The Valentine's Day Ball (14 page)

“You exaggerate, ma’am.”

“No, I’m not generally given to exaggeration. More than likely, I would have chosen the three ugliest hats in the shop only I wouldn’t have discovered it until I got home with them!”

Devlin laughed. “She’s quite right, Jane. And then she would have kept them in the cupboard, too embarrassed to return them.”

They were all laughing now. Jane finally asked, “How do you know it won’t happen again? You haven’t tried them on at home yet.”

“You’re right! I’ll do that this minute!” She rang for the footman and told him to fetch the three hatboxes from her room.

When he returned, Faith picked up one hat. Standing in front of the fireplace, which had a fine gilt mirror hanging above it, she carefully set the frothy confection of ribbons and organdie netting on her dark hair. Satisfied with the angle, she turned to her audience.

“Lovely, Mother, most becoming.”

Jane seconded his verdict. While his mother was busy with the next bonnet, Devlin turned his attention to Jane.

“Did you meet Mother by accident?”

“Yes, as I was leaving the milliner’s, she was going in. She asked me to stay.”

“I appreciate your helping her. She always seems so self-assured, even reserved, but it only masks her timidity. She is so eager to please, afraid of offending—especially those for whom she cares.”

“Like you.”

“And now you, I think. She wants to be a part of Bath society.”

Their quiet conversation was interrupted as his mother requested their approval once more.

“With her girlhood friend the dowager duchess and you to support her, she should do quite well.”

“Your mother would be accepted anywhere, Lord Devlin.”

He grimaced. “I don’t want her accepted because her son will be the Earl of Cheswick someday. That sort of thing can change to ridicule in the blink of an eye. I want her accepted for herself.”

“She will be, I assure you, Drew,” said Jane, placing her hand on his sleeve.

His eyes softened, and he took her hand in his own, holding it gently, almost reverently. Jane studied his face, wondering.

“What about…?” Faith Peterson smiled and turned back to the mirror.

She cleared her throat loudly and turned around again. This time, her query was met by two attentive listeners.

Jane took her leave not long afterwards, reminding Drew and his mother that she expected them at Heartland on Thursday. On the ride home, Jane tried not to think about how many hours there were until teatime on Thursday.

Chapter Five

T
he evening of the same day that she and Jane Lindsay had bought hats, Faith Peterson attended a musicale the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth was giving. Drew had been included in the invitation, but he gladly declined. Her Grace believed those in her position were responsible for supporting the arts. Unfortunately, she had no ear for music, so the singers and musicians she sponsored were often mediocre, if not terrible. Since only these performers comprised the duchess’s musical evenings, her guests often left with the headache.

In the coach, however, Drew’s mother asked him once more to join her.

“No, no, no, Mother. I see no reason to subject myself to such caterwauling. I much prefer a quiet game of cards.”

“Very well.” She was silent for a moment. Then, as if gathering her courage, she said timidly, “Drew, what do you intend to do about Jane Lindsay?”

“Do? Why, Mother, must I do something?” he said.

“You can’t trifle with her affections. She is too fine, too special.”

“I assure you, Mother, I am not trifling with Miss Lindsay.”

“Then you are serious, Drew?” Her delight showed in her voice. “When may I wish you happy?”

“Not so fast, Mother. Until we met again at the Ashmores—just yesterday, might I remind you—I would have sworn Jane Lindsay despised me.”

“She couldn’t!”

“Oh, she had good reason. I saw to that.”

“Drew, what did you do?”

“Never mind, Mother. Evidently, Jane has forgiven me, but that doesn’t mean she would welcome my suit. And for that matter, I’ve not yet made up my mind. Jane Lindsay is not like you, Mother. She is headstrong and opinionated, not precisely desirable wifely traits, to my way of thinking.”

His mother clutched at his arm in the dim light of the carriage lamp. “Drew, you mustn’t consider meekness the most important trait in a wife. Love and respect for each other mean more. Without that, a marriage is empty and bitterness grows.” The anguish in her voice filled the air.

“Mother?”

“No, I’ve said too much already, Drew. I’ll say no more. Here we are now.”

“Enjoy the music, Mother.”

She laughed. “Wretched boy!”

It was as well his destination was but two streets away. His mother’s revelations about her marriage had been unsettling. But it was what she hadn’t said that disturbed him the most, and his own thoughts would take some time to sort out.

His host, Giles Stanton, greeted him warmly. They had met as boys at Eton. Being young and far away from home, they had formed a time-tested alliance. Drew, who was tall and strong even then, had protected Giles from the older boys until they had both been accepted. Giles, who possessed a sunny personality, won friends easily and shared them with the quiet, studious Drew.

“Drew! It’s good to see you! Come in, come in! You know Harry Routh and Farley. And you remember m’brother, Andrew? And this gentleman is Roland Havelock.”

“Mr. Havelock and I are acquainted. How are you, Havelock? Didn’t know you’d returned to Bath.”

“Nor I you, Devlin. Yes, I just got in today. Just here for a day or two then on to London. What about you, old man?”

