The Valentine's Day Ball (28 page)

“Miss Jane, Miss Jane! Please speak to me!”

Jane focused on her maid and smiled. “It’s all right, Tucker. I’m fine. We must pack now. We’re going home.”

“Just the two of us, Miss Jane?”

“Of course. We’ll be fine,” said Jane, her voice becoming stronger, more decisive. “We have Jean-Luc to drive us back to the coast where we can spend the night. Jean-Luc’s father will see to our passages for the packet. If the weather takes a turn for the better, we can be back in England by tomorrow night.”

“But, Miss Jane, what about Lord Devlin? It seems a shame, after all he’s done, to punish ’im for one little lie.”

“Yes, for all he’s done,” murmured Jane, staring off into space again. “Very well, I shall leave him a note with Madame DuClaire. But she is not to give it to him until tomorrow morning. I’ve put up with all I intend to today. With a little luck, we’ll be back in England before he realizes we have gone.”

Tucker shook her head, a worried frown on her forehead. “But Miss Jane, what about your new dresses? They won’t be ready until tomorrow
.
”

“True, I hadn’t thought of that. I have it—I’ll leave the payment for the dresses with Madame DuClaire, also. Then she can ship them to me at Heartland. You see? Everything is taken care of. Now, you go downstairs and tell Madame to have the carriage brought around in an hour. We should be packed by then.”

b

Jane’s preparations were interrupted a half hour later with the unwelcome news that Roland wished to see her. Handing Tucker the gown she had been folding. Jane hurried downstairs.

“What is this I hear, Jane? Leaving Paris in such a hurry? Why?” Roland was enjoying acting the part of the concerned relative. He had been watching the house all morning. He’d seen Lord Devlin come and go, pleased by the brevity of that visit. After the seamstresses left, he had watched a flurry of activity as a footman was sent to find Jean-Luc. How clever he felt to have guessed the reason Jane needed her young coachman.

“It’s time to go home, Roland. Paris simply doesn’t agree with me.”

“But surely you’re not travelling alone?”

“I have Tucker with me.”

“A maid. Hardly protection.”

“And my pistol,” she added coldly, causing him to shiver.

“Ah, good. I say, Jane, I hope I’m not being forward, but do you think I might go along—at least as far as London? I’m rather tired of Paris myself.”

“I don’t know. We’re almost ready to leave.” Jane hesitated, and Roland put on his most piteous expression. “How soon can you be ready?”

“I shall be back here within the hour?”

“Never mind, we shall pick you up in a half hour.”

“Good! Here’s my direction,” he said, taking out a stubby pencil and scribbling on a soiled calling card.

Chapter Nine

A
fter Drew left Jane, he drove back to his hotel. What he had wanted more than anything on this rainy day was to spend some time with Jane. The long hours would have flown by in her arms. Instead, he was going to spend a lonely afternoon, just waiting for evening when he could return to Madame DuClaire’s and see Jane.

The rain stopped late in the afternoon, and Drew left his hotel, making his way to a nearby wine shop. As he sipped the dry white wine, he watched the passing world through a single murky window. He grinned as a haughty young lady stormed past, at handsome youth on her heels begging her forgiveness for some transgression. Drew felt a spark of sympathy for the hapless man—it was rather like what he’d felt lately with Jane.

“Lord Devlin, we meet again.”

Drew looked up sharply. “How was your journey, Tuttle?”

“Impossible! Utter tedium. You should have joined me as I suggested.”

Drew smiled slightly, but made no comment. Tuttle stared at the empty chair, and Drew finally said, “Won’t you be seated? I have an appointment in a moment, but we have time to share a glass of wine.”

The fussy little man flipped up the long tails of his unfashionable coat and perched on the edge of the chair. Just like a baby bird hoping for a worm. “It seems everyone is in a rush to some appointment lately. Why only yesterday, Mr. Havelock—” Drew came to attention at the mention of Jane’s cousin, and Mr. Tuttle’s eyes began to dance. “Do you know Havelock?”

