The Misadventures of Lady Ophelia (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 3)

by Christina McKnight

  The woman tapped her chest and left shoulder before winking twice and nodding her chin.

  It had been the same superstitious ritual she’d performed Colin’s entire life. As a child, he’d thought it peculiar and laugh-worthy, but as a grown man with twenty-three summers come and gone, he cringed each time Molly executed the foolish deed when his grandpapa, Porter Parnell, the first Earl of Coventry was mentioned aloud.

  Colin desperately longed to make Molly happy. She’d been like a mother to him since his birth as his own parents had been far more interested in partaking of London Seasons and holidays in Bath than rearing their only child.

  “I just cannot believe Oliver would sell the book,” Molly sighed, shaking her head. “He and me Fair Wind were dear friends.”

  “If it is any consolation, he promised to review his old ledgers and determine who purchased the tome.” It was the best Colin had been able to accomplish—and far more information than he’d expected to obtain. Who would have thought the old bookshop would still be operating after all these years, or that the proprietor would remember the book in question. “He has assured me he will send word, regardless of what he finds in his records.”

  “He best, or next time, I be forced ta speak with him,” Molly threatened.

  Yes, the woman was a force of nature, even at her advanced age, but her health was indeed failing.

  She thumped her cane against the carriage floor, and her hat fell forward over one eye. She reached up, her fingers shaking slightly, and pushed the cap back. “I will bash him in the knees until he be remember’n exactly what he did with our book.”

  “You cannot go about hitting people, Molly.” It had been a point of contention between Molly and Colin’s parents for years. She lived by the old rules, the governances followed by the hardworking Englishmen and women of Kent during a time when she and Colin’s grandpapa did all they could to survive. “And, I beg of you, do not cause another scene, or Father has made it clear you will be returned to Somerset where an adequate physician will be retained for you.”

  She snorted, a decidedly unladylike sound for a dowager countess. “Ramsey, my wayward son, would enjoy noth’n more than leave’n me ta rot in the wilds of Somerset while he lives like the grand nob he is.”

  The carriage hit a particularly large pothole, and Molly bounced from her seat, landing askew.

  Colin immediately moved across the carriage to assist her back to a seated position, but she swatted his hand away.

  “I’m not at death’s door yet, lad,” she scolded. “The carrion hunter won’t be summoned for me today. I have important business ta attend before that day comes, and your rascal of a father won’t be stop’n me.”

  And around and around it went.

  “Of course, you are not in jeopardy of going to the hereafter as yet.”

  “And I won’t be meet’n my love only ta tell him his son still thinks him a no-good smuggler.” Molly turned sharply, likely to hide her teary eyes from her only grandson. “I won’t be allow’n that ta happen, Colin.”

  “Neither will I,” he said in agreement.

  Colin allowed the silence to cloak him, to settle around him like a well-worn garment as he watched Molly, her head leaning back against the cushion as she continued to stare out the window.

  Sometimes, he found himself beginning to believe his father’s rantings surrounding Molly’s mental state. The Earl of Coventry used words such as demented, addlebrained, and senseless when he spoke of his mother, Molly Parnell. However, Colin only saw a woman who’d cared for him during his infancy and childhood and who continued to dote on him even after his time at University. No one who came into contact with Molly could deny the old woman was set in her ways, or that she had a mouth worse than most seamen, the demeanor of a shrewd merchant, and the crass nature of a bar wench. And she’d been exactly that when she met and fell in love with Porter Parnell all those years ago.

  Though before giving birth to her only son, Ramsey, Molly—and Porter—had been bestowed an Earldom by King George II with lands and a fortune to match, she’d never forgotten her humble beginnings in the coast town of Sheerness, Kent.

