The Valentine's Day Ball

by Julia Parks

  “That naughty man! Show it to me!”

  “It is in the next group. There.” Jane pointed to an elaborately decorated heart with faded writing. The old dame peered myopically at the script before sighing deeply and smiling.

  “I must see Herbert,” she said and, with a flurry of purple silk, hurried toward the card room where her husband had remained hidden all evening.

  Jane smiled. Lord Tarpley was in for an embarrassing moment in front of his cronies.

  Jane drifted back to the stately door on her left and peered into the dimly lit garden beyond.

  A movement on the balcony caught her eye. Odd, that anyone should have chosen to stroll outside on such a chilly February evening. Pressing close to the cold glass, she gaped as a woman in a dark cloak hurried across the wide balcony and down the steps. A flash of silvery material was all Jane needed to guess the female’s identity.

  There, heading for the summerhouse, was Cherry, the foolish chit!

  Quickly, she slipped out the doors. The shock of cold air made her pull her flimsy shawl closer about her shoulders, and she stopped to allow her eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom.

  Jane muttered a mild oath before heading for the balustrade. If she took the time to go across the terrace to the steps, she wouldn’t catch up in time.

  In time for what?

  Without further thought, Jane hitched up her skirts, climbed onto the railing, and dropped into the flowerbeds below. A sharp pain shot through her ankle, making her pause and gulp down the cold winter air. She closed her eyes, willing the pain to be brief. As it receded, she tested the joint gingerly. It was tender, but she’d only twisted it.

  Quickly, she trudged out of the damp earth and onto the gravel pathway. Hurrying as fast as her ankle and skirts would allow, she pursued her quarry. The intricately carved woodwork of the summerhouse loomed before her, and her ankle continued to ache dully.

  Just wait till I get my hands on you, Cherry! Just you wait!

  The door was open, and she could hear voices from within as she slowed and finally stopped outside. Pausing to catch her breath, she recognized the deep voice of a man.

  The summerhouse was little more than a large gazebo. In warmer times, Jane loved to escape to its quiet and relaxing atmosphere. It had been built before she was born, and with her grandmother’s permission, she had added a fireplace and removable glass panels to cover the open windows during the winter months. Somehow, Cherry’s deception hurt Jane more deeply since her clandestine meeting was taking place in this, Jane’s favourite retreat.

  Taking a deep breath, Jane entered. The moon and the light from a lone candle afforded her the great satisfaction of witnessing her cousin’s startled expression. Young Lord Pierce nearly threw Cherry’s hand back at her as he leapt away from her side.

  “Jane! I can explain—”

  “Really? You can explain away your wanton—not to mention disrespectful—behaviour? I should love to hear it, but there really isn’t time. You see, your absence is no doubt being remarked, as well as mine and Lord Pierce’s. I wonder what interesting conclusions our guests are forming.”

  “Please, Miss Lindsay, allow me to assure you that Cherry, uh, Miss Pettigrew—”

  “You cannot explain away ill manners, Lord Pierce,” interrupted Jane, stressing his title. No matter if they had known Lord Pierce since he was in shortcoats, she would not allow him to minimize the gravity of the situation. “Cherry, go to your room. I will tell your mother you had the headache and retired early.”

  “I will not!” exclaimed Cherry, showing her natural spirit. “Just because you didn’t get to enjoy a Valentine’s Ball when you were eighteen, you don’t want me to! Well, I’m not going to end up a sour old maid like—”

  “Cherry!”

  Lord Pierce’s startled protest silenced Cherry as nothing Jane might have said could have. She turned horrified blue eyes on Jane, stammered an apology, and fled.

  “Miss Lindsay, she was overwrought. I take full responsibility.”

  “Never mind, Lord Pierce, I am well aware my cousin regrets her words. She is already forgiven. Please, return to the ball. I would not wish your dual absence to become fodder for the gossipmongers.”

  “As you wish.” He bowed elegantly before leaving her.

