The Forbidden Valentine

by Isabella Thorne

  “But remember, the lovers lost,” she said softly looking up at him.

  Firthley’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You may be forbidden by family, as am I, but yours is the only word that counts,” he said.

  “Which word?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Only say yes.”

  “I think I should perhaps know the question before I say yes,” she laughed.

  “Will you be mine?”

  She froze with his sudden passion. “You are too bold, my Lord. We barely have spoken. We only know one another by letter. We must be cautious.”

  “We have no time for caution,” he said fervently. “I know not when I may see you again, when I may hold you in my arms again. In an instant you may be taken from me. We must make the most of each moment.” He clung to her hand fiercely, capturing it in his own and holding it to his chest. “May I kiss you, Lady Eleanor?” he asked as he quoted the bard,

  “My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

  To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

  Eleanor could not find her voice. She nodded, and he pulled her close. The sudden feel of his strong arms around her made her heart beat faster. Lord Firthley’s lips beneath his mask brushed hers, and they fitted so perfectly. Oh trespass sweetly urged, she thought.

  She felt hyperaware of the heat of him, more pronounced in the cool room; the feel of his hand so carefully touching her bare shoulder, between one bit of organza and the next. Each sensation was molded into her psyche: his breath against her cheek, the firmness of his lips, the pressure of each individual finger against her back. Somehow, his hands slid upwards to the back of her neck to her hair, but he did not muss it. His fingers were light as snow against her hair. Without conscious thought, she opened her mouth to his and fell into the spell he was building.

  “Firthley! Ho!” called a voice Eleanor did not know.

  The couple sprang apart, and Eleanor’s hand flew to her mouth her face aflame.

  “Westlake. What is it?” Lord Firthley asked the Jester who stood before them.

  “Quickly Firthley,” the man said, the bells on his hat jingling. “I cannot hold off your Father much longer.”

  “I thought he was playing cards.”

  “No longer.”

  Firthley looked about the room. There was no other door in the windowed room except the one that led outside. “You have no escape from here,” the man said. “Fool! That is the first requirement of a dalliance, Firthley. Are you such an innocent?”

  “I want no escape,” Lord Firthley said. “Nor is this a dalliance. I want to marry her.”

  Eleanor caught her breath. Was that not exactly what she wished, marriage to this man, but she shook her head. The declaration was not a marriage proposal, not that she could accept such an offer from a Firthley.

  “No,” Eleanor said. “Not like this.” If they were to be caught so far from the dancing and company, she would be ruined. Would her father allow the match then? Her mind was racing with possibilities. “I am afraid my father would still not permit the marriage,” she said. “I should be ruined for naught.”

  “Hurry then man,” The Jester suggested.

  “But there is no other exit,” Lord Firthley said, “Only out of doors.”

  “Only outside,” Eleanor said looking at the door, which was crusted with the ice, so beautiful just moment ago, so cold. Now it was their last escape.

  “No. I shall not run,” Firthley said and frowned, looking at her butterfly costume. “You will catch your death.”

  “Desperate affairs require desperate measures,” Eleanor returned pulling the door open, and in the next instant, Firthley was taking off his jacket to wrap it around her shoulders. It was warm from his body and smelled of his scent. He swept her up in his arms so that her slippers would not be ruined by the snow and stepped through the door that she had opened. The cold took her breath, and she buried her face in the spaced between his neck and shoulder, burrowing close as if she could share his warmth. She felt as if she were in a cocoon of his making.

  The snow crunched as he walked around the house with long strides to find another entrance, and she became aware that she was quite a distance from the ground. It was a heady feeling. Eleanor clung to him both for warmth and for support. He walked the length of the house, holding her, and her teeth were chattering by that time. She could only imagine how cold he was without his jacket.

  “There is no other entrance that is not populated,” he said. “The kitchens would be a disaster. You know how servants talk. I am afraid we are caught out. I am sorry.” He paused, looking down at her, captured in his arms. “Although I find myself quite taken with you Lady Eleanor, if we are caught out, I suppose there will be nothing to be done but marry. Do you want to be caught?”