  “Molly.” He had the urge to say something, to reassure her that he was doing all in his power to find his grandpapa’s book—the volume Molly was certain would prove that Fair Wind was not just a mere smuggler, but an honorable, king-fearing man who served his country well during the Seven Years’ War. When his grandmama turned to him, Colin noted how much she’d aged since he last visited her. Her eyes were…tired. It was the only way to explain her heavily sagging lids. Her hair was now solid gray, though she’d always prided herself on her silky brown tresses. And her fingers firmly grasping her cane were gnarled. “I have not given up hope. Never will I give up hope.”

  “So much like me Fair Wind, ye are, lad.” Her smile returned, but it was not meant for Colin. No, she was thinking of Porter “Fair Wind” Parnell, her lost love.

  Colin was almost hesitant to call her mind back to the present, but they were nearly to Knightsbridge Townhouse—the Coventry home while in London—and he needed to remind her of the sensitive nature of their search. “You will keep this between us, correct? Father will return you to Somerset without a second thought if he learns we are trying to locate that bloody book again.”

  “Discretion is me middle name, boy,” Molly replied with a grin.

  “I thought you said it was Arabella-Louise,” Colin teased.

  “And ye are a far better listener than your father.” She glanced out the window once more, and Colin was filled with a sense of pride—of accomplishment. His grandmama Molly was a determined woman, and with his help they would set history straight and prove that Fair Wind Parnell, later the first Earl of Coventry, was much more than a no-good, scallywag of a smuggler. They would establish that he was, in fact, the trusted friend of one of the greatest monarch’s England has ever seen.

  …if only they could hide their activities from his father for a while longer.

  Chapter 3

  Ophelia slipped into her room and leaned against the door, her eyes closed. She was beyond ready for a couple of quiet moments alone—and a few scarce minutes to lose herself in her current book, The Buccaneer’s Bounty, without Luci droning on and on about the silly nature of adventure novels or, worse yet, her upcoming nuptials to the Duke of Montrose. Ophelia in no way felt ill will for the new pair, but she was rather jealous she’d been forbidden to accompany the couple on their trip to Scotland.

  Another escapade she’d be left out of.

  Oh, she’d known brief moments of adventure—their spying on Abercorn, their hand in the Mayfair Confidential column, and their trip to rescue Edith after she’d been kidnapped a few months prior—but none of those had been hers. Ophelia had had no control over any of those events, and a sense of helplessness came with that thought.

  She sighed and pushed away from the door as she opened her eyes.

  Only to recoil in horror.

  The small bookshelf near her bed had been emptied of Ophelia’s most treasured volumes.

  She rushed around the mattress as dread heated her skin.

  Her books…they were haphazardly strewn on the floor with no regard for their value.

  Glancing at her shelf once more, Ophelia was stunned to see several lengths of ribbon and a pearl-handled comb and brush set nestled where Ophelia had lovingly placed her collection of poetry.

  The door opened and closed behind her with a resounding thud.

  “Ah, there you are!” Luci’s voiced rose the hairs on the back of Ophelia’s neck. “I left the receiving room to call for tea, and when I returned, you had vanished.”

  Ophelia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, reciting to herself that she only need share her private chambers for a few more days before Luci would be off to Scotland with Montrose, Edith, and Lord Torrington. Her bedchambers would once again be hers, and her friendship with Luci would return to normal.

  �
�Oh, you are admiring my latest gifts from Roderick.” Luci knelt before the shelf and caressed the handle of the delicate brush. “He is such a generous man, and he truly loves me,” Luci sighed.

  Yes, and before long he’d be giving up his personal space to accommodate Lucianna.

  Ophelia was overjoyed that both of her dearest friends were betrothed to such fine, noble lords.

  “Did you hear the brilliant news?” Luci moved to the wardrobe and collected a pressed set of cream gloves to match her sage-green gown—Ophelia’s walking dress, the hem let out several inches to accommodate Luci’s tall stature. “My stationery arrived this morning,” she continued without waiting for Ophelia to answer.

  “Splendid,” Ophelia mumbled.

  “When I return from Scotland, I am taking you to Mademoiselle Katerina for an entirely new wardrobe.” Luci dragged her fingertips across the neatly hung gowns in Ophelia’s dressing closet. “These colors…they are atrocious and in no way complement your complexion.”

