The Valentine's Day Ball

by Julia Parks

  “Analysing me, Miss Lindsay? I didn’t realize you were so intrigued.”

  Jane glared at his back as he sent his mount forward in a mighty leap. She jerked back on Sinbad’s reins then rubbed his neck to apologize. “Sorry, old boy, but I want to see how far he’ll go before he realizes he has no idea which direction to take.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she watched the aggravating Lord Devlin pull up his horse. He turned in the saddle, bowed to her, and arched that brow in inquiry. She could not refrain from a smirk as she sent Sinbad forward.

  They rode in silence for some time, but it was not an awkward silence. Jane glanced at Lord Devlin’s profile; it was obvious that he was enjoying the morning just as she was. The beauty of the countryside, the warmth of the sun, and the glory of being on horseback always filled Jane with an unsurpassed contentment.

  Even with the odious Lord Devlin at her side. But perhaps odious was too harsh. After all, his sense of humour did seem in harmony with hers most of the time.

  And perhaps he had sensed her reluctance to join the others on the circuitous route mandated by the vehicles. His suggestion to ride by the more direct route had been very welcome.

  “How is it that you are unmarried?”

  So much for thinking Lord Devlin a kindred soul.

  “I was wondering the same thing about you, Lord Devlin,” she responded sweetly.

  He laughed. “I suppose I deserve that, but you were forewarned not to expect the usual social drivel from me.”

  “Was I? How careless of me to forget. That accounts, no doubt, for the fact that I decided to ride to the abbey with only your conversation for company.”

  “Touché! But you still have not answered my question. Never asked?”

  “Of course, I was asked,” snapped Jane. “Any female standing to inherit a lucrative estate like Heartland would receive countless proposals.”

  “All honourable, to be sure. Perhaps that accounts for your single state?”

  “You, sir, are insufferable! Did you ask me to ride with you only to insult me?”

  Immediately, Jane regretted the question for one could never tell how he might respond. He seemed poised to attack but didn’t. Jane held her breath, waiting for his response.

  “Actually no, but I could tell that you, like myself, were not looking forward to a slow, dusty ride. Was I right?”

  “Yes, Lord Devlin, and I should thank you instead of attack you.” Jane smiled, pleased; she was once again the calm, poised Miss Lindsay. But she was being premature; she reckoned without the maddening Lord Devlin who positively enjoyed provoking her.

  “You appear quite bitter about your unmarried state, Miss Lindsay. But not everyone is a fortune hunter. And I fear you underestimate your personal charms.”

  “I know enough to realize when I am being offered Spanish coin, Lord Devlin. I do own a mirror, and I am able to see that while my looks do not repel, I am hardly a suitable model for a Dresden figurine like my cousin Cherry.”

  He pulled up his horse to take an impersonal inventory of her while she fumed silently.

  “Are you quite finished?” she said after a moment.

  “Yes, and I do believe you exaggerate the matter, my dear Miss Lindsay. As a man, give me leave to tell you your charms alone would be enough to make many a man choose to shackle himself for life.”

  “I have given you no such leave, sir,” said Jane. “But, perhaps I might make just a small observation about you?”

  He nodded, his demeanour serious, but Jane had the feeling he was laughing at her. Nevertheless, she plunged ahead with what was intended to be a scathing set down.

  “While your appearance might be well enough, Lord Devlin, your manners leave a great deal to be desired. I suggest that you engage a tutor who might help you remember how a member of the ton should comport himself. After your lengthy—shall we merely say journeys?—you have perhaps forgotten what good manners are.”

  His face hardened.

  “Ah, I see we have hit a tender spot, but I am certain you admire my candour.”

  The smile he turned on Jane was anything but admiring. She found it difficult not to shiver. Inwardly, she cursed herself for stooping as low as he had, but she refused to show this.

  His eyes glittered dangerously, and his voice held a deceptive sweetness. “You know, Miss Lindsay, you are an unusual female. If you were not so wealthy, you would have made an excellent headmistress. I wonder, have you instructed Miss Pettigrew in the detection of fortune hunters? But, I may be in error. Perhaps Miss Pettigrew’s case is different. Is she also an heiress? If so, I wonder that you are allowing her a Season in London.”

  When Jane had found words again, she said quietly, “Never mind about Miss Pettigrew, Lord Devlin. She is only wealthy in charm and beauty. And despite the impression she gives, she is an extremely good judge of character.”

  “Oh, that is a relief. Still, I believe I’ll just keep an eye on her when I go to London.”