“’To a degree,” said Drew.

“It is the same with me. We shared a bottle of wine at one of those charming outdoor cafés yesterday, but Havelock and I are not on intimate terms. Rather a sordid fellow though I can’t put my finger on it. Comes from a good family, though.”

Drew nodded, pulling out his timepiece to check the hour. He wouldn’t want to be late for his fictitious rendezvous.

“Actually, our conversation was about his family,” continued Tuttle. “All of them are here, you know. Odd thing is, Miss Lindsay isn’t staying with Miss Pettigrew. As far as I can tell, Miss Lindsay is here on her own. Are you acquainted with Miss Lindsay?”

Tuttle had an annoying habit of asking questions to which he seemed to have the answer already. Cautiously, he admitted, “I am acquainted with Miss Lindsay. My mother’s home is in Bath, so I have met Miss Lindsay upon occasion.”

“Ah yes, now I remember. You and Lady Cynthia were quite the talk of London after she danced with you three times at the assembly in Bath.”

Drew laughed. “I had no idea such trivial news would be worth repeating.”

“Yes, indeed. A peer of the realm? You are always newsworthy, my dear Devlin. But the thing that intrigued me so very much, being somewhat a connoisseur of
on-dits
, was the news of your entrance at this same assembly with a voluptuous beauty on your arm. My source was unable to put a name to the lady, but from his description, I would guess it was Miss Lindsay.”

“Your source was probably correct. My mother and Miss Lindsay are quite the best of friends. Now, I really must go. Oh, tell me, Tuttle, where is Havelock staying? I’d rather avoid him.”

“Of course. He has taken lodging on
Rue de Havre
, number six, I believe.”

“Thank you.”

“Just one more thing, Devlin. You never did tell me who your travelling companion to Paris was.”

“No, I didn’t, did I?” Drew nodded and walked slowly away. He proceeded to Madame DuClaire’s house by a circuitous route, entering by the back gate near the stables. He doubted that Tuttle had followed him, but he couldn’t be too careful with Jane’s reputation.

Drew decided to tell Jane about Cherry immediately. They needed to leave Paris before the inquisitive Tuttle discovered their secret.

Drew entered by the kitchen door, startling Madame DuClaire, who was consulting with the cook.

“
Bonjour
,
madame
. It has turned into a fine evening, hasn’t it?” he commented, removing his fashionable beaver hat.

“Yes,
monsieur
,” replied the matron. Drew frowned, wondering at her nervous state.

“I have come to see Madame Davies.”

“I am sorry, sir. She is ill and has asked that no one be admitted.”

“Jane, ill? Has she sent for the doctor?”

“It was unnecessary; it was only the headache. She will be fine tomorrow. Her maid gave her laudanum. She will sleep through the night. Why don’t you call again tomorrow?”

With a curt nod, Drew settled his hat back on his head. He went out through the kitchen door and stood for a moment in the yard, the fragrant scent of garden herbs filling the air. He turned and stared at the darkened upstairs windows, wishing he knew which was Jane’s.

With a sigh of disappointment, he retraced his steps to wend his way back to the Hotel St. Jacques. Once back in his room, he sent down for a deck of cards and a bottle of brandy. It seemed dulled senses and a game of patience would be his only company on this, his last evening in Paris.

b

The weather cooperated for the journey, and Jean-Luc made excellent progress on the main roads. Jane was tired but pleased when they reached Dieppe by ten o’clock. Jean-Francois greeted Jane warmly, looking past her for his friend, Drew.

Jane quickly took the landlord aside and explained, “Lord Devlin decided to remain in Paris. My cousin agreed to escort me home. I would appreciate it, Monsieur DuClaire, if you wouldn’t speak of me being here with Lord Devlin.”

The shrewd Frenchman nodded after a moment. “I will put you in the same rooms as before. Fortunately, they are available. Do you desire a supper?”

“Yes, thank you,
monsieur
. We hope to set sail tomorrow, weather permitting.”

