The Forbidden Valentine_Lady Eleanor Hawthorne_Regency Romance Novel

by Isabella Thorne

  “My Lady Mermaid,” he said, and she laughed.

  The mermaid was followed by two giggling flowers, an intricate daffodil and a stately lily. They would be Eleanor’s sisters. Then he saw her. Between the two flowers fluttered a butterfly of unaccountable beauty, covered in strips of gauze and tulle of many bright colors, a butterfly with mahogany hair and violet eyes shining through her mask. All of the doubts that had made turmoil in his stomach, vanished with her presence: Lady Eleanor Hawthorne.

  She had said that she would be a butterfly, but she was so unaccountably stunning. He simply watched her for a moment, enjoying her beauty and her grace. The butterfly costume made her seem as if she floated, but then she was a tiny thing, as light as air. At last she saw him too and her eyes lit, and her hands fluttered like the butterfly she was dressed as. He smiled. He loved the way his very presence flustered her so, for she did the same to him. He ached to take her in his arms. He could see her high color as she flushed under his gaze, the color showing on her cheeks below her mask. There was little doubt that she was his Lady Eleanor.

  Nonetheless, he spoke their secret words hoping to see the light in her violet eyes deepen with desire. He loved that his voice affected her so.

  He whispered, choosing to make the moment more intimate. “Excuse me, my Lady. You would not have happened to have sampled the champagne? I hear it is of a notable year.”

  “Oh!” she gasped and turned on her heel to face him, and he itched to hold her. Somehow, he would have his dance tonight, a waltz, he promised himself. He would not be content with touching mere fingertips. He simply could not leave until he held her in his arms for just a moment. She was smiling at him, and the sight made him soar.

  “What a relief, it is to have found you, my Lady” he chortled. “I must confess to thinking how utterly unpatriotic I would seem saying that comment to most at this ball.”

  “Yes,” Lavinia agreed. “And no doubt the lady would feign horror while speaking a declaration that there was no champagne to be had.”

  “And so there should not be,” Captain Hartfield said seriously. “We are at war with France.”

  “No disrespect meant to our fine naval men,” Firthley said to Hartfield.

  “You might have been slapped for such cheek,” Eleanor said softly as she turned towards her lion.

  David was oblivious to all else around him. Lady Eleanor’s lips curved into a smile and the room suddenly became warmer. He stepped closer and removed his pawed glove, taking her hand in his. A fire was lighted in his soul and desire sprang forth. He bowed over her hand, kissing it, holding her hand to his lips for an impossibly long time. Reluctantly, he took his lips from her gloved hand, but he clung to it a moment longer The scent of her skin assailed him, and David knew he should release her hand. He had already held it too long and yet not nearly long enough. His eyes were on her lovely violet eyes as they darkened until they were as dark as his own brown eyes intense under the colorful mask that matched her butterfly costume.

  He looked out of a golden filigree mask, which covered most of his face , accented by the tawny lion’s ruff beneath. Due to Harry’s ministrations the thing was securely tied. David’s dark hair was hidden beneath the ruff that encircled his head. No one would know he was a Firthley, except this woman and a few others in the room. Indeed, few in this crowd knew what he looked like. He finally released her hand, and heard her breathe. He himself took a breath.

  “What a wonderful costume,” Eleanor said, with an adorable little blush. She glanced around, presumably to see if anyone recognized either of them standing so close to one another, touching, in fact. How long had it been since a Firthley touched a Hawthorne? David wondered. He intended that this Firthley would never stop touching Lady Eleanor Hawthorne. If the lady was willing he would have her as his wife. Feud be damned.

  ~.~

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eleanor remembered Lord Firthley’s dark hair tousled and covered in snow as she first saw him and later in his fine suit at the theatre. Now he was entirely disguised. Only his height gave him away as a Firthley, and yet she would know him anywhere.