  “But they are the same gowns I’ve been wearing all Season,” Ophelia retorted, but even to her ears, the words held no bite.

  “Yes, but now you are the bosom friend of a duchess and a soon-to-be marchioness.” Luci pulled a muddy-brown riding habit out of the wardrobe and held it out for Ophelia to see. “You cannot possibly believe this dreadful excuse for a proper fabric is acceptable, O.”

  “I, well…”

  “Do not fret.” Luci rehung the habit and turned back to Ophelia with a reassuring smile. “I will outfit you properly.”

  A peculiar promise from a woman who was in all regards without a home at present.

  Ophelia glanced at her still open closet behind Luci and then noted the pair of blue satin slippers protruding from beneath her dressing table, the pile of books continuing to collect dust on her floor, and the stack of shawls strewn across her normally neatly made bed. Luci moved through every room much like a windstorm, wreaking havoc as she did, and leaving destruction in her wake. Ophelia needs must remember to give her maid extra thanks for tidying up after her friend.

  “Are you ready?” Luci took in Ophelia from head to toe.

  For a brief moment, she had the urge to take in her appearance, as well; however, Ophelia had been dressed since shortly after dawn. She’d broken her fast with her siblings and mother. She’d written another article for the Mayfair Confidential, and she’d selected her next book to read—all before Luci had seen fit to crawl from her bed.

  “Roderick will be here shortly to collect us for our outing.”

  “And we certainly don’t wish to keep him waiting.” Ophelia slipped her coin purse into the pocket of her cloak. “I am ready.”

  The way Luci’s eyes lingered on her, told Ophelia her friend thought her anything but ready.

  But, with no other protest, Luci slipped her arm through Ophelia’s and pulled her toward the door as if Ophelia were a puppy to be manhandled and led about on a leash.

  Not that Ophelia had anyone to blame but herself for the way Luci and Edith treated her—she’d always been happy to follow their lead, listen to their instructions, and do exactly as she was told. It was the same with her family. Ophelia’s mother bid her keep watch on her younger siblings, and she readily agreed. Her father demanded she remain in London and not accompany her friends to Scotland, and Ophelia had not issued so much as an argument in favor of what she longed to do. When Luci had quickly taken over her chambers, making them her own, Ophelia hadn’t objected.

  They departed their shared chambers arm-in-arm and made their way to the main staircase. When an envelope had arrived containing a healthy amount of pounds, both Luci and Ophelia had gasped in surprise. The gift was from Lucianna’s mother and was to be spent on proper clothing until such time that Lady Camden could convince her stubborn husband to hand over the rest of Luci’s dowry after she wed Montrose.

  Another day of shopping did not sound nearly as appealing as an afternoon spent reading. However, with Montrose, Edith, and Lord Torrington in tow, at least Ophelia wouldn’t be alone in her plight.

  An exasperated sigh escaped as Colin pondered for the thousandth time why he’d agreed to allow Molly to accompany him to Atholl’s townhouse. He leaned back against the velvet squabs of his father’s finely adorned landau and gave his grandmama his most charming smile. Allowing the woman to know he was irritated would be unwise.

  “You cannot accompany me into Lord Atholl’s home,” he repeated for the third time since they’d pulled into the drive. His footman waited outside the carriage to open the door, but Colin refused to depart the conveyance until Molly had agreed to remain inside and unseen.

  “Why can I not go in?” Molly huffed, pounding the end of her cane against the floor to punctuate each word. “It is me book the man stole, and I will have it back.”

  “Atholl stole nothing,” Colin said slowly, his imploring stare begging Molly to understand. “He purchased the book at Oliver’s, bought and paid for.”

  “He is a bloody pisser, and ye won’t be convince’n me no different.”

