The Valentine's Day Ball (33 page)

“No, no. I have something much more important for you to do.” Jane smiled at Cherry’s fiancé. “And perhaps you would care to assist her, Mr. Pope-Jones?”

“I will be happy to be of service, Miss Lindsay.”

“Good!” Jane stepped outside and returned with the box of papers and laces and ribbons. Mickey followed her, carrying a small, sturdy table. “You see, Mr. Pope-Jones, we always have a good supply of anonymous Valentine cards to give the ladies who have no, or few, admirers. That way everyone can enjoy our little tradition and not feel left out. Cherry and I have been taking care of this particular project since we could write a legible verse. It is rather fun to think up romantic sayings when you have no idea who will receive the card. Then we dress them up with lace and ribbons.”

“I see. I’m not very good with lace or ribbons, Miss Lindsay, but I have tried my hand at poetry at one time. It was not very good—”

“I’m sure it was wonderful,” protested Cherry. “I have every confidence you will be able to create a verse or two—now that you have such a beautiful inspiration?”

“Inspiration?” he asked. Jane nodded to Cherry who was gazing at her slow-topped fiancé with adoration. “Oh, yes! By Jove, don’t I just!”

Satisfied that they would manage to produce a mountain of very bad, but very sentimental verse, Jane hurried back to the main house. Her next objective was her Aunt Sophie. She discovered her still pondering over the distant wedding’s guest list.

“Aunt Sophie, I need you to do something for me.”

“Of course, Jane, you know I am here to help you.”

Jane managed to refrain from laughing. “It has occurred to me that if we use too many of the hothouse flowers for the ball, there may not be enough blooms to decorate the house for Cherry’s wedding breakfast. I have sent the head gardener out to check, but he knows nothing about the number of flowers it takes to do an appropriate arrangement. If you wouldn’t mind—”

“Say no more!” exclaimed her aunt, jumping to her feet. Sophie Pettigrew whisked out of the room and down the hall, never realizing how her niece had bamboozled her.

b

At five o’clock on the day of Heartland’s famous Valentine’s Ball, Jane was awakened from her nap by an excited maid. Tucker stood back, a pleased expression of anticipation on her face. Jane frowned and tried to burrow underneath the pillow.

“No, miss. You must wake up. Something just arrived for you.”

Jane sat up slowly, afraid to think what or who had arrived. But Tucker had said
something
. Jane held out her hand, and the maid placed the elaborate card in her palm. Jane frowned. Valentine cards were always saved for the ball.

“Open it, Miss Jane,” said the maid, unable to contain her excitement. Jane caught Tucker’s impatience and tore through the sealing wax. The verse was written in the most beautiful scrawling hand she had ever seen.

My dearest love,

I would ask your forgiveness for the long delay in writing. And I will let Hastings plead my case, just as he does Marlow
’
s to his Miss Kate Hardcastle. Do you remember the scene?

“
Come, Madam, you are now driven to the very last scene of all your contrivances. I know you like him, I
’
m sure he loves you, and you must and shall have him.
”

Since it seems I was so inept at persuading you, perhaps Hastings
’
s words will soften your heart, and you will look upon my suit with favour; my one and only valentine. I will know your answer if you will meet me at the summerhouse at seven o
’
clock.

Forever yours,
D.

“Well, what does ’e say Miss Jane?” exclaimed Tucker, unable to restrain her curiosity a moment longer.

“I am to meet him at the summerhouse at seven o’clock.”

Jane felt dazed, unprepared. She had given up hope. What should she do?

“
Do
?” demanded the maid.

Jane focused on the servant. She hadn’t realized she had spoken aloud. Suddenly Jane smiled, and Tucker clapped her hands with joy.

“Tucker, where did you put the red gown? The one from Paris?”

“It’s still in th’ box, Miss Jane, tucked away in th’ spare wardrobe. I’ll have it pressed and freshened before you can say St. Valentine!” Tucker hurried away.

Jane opened the door to the dressing room where Mickey was filling the copper tub. He gave her a queer look as she grinned at him and vanished back into her room.

Tucker returned half an hour later, the red dress draped carefully across one arm, a warm towel in the other. She hung the dress in the wardrobe and took the towel to Jane.

“You didn’t tell my cousin or aunt, did you?”

“No, Miss Jane. Though if I would ’ave seen them, I might ’ave. They’re dressing, too.”