  Missus Hartfield, the mermaid bounced a little. “Indeed,” she said stepping boldly forward. She reached up, stretching on tip toe to pet his head, as if Firthley were her spaniel and he grinned at Missus Hartfield.

  “You are quite the royal beast,” she said. “But I am told that lions are quite chivalrous, if Richard the Lionheart is any indication.” She gave him a hard look. “I must trust to my understanding of the history of a lion.”

  “You may be confusing fairy stories with history, my dear,” Captain Hartfield commented, as he moved closer to the mermaid and put a hand possessively around her waist.

  “I owe your mermaid a debt of gratitude, Captain” David said, but Eleanor thought her chaperone made her point quite well. Still, she was suddenly nervous. If Father ever found out... Thank heaven he had decided to go willingly to the card room, although as Lily suspected, she could not manage to lose Mother for any great length of time. Still, Lily promised to keep Mother occupied, should she return.

  “The music is starting,” Grace said unnecessarily and a dragon approached the bevy of ladies just as the lion held out his hand to Eleanor.

  “I would be honored to have this dance,” Firthley said, and Eleanor placed her hand in his wishing she might say he could have every dance.

  “Yes,” she said. And then there was only her hand in his, his eyes on her. She felt as if she could fly.

  “I worried that there would be some mishap. That you would not be able to come,” he said softly, for her ears only.

  Eleanor cast her eyes down to the floor; then looked up with a cheeky grin on her face. “I could be coy and say ‘neither did I,’ but in truth I knew the moment I received your letter suggesting the meeting that I must come tonight, or risk spending the rest of my life wondering what might have been.”

  The music started and their conversation stopped while they moved to their places on the dance floor. Eleanor’s heart raced with giddiness and she felt too warm in the crowded room. She, a Hawthorne, was actually going to dance with a Firthley. This was so far from her usual decorum. The excitement was still causing her heart to flutter like the butterfly she was dressed as. She could not quite believe that she was here; that she was so daring. All of her thoughts of love and marriage flashed to the front of her mind.

  It was too soon, she told herself and yet, she had to hurry. She would not have an abundance of time to get to know this man. Instead their visits would be limited to this sort of clandestine meeting. Would it be enough? She hoped so. The thought of lying, even in omission, to her parents bothered her. The thought of being so devious made her uncomfortable, but the feel of Lord Firthley’s hand, warm and large, on her back as he directed her forward was worth every bit of discomfort because the thought of never seeing him again was much more painful.

  The musicians began to play and the couples came forward to join others. It was the cotillion and they needed another couple. A knight danced across the way with her sister Grace in her yellow and green organza. The dragon brought Lily, in her lily costume, to the set, and the dance began. The dragon seemed somewhat familiar, but Eleanor could not place him.

  She scanned the room to see where Robert and Matthew might be.

  The tension grew between the couple as Eleanor circled her lion, his fur brushed against the gossamer fabric which floated from her arms, and then they were separated and she danced with the dragon.

  The changing of partners left little time for conversation, except in small bits. Normally she was up to the task, but tonight, the constant separations annoyed her, and her thoughts were all muddled. She wondered if she was in over her head. She wanted to invite Firthley into a romantic interlude, a moment of privacy, to speak to see if he was really the one for her, but she was being too forward. Certainly her parents would think so. He had to know her parents were not aware that she
was here with him, and likewise, his own parents did not know of her. No, of course not. They could not know; her only chaperone knew.

  Eleanor’s attention was back on her dance partner as she was again paired with Firthley. His eyes seemed so intense to her. She did not want a liaison; she wanted marriage. Surely he knew that. “We will not have much time with one another,” she said.

  “No. I suppose not,” he agreed.

  “And yet I cannot have another dance with you,” she said.

  “People would talk,” he said, and then she was back with the dragon.

  “You do not usually attend this masquerade, do you?” the dragon asked.

  “No,” she answered shortly.

  “The flowers,” he said. “Is it significant that your friends…”

  “Sisters,” she corrected.

