The Valentine's Day Ball (5 page)

“Then how fortunate for me, Miss Lindsay.” He smiled, but the expression failed to reach his eyes. He turned his attention to the view of the house and its grounds below.

  Jane grimaced then stole a glance at his profile. He seemed almost forbidding. Perhaps this is the side of Lord Devlin her aunt had witnessed, which would account for Aunt Sophie’s strange opinion of the man.

But why should she care one way or another? And why did he have to show up now? Why did he always surface just when she had said something or had done something that was not quite the thing? He obviously did not believe her story about extending her ride.

Truly, he was a vexing man with extremely poor timing. He had witnessed her disastrous leap over the balcony, he had overheard her tirade against Lord Pierce and Cherry, and—most of all, and certainly worst of all—Lord Devlin had been the cause of that most improper kiss.

Of course, he had not experienced that kiss alone.

All these thoughts flashed through Jane’s mind as she carefully smiled. In light tones reminiscent of her cousin, she said, “La, Lord Devlin, it was just that I was enjoying this beautiful day, so rare for February.”

His handsome face became set in an odd expression, his nostrils slightly flared, his eyes hooded, and his sensual mouth drooped at the corners. “I quite know how you feel, Miss Lindsay,” he drawled. “But as it happens, I was not on a solitary ride. I was calling to see how your ankle fares. I see, however, that my concern was quite unnecessary. You have obviously recovered from your indisposition.”

“Yes, I am much better.” Jane deemed it time to change the subject. “Who was with you in the carriage, Lord Devlin?”

“Your cousin, Mr. Havelock. I happened upon him as I was strolling in Bath, and he insisted I accompany him in his phaeton.” Jane arched one brow at the implication that he had not planned on coming to call at all. “Unfortunately, there was not room enough for the two of us to be comfortable.”

Unbidden, a small bubble of laughter came to Jane’s lips, and this time, when she looked at Lord Devlin, his smile lighted his dark eyes with warmth.

“Just so,” he said, his tone adding to her amusement.

“You are too bad, sir.” She tried to sound severe, but she fooled no one.

“Not at all. And to be quite truthful, I thought a ride by myself infinitely preferable to being cooped up in a carriage on such a beautiful day. I invited your cousin to return to his lodgings and get his own hack, but he informed me that he doesn’t ride.”

“No, I’m afraid Cousin Roland does not favour this mode of transportation. He never has. I believe it is due to the fact he had an unfortunate accident as a child.”

“Took a nasty spill?”

“So to speak; he mounted his pony one day, and the poor beast just lay down and died.”

She was rewarded for this revelation by Lord Devlin’s rich laugh, and Jane decided it would be rude not to join in.

Finally wiping tears from her eyes, she admitted, “It was a very old pony.”

Lord Devlin dissolved into laughter again. When he could speak, he turned merry brown eyes on her and said, “You are roasting me, Miss Lindsay.”

“On my honour, I promise you it did happen. Poor Roly never recovered from the embarrassment.”

Suddenly, she eyed him uneasily. “I should not have told you, sir. I can’t fathom why I did. I do hope you will not repeat—”

“Let me assure you, Miss Lindsay, the story will go no further,” said Devlin, very much on his dignity. They continued to ride along the rim of the small valley, the silence lengthening awkwardly.

Jane searched in vain for another topic of conversation.
Though she did not flirt and sparkle, like some young ladies, she had never been known to struggle to keep a conversation flowing.

Finally, though she had no real interest in his response, Jane asked, “What brings you to Bath, Lord Devlin?”

He hesitated. “I am looking for a home for my mother.”

“Does she live in London now?”

“No, York.”

“Goodness, that is quite a distance from here. Wouldn’t a house in London be better?”
Now why did I ask such a personal question?

“No, my mother does not like London society. I think Bath will suit her admirably.”

“Yes, I suppose many older people prefer the milder climate here.”

“Mother is hardly old; I daresay she’s not even turned fifty yet.”

“Don’t you know for certain?”

He waved an impatient hand. “I have only seen her for a week in the past ten years. And before that, I was too young to think of such things.”

“Then she has been living alone all these years. How dreadful for her.”

His bark of laughter had nothing to do with amusement. “She has had my uncle for company, the illustrious Earl of Cheswick.”

Jane recalled his harsh descriptions of the Earls of Cheswick, their only passion being for money and power. She shivered.

Putting on her best social expression, she said kindly, “You must bring her to visit when she arrives.”

He pulled his horse to a stop. Jane followed his lead, easily holding Sinbad still, despite the horse’s preference for action.