  She felt heat fill her face. She could not bring herself to speak. It was not exactly a marriage proposal, but he was looking at her so intensely. Perhaps it was.

  “I do wish to marry you,” he said passionately. “I thought to speak of it tonight. To woo you. To dance. To show you how much I love you and then finally ask you if you would be my wife, but now I have gone and made a mess of things. I have my grandmother’s amethyst in my pocket. I would present it to you, but my hands are rather full, as is my heart.”

  Eleanor giggled in his arms unable to suppress the sudden joy that filled her.

  “I understand the road ahead should be fraught with difficulty. I think only my twice great Aunt Eleanora would give her permission though no one else might,” he ventured.

  “Eleanora?”

  “Eleanora, the Hawthorne whom with my uncle caused all the fuss nearly a century ago, starting the feud which is now our bane.”

  Eleanor frowned.

  “Did you not know she shared your name?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “The only name I wish to share is yours,” she whispered and he brushed another kiss on her lips.

  “Then it shall be so. I swear it.”

  She shivered.

  “I have been remiss. You are cold, even with my jacket.”

  “How are you not frozen?” she asked.

  “I am aflame with passion,” he answered, “but now, let us get you back inside. How to attempt it and keep our secret and your reputation safe?”

  “The front door,” she suggested.

  He shifted her in his arms. “How will that help?” he asked.

  “It is the most crowded.”

  “And how shall that help us?”

  “Put me down,” she said.

  “I will not. Your slippers are not made for the snow.”

  “The front door is the most crowded,” Eleanor explained. “When we near the door then, put me down and retake your coat. We will hurry through and hope that the sight of us coming in from the cold with no wrappings will not be noticed among the other guests. Perhaps they will think we were only desperate for air. People are milling in and out and we are disguised, perhaps no one will notice we are a Firthley and a Hawthorne.”

  “We will not be so lucky,” he said glumly.

  “Then I shall swoon, and you will have time to get away. I have done sillier things; I think and may do again.”

  “If you swoon, I shall catch you. I most certainly shall not leave you,” he said speaking in haste due to their situation.

  “You must.”

  “Very well, my Lady. I shall bow to your wisdom. But I must see you again.”

  “I trust you will find a way.”

  “And soon it will be warm enough to brave Hyde Park,” he said.

  “Lavinia will assist us, and my driver, Arthur.”

  “And my cousin, Harry Westlake,” David paused, pulling her tight against him as if he was loathe to let go. “I will have you,” he said fiercely as he stepped up to the side of the front door. The footman attending immediately saw them and raised his eyebrows, as David put her on her feet at the doorstep, took his coat from her, and threw it quickly o
n himself, buttoning it for propriety’s sake. Eleanor darted through the door and directly to the footman. “Please be discreet,” she whispered. “We are engaged and The Countess will not want a scandal.”

  The footman’s eyes were wide, but he said nothing as the two stumbled though shivering from the cold Eleanor was not so naïve as to think they had accomplished the thing, and perhaps being outside in the cold was as bad as being caught in the garden room at the back, but in any case, it was not David’s own father who caught them. With any luck there would be another bit of gossip to distract the Ton before their bit was fully inflamed. She could only hope that the anonymity of their masks protected them.

  “Wait, my Lady.”

  Firthley’s voice stopped her in her tracks. Eleanor had been ready to turn away when his hand slipped into hers. His long fingers completely encasing her slim digits. A scrap of paper wrapped around something hard was pressed into her hand. Eleanor looked up at him, eyes shining, and there was a moment of understanding before Firthley was wrenched away and flung against the door.

  ~.~

  Chapter Nineteen

  Eleanor stared with wide eyes as Lord Firthley stumbled to his feet before she turned to look up into the furious glare of her eldest brother.

  “Robert!” she exclaimed. A frightened glance over her shoulder revealed that the other partygoers had not yet taken note of the activity, but her other brother Matthew had.

