The Forbidden Valentine

by Isabella Thorne

  If Eleanor just showed their families the letters…perhaps not all of the letters, she thought. Perhaps she should just choose a few to illustrate the constancy of Eleanora’s love. Eleanor ordered the letters as best she could and bound them again with the crimson ribbon. The question was how to get the letters to the Firthley family when she could not get even a single letter out to her own dear Firthley.

  ~.~

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The day dragged on. Sun streamed in the library window giving an illusion of freedom as Eleanor sat in the comfortable chair by the fire, with the new Jane Austen novel in her lap and a cup of chocolate beside her. What could those two things not cure? She wondered. Her heart belonged to David Firthley and love would be enough.

  She sipped the chocolate and put it aside. It was hot. She put her woes aside as well, imagining herself as the heroine of the story she was reading. The heroine also found hurdles in her way, but in the end, the lovers would inevitably overcome all the obstacles to their union, and they would have their happily ever after. Their bliss should have most certainly brought Eleanor to tears of joy, but in reality such joys were not to be expected. No, her own story seemed destined for a tragic end, much more in line with the tales of Shakespeare than the novel on her lap, or perhaps the tragedy of the last Hawthorne who loved a Firthley.

  Did marriage truly have to be so calculating or was it because all of the ladies let it be so? Eleanor’s mother said it must. Women of her rank and station did not marry for love, and if they did, it was not without trial. Eleanor supposed it was so for the long dead Eleanora Hawthorne and it was so for herself, the more modern Eleanor Hawthorne.

  She looked out the window, as if for guidance. The snow had melted, but the weather was not yet consistently pleasant for walking. It was wet, as it often was in the country of her birth. Still, it was a clear day, though earlier it had rained. Now the sun shone off the droplets on the window, giving the glass a bright glare of light. It reminded her of the ice crystals on the Keegain sunroom window and how she and Lord Firthley had looked out together on the wonderland when they attended the St. Valentine’s Day Ball. If only Eleanor had known that they would be soon separated and truly appreciated the moment of bliss. She promised herself she would be more observant. Such moments were to be cherished. Now it seemed sacrilegious that the sun should shine so bright outside when her heart was filled with darkness and despair. As if mocking her, the beginnings of a rainbow formed outside the glass.

  Firthley had not called upon her, but of course, that she understood; at least at first. He would come, she told herself, they had only to bide their time. She must be patient. She knew they would have to be cautious. Only caution turned to inaction. Neither had he sent any notice of his affections. He was not coming to rescue her. No, she was Juliet, alone in the crypt. She traced her finger down the spine of her novel envying the heroine’s happily ever after. Where was her happy ending?

  What had Lord Firthley said so long ago? We need only find our friar. Be bold? But she was not bold. She had exhausted her bold moment at the masquerade. What had she been thinking? She had been caught; she had been ruined and what had David Firthley done to safe-guard her name? He had said he wished to marry her, but he had not come. She looked down at the ring, she had secured, the ring that she wore on a silver chain given her by Grace. There hung a token of his love, but where was he?

  Discouraged Eleanor attempted to return to her reading but in the next moment, her sisters, Betty and Grace arrived and disengaged her once again from the joy and serenity she sought in her novel and brought her back unequivocally to the harshness of the present. Defeated, she put the book aside.

  Her sisters’ presence in the library was most peculiar, but Eleanor knew that it was not for their attraction to books that they were now upon her. No. If Lily had come alone, it would be for the books, but not Betty and Grace. They were here to inquire about Firthley. Grace would have no doubt, been more tactful in approaching the subject that burned them both with curiosity, but Betty threw herself in the chair adjacent with such abandon that Eleanor worried for the fabric of her bodice. She breached the topic immediately.

  “Well Eleanor?” she asked. “Has he sent you any word since his departure? What news?”

  Grace protested the absence of niceties, but Eleanor was her sister and she too wanted to hear the answer to Betty’s query.

  Eleanor did not look up from her novel even though she was no longer reading. She could not. She could not see the hope in Betty’s eyes when her own heart held none.

  “He is still in London,” her sister Grace offered.

  “London,” Betty said. “How do you know?”

  “Robert mentioned it to father,” Grace responded.

  “So Robert is Father’s spy now,” Eleanor said bitterly.

  “Apparently,” Betty said. “But you can still correspond. Tell him your feelings.”

  “And how, Betty? Our parents both object. They will not allow free correspondence between us.”

  “But that is all the more reason why you should write to him! To tell him you love him!” Betty insisted with indignation.

  Eleanor closed her book with a sigh. “Have you not heard me, Betty?”

  “I have.”

  “But you sound as if you have given up on the endeavor altogether.” Grace chimed in.

  “I’ve already given this more thought than I should have. I cannot for the life of me think up a plan to solve this problem. There is a history of hatred. I wish there was a way to reconcile our family and his, but the matter seems to be quite bigger than myself.” Eleanor looked at them with melancholy. “And most of all, he has not come.”

  “That is why we’ve come.” Betty smiled and took Eleanor’s hand with her cold fingers and squeezed it. “To help you. No problem is bigger than all of us.”

