Lord Blackwood's Valentine Ball: An Authentic Regency Romance (4 page)

She stared at Patience who felt obliged to prompt her to continue. “And?”

“Well, his lordship asked his groom to get down and take the man some money. The man wanted to refuse it at first, but then his lordship got down, went over to him, and spoke to him for a few minutes. Then the man took the money. He started crying, as well, when Lord Blackwood shook his hand. The man must have been so dirty, but his lordship did not flinch one bit. He got back into the carriage and said, ‘We owe our lives to brave men such as him.’”

Patience looked away. Lord Blackwood’s gesture had been truly magnanimous. She should not utter sarcastic words just because her own dreams were unfulfilled.

“I am sorry, Lorna dear. You are right. He is a wonderful man. ‘
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm and burgonet of men.
’”

Lorna frowned. “Is that from a book? It sounds like something one would read in a very clever book.”

Patience smiled. “It’s from a play. Shakespeare’s
Antony and Cleopatra
. The greatest love story ever told.”

“I have also read Shakespeare,” said Lorna, with a touch of loftiness, “even though I do not possess such a well-informed mind as yours. I should say, not as knowledgeable as Mama and Papa would like, but when Miss Babcock instructed my sisters and me in literature, we read
Romeo and Juliet
.”

She made a discontented pout. “However, you know how old-fashioned and boring Mama can be about romantic matters. We could not read any more of Shakespeare once Mama found out Miss Babcock had allowed us to read a
passionate
play about
lovers
, but Miss Babcock also mentioned Shakespeare’s love poems and sonnets. She sighed a lot and clasped her hands when she spoke about his poems, so they must be worth reading. Perhaps one day I will read some of those now that I am older.”

Patience hastened to reassure her. “My dear, everyone reads and absorbs information according to what interests him. Please do not think I was criticising you.”

“Cleopatra really loved Anthony, didn’t she?” asked Lorna. “It makes one want to do noble and selfless things for a loved one.”

“Oh, yes, but Cleopatra was quite a selfish woman. She betrayed him in his fight against the might of Rome, and then after he died in her arms, she committed suicide.”

Lorna let out a horrified shriek. “How dreadful! Did she take poison?”

“In a way,” said Patience. “She pressed a poisonous snake to her breast and died from its venomous bite rather than submit to being paraded as a trophy of war through the streets of Rome.”

Lorna frowned. “Well, I think that is extreme behaviour for any woman. She would have done better to marry someone else and simply mourn her lost love.”

She jumped up, her natural ebullience restored in a trice. “All this talk of romance has convinced me you will make a wonderful Valentine for Lord Blackwood. Perhaps a sprinkling of Shakespeare will impress him because he is so learned that I am sure he knows all the plays just about by heart!” Her eyes sparkled as she leaned towards Patience and said, “And you shall have plenty of time to observe his lordship at closer quarters because he has asked us both to accompany him and a few friends on an expedition to Richmond Park on Friday. The weather has been so uncommonly fine that it is the perfect outing. Please say you’ll go because I have already accepted for both of us!”

With that, she danced out of the room, flinging a last remark over her shoulder about looking for a suitable gown for Patience to wear. Her voice echoed as she ran up the stairs, calling for Doris to come help her unpack another trunk.

Patience gave a wistful sigh.

“‘
His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck a sun and moon, which kept their course, and lighted the little O, the earth
,’” she whispered to herself. “What a fool I am. He could never love me. Lorna has already captivated him.”

Four

T
he day was turning out much better than Patience had anticipated. Far from feeling awkward and socially inept, she had not had a chance to worry about how she might sound or appear to others. Although she found a larger crowd easy to merge into in an anonymous way, she disliked small, intimate gatherings where she might be singled out for attention or criticism, even if silent.