“Good! I wouldn’t want anyone to know, Tucker. If things should go awry—”

“Don’t talk that way, Miss Jane,” said the maid.

“Very well, but you understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, I understand. But, don’t you worry. This time will prove the charm.”

b

Jane agonized on how to wear her hair, finally deciding to tuck the long, heavy locks into a red net snood. Then she stepped into the dark red gown. The silk shimmered in the candlelight. When Tucker finished fastening the tiny row of buttons in back, Jane bit her lower lip, hesitating before she went to stand in front of the cheval glass.

The old Jane, the Jane of last year’s ball, wouldn’t have dared to wear this gown. But Jane failed to be either shocked or embarrassed as she scrutinized her appearance in the glass. Instead, she grew warm at the mere thought of Drew’s reaction to the ivory expanse of uncovered flesh. It was tasteful and certainly not as daring as many of the ladies wore. She nodded to Tucker, who had remained silent.

Jane glided down the stairs for one last inspection of the ballroom. Just as she was pleased with the red dress, she was also happy that she had chosen red and white roses for the decorations this year. For once in her life, she would truly feel like the belle of the ball, if all went well in the summerhouse. The phrase repeated itself in her mind, keeping time with the ticking of the clock.
If all went well…if all went well…

And then it was time. Jane arranged her shawl, and like a soldier leaving for war, she squared her shoulders and let herself out onto the balcony. This time she walked around to the stairs. She wanted to run, but she forced her stride to remain slow and steady. She opened the door.

Stepping inside, she stopped to let her eyes adjust to the gloom of the single candle. There he was, studying her, his expression hooded, impossible to read. Jane felt breathless; she had forgotten how handsome he was, especially in his black evening clothes.

“I’m glad you decided to come, Jane. I wasn’t at all certain you would.”

“I couldn’t stay away, Drew.”

“I meant to write you, to tell you that Havelock had been persuaded to leave the country, but I doubted you would believe me.”

“I would have, but I already knew. My aunt, Roland’s mother, wrote me. He hadn’t told her why he was leaving, only that he was.”

“So, now you know I was telling the truth?”

“I have known that almost since I…shot you,” said Jane, dropping her gaze. This was going all wrong. They were speaking like strangers—where was the fire, the passion?

“I didn’t blame you. It was rather stupid of me. Did Pipkin or Tucker tell you about our plan to protect you?”

“Plan?” asked Jane, her voice rising. “No, perhaps you should tell me.”

“Some other time,” said Drew, beginning to relax.

But Jane would have none of it. If he hadn’t asked her to meet him in the summerhouse to make love to her, then she might as well argue about the past.

“I don’t appreciate the idea of you and my servants conspiring and scheming behind my back.”

“Come now, Jane, our only scheme was to ensure your safety. Be reasonable,” he said, frowning.

Jane turned her back on him. “Hmph!”

“Now, see here, Jane. I didn’t ask you to join me out here just so you could treat me to another of your shrewish scolds. The last time you nearly killed me!”

“You’ll never forgive me for that, will you?”

Drew stepped up behind her and handed her his handkerchief “Please, Jane, I didn’t mean to upset you. Don’t cry,” he said, tenderly turning her to face him.

Jane looked out from behind the serviceable handkerchief and grinned up at him. His brows came together, and he grabbed her, shaking her heartily. “You minx! You jade! Making me think you were upset…” he complained. “I should shake you till your teeth rattle!”

Jane’s grin faded as she touched his smooth jaw. “I would much prefer to be kissed, my lord.”

His hands slipped down her arms, and he pulled her closer, bending his head for a lingering kiss.

Abruptly, he released her. Jane staggered, and he put out a hand to steady her. Leading her to the sofa, he sat down beside her but made no attempt to embrace her again. Jane held her breath, frightened by his silence.

“Jane, I am proud and arrogant,” he began.

She smiled again and teased, “You have been talking to your mother.”

He allowed a slight smile before continuing seriously, “I am often overbearing. I am forever forgetting to ask what other people’s wishes are; I make the decisions for them.”

“I have known that since the last Valentine’s ball, Drew. It didn’t stop me from falling in love with you.”

“Yes, but I nearly destroyed that love with my peremptory manner.”