“I’m settled here for some time. I’ve brought my mother from York.”

“How is she, Drew?” asked Giles.

“As sweet as ever, thank you. Now, what are we playing?” Lord Devlin sat as Farley dealt the cards.

Six hours later, the play broke up. Farley and Routh, who were slightly to go, offered Drew and Havelock a ride. Havelock could barely stand and accepted immediately. Drew declined, bade his host goodnight, and walked home. He rarely drank to excess, and the cool night breeze soon refreshed him, sharpening his thoughts. Then his thoughts returned to his mother’s advice.

When he had left for York, he had been confused. His anger at Jane Lindsay’s harsh condemnation had quickly faded, mainly because he knew she had been justified. And knowing she never wanted to see him again had helped his decision to put her out of his mind.

Miss Jane Lindsay wasn’t made for dalliance, even though her figure made such an idea dizzying. But marriage had been the last thing on his mind since he returned to England and visited his malevolent uncle the past summer.

Lord Cheswick had never been a pleasant man, always seeking more power, more money. But Fate had rendered him bitter with the death of two sons and the knowledge that his title and estate would go to his despised nephew. His only pleasures now came from exercising his power.

The old man’s frustration grew during his nephew’s brief visit, for he had no power over Drew. The estate and title were entailed. Drew would succeed to both, no matter what. Worst of all, Drew had been wise in his investments during his ten years abroad. A thriving plantation and shipping business had given him financial independence.

The cunning old man had discovered his one weapon—Drew’s feelings for his mother. Faith Peterson had served as an unpaid housekeeper for the earl’s sprawling home since Drew’s exile. Cheswick never mistreated his widowed sister-in-law. Instead, he had ignored her. Any pin money she had was carved from the meagre household expense account, which the earl picked over like a vulture once a month. Still, she never complained, and he didn’t ridicule her humble beginnings. Until, that is, the earl discovered how angry this made Drew. That was his weapon, and he had wielded it with malicious glee.

After two weeks, Drew’s mother had begged him to leave, telling him the insults would stop once he had departed. He had reluctantly agreed. She urged him to visit London and face the society that had shunned him ten years before. He had been only one and twenty when the
ton
had laughed him out of London. He had to face them.

And his mother had been right about everything. He was welcome everywhere now that he was heir to an earldom. He had tried not to be cynical when veritable strangers toadied him, but he was only human.

This had been his reason for selecting Bath for his mother
’
s new home. Her lack of illustrious ancestors wouldn’t matter as much. And with the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth to bolster her, she was assured of acceptance. And not only because her son was a wealthy peer.

So, after dallying in London, he had visited Bath and taken the house in Laura Place. And he had brought his mother, vowing to make up to her for the years of emptiness. Her gentle patience would finally be rewarded, and she would never be lonely again.

He was surprised to see the lamps lit in his mother’s sitting room as he made his way down the corridor. He put his head in the door and said, “What is it? I warned you about the headache.”

She laughed, put her embroidery on the table, and motioned for him to enter.

“I do not have any aches, I assure you. The music was quite…passable.”

“Then why are you still awake? Not waiting on me, I hope?” His voice held a note of reproach.

“No, not in the way you think. I wanted to continue our conversation about Jane Lindsay
.
”

“Mother, what I do or don’t do is for me to decide.”

“I agree, but in order to make a decision, you must have all the facts.”

“And I don’t?”

“No, you’re under several misapprehensions, darling. First of all, please don’t use my marriage or my personality as a guideline for choosing a wife.”

“You said something earlier to that tune, Mother. What do you mean?”

“Drew, you think the past ten years of my life have been unbearable for me.” He nodded, and she continued, as if choosing her words carefully. “They weren’t. Yes, I was lonely, and I missed you and worried about you, but I wasn’t miserable. Your uncle lives like a hermit, but I didn’t. I attended church and made a number of friends.”

“My uncle is a monster, Mother. Don’t try to defend him.”

“I’m not, but he was never cruel to me. Why, he hardly even knew I was there.”

The look he gave her was disbelieving, but he didn’t contradict her again. “What has all this to do with Jane?”

“I’m coming to that. You remember when your father was killed in that race? Everyone said I was so brave that I never cried. Drew, it wasn’t bravery. One simply doesn’t cry for a stranger.”

“He was your husband. My father.”

“Yes, and he was a good man. A little weak, perhaps, because he let other people’s opinions influence him. It was that weakness that turned him away from me. And I was weak, too. I couldn’t abide scenes, and I would stay home, hidden away from society so I wouldn’t embarrass my husband. I was too afraid to stand up for myself. I was everything you think you want in a wife—docile, humble, retiring.”

“Did you hate Father so very much?”

“No, I could never have hated him. I only despised myself for my weakness.”

“But, Mother, surely it isn’t weakness to be agreeable.”

“When one is always agreeable, don’t you think it shows a lack of self-respect, self-confidence?”

“I never looked at it quite like that.”

“It is difficult to love someone who doesn’t love himself. Now your Jane, she has self-respect.”