Lord Blackwood’s carriage arrived to collect her and Lorna for the expedition to the largest of the Royal parks, Richmond Park, situated in south-west London. The group included Miss Sophie Sutcliffe, Lorna’s ceaselessly giggling friend, another attractive young lady who turned out to be one of Sophie’s childhood friends, and Mrs. Sutcliffe, Sophie’s vigilant mama as chaperone for the young people. Sophisticates such as Lady Gwendolyn Iverson and Miss Annabel Cartwright might scorn the very idea of a chaperone, but they were not above social censure, and Mrs. Sutcliffe was welcomed as part of the group. Her round face, surmounted by a heavily beribboned bonnet, bore the satisfied—some might say smug—smile of a woman who knows she is an indispensable part of any social gathering involving single, eligible persons intent on furthering their acquaintance.

The gentlemen comprised Lord Blackwood and Captain Lyndon, as well as a goggle-eyed, callow youth named Mr. Adonis Capshaw, who persisted in making sheep’s eyes at Sophie. Lorna marvelled in a whisper to Patience at Mr. Capshaw’s starched shirt points, so high they nearly reached his ears. Swelling the number of gentlemen were a Mr. Samuel Smedley, whose astonishingly large fortune made him eminently desirable at any social event with unattached young women, and Viscount Birdwell, a young man whose pleasant face, quiet charm, and good manners cast him as an instant favourite.

The idea was for the group to enjoy a nuncheon
al fresco
and then stroll about the park, admiring the floral displays for which the park was celebrated.
Carpets of daffodils and bluebells, and bowers of magnolias and camellias tempted the discerning visitor. Supplied with rugs and large cushions from Lord Blackwood’s carriage, as well as several baskets of delicious food, the group made themselves comfortable on the rugs and embarked upon the task of eating and drinking. Under the mellowing influence of balmy sunshine, fresh air, Lord Blackwood’s excellent wines, and a lavish selection of tasty food, it did not take long for everyone to relax and for various alliances or romantic interests to become apparent.

Mr. Smedley enjoyed the attentions of both Lady Iverson and Miss Cartwright, who some said were desperate to marry, or at least secure a respectable proposal, before the Season ended. However, he seemed to be deeply enamoured of Miss Sutcliffe’s friend, whom Patience learned was a Miss Priscilla Wicklow, a dark-haired, green-eyed Irish beauty. Adonis Capshaw, whose parents must have been sadly disappointed that he in no way resembled his famous namesake, shot pleading and mournful looks in Sophie’s direction. However, her mama, mindful that Sophie should make a good match above Mr. Capshaw’s position, discouraged these melting glances by sharply adjuring her daughter to sit up straight and pay attention to the conversation. Giggling, Sophie cast a final encouraging glance at her doleful admirer before turning her back on him to talk to Lorna.

Patience observed the unfolding of these interactions with an artist’s eye and mentally outlined various sketches she would make when the moment presented itself. The ladies made a charming picture with each dressed in keeping with the pastoral nature of the excursion. Light muslin dresses in pastel shades, charming country style hats, feather-light wispy shawls that threatened to escape in a strong breeze—in their own way, they all looked extremely pretty. Even Sophie, who tended towards clumsiness, had a graceful quality about her. Needless to say, Lorna outshone them all as the sunlight lit up her fiery curls and illuminated her beautiful face.

The 2,500 acres of parkland had so much to offer the discerning lover of nature, animal, and birdlife, or the amateur artist bent on capturing an idyllic vista that Patience’s hands itched to begin sketching. Lorna had insisted on including the sketchbook and charcoals in their picnic basket, and once they had arrived at the park, Patience was grateful she had done so. They did not lack amusing entertainment. Mr. Smedley, although not particularly handsome, did not rely only on the size of his fortune to win female admirers. Besides his amiable nature, he possessed a quick wit and a gift for parody. His comical tales and droll caricatures of well-known society figures and politicians soon had the group laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks. After nuncheon, most of the group wandered off. Patience remained with Mrs. Sutcliffe, ensconced on her rug, her back against a tree and her bonnet tilted down to shade her eyes. Two glasses of sweet wine had softened Mrs. Sutcliffe’s watchfulness, and after struggling to keep her eyes open, she finally succumbed to the arms of Morpheus with several loud snores.

