The Valentine's Day Ball (2 page)

Giggles, lingering sighs, coy blushes—all this and more would follow. Jane plastered what she hoped was a gracious smile on her face, and she stepped into the ballroom to watch the festivities. Cherry was across the room, now standing very properly beside her mother.

The music came to an end. Pipkin, aided by several footmen, distributed the valentines. Jane’s fingers twisted the heart-shaped locket that hung around her neck. Two Cupids cavorted wildly on its case, and normally she would have found such a piece of jewellery distasteful. But this was the Heartland locket; it had adorned the neck of each mistress of the house at the Valentine’s Ball for the past four hundred years. Still, it created a heavy burden for Jane. Her grandmother used to recollect how Jane’s grandfather would lovingly fasten it around her neck before each ball, saying that she would always be his valentine.

A deep voice sounded close to her ear, and Jane managed to remain serene as his warm breath stirred the errant tendrils of brown hair resting on her neck.

“An interesting custom, this, and an interesting piece of jewellery, Miss Lindsay.”

Not turning to face him, Jane replied, “Both have been in my family for several hundred years, Lord Devlin. I’m certain you, too, have cherished family traditions.”

“I can see you have heard nothing about my family, Miss Lindsay. The only traditions the Earls of Cheswick have followed have been of greed, misery, and lust. Not precisely laudable traits.”’

She turned then wished she hadn’t. Why did he have to stand so near? She struggled to maintain her facade of casual composure.

Lord Devlin lifted the locket from her hand and studied the ornate etchings in the heavy gold. “They seem to be struggling to control the ruby just here,” he said, rubbing his thumb across the heart-shaped ruby. “Is that, perhaps, a reflection of the struggle its beautiful owner must endure?”

“Rubbish!” said Jane, her voice a trifle high.

He smiled, and she wondered how in the world she had been caught up in the drivel spouted by a man—especially this particular man. Why did he have the power to rouse such uneasiness in her breast?

“Your valentines, Miss Lindsay,” intoned Pipkin.

“Thank you, Pipkin. Is the buffet ready?” She eagerly returned to her well-maintained discipline.

“Certainly, Miss Jane. Shall I tell the musicians to strike up the supper dance?”

“Yes, I suppose everyone has had a chance to read their cards and guess who wrote them.”

The butler retreated, and Jane looked at the delicate lace basket in her hands. Valentine cards, some folded and sealed, lay in neat rows. Suddenly, she wished she were anywhere except beside Lord Devlin. Why should she care what he thought of her? Perhaps his reference to her as an acceptable chaperon still rankled. That was it.

“You must be the most popular lady at the ball, Miss Lindsay.”

She glared into his teasing brown eyes. How dare he make free with her name? “They are merely courtesy greetings to the hostess of the ball, Lord Devlin.”

He raised his brows at this. “Then there is no one who has claimed you for the supper dance?”

“I do not dance this evening, sir.”

“But you must sup,” he persisted.

“I must tend to other matters, Lord Devlin, but I do thank you for thinking of me.”

With this, Jane made her escape, crossing the floor quickly and not slowing her pace until she gained the solitude of her own chamber.

She fumed, she raged, she castigated herself for being such a ninny. He was merely trying to captivate the most difficult female at the ball
,
which was why he had sought her out. He probably had a bet with someone, perhaps her horrid cousin, Roland. Or, more than likely, he was trying to win her approval so he could gain admittance to Heartland and, hence, to Cherry.

Seated in front of her mirror, her maid taking the pins from her hair, she studied her features, as she hadn’t done in ages. Her eyes were rather pretty, but her mouth would never be described as delicate or a rosebud. Her nose was good—neither too large nor too small. Her hair was her best trait, but it was wasted now that she was past the age for wearing it down.

She grimaced as Tucker worked to confine one strand of the heavy tresses before another pin slipped its moorings. She couldn’t prevent a smile as she remembered the time at the seminary for young ladies when her friend Sally had persuaded her to cut her hair short, convincing her that without the heavy length it would curl. After hours of trying to coax it to curl, they had finally given up, and she had been consigned to months of looking like one of Cromwell’s Puritans. What a scold they had endured from the headmistress!

“Hmph! That’ll do, Miss Jane. You’ll last the rest of th’ ball now. Have ye met any interestin’ people?”

“Men, you mean, Tucker?”

“Aye, well, there’s no harm in that, Miss Jane.”

“No, no harm at all. And as a matter of fact, I have made the acquaintance of one new gentleman—a viscount, if you please.”

