The Valentine's Day Ball (8 page)

Jane was torn between pride in her cousin and her desire to protect Cherry. She certainly didn’t wish to encourage the pretensions of rakes like Lord Devlin. Finally, she compromised.

“I hope you may be right. Cherry is a dear child, and she deserves to be able to have her choice of eligible suitors.”

“What about you, Miss Lindsay? Were you one of the belles of the Season at your come-out?”

“Hardly. My entrance into the
ton
was quite brief and quite uneventful. My mother had been ill in the spring, so I went to London for the Little Season in the fall. I stayed with my friend Sally—now Lady Cumberland. Perhaps you know her?”

Lord Devlin shook his head.

“It was great fun—the shopping, the invitations, the rides in the park.”

“I imagine you shone to advantage on those rides.”

Jane smiled at him. “Then the parties and balls actually arrived. I was suddenly stricken with shyness. I couldn’t talk or laugh. And dancing—which will never be my forte—was a disaster! From that standpoint, it was a relief when my grandmother wrote, calling me home.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, there was nothing the doctors could do. She made it through Christmas—she always loved that time of year—and died at the end of January.”

“I am sorry. I can tell you still miss her.”

“Oh, yes. My grandmother passing away last year brought it all back quite painfully.”

“So, you never had a Valentine’s Ball when you were Cherry’s age.”

“No, and she bemoans the fact regularly.” Jane laughed.

“She does? Not you?”

“No. It meant I didn’t have to attend any balls and attempt to dance for a whole year!”

“But why should Miss Pettigrew care so vehemently?”

“Ah, Cherry may tease me about being superstitious, but she truly believes Heartland’s tradition that the children of the house, both sons and daughters, will meet their future spouse at the ball when they are eighteen.”

“So you are unmarried because there was no ball that year?”

“Exactly! And no matter what I say, Cherry will insist it is true.”

“Perhaps it is. After all, I’m sure you eventually came out of hiding and had a Season.”

“True, but I have never felt truly comfortable on the dance floor, though I manage.”

“I find that difficult to credit. You are made for dancing, so tall and graceful.” Devlin rose, bowed and took her hand. “I believe I hear the first strains of the waltz. Will you do me the honour, Miss Lindsay?”

Jane shook her head at his absurdity, but she stood up and allowed him to place his hand on her waist. He began to hum a waltz tune, guiding her easily through the steps of the dance. At first, Jane’s movements were stiff, but as she relaxed, she felt the rhythm through the touch of his hands.

The torch fluttered and burned out, leaving the task of lighting the small chamber to that single candle. Lord Devlin drew her closer until his arm encircled her waist; her long hair tickled his hand. Jane raised her chin, her eyes coming to rest on his mouth.

Devlin’s humming ceased as he returned her gaze. With the music suspended, their movements stopped also. The silence was broken only by their breathing, which seemed to be getting louder.

Jane licked her lips, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. The hand holding hers came toward her mouth, soothing that nervous gesture with a gentle touch of his thumb. Slowly, Devlin lowered his mouth to hers. His lips brushed hers, his tongue tasting that full lower lip. His eyes opened, and Jane stared at him, mesmerized.

She loosened her hand from his and slipped it up, joining her hands around his neck. She pulled his face back down and kissed his lips.

Devlin’s arms closed around her waist as he pulled her against him. He kissed and teased, pleading and persuading, his tongue exploring her mouth, her tongue answering, darting nervously. He had somehow backed her against the wall—or was it the tomb?—she didn’t care so long as the rhythmic movement of his hips continued to caress her just between the tops of her thighs.

Dimly, she grew aware of the pounding on the door, and the pulsing of her blood and breathing began to slow down.

Devlin stepped away, his dark eyes puzzled, even overwhelmed, by their exchange. He took a deep breath before he dropped her hands—she couldn’t recall giving them to him—and turned toward the door.