“Drew, if you are going to continue in this manner very much longer, I’m afraid I will be forced to leave you here. I have guests arriving in forty-five minutes,” said Jane in her usual, straightforward fashion. “And if you expect me to confess my many faults, you will have an even longer wait.”

He turned his charming grin on her. “That is certainly true.”

Jane laughed, taking no offence at his quip. “So?” she said, cocking her head to one side as she waited.

“Very well, if you won’t let me unburden myself, I shall simply continue as I am accustomed to doing. Jane, you will marry me without any further delay. I have already spoken to your Rector Hall, and he has agreed reluctantly to perform the ceremony this very evening.”

“But the banns?”

“I took the precaution of securing a special license before coming here this evening.”

“And if I would prefer a lavish church wedding, Lord Cheswick?”

“I had thought of that. We can always have it in the little chapel beyond the garden,” he said.

“Oh, no! You’ll not lure me back out there with the ghosts and ghoulies!”

“Then it is settled?” he demanded.

“Yes, Drew.”

Finally, he took her into his arms and kissed her mouth passionately. Jane locked her arms behind his neck, her fingers twisting his dark hair. He lifted his face and looked deep into her eyes.

“I love you, my one and only valentine.”

“And I love you, dearest Drew, but please, don’t stop kissing me,” whispered Jane.

He laughed—a short, snuggly sound as he lowered his head against her luscious breasts. His lips returned to her mouth while his hands began to stroke and explore. Jane slipped down until she reclined on the sofa. Drew stopped kissing her and got to his feet, walking gingerly about the room.

“Cramp in my leg,” he explained.

Jane sat up, grinning at him “Your rheumatism?” she asked solicitously, not bothering to conceal her giggles.

“Very possibly, after driving over a hundred miles in the past two days,” he snapped. “Most of it, I might add, in the freezing cold.”

Drew straightened up and raised a brow
.
He approached her slowly, his smile holding a promise and a threat.

“Shrew!” he taunted.

“Overbearing cad!” she returned, rising to meet him.

His hand shot out, but he clasped only air as Jane sidestepped him. He reached for her again, but this time Jane entered his embrace willingly.

“We should go in,” she breathed into his hair after several minutes.

“Forever worried about what the world will think,” said Drew between kisses.

“Drew
,
the guests will be here soon. Do you really think I’m in any condition to greet them?” He tasted her lips one last time before holding her away from him and saying honestly, “The only thing you are fit for at this moment is bed—my bed.”

“Oh, Drew, I am ruined! My hair…my dress…”

“You look beautiful. Your colour is high, your lips a rosy shade of red. Tucker will set your hair to rights in no time. Come on, my love, let’s go inside. It is time for our ball, and for you to shine.”

She paused before leaving the summerhouse and said, “You really didn’t need to use quotations from
She Stoops to Conquer
, Drew. You are quite poetic.”

“Ah, but the story of the taming of a shrew seemed so appropriate.”

“I would take offence, but I know how like the domineering Marlow you are,” said Jane, clinging to his arm as they wandered toward the house.

b

When they entered the ballroom, Pipkin came forward, an unaccustomed smile on his face. He made a deep bow to Jane and said, “Miss Jane, on behalf of the staff, I have been asked to give you our best wishes.”

“Thank you, Pipkin. Thank you all,” she added as she realized every servant was assembled in the ballroom, smiling on her and Drew.

“Thank you,” said Drew.

“Nana?” asked Jane, her voice trembling from the shock of seeing her old nurse out of the nursery. She took one gnarled hand in hers and said, “Why?”

“Ye didn’t think I’d let ye marry without me, child. Now, where is this man who’s goin’ t’ be yer husband?”

Drew joined Jane and smiled at the old woman. Jane held her breath, praying Nana wouldn’t take one look at Drew and start screaming about piskies and faeries.

“Well, do I meet your approval?” he asked.

“Hmph! What did yer ol’ nurse tell ye last year on th’ night o’ the ball?”

“I’m not sure I remember,” said Jane.

“I told ye ’e would steal yer heart, I did.” The old woman laughed. “Let’s get on wi’ it. I can’t be stayin’ out all night.”

“Rector Hall is waiting in the library, Miss Jane. Shall I bring him in here?” asked Pipkin.

“Yes,” said Jane, looking around the gaily-decorated ballroom with its cupids looking down from the ceiling.

As they waited for the parson, Jane said softly, “There is only one thing missing.”

“That is?”