The Forbidden Valentine_Lady Eleanor Hawthorne_Regency Romance Novel

by Isabella Thorne

  Dearest Gentleman;

  Worth the cost! Do not say so, even in jest. Do you not think at all of how wretched I would be at your loss? And wretchedness twice again when I looked at your list of engagements for the fortnight.

  How is it that fate is so cruel? Not a single event do we have in common. I shall ask our dear nurse to find some house that will accept us both. She is resourceful, but I dare not ask another to risk for us, except perhaps my sisters, but they have the same constrictions as I so there is no advantage to their involvement. Meanwhile, our nurse searches out a meeting place where we might venture, there to exchange letters, and if fate allows, a glance. I wait with bated breath.

  EAH

  ~.~

  Chapter Eleven

  David re-read Lady Eleanor’s letter with a thought of where they may meet. He knew of several poetry societies around Town, but most were ladies only events. Still he greatly wished to see her as well as exchange letters. Truthfully he wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her away, but first he needed to convince his own father that Hawthornes were not evil incarnate. As Firthley held the parchment, and contemplated what he would write, he could not help but think of his own Lady Eleanor Hawthorne penning the letter. Her dainty fingers folding the page and pouring the wax. He put the letter away with the others in his desk and sat for a moment to compose himself before going to speak with his father.

  He had twice mentioned the name of Hawthorne and each time his father had shut down the conversation quite firmly. David decided he would have to be more firm. He was after all his father’s only son. It was not likely his father would disinherit him no matter how distressed the man was with him.

  David broached the topic over drinks in the library that evening. “I spied the Hawthorne’s at the theater the other day,” he said in passing. “The eldest is perhaps my age is he not?”

  “Dastardly family,” his father intoned, taking a sip of his drink. “What mischief did that wretch, Robert Hawthorne do?”

  “Why nothing,” David said. “The chap seemed quite the good fellow. He went to Eton then, not Harrow is that correct?”

  “Yes.” The Lord Perrilyn said, his brow knitting into a frown.

  “I thought so. There are several other children I presume, several girls, and another brother. He was keeping a passel of sisters in line. Pretty girls.”

  Father set down his glass with a clunk. “You did not fancy any of them,” his father said. It was not a question.

  “If I did?”

  “They are all conniving reprobates,” his father said. “Best left alone.”

  “Truly,” David said. “I thought that old feud was all behind us. Witchcraft and all. It is a modern world, Father.”

  Lord Perrilyn narrowed his eyes. “You have brought up the subject of the Hawthorne daughters previously,” he said. “You think this is a lark, but I am warning you, David. Let this go. There are things here you do not know.”

  “Then pray, tell me,” David said. “What is so wrong with the Hawthornes? I see nothing but titled ladies, beautiful with wealth and position…”

  “You do fancy one of them,” Father said. “Forget it David. It will not happen.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that witch came into this family with a bastard in her belly, bewitched your great uncle and then murdered her own husband. Is that not enough?”

  “Murder?” David shook his head. “Surely you do not believe that, Father. After all it was all so long ago. Who can say what…”

  “David,” The Lord Perrilyn interrupted. “I will not discuss this. You will never marry a Hawthorne, and that is that, no matter that one of those witches has apparently bespelled you.”

  “I am not bespelled,” David sputtered unable to believe his father’s words.

  “Then you shall let this go.”

  “I will not,” David said.

  “I would hate for the Firthley inheritance to go to a cousin,” Father said ominously, “but I will do so.”

  “Now you are being quite ridiculous,” David said. “I am your son.”

  “And a Firthley,” his father said. “And as such, you will have nothing to do with Hawthornes. Nothing. Do you hear me?”

  David put down his half-finished drink. “I have an engagement at the club,” he said. “I will be staying there tonight.”

  “David,” his father growled. “I mean it. You will not marry a Hawthorne.”

  David closed the door behind him with a heavy thud.

  ~.~

  Eleanor was driven to frustration. Grandfather’s dinner celebrating the return of many of the Peers to London to sit at the House of Lords drew near, and Mother fussed most irritatingly with what the girls would wear and how they would behave.

