Emily saw a small scrap of paper, folded neatly in half, which appeared to have writing on both sides.

  “This is for me?” she asked hesitantly, seeing the young woman nod. “And who, might I ask, wrote this?”

  Again, the maid’s eyes darted towards Lord Matthews. “I—he…” She shook her head, biting her lip. “I can’t really stay long, my lady. They might wonder where I’ve gone to.”

  Uncertain as to who ‘they’ were but presuming the young woman meant those she worked for, Emily looked down at the note and began to read.

  Her chest grew tight. Her hands began to shake. This note, as short as it was, brought such astonishment that she was utterly shaken.

  “Miss Smythe?”

  Lord Matthews voice seemed to come from far away, her eyes lifting towards him as she attempted to find her voice. After a few shaking breaths, she got to her feet—albeit, a trifle unsteadily.

  “This is from Lord Wickton!” she whispered, handing the scrap of paper to Lord Matthews with a trembling hand, before beginning to pace up and down in front of the fireplace as he read it.

  “Good gracious!” Lord Matthews exclaimed. “And he has written my name there also.” He looked up at her, a smile beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth. “At least you can be assured, Miss Smythe, that I am to be trusted.”

  She nodded and managed a tiny smile in response, before jerking around and beginning to pace again. It was obvious that Lord Wickton was alive and well, but to be trapped in Lord Davenport’s townhouse was not something she had at all expected.

  “So, Lord Davenport is involved in all of this for some reason,” Lord Matthews murmured, looking at Emily steadily. “You were right to consider him untruthful in what he said he knew of Lord Wickton.”

  Emily nodded, her head seeming to buzz with thoughts. Lord Davenport had not been telling her the truth but, then again, she had suspected as much, so this news did not shock her in the least.

  “You.”

  Stopping, she whirled around and stared at the young woman.

  “What is your name?”

  The young woman’s eyes flared, her lips trembling as she pressed them together.

  “Miss Smythe will not harm you nor allow your master to know of your presence here,” Lord Matthews said kindly, drawing her attention. “She is just eager to know of Lord Wickton.”

  The young woman nodded before looking back at Emily. “Polly, my lady,” she said timidly, her eyes growing so large that she looked as though she might faint at any moment. “I can do nothing for Lord Wickton, my lady. I will be beaten black and blue if I try and then what will become of me? I need my work there—although Lord Wickton did promise he’d give me work at his townhouse once this was over.” She gave Emily a slightly hopeful look before dropping her eyes to the floor. “I don’t like what’s happening, my lady.”

  “Then Lord Wickton is alive and well?” Emily said, a question in her voice. “He is not morose?”

  Polly looked up. “He could do with some company, my lady, but I’m not allowed to speak to him much. I don’t know what the master is planning to do, but he has made sure that Lord Wickton has decent food and all that.” She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I’m just trying to do what’s right, my lady. I don’t much care for the master and to keep another man locked up like that… well, it’s not right.”

  “And where is Lord Wickton being kept?” Emily asked, holding Polly’s gaze. “Within the house?”

  Polly nodded, her face now holding a bit more color than before. “At the top, my lady. Near the attic. It’s clean enough and he has what he needs, but the master hasn’t said anything about when he’d let Lord Wickton go from the house.”

  “And how is the door locked?” Lord Matthews asked. “Does it have a bolt and a key?”

 
“Just a key,” Polly said slowly, looking at Lord Matthews doubtfully. “But Lord Davenport has the key with him in his study. One of the footmen retrieves it and takes it with us when it’s time to go give Lord Wickton his tray.” She spread her hands. “Then the master expects the key back within fifteen minutes. If it’s not there, in his hands, then there will be consequences.” A shudder ran through her, her eyes closing briefly. “I don’t dare be late.”

  “Of course not,” Emily said, trying to be encouraging. “This must have taken a great deal of courage, Polly, to come here with that note. I can see that you have a good heart.”

  Polly’s eyes flickered to the note in Lord Matthews’ hand. “When he first asked me to help him, I didn’t say yes,” she admitted, as though she wanted Emily to know that she wasn’t as good as Emily thought. “But at least now I’ve found the strength to bring this to you, my lady. Even now, I have to hope that there won’t be questions about where I was. Said I would go get the cook a few things from the market, see?”