The pounding from the outside had ceased. Someone was putting the key in the lock and turning it. Jane quickly smoothed her riding habit, staring down in surprise to find three buttons unfastened. Correcting this, she flipped her long hair behind her shoulders and joined Lord Devlin by the opening door.

In the general hubbub that followed, Jane’s unnaturally high colour and Lord Devlin’s abstracted manner were put down to agitation of the nerves, a natural result from their harrowing experience. And if Jane snapped at her crying cousin to quit being a ninnyhammer, she was easily forgiven.

As for Lord Devlin, his continuing silence might be wondered at, but perhaps his nerves were more highly strung than anyone suspected.

Lord Devlin’s nerves were anything but high-strung at that moment. In truth, he held his emotions under a tight rein, but not because of being locked in a dark crypt for almost an hour. Nor was it because of Miss Lindsay’s extremely provocative body. What struck him quite forcibly as they reached ground level was the absolute stillness of the air. There was no possible way the wind could be held responsible for that door closing.

And, if not the wind?

He studied the small group of people, his eyes coming to rest on Miss Lindsay.

No, she would not have arranged for someone to close that door in the hope she would be compromised and he would be forced to offer for her. It was unthinkable, yet the thought remained.

Otherwise who, of that innocuous group, would have wanted to do a mischief to either him or Miss Lindsay? It was a puzzle—a rather nasty one, at that.

b

It was a weary Miss Lindsay who rode at Lord Devlin’s side in front of the carriages on the way home. She had felt unequal to the cross-country ride with its numerous jumps. But mostly the thought of a private ride with Drew had made her insist on taking to the road.

And he hadn’t protested. He probably had no wish to be private with her, either. Her cheeks flamed at the thought of her behaviour, and she squirmed uncomfortably in the saddle, remembering that feeling of hot urgency as he pressed her against the wall. The thought alone made her feel uncomfortably warm.

How could she ever look him in the eye again? He had no doubt found her behaviour repelling. She had to know. She stole a glance at his forbidding profile. The corner of his mouth was turned down, and his brow was furrowed. Suddenly, he turned to face her, the full force of his frown hitting her like a blow. Jane’s colour rose, but this time it was due to anger and indignation.

How dare he! How dare he look down his thin, aristocratic nose at her when she had only responded to his advances. Had he left her alone, she would never have kissed him, not in a million years!

In high dudgeon, she lifted her riding crop. A slight touch sent Sinbad careening down the road.

Chapter Three

J
ane stretched and opened her eyes, blinking at the bright morning light. Then she turned over and burrowed into the pillows.

“You asked to be waked up at nine, Miss Jane,” said Tucker.

Jane let out a groan, but sat up and leaned against the pillows, twitching the twisted covers until they were straight. “I know, but I do wish I could sleep a little longer this morning.” She accepted the cup of steaming tea from Tucker. “Still, I do want to go to the library, and I will be glad of Cherry’s company on the long ride. I suppose you had best come along, Tucker. I can’t trust her young maid to keep her out of mischief.”

“If you think it’s best, Miss Jane, though Mrs. Brown did ask for my help.” At Heartland, a request from their formidable housekeeper and cook was tantamount to a royal summons, and the maid was obviously torn.

“Then you must stay. Surely, I can trust Cherry now that she is eighteen.” Jane was doubtful, but she brushed aside the maid’s protests. It seemed neither one of them could forget that time last fall when Cherry had slipped out the back door of the best modiste in Bath to meet secretly with Mr. Fitzhugh. She had been found in the Pump Room two hours later, no less than five young swains swarming around her as she parcelled out smiles and coy looks. Jane had dealt with the matter without telling Cherry’s mother, who would have swooned in horror, predicting the dire consequence of social ruin for the entire family.

“I think I’ll be daring and wear the burgundy carriage dress this morning, Tucker. I confess, though I wish no disrespect to my grandmother’s memory, that I shall be glad when March arrives and I may wear real colours again.”

“Your grandmother, rest ’er soul, wouldn’t want her girls unhappy, I’m thinkin’, Miss Jane.”