  “Mother,” Grace said in exasperation. “It is not as if this is our first event. We do have some sense and sensibility.” She smoothed her gown of bright blue silk. It was a fine thing with a ribbon tied just below her bust and flounces of the same color. Grace looked elegant.

  “I know, Dear,” Lady Hanway said. “But tonight you may meet the man you will marry. Though more likely Eleanor… or Lily,” she added belatedly although the sisters knew everyone believed that Lily was likely on the shelf.

  Lily herself seemed unbothered by the prospect. Eleanor loathed that she was now to be paraded like a prize to be won, when her heart had already been lost to another. Eleanor wore a pale ivory gown which was nearly translucent; the lace showed off her figure. A green ribbon accented her tiny waist and she wore her mother’s pearls. Her dark chestnut curls were captured in an updo with tiny seed pearls scattered throughout.

  Lily was in a gown of pink silk chiffon with roses along the hem. Eleanor felt pink was not truly Lily’s color, not because her sister looked poorly in the gown, but because the many ruffles and flounces were just not Lily’s cup of tea. She would have been more comfortable in a plainer gown, but Mother insisted she be noticeable. So Lily was made noticeable. A string of diamonds graced her neck and dangled from her ears.

  “It is so exciting,” Betty added. Betty was helping with the preparations. She could barely sit still with her exuberance. Her nose was quite out of joint that she would not be able to attend herself when the event was to be held at her own house, but she also understood that she was not out yet, and would soon get her turn. For now, Betty would be relegated to watching subversively from the balcony, admiring the ladies dresses. Eleanor wished she could join her young sister.

  “You must present your best foot forward,” Lady Hanway said as her maid presented Eleanor with her slippers for the night.

  Eleanor smiled thinking of her foot sliding on Lord Firthley’s front step. Yes, she thought, her best foot indeed, and she flushed as she remembered Firthley’s poem about catching her.

  “Eleanor,” Mother repeated. “Are you attending me?”

  “Yes, Mother. I hear you. I shall be on my best behavior, but most of the Peers are already married.” She took the shoes and slid her foot into one and then the other.

  “But not all,” Lady Hanway said. “And there are their sons.” She began naming the possible marriage partners.

  There was only one gentleman of whom Eleanor dreamed and he would not be in attendance. Eleanor was hoping that none of the old goats Father favored would truly want so a young bride as she. As far as the sons, well, she would decide what to do when the problem presented itself. For now, she would just endure.

  “Father said every peer who Grandfather considered acceptable has been invited,” Betty gushed.

  “And of course a few that Grandfather cannot afford to snub,” Lily added as she directed the maid to pin down a few of her curls more securely.

  “Lily, that is not proper talk for a lady to speak so of her Grandfather. He is due your respect.” Lady Hanway admonished. “And let your curls fall about your face. It makes you look less austere, more feminine.”

  “The strands annoy me,” Lily said. “Fall
ing in my face so that I cannot see what is right in front of me.” She pushed the hair back, tucking a curl behind her ear and undoing the maid’s work.

  The maid paused in fixing Lily’s hair, and looked to the Countess. “Is this acceptable, Milady,” she asked Lady Hanway as she rearranged Lily’s curls.

  Mother moved in to correct Lily’s choices.

  “I wish I could wear my hair so,” Betty said wistfully.

  “One must suffer for beauty,” Lady Hanway said, as she tugged at Lily’s hair and pulled several curls loose again. “It is always so, and it is not necessary that you see,” she added to Lily. “Only that you be seen.”

  “You do look beautiful,” Eleanor added to Lily.

  Lily raised an eyebrow at Eleanor as she pulled on her gloves. Eleanor pulled on her own gloves thinking of Lord Firthley holding her mittens so she could push her hands into them. It was not so cold now, but she shivered anyway.

  There was a tap on the dressing room door, and after assessing that all were decent, and with the Countess’ permission, the maid opened the door.