“Oh, Miss Jane, I’m so happy for you!”

“Don’t be too happy. I can’t think when I’ve met a more disagreeable man.”

“Now, Miss Jane, ye mustn’t be so hard on the gentlemen.  You can’t find all of them disagreeable.  There’s someone out there just waitin’ for ye.”

“You’re a dear to think so, Tucker, but he must be waiting somewhere else for he’s not here tonight.”

Jane rose and left the room while her maid tidied up the dressing table.

Still carrying the basket of valentines, Jane paused outside her room and looked down the long corridor that led to the main rooms. She shook her head and headed in the opposite direction, opening a door that led to a narrow staircase. A single sconce of candles on the wall lighted the dark passageway as she hurried up the familiar steps.

She stopped in front of the first door and knocked then entered at the growled command, “Come.”

“Hello, Nana,” she said quietly, leaving the door ajar as the stale air assailed her.

“Ah, child, so ye’ve not fergot yer old Nana on this special night,” said the ancient servant who rocked incessantly in her low chair, her gnarled hands clutching its arms like claws.

“Of course not, Nana.”

Mindful of her skirts, Jane perched on the edge of the narrow bed. Its softness enveloped her, for it was of the finest down, the only privilege her old nurse had ever requested. Jane smoothed the covers, smiling as she recalled those stormy nights when she had fled the nursery and sought refuge in her Nana’s feather bed.

Nana had always pretended to be asleep as she moved her heavy form to one side. It wasn’t till morning that the old nurse would scold her for being such a naughty girl. This was probably because her fears were Nana’s fears, and the comfort of a loved one warded off the evils of the storm for both of them. When Jane had outgrown the nursery, Nana had remained, but she had ordered the windows nailed shut and locks placed on all the doors to ward off the piskies and faeries that haunted her Cornish soul.

And how many times had Jane sat and listened to those old tales of goblins and witches? Even when she was past the age to do so, she had wandered up those stairs to Nana’s room to hear the stories again and again.

Breaking into her reverie, the old nurse said, “So ye’ve brought yer valentines to share with Nana.”

“Of course. You’re better than I at guessing the authors of the anonymous ones.”

Jane proceeded to read each verse aloud, telling the names of the signed verses and allowing her old muse to help her guess the nameless ones. As usual, most of Jane’s were signed.

To the fairest of the fair,
For fairness lies not in the person,
But in the soul.

--An Admirer

“Mr. Primrose, or whatever the new curate’s name is.”

Jane laughed. “Right, of course. And here is one from Cherry with a sweet verse about sisters. Shall I read it?”

Nana shook her head. Cherry hadn’t grown up at Heartland and was not a favourite of Nana’s.

“Let’s see, here’s a different one. The handwriting is atrocious and ’tis merely written on a blank card.

Your beauty at first caught my eye…But every moment that I converse with you steals in some new grace, heightens the picture, and gives its stronger expression…By all that’s good, I can have no happiness but what’s in your power to grant me. Nor shall I ever feel repentance but in not having seen your merits before. I will stay, even contrary to your wishes, and though you should persist to shun me, I will make my respectful assiduities atone for the levity of my past conduct.

An Admirer

Jane stared at the note, her brow puckered in confusion.

“Can’t place it. Doesn’t sound like the usual verse. Don’t think it can be any o’our local swains.”

“’Tis from
She Stoops To Conquer,
” murmured Jane. She looked over at the old nurse and added, “A play by Oliver Goldsmith. Odd that anyone should be able to quote it. And it was obviously written in haste, so it can’t have been prepared before the ball. There’s no lace or other decoration.”

“Seems ye’ve a real admirer, dearie.”

Jane shrugged off the suggestion and picked up another card, slipping the carelessly scribbled missive into her reticule. She would investigate further—not that she believed its contents. It was just a little mystery that would be amusing to solve.

Probably one of Cherry’s beaus who felt sorry for the spinster cousin. Perhaps Cherry had even suggested it, hoping to add to Jane’s enjoyment of the evening. Yes, the more she thought about it, that was the most likely solution—and they had seen the play in Bath only last month.

“That’s all, Nana,” said Jane at length.

“’Tis enough, I think, child. And one or two quite promising.”

“Nana!”

“It would be good to see the nurseries at Heartland full with babies.”

“I’m certain Cherry—”

“I didn’t mean her babies, and well you know it! Now you go back to the ball and find the authors of those verses.”