Jane swung her legs off the bed and scratched her rib cage in a most unladylike fashion. “That’s true, so I’m sure she’ll forgive the wearing of burgundy if she happens to look down and see.”

“Miss Jane!”

Jane tried to look remorseful, but her eyes twinkled. Fortunately, Tucker had leaned over to find the matching slippers and didn’t see.

Jane’s tongue often got the better of her—she would say the wrong thing to the wrong person. If she had made such a statement to her old nurse, that good lady would have made the sign of the cross and nodded in agreement. Talking with ghosts was an everyday occurrence for Nana.

“Is Miss Cherry awake?”

“I believe so, Miss Jane. I think I saw her goin’ downstairs before I came in to wake you.”

“So early?”

Cherry usually had to be dragged out of bed even when presented with the prospect of a morning shopping in Bath. Heaven help them all if the girl was up to more mischief. Jane had seen to it, since that last incident, that Cherry never visited Bath without one of the older, more sedate servants along. But surely she wouldn’t jeopardize her reputation just before her departure for London?

“There you are, Miss Jane. And pretty as a picture, too.”

Jane gave her appearance a cursory glance before thanking Tucker and hurrying downstairs.

There was Cherry alone in the small sitting room they had turned into a family dining room. Eating breakfast and luncheon there was much cosier than either of the other formal dining rooms.

Cherry had also opted for a change from their usual grey and lavender mourning gowns. She wore a rich blue, not quite navy but close enough to be respectful. On the sideboard was a fetching bonnet in a matching colour.

Swallowing, Cherry greeted her older cousin cheerfully.

Doing it too brown, thought Jane suspiciously. But she could be subtle, too, and she returned the greeting enthusiastically. However, Jane vowed to not let Cherry out of her sight. It would mean curtailing her visit to the library, but it was necessary.

Please let March arrive quickly so I can be rid of what is becoming a burdensome responsibility.

“Where shall we go first?” asked Jane a few minutes later before taking a bite of toast.

She encountered a sharp look from her cousin before Cherry masked her annoyance. “First? I thought we would go to Duffield’s first so you may choose some books.”

“If you wish. Then we should really proceed to the dressmakers. Mrs. Warner gets so busy later in the day. Besides, it is only logical to start with the gown and then select the accessories.”

Her voice a little too disinterested, Cherry asked, “Are you planning to order some new gowns now? I had thought you would wait until we are officially out of mourning.”

“By the time they are ready, we will be. Now finish up, so we can leave soon.”

“I’m finished,” grumbled the girl.

Jane hid a smile, pleased with spiking Cherry’s guns. There’d be no clandestine rendezvous that day!

The morning promised just as beautiful a day as the one before. Jane forgot her worries about Cherry and enjoyed the pleasing landscape. As they passed Lord Pierce’s modest manor house, Cherry, too, leaned out the window. She sighed audibly.

“Is anything the matter, dear?” asked Jane.

Cherry almost managed to keep the whine from her voice and the pout from her lips, but Jane had known her cousin too long not to recognize the signs of frustration.

Jane turned back to the window.

A few moments later, Cherry sighed again quite dramatically.

Aha! She has come up with a plan.

“It is just that I wanted to shop for a gift, a very special gift.”

“I shall be happy to accompany you.”

“No! I mean, well, you see, you cannot see the gift. It would spoil the surprise. Remember, you do have a birthday coming up.” Cherry delivered her most winning smile. Unfortunately, it had no effect on Jane.

“Very well,” she began and Cherry’s smile broadened. “However, I know you wouldn’t wish to appear to be alone in a shop, for no matter what anyone says, ladies do not go out unattended—ever.”

Cherry sighed again, and Jane had to restrain herself from giving her young cousin a lecture on deportment and respect for her elders. But she relaxed against the squabs and closed her eyes. Somehow, the outing she had been looking forward to had turned into a battle of wits. She wished she had stayed at home to help Cook and let Tucker go in her place.