  Matthew strode in. Betty bounced into his arms. “Matthew,” she exclaimed. “You look so handsome.” She unnecessarily straightened his cravat.

  Eleanor agreed. Their brother did look handsome and when he smiled, doubly so. Matthew ruffled his little sister’s hair and then addressed the others. “Grandfather says I should escort you downstairs directly. He wants to allow you time to mingle before dinner is served.”

  “Very well,” Mother replied taking her youngest son’s arm. The girls followed. It was going to be an interminable evening Eleanor thought.

  ~.~

  The dinner party proceeded and Eleanor was sure, although she could not manage the situation to her advantage, it need not be to her detriment. She need only avoid those to whom her parents wanted to present her. She needed to side step any potential suitors and if possible keep herself from being bored to death, but boredom could be acceptable as long as no one noticed her and proposed marriage solely on her appearance.

  She positioned herself by Lord Whimby who she knew father did not like. He was nearly as old as father and a widower. His wife had died in childbirth years before, and he had both a daughter and a son who were older than Eleanor by perhaps a year or two. Both siblings were present at the party and after quite a long discussion with Lord Whimby, he made her acquaintance to one of his twins, Joanne, who seemed very personable.

  “James is also here,” Lord Whimby told her absently. After a while, Lord Whimby was drawn into conversation with another gentleman and he excused himself.

  Eleanor and Grace spent a bit of time chatting with Joanne; sharing thoughts on various books. Joanne said that her friend Penelope was also so inclined. “I shall have to introduce you,” Joanne added. “She is here with her husband.”

  “My Father will be cross if I spend all my time speaking to only the ladies and not the gentlemen as well,” Grace admitted and she gravitated towards some of the other guests, leaving Eleanor alone with Joanne.

  “Yes,” Joanne admitted. “And Father says I must not talk about books lest I be thought a bluestocking.”

  “You would like my sister Lily,” Eleanor said with a smile.

  “Father has such a long list of topics I shan’t discuss, so much so that I find I do not have a thing to speak of with any substance. It is little wonder gentleman think women have little wit, do you not agree?”

  A gentleman chuckled behind her, and Eleanor turned to see a man obviously Joanne’s brother.

  “Oh,” Joanne said making the introductions. “Lady Eleanor, this is my brother James Whimby. My twin in fact. James, this is Lady Eleanor Hawthorne.”

  James bowed over Eleanor’s hand and kissed it. She supposed he was good looking enough. He was taller than she was, with overly large teeth, but a ready smile. Her heart continued steady on its pace as he touched her. There was no flush of excitement or speeding up of the organ. She did not wish to shed her gloves and touch his skin. There was no giddy tongue-tied nervousness. He simply kissed her gloved hand and said, “Charmed, I am sure.”

  His face was still ready to break into a smile as he glanced at his sister. “My sister over shares,” he continued, but the words were not in censure, only in conversation.”

  “Oh but brother, we must do as Father says,” she intoned in mock severity and he laughed again, with the comradery of the siblings like Eleanor own with her sisters.

  “Pray, do not jest,” Eleanor said, although she too was smiling. “We women all have lists of topics which are taboo to discuss. Our Mothers have engraved these in stone, lest we fail to remember.”

  “Our Fathers do the same,” Mister Whimby assured her, “So says my sister, Joanne. And yet, do you think gentlemen are not similarly encumbered?”

  “Surely not,” Eleanor intoned. “Gentlemen have the run of things.”

  “So I have told James,” Joanne said. “It matters not that I am the older sibling. He is still first in everything.”

  Eleanor nodded agreeing with her new friend.

  “Oh, now I am outpaced,” Mister Whimby said. “Two against one.” Mister Whimby cleared his throat, clearly mocking his father. “Mark me now,” he said, holding up his index finger. “There shall be no speculation over the doings of the First Lord of the Treasury, with the ladies nor the gentlemen, nor the trouble in the colonies, nor the Catholic question, and for heaven’s sake do not mention the king’s health, or more specifically his illness, nor any illness in fact, nay, no unpleasantness at all, nor the regent’s excess, nor the war. Well, perhaps you may speak of the war, but only as it is going well. Perhaps if it were someone else’s war…”

  Joanne slapped her brother with her fan and hissed. “Father is looking this way.”