Amused, Patience noticed Sophie and Lorna stroll off arm in arm and “accidentally” join up with Captain Lyndon and Viscount Birdwell. The viscount’s murmured compliment as he took Sophie’s arm brought a pink tinge to her cheeks. He did not seem to mind her giggles, judging by the smile on his face as he tucked her hand into the crook of one arm.

Patience reflected on these romantic interactions with a small pang of heartache. Why did she always feel on the periphery of social activities? Was it her fault? Her natural timidity made it difficult for her to join in with the others. Determined not to wallow in self-pity, she brought out her sketchbook and began drawing the charming picture presented by Lady Iverson and Miss Cartwright as they leaned towards the swans jostling for morsels of bread. Mr. Smedley assisted by breaking the rolls into bite-sized fragments and providing a source for the ladies’ generosity. The breeze whipped their skirts and lifted their curls. Miss Cartwright looked extremely pretty as she laughed and caught her hat as it threatened to fly away. A few swift strokes of the charcoal captured the movement of her body, the angle of her head, and the startled swans that half rose in the water, their snowy wings batting the air. It would make a beautiful painting.

A shadow fell across her line of sight. Lord Blackwood smiled at her as she looked up, her cheeks already beginning to burn. Angry for behaving like a foolish schoolgirl at the mere sight of him, she shaded her eyes and tilted her head.

“Are you looking for the others, your lordship?” The question was quite ridiculous because if she could see everyone, so could he. However, she could not think of anything sensible to say but the obvious.

“No, I was looking for you,” he said, indicating a place next to her on the rug. “May I sit with you, or will I disturb the artist at work?”

Patience laughed, although her heart thumped with slow, heavy beats and a strange breathlessness overtook her. That familiar horrible, yet somehow exciting sensation began to travel throughout her body.

“Not at all. You are very welcome to join me.”

He sat down next to her and smoothed down his riding breeches. He had ridden next to the carriages on their way to the park, and he looked relaxed and comfortable as he stretched out his legs on the rug. He tried to look over her shoulder at the sketch, but she covered it quickly with one hand.

“Oh, I see,” he said with a smile. “You don’t want me to look too soon.”

“Exactly,” said Patience, although in fact her reaction had been instinctive. “I’d like to work on it a little more.”

She continued sketching as he sat beside her. Every now and again Mrs. Sutcliffe gave a stertorous grunt and then fell back into slumber. Patience glanced at Lord Blackwood. He caught her eye and grinned in a conspiratorial way, as if they shared a joke. He pointed to Mrs. Sutcliffe and mimicked someone sleeping. Patience wagged a reproving finger at him and then continued sketching. She had almost forgotten his presence as she became more absorbed in her work. His quiet words made her jump.

“Idyllic here, isn’t it?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the sketch. “Yes, it is.”

“I read some information about the park. It has a very interesting history. Apparently the park was established by Edward I, also known as Longshanks, or ‘The Hammer of the Scots.’”

Patience glanced at him. He turned his face away as he gazed ahead at the verdant scene. “And then in 1625, Charles I brought his court to Richmond Palace to escape the plague in London. He made it into a place for hunting fallow and red deer.” He turned his head back to look at her. “Of course, the deer for which the park is most renowned.”

“Of course,” she replied. If one of the other ladies had been sitting here with him, they would have talked about recent social events. They would have exchanged witty repartee, perhaps amusing anecdotes, or even flirtatious chat. Was he discussing the historical significance of the park because he thought she was a bluestocking? Or was it because he could think of nothing else that would interest her?

“Not many people know how much the park has to offer.” He waved one hand in front to indicate a sweeping vista. “It’s so large that it would take a person several days to explore.”

She bent her head over her sketch, half-annoyed that he continued giving her a history lesson on the park and half-relieved he had picked a safe and neutral topic of conversation. Despite Lorna’s remark about him viewing her with admiration and respect, Patience wondered why he bothered to sit with her and engage in a conversation that must be intensely boring. He must be used to far more sparkling and light-hearted banter from the ladies in his social circle. Perhaps he was being kind and attentive because of his affection for Lorna.