“I will send Jean-Luc into Dieppe to purchase passage for you before breakfast in the morning.”

They re-joined Roland, and Jane introduced him to the landlord.

Roland turned up his nose at Jean-Francois’s extended hand. “Show us to our rooms immediately.”

The landlord turned on his heel and led them up the narrow flight of steps.

When they were alone, Jane rounded on her cousin. “Really, Roland, was it necessary to be rude? The French despise class distinctions. They held a revolution about that very thing, you may remember.”

“Yes, and then we beat them when they got out of hand,” he retorted, examining the mantel and its figurines for dust. “Really, you would think these people could keep the rooms clean.”

Jane shook her head and turned away in disgust. It was impossible to make him understand. When she looked back, he was exploring her bedroom—or rather the one she had occupied on the way to Paris.

“I’ll take this room. There’s only one window, and I am susceptible to drafts. You can have the other one. It’s a corner room. It has three windows. I know you won’t mind, you’re so robust!” With that, he disappeared into his chosen room.

Jane toyed with the idea of storming in after him. But he would wonder at her vehement protests, and Jane didn’t feel strong enough to answer his questions. Silently, she entered Drew’s bedchamber. She wished she could laugh at such an absurd notion. After all, he had only spent one night in this chamber. A small fire burned in the grate; it was a warm, inviting room. Her eyes travelled to the bed where she had lain with Drew. She closed her eyes, swaying as she recalled the exquisite pleasure of his touch.

The door opened, and Tucker entered. Jane gave the maid a weary smile.

“Poor lamb, you’re worn to the bone. I told Mr. DuClaire just to send up a tray to your room. You’ll feel better once you’re all tucked up in bed.” The maid helped Jane off with her bonnet and gloves.

b

The maid, Jean-Francois’s eldest daughter, struggled to open the sitting room door while balancing two trays precariously. Roland, hearing the noise, opened the door, saving one tray as it slid out of her grasp.

“
Merci, monsieur
!” exclaimed the girl, smiling at him.

“You’re quite welcome, my dear. But what’s this? Two trays?”

“Yes,
monsieur
. The maid requested one for
madame’s
room. And here is yours,
monsieur
.”

She set the heavy tray on a table and proceeded to lay the covers for one. With the girl’s back to him, Roland slipped a small vial from the pocket of his scarlet brocade dressing gown and lifted the top off the pot of hot water on Jane’s tray. Three, four, five drops. That should do it. Silently, he replaced the lid.

“
Voila
,
monsieur
. I hope you enjoy your dinner.”

Roland’s thick lips formed a sweet smile. He was feeling good, invincible! He reached for the girl and pulled her against him. Groping her backside, he lowered his head for a wet kiss. She cried out, struggling against him. He held her tighter still.

“Mr. Havelock!” growled Tucker indignantly, after shutting the door to Jane’s room.

He released the frightened maid who fled the room.

“Just a bit of fun, Tucker.”

“That child is not one of your village wenches! She is the landlord’s daughter, and he is a respected businessman.”

“And you, woman, forget yourself. Get out of here and take that tray with you. Next time you dare to question me, you’ll feel the back of my hand!” He loomed over her, but Tucker never flinched.

With great dignity and composure, the maid moved past him, picked up the tray, and returned to Jane.

b

Less than an hour later, Jane was tucked into bed, her stomach full and her stiff limbs warmed and relaxed.

“Ye’re sure ye won’t have some more tea?”

“No, it just doesn’t taste right.”

“It’s th’ way these Frenchies make it. They must use sweetened water in th’ pot.” Tucker blew out the last candle before she left. “Goodnight, Miss Jane.”

“Goodnight, Tucker.”

With the room bathed in mellow firelight, Jane was left alone in the soft bed. An aching loneliness settled over her. She wished she were a little girl again; things were simpler then. But now, even in the darkened privacy of her room, she struggled against the tears. Her eyes burned and her temples throbbed, but she refused to give in to her despair.

