The Valentine Poem

by Victoria Hinshaw

  Fool! Il sciocco! Why was he even thinking of London society? He had considered Miss Susan Kimball a minor diversion while he waited for the time he could leave England. Over the weeks, he had let down his guard. The other night in the carriage, he tossed prudence aside and let his foolish passions reign. A simple flirtation had become something else. But what? What did it mean?

  That his regard for his Susanna had grown he knew well. But to think he could feel something deeper for her, something that whispered marriage, forever, family, and trouble! How very ironic the first young lady he cared for seriously knew him as a man totally unqualified to court her. And further, as a man who had taken liberties with her she might someday regret.As Lord John Stansberry, her mother would welcome him as a contender for her hand. He was not a peer of the realm, but a gentleman with a handsome income and the promise of much more to come. The Prince Regent might not come up with that barony Richard mentioned, but the duke would certainly cede the lands their father had intended for John. If he had not been engaged in this questionably valuable business here in town, he would have been living on that estate long ago. Or, if he had followed his original preference and bought a pair of colors, he might have occupied a shallow grave in Portugal.

  Richard’s butler entered with Gianni’s coat over his arm. “Tom has returned with your things, milord.” With care undeserved by the rather shabby coat, Norton draped the garment over a chair near the fire.

  “Thank you, Norton. And thank Tom for me as well. I appreciate the difficulty of the retrieval.”

  In a silken dressing gown, Mama lounged on her chaise and surveyed her three daughters and her mother, all four sitting nearby. Susan prayed she could rely on her grandmother not to talk about the Italian lessons or particularly about the Italian tutor and the fact they had usually been alone together. The dowager knew such an arrangement would not meet with Lady Serena’s approval. Lady Traisdel and her daughter had an interesting relationship, a combination of rampant rivalry and deep devotion. The dowager disliked arguments with her daughter about propriety. When not together, each claimed higher standards than the other. The dowager Lady Traisdel decried the slumping behavior of today’s society. Lady Serena claimed that morals had been much looser in the previous century when her mother was young.

  Susan heard the arguments on both sides and found no reason to choose one over the other. As far as she was concerned, both her mother and grandmother would revise their supposedly unyielding standards to fit whatever their whims dictated, as Lady Traisdel had where Gianni was concerned. But in the field of finding matches for daughters, the dowager had a superior record, of which she reminded her daughter frequently. Lady Traisdel had landed an earl for herself. For her daughters she had secured the Baron Halford and the Viscount Randolph, Susan’s uncle. Neither of Lady Serena’s eldest daughters, Araminta and Philadelphia, had married a title, though both were well fixed. Phil’s husband, Mr. Clark, came from a family with a noted banking fortune. As for Susan, she had been such a disappointment to both her grandmother and mother, she hardly counted in the competition.

  Lady Serena sighed and drew a cashmere lap robe over her legs. “I fear I shall be chilly until June. Traveling has been a nightmare. One never knew where one might be stopped by uprooted trees, unsteady bridges, and terrible snow and ice everywhere.”

  “Susan, you should have seen the garden at home.” Theodosia looked so young and fresh it was impossible to think she had recently climbed out of the coach weeping over the chills in her feet. “Everything was coated with frost. It was very strange.”

  “Hideous to me,” said Dianthe. “I could barely stand to look at it.”

  Susan wished she could have seen it, even more like an enchanted fairyland than the view of the icy trees in the square.

  “Everything has been hideous.” Dianthe wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Six days on the road, nearly a week when it usually takes three days.”

  “We had to get here,” Lady Serena said. “Neither of you want to miss the Renwick’s ball on St. Valentine’s Day. I assume you are planning to attend, Susan.”

  “Yes. In fact I am going to sing, along with Lady Caroline. To give her confidence.”

  “Yes, she is a timid chit.” Lady Serena repeated her deep sigh. “I suppose that is one of Elaine’s schemes to bring her daughter to the attention of some eligible parti. Even with all her money, she was practically invisible last season.”