“I shall do that,” said the viscount quietly. Then, becoming brisk, he added, “I suppose we should return now.”

For an instant, Jane felt a stab of disappointment. “Yes, we wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.” She regretted the churlish words immediately. Why did this man have such an unfortunate effect on her manners? And morals, a wicked voice echoed in her mind.

He bent a sardonic gaze on her. “My reputation? I told you at the ball that I am no gentleman, so we need have no fear on that score. Are you perhaps telling me you are no lady?”

Knowing a blush would be her response, Jane tapped her riding crop on Sinbad’s rump and sent him flying down the hill to the stables.

The Viscount Devlin followed at a leisurely pace.

b

By the time Jane and Lord Devlin entered the gold salon, the refreshments served to Cousin Roland and her aunt and Cherry had been consumed. Jane knew well that Cherry could never resist the delicious cakes Cook prepared, but she attributed the emptiness of the tray to Roland.

“Jane, how naughty of you to monopolize Lord Devlin,” said Aunt Sophie, extending her hand to the viscount who bowed over it gracefully. Her aunt sighed audibly.

“We thought you had decided to ride back to that dreadful abbey with him,” said Cherry, her words spoken a trifle sharply despite her trill of laughter.

“I should think you know me better than that,” said Jane.

She might have added more, but Lord Devlin asked, “Abbey? What abbey is this?”

“Just some old ruin on the edge of the estate. It is hardly worthy of a second glance, but Jane sets great store by it,” said Cherry, eager to engage the elegant lord in conversation.

Jane poured out the fresh tea Pipkin brought and handed a cup to Lord Devlin. Aunt Sophie pressed the new tray of cakes on their guest before passing it to Roland again.

Jane rolled her eyes. She was getting hungry and would have appreciated one of those light biscuits, but she didn’t wish to call attention to herself by getting up and fetching it. And as usual, her Aunt Sophie never had a thought for another female except Cherry when there was an eligible bachelor in the vicinity.

“I would enjoy visiting such an interesting relic, Miss Pettigrew. Perhaps you would consent to accompany me on a ride and show it to me?”

Cherry looked dubious despite the attractive offer, and Jane bit the side of her lip to smother her amusement. Cherry disliked riding every bit as much as Cousin Roland did, though she dearly loved dressing in an elegant riding habit and being the centre of attention.

“l don’t like the idea of your riding so far without a chaperon.” Aunt Sophie came to Cherry’s rescue and turned a simpering smile on Lord Devlin. “My daughter is not out yet, formally, though it is but a matter of weeks before we journey to London, sir. Perhaps Jane and Cousin Roland would care to go.”

Jane opened her mouth to reject such a proposal when Roland began to cough, his napkin not quite catching the crumbs that spewed forth. Lord Devlin, who was seated beside him, beat him forcefully on the back until the spell had passed.

Jane watched the proceeding with a frown. She could have sworn Lord Devlin’s heel applied to Roland’s slippered foot had precipitated the coughing spell. But she must have been mistaken.

When Roland had been soothed with sympathy and tea, he said hoarsely, “We’d love to go on the outing, providing, of course, I can take m’phaeton. I’m quite an out and outer with the ribbons, but I don’t care for sitting on top of some bony nag.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, though it will make your outing much longer to go around by the road. Why don’t I have Cook pack a picnic basket, and you young people can make a day of it.” Aunt Sophie Pettigrew cast an ingenuous glance at Jane.

All eyes then turned to Jane. She would have been ungracious had she vetoed their plans, so she reluctantly agreed. Lord Devlin and Roland Havelock exchanged satisfied looks as the outing was slated for the following day.

The gentlemen took their leave shortly afterwards.

b

Drew Peterson, Lord Devlin, pushed away from the table after consuming a delicious meal in the small breakfast room of his hired house in the elegant square called Laura Place.

The house was spacious for a town house, but it was not the home Drew sought for his widowed mother. Not that she would disapprove; she never questioned anything her son or husband did, and in the past ten years living with the despotic Earl of Cheswick, her brother-in-law, she had learned total submission.

This was why Drew sought other lodgings outside of town, so his mother might have her privacy yet still be close enough to socialize if she wished. There was the key word—her wishes were to be respected at all costs. He ran a distracted hand through his already disordered hair. God, how she must have suffered, locked away with his selfish, vicious old man of an uncle, who cared for nothing but money and power.

Each time Drew thought of his sweet, timid mother, the guilt for neglecting her during his banishment hit him anew. His hands formed into fists, but his helpless anger was directed at himself more than his uncle. He could have sent for her. He had made enough money in his own right to be self-sufficient. Still, the fact remained, he simply hadn’t thought of her sorrow or loneliness.