  Jane sought the nearest chair and collapsed. She had been truthful in telling Lord Pierce she had already forgiven her cousin. Still, an unutterable fatigue settled over her, and her ankle began to throb abominably.

  “May I join you?”

  Now what? Jane looked up to find Lord Devlin towering over her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, not caring any more to play the gracious hostess.

  Taking her question as his cue to join her on the bench, Lord Devlin responded, “I was on the balcony when Miss Pettigrew escaped and when you leapt the balcony railing—quite gracefully, I might add. I’m afraid my curiosity got the better of me, and I simply followed you. I didn’t wish to interfere, so I awaited the conclusion of the contretemps.”

  “How noble of you, Lord Devlin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should return to my guests.” Jane got to her feet and willed her ankle to hold firm.

  Devlin stood also, rising above her as few gentlemen could. He must be well over six feet tall. Then she shook her head, reminded that her presence here with Lord Devlin would be construed in much the same light as Cherry’s ill-advised rendezvous.

  Jane took one step, and her ankle wobbled. She grasped his arms as he steadied her. “Thank you, Lord Devlin,” she said, not daring to look up into his dark eyes as a thrill coursed through her body at his light touch.

  “You’ve hurt yourself.”

  “A mere strain of the ankle. I am quite all right.” She took two unsteady steps, clenching her teeth.

  “Yes, I can see you are fine. Here, allow me.” He swept her into his strong arms as though she were a mere child and returned her to the seat.

  He knelt at her feet, lifting her skirts ever so slightly. His manner very business-like, he began to touch her ankle gently.

  “Which one is it?”

  “It’s the— Ah!”

  “Right one,” he concluded. “It seems to be a bit swollen, but I don’t feel a break.”

  “Thank you so very much, Dr. Devlin.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Miss Lindsay. Happy to be of service.”

  He ran his hand a short way up her calf, and Jane gasped. “You, sir, are no gentleman!”

  He laughed, and Jane’s treacherous sense of humour threatened to overcome her indignation.

  “That, Miss Lindsay, is quite true. I am not a gentleman, not in the sense this insane society defines the word.”

  Jane thought she detected a note of bitterness in his voice. She tried to read his face, but the dim candlelight made it impossible.

  Timidly, she ventured to comment, “You seem almost proud, or relieved, to be able to confess that, sir.”

  He shrugged and rose. “And you are surprised because you cannot imagine being anything but what you are—a very proper young lady.”

  “Hardly a young lady.”

  “Ah, now you are fishing for compliments. Very well, have it your way—a very proper not-so-young lady.”

  She glared up at him as he reached down and gathered her into his strong arms again.

  She began to struggle. “Please, Lord Devlin, put me down!” When he didn’t comply, her voice became shrill. “I said put me down!”

  He stopped but didn’t release her. “If you wish to scream, my dear, do so. But I believe it would defeat your purpose to have everyone come to your aid.”

  She flashed him an angry glare before folding her arms. He took a few steps and then faltered, pretending to lose his grip. Jane threw her arms about his neck.

  “Much better.” He smiled down into her fuming face. “Now, which door? I don’t suppose you wish to enter through the ballroom?”

  “The library,” she said flatly. “Aroun
d the side of the house.”

  They were in luck; no guests had found their way to the library, and their entrance went undetected.

  “I suppose I should thank you, sir, for coming to my rescue,” said Jane grudgingly.

  He cocked his head to one side, fixing her with a wicked grin. “I assure you, Miss Lindsay, the pleasure was all mine.”

  Jane, who reclined on a leather couch, tried to throw him a haughty look, but she couldn’t. Really, the man was too absurd. Instead, her eyes flitted about the room, coming to rest on a slim book on the table at her side. Frowning, she lifted it and turned it over.

  “She Stoops to Conquer,” she read quietly.

  “An excellent play as I recall, though it has been some time since I saw it performed,” said his lordship as he knelt at her feet.

  Jane’s eyes focused on his position. “What are you doing?”