  Matthew pressed his hands to his elder brother’s chest to stop him from charging the offending gentleman and causing a scene. “Robert,” Matthew hissed his name. “We should leave. Now. Eleanor, go back to Mother.”

  Eleanor took the moment to stuff the small round bauble that Lord Firthley had given her into her décolletage. A quick glance at Firthley saw him picking himself up from the floor.

  “Leave?” Robert growled. “You think that this betrayal can be settled so easily? He’s a Firthley.”

  “No,” she groaned. “Mother can settle my punishment at home.” Eleanor added her own hands to Matthew’s. They must leave at once.

  “Mother? Oh, no, Sister. This is Father’s purview,” Robert hissed.

  “Nonetheless, this is not the place,” Matthew said.

  Eleanor dared not look at Firthley. She had to get Robert away.

  “Not the place?” Robert snapped. “Of course this is not the place, but that is not the half of it. What has gotten into you, Eleanor?’ he demanded rounding on her. “How shall you ever be forgiven for…” he gestured at David who had brushed himself off and was watching warily. “This…animal.”

  The final word would have been funny when viewing the lion Firthley had dressed as, but it was spoken with such venom that Lady Eleanor quelled. She had not expected such vitriol. Certainly she had made a grievous misstep in her behavior, but her brother’s reaction seemed far worse than she might have imagined. Rather than help her ensure that her reputation remained intact, he was looking down upon her as if she were the lowest scum of the earth. “You have disgraced the name of Hawthorne, just as she did,” he hissed.

  “Eleanora,” Firthley whispered, drawing Eleanor’s attention to him.

  “Shut your mouth, you filthy reprobate,” Robert snapped. “You are not fit to speak her name.”

  “It was not I who named her the Hawthorne Harlot,” Firthley said softly.

  Robert roared his outrage.

  “Hush,” Lady Eleanor pleaded, tears threatening. The shouting was sure to draw a crowd.

  “What?” Lord Robert asked. “Are you so hesitant now to hide your nature? Why did you leave the ballroom then? Should it not be known that you are not a butterfly but little less than a Bird of Paradise?”

  Lady Eleanor cried all the harder at the claim. How could her brother say such a thing? “I am not,” she cried. She was no lady of easy virtue. She loved one man. Had only, would ever only, love one man.

  At Robert’s words, Lord Firthley put aside the insult to his own person and came to her aid. “You will not speak of her so, sister or no.”

  “I will speak as I wish. It is you, who are so eager to ruin my sister,” her brother glared at Lord Firthley. “You had best be ready to sport your canvas for it.” Robert raised his arms in readiness for fisticuffs.

  “Robert, leave off,” Matthew cried. “Sister, you are making this worse. Go!”

  “No!” Lady Eleanor cried. “Robert, please!” She was sobbing freely now, her tears soaking into her mask, but Matthew’s hands on her arms pulled her away from Lord Firthley with a force she could not resist. He pushed her in the direction of the main ballroom. She would not leave.

  “Good God, Eleanor,” Lord Robert spat. “Have you no honor? No care for your duty to your family.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but her brother roared for silence. He would hear none of it.

  “Matthew,” he commanded, “gather our sister while I teach this sod a lesson.”

  Lord Firthley had the decency not to deny his own wrongdoing, but he did attempt to explain that he never intended to cause her ruin. He only said, “I would never wish her harm.” Firthley’s words did little to placate her brother who shouted with rage.

  “You filthy bloody wretch!” Robert cried.

  Eleanora gasped at the harsh language, and Robert would have hit Firthley then if Matthew had not let go of her to stop him.

  She shook her head, trying to explain. “Robert, I did not disgrace our name. I did not…”

  Robert did not allow her to continue. “How could you? With that of all creatures?”

  Her confusion must have been apparent because her brother’s face turned stony, and he narrowed his eyes at David, who still remained silent and almost accepting of his fate. He made no excuse for his behavior and seemed well aware of the trouble at hand.