“Yes, she has that.” He laughed, not thinking to correct his mother calling Jane
his
.

“I’ll say no more. But think on it, Drew. Think very carefully.”

Drew realized he didn’t need to think about it. He loved Jane Lindsay—every delectable, hard-headed inch. He wondered why he hadn’t seen it before. From that first kiss…no, from the moment he had first laid eyes on her at the ball, when she had raised her chin and defied him to look her over like a horse at Tattersall’s. He smiled at the remembrance.

“Mother, I don’t know if she’ll have me.”

“She’s not indifferent to you, Drew. Anyone can see that.”

“I know, but she may think I’m only after her estate. I did try to buy it once. And she detests fortune hunters.”

“The future Earl of Cheswick a fortune hunter?” she asked, incredulous. “A discreet inquiry or two would reveal your own rather impressive prospects. And once that is established, you need only woo her, my dear.”

“You make it all sound so simple, Mother. I must win her trust first, and that may be the most difficult part.”

b

“Mr. Havelock to see you, my lord,” said the wooden-faced butler.

“Tell him I’m not in. No, wait. I’ll see him in the library.” Drew finished his morning coffee and strolled out of the breakfast room.

“Havelock, what brings you here?”

“A slight problem, Lord Devlin,” said the other man, wiping his brow nervously.

“Yes?”

“You know I lost over two thousand pounds last night, Devlin.”

“I remember, but I’m surprised you do. Do you always drink so heavily?”

Havelock flushed an ugly purple, but he swallowed his anger. “I haven’t the money to redeem my vouchers right now.”

“It seems we’ve had this conversation before. But I fail to understand why you’re here. You should be telling Farley and Stanton. I don’t hold your IOUs. I lost, too, last night.”

“True, but I thought you might see your way clear…”

“Not a guinea.”

“I have a bit of information…”

“Nothing you say could interest me, Havelock.”

“Not even a bit of advice about those notes you sent to my cousin?”

“I have no idea what notes she may received,” lied Drew.

“Of course you do, Lord Devlin.” Havelock smiled, his thick lips curving like two fat slugs.

“If that is all, Havelock, I have better ways to occupy my time.”

Havelock wiped his brow again. He was getting nowhere. “Then I’m afraid, Lord Devlin, I must tell my cousin about that little prank—”

Drew grabbed him by his cravat and threw him into the nearest chair, twisting the starched fabric until Havelock’s beady eyes began to bulge. Sneering with distaste, he released the man.

“Get out, Havelock. You can tell Jane, but your blackmail won’t work. She already knows, and she has forgiven me. As a matter of fact, you may soon be wishing us happy. And then all those points we discussed about who will inherit Heartland will be moot. I’ll see to it Heartland is overflowing with heirs!”

“You’ll pay for this,” said Havelock when he had reached the relative safety of the door. “You’re not married to my cousin yet, Devlin. And remember, it will take time to produce an heir, a female heir, to continue the tradition.  A lot can happen…”

“Get out.”

Havelock hurried away. Drew tried to regain the calm he had felt upon rising. It was impossible to remain in the confines of the house, and he strode out the door, walking briskly toward Sidney Gardens. After half an hour, he was able to reflect on Havelock’s visit without anger clouding his mind.

But he couldn’t get Havelock’s obscure threat out of his thoughts. He had hoped to pursue Jane unhurriedly, giving her time to trust him. Still, from what he had seen of Roland Havelock, the man was all talk. He couldn’t possibly act on his threat. The very thought was laughable.

b

“Miss Lindsay, you shouldn’t be doing all that climbing and stretching,” scolded Heartland’s scandalized cook. “That good-for-nothing footman ought to be doing that! Sims! Where is he?”

“I’ll fetch ’im, ma’am,” offered Tom the potboy, scrambling to his feet and fleeing before Mrs. Brown could turn her frustration on him.

“Now, Miss Lindsay, let me help you down.” With the cook’s help, Jane descended the stepladder, a jar of strawberry preserves in each hand.

“These are from two years ago, Mrs. Brown. They must have been overlooked when we sorted through the larder last year.”

“Not overlooked, Miss Jane. We decided you would take them to old Mr. Jenkins. Then he passed on, and we forgot about them.”

“You’re quite right! I don’t know how you remember everything, Mrs. Brown.”

A ghost of a smile was the only evidence that the stern cook was pleased by her observation. The title of Mrs. was strictly a courtesy; the cook had never married, having dedicated her life to Heartland at an early age. No one dared to cross swords with Heartland’s Mrs. Brown, from the potboy to the wily old butcher in the village.

“There you are, Sims,” she snapped as the footman hurried into the cool larder. “We’ve got to make room for this year’s canned goods. Mr. Pipkin says you can read.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, get up on the ladder and read the labels on those jars to me.”

He did as he was bid, handing down some jars as directed. Jane worked on the lowest shelf, collecting jars in her sturdy work apron.

“The raspberry jam, Mrs. Brown, should we save them? We ran out year before last, remember?”