  “Examining your ankle again now that I can see it.”

  Jane moved her legs as far away from him as possible. “You’ll do no such thing! I am perfectly all right!”

  “And that is why you walked so gracefully into the house just now,” came the sarcastic reply as he reached for her again, one large hand encircling her slim ankle as the other probed gently. Jane winced, trying to withdraw. Lord Devlin nodded in satisfaction. “Just a slight turn. I daresay, in days’ time you’ll not even feel it.”

  “Thank you again ever so much!”

  He grinned up at her from his kneeling position, and the door opened silently. Jane closed her eyes. It needed only this!

  But it was only Pipkin, Heartland’s butler, and a more loyal servant one could not find. Thank heaven for that.

  “Ah, Pipkin, the very man!” said Lord Devlin, rising quickly. “Your mistress has injured her ankle—slightly, to be sure—but she will require some assistance to gain her chamber. Be so good as to summon two stout footmen to make her a chair.”

  Pipkin’s properly disinterested gaze swept to his mistress, and he nodded regally.

  Jane, fuming at the insinuation that the task would require “two stout footmen” snapped, “Just tell Mickey to come here, Pipkin.”

  Again the butler nodded, saying ominously to no one in particular, “‘Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another; that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.’ James 5:16.” With this, the butler bowed and left the room.

  Jane, who was flexing her ankle cautiously, did not at first perceive Lord Devlin’s astounded expression. But as the silence lengthened, she met his startled gaze. To say she giggled might have been too extreme a suggestion, but her laughter did bubble forth uncontrollably for a brief moment.

  “What,” said his lordship slowly, “was that?”

  Still smiling, Jane said, “Pardon me. I forget how startling Pipkin’s pronouncements can be to the unsuspecting.”

  “You mean he is in the habit of spouting biblical dictums?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Why do you put up with it?”

  “Because he is Pipkin. He is as much a part of Heartland as I am—more, perhaps, because he’s been here longer. I suspect he has Methodist tendencies.”

  “Fellow ought to be reprimanded for his impertinence, at the very least.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dare. Besides he doesn’t mean it as an insult. At times, his selection is quite apt. Why, I remember once when a half-pay officer was hanging about after my mother. When he called one day, my mother was out, and Pipkin, bless his soul, while informing this roué, said quite appropriately, ‘And there shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie.’ The fortune hunter never returned.”

  “Still, he must prove an embarrassment at times,” protested Lord Devlin.

  “Not at all. Anyone with an entree to Heartland knows Pipkin and makes allowances.”

  “Then I suppose I must, too.”

  Devlin smiled down at her, his dark eyes holding a promise—or should she regard it as a threat?

  They both looked expectantly toward the re-opening door.

  “I see, Miss Lindsay, that your rescuers have arrived, so I will take my leave of you this evening. I shall call tomorrow to see how you are faring.”

  “Thank you, Lord Devlin,” replied Jane, ever conscious of the eyes and ears of the servants. “Goodnight.”

  As the darkly handsome Lord Devlin bowed and exited, Jane stared into the dying embers of the fire and fought the feelings that settled on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before addressing the footman.

  “I hope I shan’t be too heavy for you, Mickey.”

  The hulking footman’s blank face became wreathed in a smile. “You’re nothing but a feather, Miss Jane, to old Mickey.”

  She returned his friendly childlike smile. “But that is because you are so strong, Mickey.”

  As if deeming it time to interrupt, Pipkin said firmly, “Take Miss Jane to her room, Mickey. Then you can go to the kitchen for a snack.”

  The large man smacked his lips and reached for Jane. Though his movements were often rough, he lifted her as gently as if she were a fragile kitten.

  Having attained her bedchamber and dismissed her maid, Jane tried to clear her mind of the confusing events of the past evening. Certainly, this Valentine’s Ball had been different from any other. Lord Devlin had seen to that.

  And why? She still could not fathom his motives. He had been alternately amused by her, amusing to her, gruff, dictatorial, and…yes, and passionate. What did it all mean?