  “We practice every day at three.”

  “That may not always be convenient, Susan. You may have duties here at home to help your sisters.”

  “Mama, I have promised Lady Renwick. I am sure you would not want me to break that vow. After all, the ball is only two weeks away.”

  “Sixteen days. But I suppose there is nothing to be done.”

  Susan clamped her lips shut. Further discussion would only lead to arguments. Any hope of continuing Italian lessons here at Halford House was futile for the moment. At least she would have her afternoons to see Gianni. Not for a second had his words been out of her thoughts. He asked her to come to Italy with him. But he had been teasing her, had he not? Oh, how she wished he was serious!

  Chapter Five

  Susan sat in her bedchamber staring at the print of Siena’s Campo. She had memorized every line, every curve, every mark, but she never tired of looking at the piazza and thinking about Gianni walking across its broad expanse. She had brought both of the prints upstairs to hang near her dressing table. She considered it the better part of caution to bring her Italian books up as well. Mama’s orders to turn out and thoroughly clean every room on the first floor had the household in an uproar. Her sala Italiana was scheduled to have its décor refreshed.

  Susan viewed the weeks she and her grandmother had spent in London as a lovely and calm interlude before the storm. Now that her mother and sisters had arrived, all efforts of the entire household were concentrated on preparing Dianthe and Theodosia for their presentations and the events of the season. Except Papa. He spent most of his days at his club. All five ladies of the household had schedules filled with fittings, shopping excursions, and social calls, both made and received. The list of tasks grew by the hour. Conversation exclusively dealt with the upcoming months. The attributes of other young ladies to be presented were endlessly examined. Eligible young men, and not a few older ones, were analyzed, their fortunes assessed, their habits, good and bad, dissected. The timing of various balls, routs, and Venetian breakfasts was calculated. Certainly, Susan thought, Wellington did not hold more intense meetings to plan his battle strategy.

  She was relieved that her mother could not spare an hour to attend the singing rehearsals. Though Mama had paid a call on Lady Renwick, she left Renwick House well before Antonio and Gianni arrived. Every day it became more difficult to squeeze out the time to practice singing with Caroline. But Susan persisted, both to keep her promise and to have time with Gianni, who almost always was able to spend part of his afternoon at the lesson. He had not spoken again about taking her to Italy. She still did not know if the invitation was genuine. She only knew that someday she wanted to stand in the places in the pictures of Siena. And she wanted Gianni beside her. Susan replaced the print on the wall and donned her warmest pelisse. Since Mama never left the house except in the carriage, Susan and Peg had to walk to Renwick House most days.

  When she hurried into the Music Room, she was glad she had worn an extra pair of stockings. Gianni held several pairs of skates. Caroline was already in place beside the pianoforte. “Come, Susan. We are going to run through our songs quickly. Once Mama leaves for the mantua-maker, we are going to the river to skate and see the Frost Fair.”

  Gianni packed the skates into a large carpetbag. “They say the ice will go out in a few days, when the high tides come. If we are to enjoy the celebrations, we must go today.”

  “Then let us start.” To Susan, the plan was perfect. She followed the newspaper’s daily reports on the growth of the at
tractions on the frozen Thames and longed to see the spectacle. The very fact her parents would disapprove made the adventure even more appealing.

  An hour later, as they neared the river, they could see the fluttering flags and bright tents and hear the music and laughter. The streets grew crowded with spectators, peddlers, jugglers, and clowns. Once on the ice they found benches on which to sit while strapping on their skates.

  “I have no idea how to get these contraptions on,” Antonio said. “I am from warm and sunny Roma. How would I know about these?”

  Gianni buckled his skates and reached over to assist Tonio. “Do you know how to skate, bella mia?”

  “I learned when I was little,” Susan said. “We skated when we went to Papa’s mother’s house in Northumbria.”

  “Umbria!” Antonio exclaimed. “That is Italia, not England.”