But now, he meant to set her up in style. In Bath, she would be accepted as she never had been in London. The daughter of a country curate, she had married his father, the Honourable William Peterson, for love. But life had not proved easy for them. His father had enough money to make their lives comfortable, but money had not been enough for his father. His father had grown weary of explaining his wife’s humble background. He had held it against her that she had not brought position or a dowry to their marriage.

When Faith Peterson had begun to apologize for her very existence, the love that had fostered their match was forgotten. Drew’s earliest memories of his mother were of her tears as his father slammed out the door. Those same tears had sent him off to the Indies, an unhappy, bewildered young man.

But now he was back, summoned by his uncle. Through an unfortunate accident that had taken off his twin cousins at once, he was now heir to the Earl of Cheswick and all the wealth and responsibility the title entailed. And never again would his mother be made to suffer humiliation.

There was a knock on the door. Since he was expecting no one, it was with impatience that he gestured to the footman to admit the visitor.

“My Lord Devlin, I count myself fortunate to find you at home.”

“What do you want, Havelock?” Drew’s impatience showed as he motioned to the servant to withdraw.

Roland Havelock lowered his considerable bulk into a dainty chair, and Devlin cringed lest it break. A smile flashed across his features as he recalled Miss Lindsay’s revelations about her cousin’s pony. He could still recall the music of her laughter, and he wondered if she knew how sensuous she was.

Too bad she was a lady. He wouldn’t mind a bit of a romp with such a handful. But, though Drew protested that he was not a gentleman, he drew the line at trifling with young ladies of good
ton
. And he refused to consider marriage. Someday he would have to set up his nursery, but not yet.

Reluctantly, he turned his attention to his guest.

“I believe I am doing you a favour tomorrow, Devlin, and I wondered what was in it for me.”

Devlin could barely keep a look of distaste from his features. This man was just the sort he normally avoided, and he had to remember that he might need the man’s services.

“As I told you before, Havelock, I wish to see the area surrounding Bath, and Heartland is as good a place to start as any other.”

“Yes, so you told me. You’re looking for a place to buy for your mother. But, I can tell you, you’re wasting your time at Heartland. My cousin would no more sell it than the prince would go back to his wife.” A wheezing laugh accompanied this witticism, and Drew frowned.

“Perhaps, but since I find Miss Lindsay and Miss Pettigrew quite charming, I continue to look forward to our proposed picnic. I find myself curious about something, Havelock.”

“What is that?” said his guest, accepting the proffered glass of port Devlin extended.

“How is it that Miss Lindsay inherited Heartland? The property must not be entailed?”

“No, not entailed, but it may as well be.” Havelock’s voice filled with bitterness. “Heartland has been handed down to the eldest daughter of each generation. Hence, there is no perpetual family name associated with the estate.

“Supposedly the tradition got started because of some connection to the original St. Valentine. In order that the eldest daughter of the family might always marry for love, she received the estate, or some such nonsense. Heartland was inherited by my grandmother when she was only sixteen. She married at eighteen after meeting my grandfather at the Valentine’s Ball. He was the younger son of a baronet. All he brought to the marriage was a small estate in Sussex. But I am boring you with family history.” Havelock’s snake-like eyes peered intently at Drew as though trying to ferret out the reason for his interest.

“Not at all, I find it fascinating. Tell me, how are you cousin to the Misses Lindsay and Pettigrew?”

“Grandmother produced three children: Jane’s mother, the eldest daughter; Cherry’s father; and my mother. Jane’s mother, had she lived, would have inherited Heartland; therefore, it passed to Jane on my grandmother’s death last year.”

“And the small estate in Sussex?”

“Went to Cherry’s father, then to her. An estate manager has been handling it the past ten years. It’s enough to give Cherry a respectable dowry, but not like Heartland.” Each time Roland Havelock pronounced the name of the estate, he couldn’t keep the envy and bitterness from his voice.

Drew’s devilish sense of humour led him to ask, “Miss Lindsay is not exactly in the first blush of youth, and she’s still unmarried. What happens when she dies? There’ll be no daughter to pass it on to.”

Havelock appeared much struck by this question and took several minutes before responding. “I suppose it would go to the only other female descendant.”

“Miss Pettigrew?”

“No, she’s only the daughter of a son of the family. It would have to go to my mother.”

“Who would probably no longer be among the living by the time Miss Lindsay consents to meet her maker.”

Havelock, who had been speaking as if only to himself, looked up sharply. He laughed self-consciously and shrugged. “I suppose then it will be a matter for the solicitors to decide. But I have kept you too long, sir. I must be going.”