But as they entered Bath, Jane’s spirits lifted. It was always more amusing to shop with someone else, and Cherry would soon be gone to London. She had best enjoy her company while she could. Thus, as they neared the library, Jane instructed the footman to pass it by and continue to the fashionable shops in Milsom Street.

Mrs. Warner greeted them by name and bade them be seated while her minions scurried to do their mistress’s bidding. In moments, Cherry and Jane had been served a cup of tea and were debating the merits of the latest fashion plates in
La Belle Assemble
. Mrs. Warner consulted on styles and fabrics, and the good businesswoman shortly had her clerks bring forth all manner of cloth: linens, silks, satins, wool crepes, delicate muslins, and the finest lawn for those unmentionables.

After selecting two morning gowns and a new carriage dress to wear the day she journeyed to London, Cherry wandered about the parlour, looking at the strategically placed displays in the window.

Jane bent her head to examine the lovely green velvet Mrs. Warner’s clerk had just brought in.  The feel was exquisite, soft and supple.  When she lifted it, the play of light on the nap of the fabric made it seem alive.

“This is lovely, Mrs. Warren.  I must have it.  Cherry, what do you…”

Jane’s glance took in the emptiness of the parlour. Surely Cherry wouldn’t be so selfish? But that, of course, was a foolish thought. Cherry, who could be so thoughtful at times, was basically self-centred.

“Miss Lindsay, is there something wrong?”

“No,” Jane assured the modiste. “My cousin, who was meeting friends, must not have wanted to interrupt our business. I see she is already gone. Unfortunately, we neglected to set a time and place for our departure this afternoon. If she should return here, please tell her to meet me at Goodnight’s Pastry Shop at two o’clock.”

Fortunately, Jane knew she could trust Mrs. Warner to remain silent and their little charade should fool any other listening ears.

The least Cherry could have done was to pick a different location for her disappearance. Mrs Warner made a great pretence of promising to deliver Jane’s message to Miss Pettigrew, but predominant in both ladies’ minds was the remembrance of Miss Pettigrew’s indiscretion the past autumn.

When I get my hands on her!

Jane stalked down Milsom Street, giving each shop front a cursory glance as she passed. She paused at the entrance to the Octagon Chapel. It was a possibility, so she entered. And so Jane’s afternoon proceeded with her anger, frustration, and worry growing every minute.

She was approached by tradesmen hawking their wares, rollicking bucks already in their cups, and beggars as she made her way gradually toward the Pump Room. This was her last resort, yet Jane hoped Cherry had not been so foolish as to go into such a public place in the escort of a solitary gentleman. But there was nowhere else to search—it was almost two o’clock and she would need to return to Milsom Street to meet the coachman soon.

Jane paused as she entered High Street, her gaze travelling from the White Lion Hotel and Guildhall on her left, past the Orange Grove and Abbey, and down to the Pump Room. She flipped open her grandmother’s watch that was pinned to her bosom. Two o’clock, already.

The clatter of a carriage made her look up again.

“Jane! Oh, Jane! Come and see Lord Devlin’s spanking team! Aren’t they splendid?”

Jane’s furious glare was met with a quizzical expression from the viscount.

“Splendid,” she said through clenched teeth.

Drew’s tiger had gone to the horses’ heads, and the viscount threw him the ribbons. He helped Cherry descend before turning to face Jane.

Cherry continued to chatter alarmingly while Jane duelled silently with Drew. Then he laughed and lifted Cherry’s hand to his lips.

“I think, Miss Cherry, that your cousin would like to be private with me so that she may ring a peal over me. Is that not right, Miss Lindsay?” Jane said nothing, and he turned to his tiger. “Drive to Milsom Street, Piglet. Find the Lindsay coachman, and tell him to come to the White Lion immediately. We’ll be having tea.”

“No, we will not,” said Jane.

Drew smiled and nodded. “Tell him to come here.”

“Yes, m’lord,” said the happy tiger. He climbed into the driver’s seat and was soon gone.