  “Three heads are better than one at these things.” Grace agreed. “And four is quite over the top, as they say. I believe we can accomplish quite anything if we all put our minds to it.”

  “We have only to convince Lily to the wisdom of this course and we shall win,” Betty said.

  Eleanor agreed that Lily was the most clever of the sisters, but she thought if the ingenious Missus Hartfield could not untangle this ball of misery, how could they hope to tackle it? “I love you both and I love your enthusiasm. But it is not wise,” Eleanor said as she embraced them both. She could not see them ruined for her sake. “I shall not marry. I shall never marry.”

  “Oh Eleanor,” Betty cried.

  “My dearest sisters, do you truly think I am able to reconcile a feud that has lasted through the ages?” Eleanor asked and the three of them sat down again by the hearth.

  “But it is like Romeo and Juliet,” Betty protested. “You must bring it to fruition.”

  “And have you not read to the end of that play?” Lily asked from the doorway. “It did not end well.”

  “We saw it in London,” Grace said. “Remember, Father took us all for a treat?”

  “In order to devise a plan, we must know what started the quarrel in the first place. One must know what one is up against.” Lily declared with conviction as she stalked into the room.

  “Oh, Lily, you will help us?” Betty said.

  Eleanor looked at Lily. If Lily had a plan…

  “And we must avoid the pitfalls that befell Romeo and Juliet. There must be no foolish dying,” she entreated Eleanor.

  Eleanor smiled at her sister Lily. “You will help me?” Eleanor asked her elder sister.

  “I will help you, Eleanor,” Lily said. “But only if you wish it. Are you sure this is the gentleman for you, Eleanor. You barely know the man and you have already risked so much.”

  “I know him from his letters,” Eleanor said. “And he knows me. He listens to me Lily. He is a poet and he understands me. I can think of nothing else but him. His kind face, his hands holding mine. His lips touching mine,” she whispered.

&n
bsp; “Oh, you kissed him,” Betty said bouncing.

  Eleanor felt the heat of a blush fill her face as she thought of the commanding nature of his kisses.

  “I am certain that it was he who kissed her,” Lily added looking uncomfortable. “And not the other way round.”

  “And I am sure kissing takes two,” Betty said.

  “He certainly is handsome,” Grace added. “To say nothing of his wealth…Or his title.”

  “But Eleanor, what of his character?” Lily urged.

  “Yes,” Grace said. “That is true. He did not even try to ask Father for permission to court.”

  “Oh Grace, do not be cruel. You know Father would never have agreed,” Eleanor protested.

  “But he did ask Father’s permission,” Lily said.

  “What?”

  “He has been turned away every day for weeks,” Lily confided. “Ever since the Valentine’s Ball.”

  “Truly?” Eleanor asked. “Lily, why did you not tell me?”

  “I am sorry. I suppose I was not aware you did not know. I did not really see what difference it could make. It could only hurt you to know that he is as melancholy as you are.”

  “Oh no, Lily. This is wonderful. It means he still loves me.” Eleanor felt her spirits soar. She had thought he had forgotten her. If he was true, everything was changed. Her whole world brightened. “Oh Lily if that is so, If he is true, then that means all the difference.”

  “But how do you know, Lily?” Betty asked “Did you see him?”

  Lily shook her head. “Only once.”

  “Oh. Then how do you know he came every day?” Eleanor asked.

  “Lily blushed. “I heard the morning maids talking when they dusted the library,” she admitted. “They said that he has come for breakfast and tea and morning calling times and even at the crack of dawn, each time hoping to get a different answer, but Father will not let him see you.” She bit her lip. “There are even some romantics among the staff who think it is a shame about the feud. The conversation got rather lively comparing love and reputation.”

  “Lily! Surely the maids did not speak so in front of you,” Betty said.

  Lily looked shamefaced and then shook her head. “They did not, at least not apurpose. Father does not like my reading certain books.” She blushed profusely. “I was hidden,” she said. “In fact, I was hidden from the previous night. I fell asleep in the library, and then once the maids started dusting, I awoke. I could not very well show myself, and admit my own folly, could I?”

  Betty’s eyes grew wide.

  “Still, Eleanor,” Lily said. “I do not know if he truly loves you. After all the first thing he did was invite you on a clandestine meeting that could have easily soiled your reputation.”

  “It did not do so. He did not do so.”

  “No,” Lily said. “But the likelihood was there. He cared nothing for your reputation.”

  Eleanor bit her lip. “I love him. Please Lily. Say you will help me.”

  Lily sighed, and then hugged her sister. “Then if you are sure, we shall make a plan and we must find a way to get a message to Lord Firthley” Lily said decisively.

  Eleanor grinned, holding Lily’s hands. “Missus Hartfield is not the only one who is clever,” she said.

  ~.~

  The day after the Valentine’s Ball, David Firthley started from a restless sleep when the knock came to the door of the flat he shared with Harry. He frowned and tossed the steak off of his swollen face. He wondered who was at the door and for just a moment missed the care of a butler who would answer his door, and Beaton, but he did not miss his Father’s tyranny. His whole body ached from yesterday’s beating curtesy of Robert Hawthorne and after being up most of the night worrying about Eleanor, he had hoped to sleep until well past noon. He rolled over and wondered if Harry had forgotten his key and was just now stumbling home from some house of ill repute.