Jane shook her head and smiled.

“Ah, so ye’ve someone in mind,” said the nurse, misinterpreting that smile. Her rocker became motionless as she stared into Jane’s eyes. Shaking off an uncomfortable eeriness, Jane said lightly, “Just an irritating man, Nana, but I assure you, I was not thinking of him. And he certainly never sent me a valentine tonight!”

But the old woman sat forward suddenly and grasped Jane’s hands in hers. “Have a care, missy. He’s a danger to yer heart, he is. I can feel it.”

“What nonsense, Nana. Not to
my
heart. Perhaps Cherry’s, but I’ll soon put an end to that!”

“Ah, that one. She can look after ’erself, she can. Just like her namesake, she’ll be carried away by a trickster like the King o’ the Piskies, mind you!”

“I would hardly describe Lord Devlin in such a manner, Nana.”

“And just how would you describe him, Miss Lindsay?” said the shadow standing in the doorway. It moved into the room and defined itself as Lord Devlin.

Jane let out an exclamation and turned to her old nurse who had covered her face with her shawl.

“Don’t look at him, Miss Jane!” she whispered breathlessly.

“Now see what you’ve done with your skulking about! It is all right, Nana. It is only the man I had mentioned to you. He’s not a spirit, just a very annoying guest.” She glared up at him, and he grinned in response.

“I beg your pardon, madam, if I frightened you. I have an affinity for old houses, and I was merely exploring. I got a bit turned around and went farther than I had supposed.” As this speech was administered in a calm, repentant voice, the old woman lowered her shawl and regarded him fiercely.

“Where are you from, boy?”

“Yorkshire.”

“You don’t sound it,”’ she commented, a suspicious frown creasing her wrinkled forehead.

“I have spent the past ten years abroad.”

“Aye, that explains it.” Nana cocked her head in Jane’s direction. “What do you want with my Jane?”

The viscount’s eyes twinkled as Jane gasped, “Nana!”

With a serious demeanour, he responded, “I had hoped to persuade Miss Lindsay to return to the ball. I would like to learn more about this fascinating old house.”

“Hmph!” said Jane.

“Then that’s all right. You two run along. I’ve got to get my rest, I do. Goodnight, my lord. Goodnight, missy.”

Jane stood up, looking irresolutely from the viscount’s proffered arm to the old woman who had closed her eyes and resumed rocking. “Goodnight, Nana,” she said, grimacing as she placed her gloved hand on Lord Devlin’s sleeve.

He reached past her, his chest brushing against her breast as he retrieved the lace basket and her reticule from the bed. The white card fell from the reticule and he caught it. He picked it up, quickly scanning its contents.

“Goldsmith, I believe.”

Jane took the card and pushed it more securely into the reticule as he continued, “It seems you have at least one valentine that you deemed worthy of separating from the others. What a fortunate fellow.”

“Poppycock!” snapped Jane.

They had reached the top of the stairs, and Jane paused, waiting for the viscount to go first. He, however, seemed disinclined to release her arm, for he tucked it closer, trapping her hand against his side as they descended the narrow stairs.

“The candles have gone out,” said Jane as she realized they were in total darkness.

“Are you afraid of the dark, Miss Lindsay, or perhaps only of me?”

“I am afraid of neither, sir, but I must admit I find the minor irritations of life vexatious.”

What a rich laugh he had, and she realized she was smiling. Recovering immediately, she reflected how fortunate it was that they were immersed in darkness.

“I believe we are at the bottom, Miss Lindsay.” She stopped in her tracks, and he turned to face her. “What? Unwilling to call our little tête-à-tête at an end?”

Not betrayed into revealing her temper, Jane stared at what she believed to be his face. “You are insufferably arrogant, aren’t you, Lord Devlin?”

Again, that laugh. “Perhaps, Miss Lindsay, I am merely voicing my own hopes.”

“And untruthful, as well.”

“Then perhaps I should prove my words.” With this, he embraced her, pinning her arms to her sides as his lips sought hers.

“I shall scream!”

“And how will you explain our presence here together? Come, kiss me.”

His lips tasted vaguely of liquor, and Jane tried to concentrate on this instead of on the light-headed feeling that was creeping over her. But the fight was impossible, as his kiss became more demanding, his tongue probing, and she swayed against him. He groaned and released her arms, but instead of using them to pummel his chest as any gently reared lady should have, Jane slipped her arms around his neck and wound her fingers into his dark, curly hair.