  “I love your sister,” David said calmly. “And I will marry her.”

  This time Matthew was not able to hold him back. Robert did hit Firthley.

  “Stop!” Eleanor cried, her hand went to her mouth.

  A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of Lord Firthley’s mouth and ran down into his lion’s ruff. Robert hit him again. He still did not defend himself.

  “Do you know what you have done?” Robert asked of her. “Do you know who that is,” her brother spat. “Firthley!”

  Robert and Firthley began a ferocious exchange that was all the more confusing because it was clear that neither had any knowledge of why they were required to hate each other. Then, without preamble, Robert planted a facer to his counterpart. Blood began to flow until Lord Firthley’s shirt was spotted in red. He pinched the offending feature and pushed his assailant away with the opposite hand.

  The young Lord Hawthorne was not so easily dissuaded. He continued to attack Lord Firthley all while Lady Eleanor pleaded for mercy and was restrained by her other brother. The situation was quickly getting out of control. Lord Firthley, though less brutish was by far the sportier of the two, but he refused to return blows with her sibling.

  “Brother, stop!” she cried. “David, do something! He’ll kill you otherwise.” She covered her mouth in shock at her own words. She had never used his given name, not even on paper, and yet could she call him Firthley for all to hear?

  Upon her word, and the call to defend himself, Lord Firthley placed one firm blow to his opponent’s breastbone. Her brother flew backward and attempted to brace himself from a collision with a nearby pillar. The resounding crack as his arm bent at an unnatural angle left no doubt as to the arm being broken. Even in his pain he did not cry out, for his hatred was too great as he glared at Lord Firthley.

  “You shall never lay eyes upon her again,” Robert snarled. “Never!”

  With that, he cradled his arm and commanded his siblings to walk before him. Lady Eleanor allowed herself to be pulled along by Matthew, but not before hearing the last terrifying words of her eldest brother as he looked upon the bruised and bloodied gentleman that she loved.

  “
You’ll be dead for this if I have any say in it.” Robert turned on his heel.

  “Come, Eleanor,” Robert snapped and gestured for her to follow. She bowed her head and did as commanded with only a brief glance back at her companion. Lord Firthley’s face was wracked with concern as he watched her go. He reached up a thumb and wiped the blood from his lip. Another line of blood dripped from his eyebrow into his eye. Eleanor wished she could have gone to him.

  Though few had laid witness to the actual events, the matter would be clear enough as she and her brothers strode past the throng only to leave a tattered Lord Firthley behind. Events like this took on a mind of their own and spread like wild fire.

  Perhaps the mayhem could be explained by the feud alone, but Eleanor doubted it. There were already whispers dogging their steps. Soon those whispers would grow until all knew of the men’s quarrel and its cause.

  Despite her anger at her brother, she was overcome with worry for his injury.

  “We need to leave,” Matthew hissed. “Now.” He caught sight of someone that he apparently knew and trusted. “Tell my father we have gone,” he said, and then to the footman. “Get our carriage. Now.”

  Matthew looked at her. He closed his eyes and shook his head as Robert groaned. Although he was angry, and Eleanor felt Robert’s injury was his own fault, Robert was her brother. He had only been trying to defend her, though sadly the defense caused him hurt when there was no need for hurt. If only he would have listened to her.

  “Let me help you.” Eleanor whispered.

  “The last thing that I need is aid from the likes of you,” he said. “You are the cause of the injury.”

  “Me? You are the one who started fisticuffs.”

  He shouted a curse that made her jump. If her brother was this angry, what might the others say when the rest of them gathered to discuss her demise? She expected to have a fine peal rung over her head. That would be the small of it.

  Without another word, Lady Eleanor allowed herself to be led from the Keegain Manor. Matthew thanked the footman as if nothing untoward had happened, and helped Eleanor into the carriage. Matthew climbed up beside her. Robert hissed at the jolt as the horses set off.