  “But the market is a long distance away from here,” Lord Matthews said doubtfully. “Will they not think that…?” He trailed off, seeing the fear in Polly’s eyes. “No, that will not do at all. I will ensure you are brought back quickly. My carriage will be waiting for me and I shall take you in it, Polly.” He looked at Emily. “And then, mayhap, we might discuss the matter further?”

  “Yes, I should be grateful for your wisdom in this matter,” Emily agreed, suddenly feeling rather tired and forced to then sink back down into her seat. “Although I am expecting Lord Davenport to call again very soon.”

  Lord Matthews nodded gravely. “Then tomorrow, mayhap?”

  “Tomorrow would suit very well,” Emily agreed as he rose to his feet to stand next to Polly. “It will give us both the opportunity to think about what Lord Wickton has written and to decide what we shall do next. I cannot exactly go marching into Lord Davenport’s townhouse and demand that he reveal Lord Wickton to me.” She shook her head sadly. “I think that if I should do such a thing, then Lord Davenport would only lie to me, as he has done so often before.”

  Lord Matthews cleared his throat and nodded. “There is the upcoming ball,” he suggested, sending a flare of hope into Emily’s chest. “We might consider what to do then, in order to retrieve Lord Wickton from his prison. It is in a few days’ time, is it not?”

  Emily nodded, suddenly hopeful. “It is.”

  Lord Matthews looked satisfied. “Then that gives us some time to consider what we might do.” He bowed to her graciously. “Until tomorrow, Miss Smythe.”

  “Until tomorrow,” she said, seeing Polly turning around and making her way hastily towards the door. “Oh, Polly, might you give a message to Lord Wickton from us?”

  Polly turned around. “Of course,” she said quickly. “Just so long as it is not a note because I don’t think I could slip that in to him.”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” Emily replied firmly, moving towards her. “Tell him that we have received his note and that we will free him from Lord Davenport’s grasp. Tell him that the marriage will not go ahead.” A smile played about her mouth, her heart beating quickly with the decisiveness that suddenly filled her. “Tell him that he has nothing to fear, that his message has been in time. Can you do that?”

  Polly nodded, repeating back to Emily what she had said. Satisfied, Emily allowed her to leave before thanking Lord Matthews again for his company and his help in this difficult set of circumstances.

  Watching the door close, Emily felt her relief begin to wash through her, allowing her to breathe a little easier. Lord Wickton was not dead, as she had feared. He was very much alive and being held by Lord Davenport in an attempt to prevent him from dissuading Emily to marry him. Foolishly, Emily had allowed Lord Davenport to manipulate her into her betrothal, but now that she knew the truth about Lord Wickton’s disappearance, there was certainly no intention on her part to continue with the marriage. She would not be making her vows to Lord Davenport. She would rather become a spinster and be sent to the wild north before allowing him to take her as a wife.

  “But I cannot say anything now,” she said aloud, realizing that she could not say a word to Lord Davenport about what they had discovered, for fear that he would make things very difficult for them all. She had to pretend that all was well, that she was content, and that she was even looking forward to the upcoming ball. Her stomach was a ball of tension, her hands tightening into fists as she began to pace up and down the room.

  One thing she had not told Polly to say to Lord Wickton was anything as to what she herself felt. She had not instructed Polly to tell Lord Wickton that Emily cared for him, that she had been forced into an engagement despite having never forgotten Lord Wickton, that he had never gone from her heart. Would she have the chance to tell him such things again? What would he say when he finally emerged from Lord Davenport’s townhouse? Would he look at her gratefully, but with no sense of affection or love? He must have said something to Lord Davenport that had sent fear racing through Lord Davenport’s mind. Fear that had forced Lord Davenport to take action, to remove Lord Wickton from Emily’s world so that he could not make things difficult for Lord Davenport. There was no reason for it, no sensible reason, at least. Was Lord Davenport truly that afraid that she might reject him? That she might turn away from him and free herself from their courtship?