  “Your sisters are flowers, but you have chosen to be a butterfly,” the dragon asked.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Does your choice of costume mean you are… different than they?”

  Eleanor swallowed. She knew that many used the anonymity of the masked ball to do things that propriety did not allow. “I am sure I do not know,” She said, but of course, she did. Her mouth was dry.

  Partners traded again and she was dancing with Lord Firthley. He held her closer than before. She could smell the scent of him, and it made her knees weak. She stumbled slightly and his arms tightened around her to keep her from falling, just as he had done on the ice. Perhaps he too thought she was forward, and the truth was, coming here was indeed the height of forwardness. What must he think of her? Indeed, what did she think of herself? This was a disaster. Her breath caught and for a moment she was looking into his deep brown eyes thinking that she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted the moment to never end, but the moment was broken as they traded partners again, and she was back in step with the dragon.

  “I did not mean any disrespect before,” the dragon said. “I apologize.”

  “Apology accepted,” she said smiling up at him. She knew she must appear to be enjoying herself with both gentlemen, not just Firthley.

  They parted and she once more partnered with Firthley.

  “Do you think I should have been a flower?” she blurted.

  “I think you are too beautiful to be so ordinary,” Firthley replied.

  Her nerves were singing as she danced. She could barely breathe, and she did not think it was due to any binding of her clothing. The silk that formed the butterfly wings was loose and flowing, morso than her regular ball gowns. When the dance ended, Lord Firthley did not release her. “Would you like a refreshment?” he asked.

  “Perhaps a tour of the house?” the dragon asked her sister.

  “I am sure,” Lily said, moving up beside her.

  “You, of course are also welcome to join us, Lady Butterfly,” He gave the lion a look, but there was no indication that anything was amiss.

  “I think some air would be welcome,” Eleanor said. As long as her sister was nearby, she could perhaps find a moment of privacy with Firthley.

  They exited the ballroom by the doors left open to the foyer where the opening and closing of the main door brought in a bit of cold from the outside. Eleanor paused for a breath of air, but they were hardly alone. It was not the place for a romantic tryst, as others had wandered into the cooler open space to escape the crush. They walked along the foyer to the opposite corridor. Footmen were placed at every turn to direct lost guests to the retiring rooms or to the card rooms where some of the older gentlemen had retreated. In any case, there was little enough privacy.

  “There are ices in the parlor,” the dragon said leading the way down a long corridor.

  “How lovely,” Lily said. “Do you want one, sister dear,” she asked.

  Eleanor nodded and she and Firthley followed a little more slowly, still hoping for a bit of privacy. As they collected their ices a red headed woman dressed as Queen Elizabeth caught them up and scolded the dragon. “Brother, you did promise to dance,” she said, shaking a finger. “And the dancing has barely started, but here you are. No hiding allowed.” She put on a regal manner, “By royal decree,” she said. “I bid thee dance.” And then she caught sight of his companions. “Oh,” she said, happily. “You are Lavinia’s charges.”

  “Yes,” the dragon said. “And for your information, dear sister,” I have already danced, and thus have done my agreed upon penance.”

  A slightly tipsy fairy joined them and looked heavenward in frustration and then at the queen. “Have you explained to your brother that he may dance more than once,” she said looking from the dragon to the queen.

  “Not with the same lady,” he countered, patting Lily’s white gloved hand in his. Lily turned her head and beamed at him through her mask, the petals and pearls within her hair shining.

  Eleanor gave the dragon a second look. Was he enamored of her sister, Lily? So soon? And more importantly, who was he? His mask hid his face well and she was uncertain as to whether she knew him or not.

  “Oh,” The Queen said with raised eyebrows. “Well, then, come along your majesty,” Queen Elizabeth said, looping arms with the fairy. “We should let Lavinia’s charges to find their own way, methinks.”