It was the bed, she decided. Abruptly, Jane climbed off the thick mattress. Dragging the counterpane behind her, she curled up in the overstuffed chair by the fire. Mesmerized by the orange flames, she drifted off to sleep.

But Drew haunted her even in her dreams. Jane was riding Sinbad across the green lawns at Heartland. Her hair streamed behind her, fanned by the cool breeze. Suddenly, in the distance, she saw another figure on horseback. It was Drew calling her name as he came closer. Behind him were two other riders, slower than he because they rode ponies. Jane dismounted, waiting for Drew to pull up and jump to the ground. He took her in his warm embrace, kissing her tenderly until they were thrust apart by eager little hands. She looked down to see two dark-haired children, a boy and a girl. She knelt and put her arms around them, hugging them to her bosom. Drew laughed and pulled her to her feet, enfolding her with one strong arm while he picked up the little girl with the other. Jane tousled the dark hair of the boy, and he giggled.

Jane opened her eyes slowly. She focused on the windows, wondering if the dim light were moonlight or the beginnings of dawn. She was back in bed, though she couldn’t recall how she had gotten back there. She stretched, smiling as she recalled her dream. How could she have such a sweet dream about such a villain? How could she believe the terrible things Roland had told her? And yet, being a realist, Jane reflected that it was impossible not to believe her cousin.

Shivering, she reached out from under the thick counterpane and took her grandmother’s timepiece from the bedside table. Holding it up to the dim light, she read the time; it was six o’clock. Too early to expect her cousin to be awake. Resigned to an hour of inactivity, Jane burrowed back under the covers.

What she needed more than anything was to be back home. Once there, she would be able to make some sense of the confusion troubling her. At Heartland, she would find peace.

b

Drew was up early. He breakfasted in his room then dressed hurriedly. It was only eight o’clock, but he wanted to reach Jane early, even if it meant waking her.

He settled his bill before stepping out into the crisp morning air. The sun was up, brightening the world as servants hurried along the streets, shopping bags under one arm. Drew tipped his hat to an industrious matron sweeping her front steps. He even whistled quietly, assured that such a lovely morning could only be the beginning of a wonderful day.

He tripped up the front steps of Madame DuClaire’s house and beat a confident tattoo with the knocker. No back steps for him this morning; he and Jane would shortly be leaving Tuttle and his prying eyes behind.

“Yes,
monsieur
?” asked the downstairs maid as Drew walked past her.

“I wish to see
Madame
.”

“Of course,
monsieur
.” The maid hurried away and returned with Madame DuClaire.

Drew said, “I’m sorry,
madame
. I meant for the maid to get Madame Davies.” Madame DuClaire looked very grave. “What is it? Madame Davies hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, has she?”

“No,
monsieur
. Please come into the salon. I have a note to give you.”

Drew did as he was bade. Madame DuClaire watched as he digested the contents of Jane’s note.

Dear Drew,

I find that after many hours of reflection I must admit that I have mistaken my feelings for you. It would be unfair of me to pretend otherwise, so I have decided to return to Heartland without further interchange between us. I hope you will forgive my rather callous farewell, but I think it is for the best.

Best Regards,

Jane

“When did she leave?” he asked, his voice hollow with resignation.

“Yesterday,
monsieur
.
Madame
was emphatic that I not give you the note until this morning. I hated having to deceive you last night. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Madame DuClaire,” he said, reaching into his pocket and producing his purse.

“Ah,
non
! I will accept nothing from you,
monsieur
. Perhaps
madame
will come to her senses.” Drew shook his head, and Madame DuClaire protested, “She is very much in love with you,
monsieur
. A woman can tell these things. If the other gentleman hadn’t come—”

Drew’s polite expression vanished, replaced by flaring nostrils and piercing brown eyes. “What gentleman?”

Madame DuClaire retreated a pace. “A cousin, one of my maids said. He came to see her twice yesterday. Once at breakfast, and when he left,
madame
was very distressed. Then he came again while she was packing to leave. I overheard them.”