He indicated Lorna and Sophie laughing as they strolled with Viscount Birdwell and Captain Lyndon. “I think the viscount has developed an admiration for Miss Sutcliffe.”

Patience glanced at Sophie’s mama, still sleeping peacefully. “It appears so. Mrs. Sutcliffe would possibly approve, but Mr. Capshaw won’t be too pleased.”

Lord Blackwood put a hand up to shade his eyes as he stared in another direction. “Hmm. I’m not so sure about that. Mr. Capshaw appears to have found another muse. Look!”

Patience followed the direction of his gaze. Mr. Capshaw’s gloomy expression had disappeared and he was engaged in an animated discussion with Miss Wicklow, who seemed to be as enchanted as he was by the conversation. He waved his arms in the air as if describing the proportions or mechanics of something. Nodding as he spoke, she clasped a small posy of daisies, which no doubt Mr. Capshaw had picked for her.

Patience could not help smiling at the sudden change in affections. “My goodness. I hope they will suit.”

“Mr. Capshaw is a very intelligent young man who can be quite likeable but for a tendency to take himself and life too seriously. He is either in the heights of ecstasy or the depths of gloom.” He sighed. “Such are the vagaries and moods of young people in love.”

Love. Patience prayed with all her might that he would not ask her opinion on love.

“What do
you
think of love, Miss Cherwell?”

Patience felt herself go scarlet from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “I…er—” she squawked in confusion.

“I know your dedicated care of your departed mama has sheltered you from life,” he said, “but you must have formed an opinion. Perhaps from books and poetry?”

He cocked his head to one side, waiting to hear it. Patience quickly reassembled her scattered thoughts. He was not asking what she thought about love because he was interested in her opinion. This had something to do with Lorna, but she was not sure where the conversation was leading. Lorna had asked her to get to know him better. So what did it matter if she said the wrong thing? It did not matter at all what she said. This was about Lorna, not her.

“I believe most fervently in love and the power of love,” she said in a firm voice. Mrs. Sutcliffe grunted, moved her arms as if she felt restless, and then sank back into sleep.

“I mean,” said Patience in a lower tone, “that I believe love is the greatest goal for any person to aspire towards. To love and be loved in return.”

His dazzling smile left her breathless. “Miss Cherwell, I am delighted and relieved to hear you express such a…a profound opinion on the subject.”

Patience felt a sense of boldness creeping over her. No matter what she truly felt, she had his attention and she must do everything in her power to convince him that loving Lorna was the best thing for him. Of course, she must exercise utmost caution and tact so as not to tarnish Lorna’s reputation or discredit her in any way.

“So you believe in love, sir?”

He sighed. “Absolutely. I cannot conceive of any worthier goal for a man than to find and marry the woman who will share his life.” He gazed at her. “Sometimes that search becomes a quest that seems impossible, but he must persevere.”

His eyes were mesmerising, and Patience dropped her gaze to avoid revealing anything of her own feelings. Lorna. She must remember he spoke about his love for Lorna.

“But if a man truly loves the woman of his dreams, he must be bold and declare himself,” she said, lifting her chin in a defiant gesture and looking at him. “He cannot leave her wondering, guessing, thinking this or that, and perhaps coming to a wrong conclusion.”

He nodded slowly. “You mean he must not fear rejection?”

“Of course not!” she cried.

Mrs. Sutcliffe, demonstrating an acute sensitivity to noise even while in a deep slumber, mumbled under her breath.

Patience continued in a fierce whisper. “Rejection? I think not, your lordship. That man should rejoice in the knowledge that he is loved, truly loved with a burning passion that the lady might be too shy to reveal.”

He caught her by one hand. “Too shy to reveal? Oh, Miss Cherwell, you have given me such hope. Do you think she fears this passion might not be reciprocated? Does she fear rejection?”