  “No, no. It is an entirely different place, far north of here, sometimes cold and rocky and forbidding. There the pond freezes solid from December to March.”

  “Ah.” Tonio moved his feet cautiously, reaching to hold onto Caroline.

  Susan was surprised she remembered so quickly how to move on the skates and was even more surprised at Gianni’s skill.

  “Do not forget, cara mia, I have lived in England for many years. I have not been to Northumbria, but I spent many Christmastides in Yorkshire.”

  A small orchestra played lively tunes at the edge of the circle that had been scraped and swept for skaters. Susan grasped Gianni’s hands and glided beside him around the rim of the plot, around and around, weaving in and out among the other skaters. The air, instead of feeling cold and clammy, now felt crisp and invigorating. Perhaps, she thought, it was the exertion. Not to mention the feel of Gianni’s shoulder touching hers and the contact of his hands, even through several layers of wool. She imagined her cheeks were as cherry red as his were, her eyes as bright, though not so dark. If only she could drive away the unpleasant thought that in just a week the St. Valentine’s Ball would be over. She would have no rehearsals to take her away from her sisters, no excuses to meet with Gianni. Perhaps later in the season, she could again engage him to give her lessons in speaking Italian. Mama might be busy enough with Dianthe and Theodosia that Susan could escape from time to time.

  Gianni squeezed her hand and grinned down at her. “Look at Tonio. He has made it twice around the circle.”

  “I think poor Lady Caroline is holding him up.”

  Just as she spoke, Tonio lost his balance and was suddenly sliding across the ice on his seat. Laughing, they skated to him and hauled him to his feet.

  “This is enough torture for poor Antonio,” he said. “Now I get these awful contraptions off and find the wine merchant.”

  Gianni cuffed him playfully. “Nothing but frozen lemonade for you, amico mio! Your legs are already wobbling.”

  As they packed their skates, a short man in a red stocking cap grabbed at Gianni’s coat.

  “Prego, Signor DiFerrante…”

  Gianni patted Susan’s hand. “Excuse me. This will take just a moment.” He walked a few feet away and bent his head low, his ear almost at the mouth of the other man.

  Susan watched the two. These frequent exchanges mystified her. Almost everywhere Gianni went people seemed to need his attention, and their information was treated as though it was secret. She looked away and caught a glimpse of Caroline gazing at Tonio with eyes full of adoration. Clearly, Caro’s feelings transcended anything so mundane as a frigid day. Again, Susan wondered if Lady Renwick was not risking an awful scandal.

  Suddenly the day seemed cold, gray, and the chill penetrating. The future looked as bleak as the cloudy sky. What would happen to Caroline and Antonio once the great performance was over next week? How would Susan continue her Italian lessons? She would have to devise a ruse of some kind. Perhaps Gianni would assist her, since she was certain he needed the money she paid. He received nothing from Lady Renwick, despite his attendance at the singing practice, nor had he shown any sign of other employment. Which again brought up the continuing mystery of just who he was. And what he was doing teaching Italian conversation to a person like herself? Before she could sink too far into the gloom, Gianni was back at her side, and his grin wiped away her dubious thoughts for the moment.

  After munching lovely hunks of cake frosted in white as if they were part of the river’s ice, the four of them stood near a huge fire, close enough to feel its warmth penetrate their coats. For the rest of the afternoon, Susan felt she was in a special kind of paradise. Everywhere she looked there was a new stall with tempting wares; a performer surrounded by a jolly audience and food vendors of succulent chicken and lamb, fragrant gingerbread, steaming hot chestnuts. The crowd of people ate, ogled, cheered, and danced to the music of a dozen ensembles. At one point, Gianni swept her into his arms and whirled her around to boisterous folk tunes until she was dizzy. Scattered over the ice were huge bonfires surrounded by people reaching out to warm their fingers. Everyone talked of nothing but the extraordinary cold and how many times the river had frozen over. Some said in the time of Elizabeth. Charles the Second was said to have hunted fox on the surface of the Thames. Others were certain Cromwell had ordered the river to freeze, and it obeyed to keep itself out of the stocks. One old man said it had happened last in his youth. It was growing dark by the time Susan collected Peg at Renwick House and went home.