  “Molly.” Colin pinched the bridge of his nose. Growing up on the docks of Sheerness, his grandmama’s less than proper upbringing presented itself with increased intensity when she was angry or met by opposition. “This is exactly why I cannot allow you to accompany me. If you start in on one of your tirades, Lord Atholl will have no reason to give us any information about the book—that is if he even so much as remembers purchasing the blasted thing.”

  With a humph, Molly trained her eyes on the head of her cane. “We are too bloody close, Colin, me lad.”

  “I understand your impatience, I do. However, barging into Lord Atholl’s home and demanding the book will not gain us what we seek.” He was helpless to remain irked by her demeanor. “Besides, Oliver gave me the information in the strictest of confidence. It would harm his business if any hint of gossip escaped, concerning him giving out the personal information of his clients. Tell me you understand and will remain in the carriage until I return.”

  She took her narrowed stare from her cane and met his eyes, her countenance immediately softening as she eased into her seat. “Ye are your grandpapa’s offspring, that be for certain.”

  Colin smiled, knowing Molly could never refuse him anything when he presented her with his toothy grin—the mirror image of Fair Wind’s smile, the mischievous smirk she’d fallen in love with all those years ago in a tavern taproom full of unsavory seamen.

  At that moment, Colin did not feel a single ounce of guilt using the tactic against her to gain her cooperation.

  “I know, Molly, and just as you did with Grandpapa, trust me to take care of you. Believe I will find Fair Wind’s book and return it to you,” he said on a rushed exhale. “Can you do that for me?”

  She turned her head sharply to stare at the curtain-covered window.

  “I will have your word, or we will leave now and I will return you home.” He shrugged, content with either option depending on the choice she made. If she insisted on accompanying him inside, they would return home, and Colin would journey back to Mayfair without her in tow.

  “I will wait here,” she sighed.

  “Thank you, Molly. That is a wise decision.”

  She snorted, refusing to look at him. However, she’d given him her word, and there was little his grandmama valued more than a promise.

  He rapped on the side of the carriage, and his footmen opened the door and placed the step for him to depart.

  “I love you, and I will return quickly with any information I discover.” He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the cheek she offered.

  Colin leapt from the carriage, pausing to have a word with his footman and driver.

  “Keep a watch on her. Whatever you do, do not allow her inside Lord Atholl’s townhouse.”

  Both servants nodded in understanding and resumed their posts by the waiting carriage.

  His clenched fist pounded on the door, quickly bringing a
butler to greet him.

  “Lord Hawke to see Lord Atholl,” Colin announced, reaching into his jacket pocket for his calling card.

  The servant accepted the offering but didn’t take his eyes off Colin. “Is His Grace expecting you, my lord?”

  “No. However, you can inform him that I’ve come in regards to information about Sheerness.” The butler’s brow rose, certainly familiar with the town on the Kent coast, known for its long history of smugglers. “It is a business matter.”

  “Of course, my lord, this way please.”

  Colin expected to be shown into the foyer or an empty receiving room, but the servant led him through the entrance, past two salons, and down a wide hall farther into the house.

  “His Grace is in his study, sir.” The butler stopped and opened a door to Colin’s left before stepping into the room, leaving Colin in the dim corridor. “Your Grace, a Lord Hawke”—he glanced down at the card for the first time—“Baron Hawke, is here to speak with you in regards to Sheerness.”

  Bloody hell. He’d used the information as a ploy to gain entrance. Colin hadn’t imagined the butler would announce his interests so boldly. When he’d gotten word from Oliver with regards to who had last owned the book, Colin had had his man of business look into the lord.

  “Sheerness, you say?” The voice did not boom and echo down the hall, nor sound forceful in any manner—the robust volume Colin thought a duke would possess. “Do show him in.”

  “He is right here, Your Grace.” The servant glanced over his shoulder to where Colin awaited. “His Grace, the Duke of Atholl, will see you, my lord.”

  The comical nature of the exchange was not lost on Colin as he stepped into the room. The door shut behind him with a quietness not found in many homes—the hinges did not protest, nor did the latch clink.