  Mister Whimby took a sip of his wine, and glanced in the direction of Lord Whimby.

  “Is it not going well?” Eleanor asked concerned for Lavinia’s captain. “The war?”

  “Oh, now you see. I have already overstepped my bound in polite society.” Mister Whimby sighed exaggeratedly. “I am quite the fool.”

  “No truly, I wish to know,” Eleanor said.

  “Well enough, I suppose,” Mister Whimby said finally. “But I shall not bore you with the details. Yes, that is another of Father’s rules. Do not bore a lady with details; she does not have the head for it.”

  Joanne scowled at her brother, but he smiled widely back at her.

  “Of course any man who thinks such has never met my charming sister.” He bowed exaggeratedly.

  Eleanor laughed aloud now, thinking she should introduce this gentleman to her sister Lily. She too was a stickler for the details.

  “You said are older than your brother?” Eleanor asked.

  “By a full four minutes,” Joanne said proudly. “Not that it matters, since I am a daughter. If I were a son I should be my father’s heir.”

  “And instead you are his darling.” Mister Whimby added.

  “Now,” Joanne said, laying a gloved hand on Eleanor’s arm. “I have introduced you to my brother. So you must do the same for me and introduce me to your brothers.”

  Eleanor thought she would do her new friend a disservice to introduce her to Robert, but perhaps Matthew. Eleanor glanced across the room looking for Matthew so that she could introduce him to Joanne. He was not readily available. He was entirely across the room in a discussion with Lord Blackburn and his eldest son. Robert was nearby, no doubt being certain that Eleanor followed all of Mother’s rules.

  Eleanor shrugged and took her new friend’s arm steering her towards Robert. “If you wish,” she said. “But I must tell you something about my eldest brother. All of those rules your father charged you with, my brother Robert has invented at least a dozen more.”

  Mister Whimby accompanied the two ladies and after introductions were made, he asked to escort Eleanor to dinner. She accepted, leaving Robert to escort Joanna.

  Grandfather had
meant to impress and the table was filled with delicacies. After soups and appetizers, the main course was served: three dishes of venison as well as beef and a suckling pig roasted with an apple in its mouth. Eleanor was not sure what fish and fowl were served, only that the meal was plentiful and she ate dutifully.

  She expected dinner to be a somber affair with most of the participants searching for topics that did not involve Mister Whimby’s list of taboo subjects as they took their seats. High on the list of acceptable topics was the weather, but how many ways could one describe snow, she wondered aloud to Mister Whimby, or even the melting of it. He tried to lighten her mood by attempting to do so. Still Eleanor’s thoughts were far away with Lord Firthley and the snow storm that had brought her to his door. She brought her thoughts forcibly back to the present. She was here now, and Firthley was not. Melancholy threatened to trip her up. She remembered Missus Hartfield’s admonition to keep her wits about her.

  Eleanor had settled beside Mister Whimby on one side and Lord Rumfort, who had escorted Grace, on the other. Lord Rumfort tried to engage Eleanor in conversation from her right, and she answered monosyllabically while he pontificated. He really did not want a woman with any intelligence at all. She thought. He wanted an audience for his own edification. In contrast, she thought of Lord Firthley who had bent to fix her sleigh, who tended the fire and wrote such lovely poetry. A bit of Shakespeare’s wisdom stuck in her head then: A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool. The quote brought a smile to her lips. She nodded absently at Lord Rumfort and left the polite conversation to Grace. Grace always was better at that sort of thing.

  She turned back to James Whimby and gave him a half-hearted smile, for more than half her heart still resided with Lord Firthley. There was a bit of silence which reigned awkwardly, and Mister Whimby cleared his throat. Eleanor noted that although there were certainly awkward silences at that first meeting between her and Lord Firthley, letter writing had opened their souls to one another. She would guess the awkwardness would be gone now. That is if they were to ever find a way to meet again.