  Just before they turned into Brook Street, Gianni stopped and took Susan’s hand. “Bella mia, I shall never forget this afternoon.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Nor shall I, Gianni. Thank you for taking me.”

  He reached up, and with his forefinger, wiped a tear from her cheek and pressed its moisture to his lips. “Grazie, Susanna mia. Addio.”

  Almost blinded by her fog of tears, Susan walked to the corner, then turned and waved. He was standing in the darkening cold, smiling.

  Peg took Susan’s arm. “Come, miss. Your mama will be worried.”

  Susan lifted her hand once more but she could not see Gianni for weeping.

  “I find it much easier to discuss the dreadful cold when I am sitting here sweating.” The Duke of Bainbridge adjusted the towel wrapped around his waist and leaned back against the tile of the steam bath.

  Gianni wiped the sheen of perspiration from his forehead and followed his half-brother’s example, stretching his legs out before him. “What news I have from the continent is all bad. I hope to hear more favorable reports from you.”

  “Humph! If you can call wild rumors of Napoleon’s abdication or his assassination favorable. None of it is true. Reliable information is scarce.”

  Gianni shrugged. “You can consider what my cousin has written to be reliable, sadly so. Nothing coming out of Italy is encouraging to those of us who hoped for progress toward unifying the peninsula. My cousin holds out no hope whatsoever for putting together a provisional government. He and his compatriots are embroiled in arguments with other secret societies. They cannot agree on leadership. They hate Murat.”

  “He has changed sides so many times, no one knows where he stands. And his wife is Napoleon’s sister, though I have heard she despises her brother.”

  Gianni watched the moisture drip from the ceiling. He felt every one of his eight years collecting information on Italian affairs had been wasted. “This is a great disappointment to me. I hate admitting more years under foreign control are needed to coalesce all the factions throughout the peninsula. All my sources come to the same conclusion, though few admit it. No one favors bringing back the Austrians, but I do not see what alternative the allied leadership could find.”

  “I am not surprised,” the duke said. “To be honest, I considered it unlikely the Italians could unite under one leader. We will, of course, not stand in their way if they can do so. But I agree with your assessment. Unity is unlikely. I believe many in our government are ready to encourage Metternich.”

  Gianni wondered if this was how a soldier felt after
his regiment had been defeated in battle. When the generals surrendered could it be any worse? “That thought is more dismal than I could have imagined.”

  The duke’s face was flushed to a bright pink. “I believe, John, you have done as much as you can. If you want to make your way to Tuscany this summer, I have no objection. And I welcome you back to London society as Lord John Stansberry, if you wish to exchange your present rooms for a more comfortable apartment here in Bainbridge House.”

  “Thank you for your generosity. And, thank you for supporting us, especially when you had to oppose some of your best friends.”

  “You are the one who gave up your way of life. For me, the sacrifice was minimal.”

  Gianni shook his head. “I know what you stood for. And I appreciate your efforts. Someday I believe the old city states and the regions of Italy will come together. I must learn patience, I suppose.”

  “Indeed, one must view these things philosophically.”

  Gianni breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the warm, moist air. “As for resuming my former life, I may just do that.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  Saying the words out loud gave them an entirely new reality, Gianni thought. “I have met a young lady who has captured a place in my heart. But I do not know quite how I am to metamorphosize from Gianni, the poor Tuscan exile, into Lord John, brother of His Grace the Duke of Bainbridge. She may not take my masquerade kindly.”

  “If she loves you, she will become accustomed to the idea, I predict. Do I know her family?”

  “Probably. She is the daughter of Baron Halford, and granddaughter of the late fifth Earl of Traisdel.”