  “Yes, come along your majesty,” said the fairy, to the queen, and Eleanor realized the woodland fairy must be not just any fairy, but Titania, Queen of the Fairies. Eleanor turned, giving a slight curtsey to both queens. “You must be related to The Lord and Lady Keegain, then,” she said hoping to learn who the two siblings were, by way of Queen Elizabeth whose face was more revealed. “Are you cousins?”

  “I am not,” began Queen Elizabeth but the fairy interrupted.

  “Oh, no. no. no. no. no.” the fairy giggled, catching Queen Elizabeth’s arm and pulling her away. “We shall not reveal our identities to you mere mortals. I shall only say that I am Titania, The Queen of the Fairies.”

  “And I am Queen Elizabeth the first.” The woman lifted her freckled nose in the air and glided away, with the fairy, who giggled and whispered, “Love is in the air. Have you seen my Bottom?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” said Queen Elizabeth. “He has retired to the card room. Shall we press him into dancing?”

  “Let’s shall we?” The two queens departed giggling.

  Lily and the dragon had pulled away slightly now and were speaking quietly. The dragon’s mask so completely covered him she could not even tell the color of his hair. The dragon scales were of gold and silver as well as blue and green material woven between the scales, making a plume on his head, she could not see his face at all, only his laughing eyes.

  “I would like to show you something,” Firthley said as they finished their ices.

  Eleanor gave him a puzzled look. Was there a corner of the place not overrun with people she wondered? Did he want a moment of privacy as well? When she agreed to come to the St. Valentine’s Ball she had hoped they would at least have a moment to talk without listening ears, but now, she hesitated.

  “Come,” he said again and she followed her lion. He led her from the crowded dance floor to the back of the house. At first there were just as many people as there were in the front of the house. They went down a corridor which had significantly less footmen and the sconces were not lit. It was obvious that this part of the house was not intended for the guests.

  “Firthley?” she questioned, holding back slightly.

  “You must not say my name. I am only your lion until midnight,” he chastised her for saying his name, laying a finger against her lips. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture. “We do not want anyone to hear you and discover our identity,” he said.

  “No. Of course not.”

  At the end of the corridor was the sun room. The windows opened out into the garden. It was of course, freezing outside. The ice covered trees outside made a beautiful picture from the sun room window. The garden in winter was all snow and ice. The windows, all around, appeared to
be decorated with crystalline structures climbing up from the sills, and looked out on a magical ice kingdom. The sun room was refreshingly cool after the crush of the main ballroom.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed at the sparkling beauty. “It is beautiful; like a fairyland. However did you find it? I thought your family did not come to Keegain’s St. Valentine’s Ball,” she said. She wondered how he knew about the room.

  “We do not,” Firthley said. “At least not any longer, but I had some time to look around earlier.”

  “And you found this winter wonderland,” she said. “How splendid.”

  Firthley brought his hand to Eleanor’s chin and turned her to look at him. “And I found the essence of spring, a butterfly; the transformation of a new life, for both of us.”

  Heat and an awareness of him thrummed through her as he touched her.

  “I am afraid it is you who have transformed me,” she said. “I have never done anything so bold. Even now, my heart beats fast.”

  “We must be bold for love,” he said. “I can think of nothing but you, Lady Eleanor. I find myself besotted.” He brought her hand to his chest where she could feel the strong beat of his own heart. She wanted to lean into him, to let the moment happen, but she barely knew him, and the strength of her own desire frightened her.

  “And I feel the same, but I fear it may be that the forbidden fruit is the sweetest, and yet pursuing it shall bring us both to rough and ruin.”

  “Do you not think we are star-crossed lovers?”

  “Remember that the story of the star crossed lovers ended in tragedy.”

  “It shall not be so with us,” he said. “I will not let it be so.” He caught a loose strand of her hair in his fingertips.

  Eleanor could not deny that their love was similar to Romeo and Juliet, but that story did not end well. The thought made her nervous.