  After several Seasons in London, Jane thought of herself as sophisticated—perhaps even cynical. She was certainly practised in recognizing all the forms of flirtation. But Lord Devlin’s actions and attitudes didn’t fit any of the patterns she’d encountered before. His wasn’t the die-away air of the poet, nor did he shower her with compliments. And though he had kissed her without permission, she didn’t feel he deserved the title of rake. Of course, she might be mistaken. She would have to write to her friend Sally. Perhaps he was merely trying to be interesting.

  And that was one thing Lord Devlin was not—interesting!

  Just then there was a scratching at the door.

  “Come in.”

  “Jane… Jane, I—”

  Jane opened her arms, and the teary-eyed Cherry flew across the thick carpet and into her embrace, babbling apologies all the while.

  “You must understand, dearest Jane, I was so very distraught.”

  “I do understand, but you must be made to realize that if tonight’s actions were an example of how you expect to conduct yourself in London, you will quickly be the talk of the town. And not very pretty talk either.”

  “I know, I know. And I promise you, my behaviour will be exemplary.”

  “Then we will speak no more about it.”

  Cherry sat up, drying her tears as best she could with the soggy scrap of lace she still clutched in her hand. With her back half-turned to Jane, she said, “You know, it really wasn’t as terrible a Valentine Ball after all.”

  “How is that, Cherry?”

  “Well, Lord Pierce did arrive, and it was just as you said. Upon his arrival, he sought me out immediately. It seems his sister Mary made them late, made them all late. He was in a towering rage over it, but I told him very prettily that one could not leave the house with one’s hair not perfectly styled.”

  Jane smiled. “That was very charitable of you.”

  “I thought so. And then, of course, we also had an interesting new guest.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “Why, my Lord Devlin, of course. Have you ever seen such a handsome man? And fascinating. I do hope he will call again.”

  “I believe he plans to remain in Bath for some time. I have a feeling,” said Jane, “we have not seen the last of Lord Devlin.”

  Later that evening when Cherry’s girlish confidences had wound down, Jane
reflected on that last statement. And she wondered if it were true. And then she wondered why she wondered.

  It was all so vexing for one so logical, predictable, to have these doubts, this curiosity disturbing her peace of mind.

  Chapter Two

  The day after the grand Valentine’s Ball at Heartland was usually as busy as the day before. Guests who had stayed the night rose at their leisure, consumed a huge breakfast buffet, and finally took their leave by two or three in the afternoon.

  By that time, the guests who had returned to Bath were beginning to arrive to congratulate the hostesses and offer huge floral tributes that seemed to suck the very air from the stately rooms. Previously, Jane had escaped these trying visits by spending her afternoon on horseback as far from the house as possible.

  But this year was different. This year, she was the mistress of Heartland, and even her flibbertigibbet Aunt Sophie had seen fit to remind her of her duty. With her own lecture to Cherry still ringing in her ears, she knew she couldn’t justify deserting her aunt. She grimaced at Cherry who lost no time in appropriating the first young male caller as a suitable escort for a drive.

  For Jane, though, there was no escape, so she received their visitors from the gold couch in the gold salon, her foot propped up on a pillow, a lace shawl arranged over her lap. And she smiled and smiled until her cheeks ached, endeavouring to be witty and attentive when all she really longed for was solitude and quiet.

  Jane stifled a flash of pique when Pipkin announced Lady Tarpley and her mousy husband, Herbert. Had all her guests been as insipid last night as they appeared by daylight? She closed her eyes, banishing such social heresy from her mind.

  Still, the day would have proven less dull if the irritating Lord Devlin had made an appearance. It was not that she wanted to see him, of course. It was merely that he had said he would call to see how her ankle was.

  That was the problem. Lord Devlin was committing a social solecism by not calling. And Jane believed in behaving in a socially proper manner at all times. Really, the man lacked refinement. And she was delighted that he hadn’t called.