  Her mind went back to the night of the ball, when Lord Davenport had turned to Lady Josephine instead of directing his gaze and attentions towards her. The flowers and the pretty apologies that had come thereafter had almost overwhelmed her, but she had not had any other choice but to accept him given the demands of her father. Was that who Lord Davenport expected her to be? A quiet wife, only able to do as she was told without even a hint of self-determination? Was that why he had been afraid that Lord Wickton might find her and tell her the truth about Lord Davenport’s true character?

  “Alas, I have found that out for myself,” she murmured, walking to the window and looking out at the scene below her. “I have discovered the truth of Lord Davenport entirely on my own, Lord Wickton.” A sad smile played about her mouth as she found herself wishing that Lord Wickton had chased her with the fervency that Lord Davenport now did—even though it was for his own benefit, of course.

  “Lord Davenport, my lady.”

  Emily withdrew from the window almost at once, ignoring the flurry of anger in her stomach and turning around to see Lord Davenport stride into the room, his expression bright and his face wreathed with smiles. However, it was not his expression that caught Emily’s interest, but rather the purple bruise that shone around his eye.

  “Good gracious,” she murmured, arching one eyebrow. “Whatever has occurred, Lord Davenport?”

  He waved her concern away. “An accident only,” he said, clearly unwilling to give her the truth she required. “A little too much brandy.” His smile was broad and directed towards her, as though she might simply be charmed by his presence and forget her questions altogether. “My dear Miss Smythe,” he said, bowing before coming towards her with arms outstretched. “I have missed you terribly.”

  Emily accepted his compliment with barely more than a nod. “It has not been more than a day, Lord Davenport,” she responded with a tight smile. “Surely you exaggerate.”

  “Indeed, I do not,” Lord Davenport replied firmly, grasping her hands and pulling her towards the seats by the fire. “Now, call for tea, Miss Smythe. We have much to discuss about the upcoming ball!”

  Emily, resigning herself to an afternoon of painted smiles and a pretense that all was well, did as she was bid. Ringing the bell for tea, she came to sit in the chair appointed for her by Lord Davenport, who himself had remained standing. Inwardly, she rebelled against such a thing, but outwardly, she did nothing but smile and nod and make small exclamations of delight as Lord Davenport began to tell her all that would occur at their upcoming ball.

  Little did he know that t
here would be more to the evening ball than he expected. A ball of satisfaction settled in Emily’s chest, helping her endure Lord Davenport’s continued conversation as he told her all that would be happening and just what would be expected of her. Silently, she hoped that the mark on Lord Davenport’s face was from Lord Wickton, glad that, if it was so, Lord Wickton was clearly filled with both strength and determination to escape from Lord Davenport entirely. The bruise was not the only thing that Lord Davenport deserved by way of punishment.

  I will find you, Lord Wickton, she said inwardly, directing her thoughts towards Lord Wickton instead of concentrating on what Lord Davenport was saying. You shall be freed from your confinement and I shall be free of Lord Davenport.

  Although what would occur thereafter, Emily could not even begin to imagine.

  12

  “I am just going to collect Miss Smythe and her father, Wickton.”

  Arthur grimaced as Lord Davenport walked through the door of his small room to grin delightedly in Arthur’s direction, as though he should be utterly delighted with the fact that the ball was about to get underway.

  “You shall be freed very soon, but it will not be soon enough!” Lord Davenport continued, crowing in delight. “I shall have Miss Smythe as my wife, and soon she will become Lady Davenport and all of your schemes will have come to naught.”

  “You are ridiculous, Davenport,” Arthur grunted, turning his head away so that he would not have to look into the gentleman’s snide face any longer. “You have become so fixed on the idea that Miss Smythe is the only lady that you might marry that you have gone to such extraordinary lengths as killing a man and then capturing me.” Silently, Arthur wondered if Lord Davenport had a hint of madness about him, fearing that he might continue to do even more foolish and ultimately dangerous things in the future. “There are plenty of wallflowers for you to choose from, Lord Davenport. There was never any need to fix your intentions upon Miss Smythe.”