“Now, Miss Lindsay?”

“Oh, no, Jane, please! Lord Devlin…” Her voice dwindled to nothing, and Cherry moved away from them, her face a bright red.

Drew took Jane’s arm and propelled her toward the Colonnade. He turned to her with twinkling eyes.

“Let me have it.”

“What do you mean, sir, making assignations with a young lady old enough to be your…your little sister! Have you no conscience?”

“I suppose not.”

His admittance only angered Jane more, and she found her entire body shaking with the effort to maintain some semblance of control in this public place.

“Well, let me tell you, sir, that here our gentlemen know better. And if you intend to live up to your reputation as Devilish Devlin, then I suggest you leave Bath! Why don’t you leave England altogether and get back to that island of yours!” She gasped as his eyes narrowed.  She had gone too far, but it was too late now to take the words back.

His voice was low and derisive. “May I suggest, madam—and I use that form of address because you are acting like a stupid mother hen—that you keep your opinions of my character to yourself until you have learned what really transpired? You are nothing better than a termagant with your ranting and raving. It is no wonder your cousin behaves with a lack of decorum with you as an example!”

With this, he turned on his heel and stalked away. Jane remained fixed like a statue, unable to take in Cherry’s babbling explanations.

Some moments later, Jane took a deep breath and focused on her cousin’s tear-streaked face with surprise.

“What is it, Cherry?”

“You don’t understand,” sobbed the girl. “It wasn’t Lord Devlin at all. It was Peter, Lord Pierce!”

Jane felt the pavement reel beneath her feet. What had she done? Her tongue, her wretched tongue!

She took Cherry’s elbow with one hand to guide her to their coach, which had just arrived. Once inside, she bade the distraught girl to dry her tears and blow her nose and tell what had really happened.

“It was my idea. I wanted to go to the Pump Room today. That frightful Annie Hawthorne is always telling me how wonderful it is to go every day and hear the gossip and have the men dangling after her. She makes me feel like such a baby. And I knew you would not consent, for you’re always saying it’s such a waste of time.”

Jane agreed, and told Cherry to continue.

“So I told Peter we would be shopping and asked him to come to the dressmaker to rescue me.”

“And you didn’t want to ask me because you knew I would forbid you to go there with only Lord Pierce for escort?”

In a very small voice, Cherry said, “Yes.” Then the rebellion returned to her tones. “And you know it’s true!”

“So Lord Pierce agreed, even though he knew it was improper. You should have more pity on the man, Cherry. But where does Lord Devlin come in?”

“He saw us on the steps to the Pump Room and asked us if he could join us. He even sent a servant to find you and tell you where we were.”

“I received no messages, but I suppose he couldn’t find me. I was out walking all over Bath by that time.”

“Anyway, once inside, he introduced me to everyone I didn’t know, including a duchess!”

“Now you are roasting me!”

“No, truly! And I sat with her the entire time. Actually, she is the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth. She was most kind. I believe she has known Lord Devlin forever. She warned me that he was a wicked man, but she was only teasing me. And she said she thought I would be the darling of the coming Season!”

Jane couldn’t help smiling at this childish boasting, but her thoughts returned to her encounter with Lord Devlin, and she blushed, shocking her cousin.

“Jane? What is it?”

But Jane sank into her corner of the carriage, her spirits completely downcast. There was no help for it; she would have to write a letter of apology.

It was time for tea when they reached Heartland, but Jane was still too distraught to relax and enjoy the respite. Her solicitor was waiting in the study, Pipkin informed her, his expression dour and forbidding.

“Did he say what it was about?”

“No, Miss Jane,” said the butler as he opened the study door for her to enter. His next words were spoken like a preacher warming to his subject. “And he said, ‘Woe unto you also, ye lawyers! For ye lade men with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your fingers.’”

Crankshaft, who had been the family attorney for many years, ignored Pipkin’s pronouncement and bowed low over Jane’s hand.