  David had been staying in the leased apartments with Harry for weeks since the last row with his own father. He kept telling himself, his father would relent. So far he had not done so.

  The knock came again. “Firthley are you in this rat hole?” It was a voice he did not recognize. “Open the door.”

  Rat hole? David was slightly offended. It was small, but not that awful. In fact compared to his father’s home it was heaven itself. From here he had the freedom to do as he pleased, and right now it pleased him to sleep.

  “Firthley!” Came the cry again. Apparently the man was not going to go away.

  David stood and pulled on his shirt and trousers. He walked through the suite, jerked open the outer door and stood face to face with Matthew Hawthorne. He nearly slammed the door in the man’s face. No, David thought, not hardly a man. He had his sister’s slight form and could not have been more than twenty. He had not yet filled out yet with a man’s muscle. He was barely more than a boy, but still a Hawthorne.

  “What do you want?” Firthley sneered. “It is not sporting to kick a man when he is down.”

  “May I come in?” Hawthorne asked.

  Firthley hesitated but a moment and then stood aside and opened the door, letting the young man pass. He was dressed in his Oxford best. Even his boots were shined, belaying the mud outside. It had occurred to David rather belatedly that the young man may have a message from Eleanor. He should be courteous.

  Matthew turned and stood staring at him, taking in his swollen face.

  “How is she?” Firthley asked at last. Both knew he was speaking of Eleanor.

  “Crying,” Matthew said. “Distraught. Confined.”

  David grimaced. “And your elder brother?”

  “Broken arm,” Matthew said.

  “I cannot say that I am sorry.”

  “Honestly, you look worse,” Matthew said unabashedly staring at his bruised face.

  Firthley gestured to one of the chairs at the breakfast table that graced the small room, but Matthew did not sit. David sank into the opposite chair himself. There would be no tea, as he had not ordered any sent up, but he supposed this was not really a social call. Anyway the meeting of a Firthley and a Hawthorne surely called for something stronger than tea, but before noon, David was not in the mood for drink. Cutting through the niceties, he asked, “Why did you come? Matthew, is it not?”

  The boy started at the sound of his name. David realized Eleanor’s brother did not know how much Eleanor had revealed in her letters. “Yes,” he said at last.

  “Lady Eleanor spoke of you in her letters.” David said, confirming what the young man must already suspect. He remembered that Eleanor liked this brother. Perhaps she loved him. This was the brother who had struggled with Greek and numbers, but could quote almost as many Shakespeare plays as she could. David felt a smile pulling at his face. It hurt and he turned it into a grimace.

  “Ah, yes. The letters,” Matthew said. He cleared his throat as if in preparation to speak.

  Now Firthley understood. They had sent Matthew, the younger brother. It was a wonder they had not sent little Betty to entreat him to give up the letters. That he would not do. David did not answer. He tightened his jaw and waited

  Matthew cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot, reminding David of Beaton’s nervous gesture. Somehow it made the young Hawthorne look even more the boy.

  “So Eleanor spoke of me. Good things I should hope,” Matthew said. Maybe this was going to be a social call after all. Firthley shifted in his chair but said nothing. “What are you going to do with the letters?” Matthew blurted.

  David looked at him surprised. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Grandfather. Father. They said…” The young man stuttered to a stop and paced away. He turned back with a conscious gathering of his courage. Firthley found he liked the boy. “Do you mean to ruin, my sister?” Matthew asked bluntly.

  “Of course not.” David said shocked. “I love her.”

  Matthew looked as if he had struck him.

  “You love her?”
He repeated as if the thought was a new one.

  “I said as much to your brother, at the ball.” Though perhaps if had he not done so Robert would not have been driven to strike him, David pondered. “Surely Lady Eleanor has told you of my love for her. Has she not told you that I offered for her?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “She accepted,” Firthley said his voice like soft thunder. There was finality in the statement.

  Matthew shuffled nervously and looked at the floor.

  “You did not believe her,” Firthley surmised. “None of you believed her. Did they listen to her at all?”

  “It is not her they did not believe,” Matthew blurted. “It is you we cannot trust.”

  Well, at least he was honest, David thought.

  “If you would give up the letters,” Matthew said. “Perhaps, as a sign of good faith, Father would believe that you are sincere. That you will not harm her.”

  Firthley stood and paced the small breakfast room. “I do not suppose you have ever been in love,” he said.

  Matthew shook his head.

  “So I do not suppose you shall understand, but I shall endeavor to make this plain.” David turned to Matthew, his face a set with a resolved visage. “If I am to leave Lady Eleanor in her father’s tender care,” Firthley could not quite suppress the sneer in his voice. “If I am never to see her again, for all of my days, then all I have left of her will be, will forever be, nothing but those letters. No, I do not think I shall give up the letters.”

  “I see,” Matthew said. “Then this visit has been for naught.”