  He rode ahead. Jane urged Sinbad to catch up with the other horse then she leaned over and grabbed his reins. Lord Devlin quickly halted his mount, his eyes never leaving her offending hand.

  “No need for theatrics if you wish a word with me, my dear Miss Lindsay.”

  Through gritted teeth, Jane said, “Cherry is not for you, Lord Devlin, fortune hunter or no. Stay away from her.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “And I am not your dear Miss Lindsay!”

  To Jane’s relief, the abbey was in sight and she could ride ahead, leaving Lord Devlin to follow along at an easier pace.

  Jane had known all along what Devlin’s motives were, despite his seeming attention to her. He was digging for information about Cherry. Well, now he knew Cherry would not bring wealth to her marriage. Hopefully this would deter him from making a nuisance of himself. Jane wondered if Lord Devlin stood to inherit wealth along with the title of the Earl of Cheswick. She devoutly hoped not, for Cherry would be less likely to be intrigued by a penniless Lord Devlin, despite his delightful smile and his ability to charm when he wished.

  b

  Drew was thoughtful in her wake. He had not meant to nettle Miss Lindsay—quite the opposite. But she was so infuriatingly sure of herself, he simply hadn’t been able to resist.

  And now he had lost ground. He had meant to charm her. She loved Heartland; she would never consider selling it to someone she despised. And despite what Havelock had said, Drew felt certain he could convince her to sell. After all, what woman would enjoy the aggravation of managing such a vast estate alone? Despite his gallant assertions to Miss Lindsay that she was a “young lady”, she was still old enough to be considered on the shelf. It was unlikely there was a husband in her future.

  But now he would have to retrench and try another tack. If he couldn’t charm the belligerent Miss Lindsay, perhaps Miss Pettigrew might provide some useful weapon in his campaign to gain Heartland.

  Besides, Miss Lindsay had clearly issued a challenge, and he had never failed to pick up the gauntlet, even when it had meant a duel. Drew set aside that particular remembrance. It, too, had been issued by a lady. No—the title hadn’t really applied to that female.

  b

  By the time Jane reached the abbey, she was willing to admit she had spoken harshly when Lord Devlin had clearly been in a jesting mood. Since apologizing went against the grain, Jane decided to act as though nothing had happened.

  Therefore, as they waited for the others to arrive, she explained what she knew about the abbey to his lordship who gave every evidence of being sincerely interested.

  “The abbey dates back to the times of the Saxons. It was built around the time of the original Abbey Church of St. Peter and St. Paul in Bath.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “My father discovered a sealed underground crypt. It contained not only the remains of this abbey’s most distinguished monk but also some important documents. Most ha
d rotted away, but there was enough evidence to lend credence to my father’s theory about the age of the structure. It was quite exciting. My father was so thrilled when the Antiquarian Society sent members down here to investigate. And when they agreed with him, he was in high alt.”

  “Then your father was an antiquarian?”

  “Only as a hobby. His other hobby was horses, and I was more able to share that with him. Although I was happy about his discovery of the crypt, I didn’t want to see it.”

  “So you have never been in it?”

  “Yes, I finally agreed to go down there after the group from the university left. It had been cleaned up by then and the rats removed.”

  “Where is it?” Lord Devlin looked around expectantly.

  “If I remember correctly, it is over here.” Jane climbed up on a small pile of stones and pointed to a mass of shrubbery on the other side. “Father had it locked after they took all the papers away and had examined it thoroughly.”

  “What happened to the papers?”

  “They are on display at Oxford or Cambridge, I forget which.”

  He laughed. “I thought you loved this place so much.”

  Jane looked about her then she shook her head and smiled. Lord Devlin could have told her that at that moment that she was as beautiful as any woman he had ever seen, but she wouldn’t have believed him.

  “I love the abbey but not because of its history. When I am here, I am with my father. My memory of him is strongest when I walk among these crumbling stones.”

  “You are lucky to have such memories. My own father was killed in a curricle race when I was seven years old. I grew up under the thumb of my uncle and my two older cousins.”

  The bitterness in his voice was overwhelming, and Jane might have been moved to comfort him had the two phaetons not chosen that moment to arrive.

  They ate the magnificent offerings of Mrs. Brown in the bright sunshine by the remaining walls of the ancient ruin, sheltered from any breeze that might spring up. Lord Devlin was at his most bewitching as his tales of the exotic Indies wove a spell around the listeners.

  In response to Miss Aubrey’s query about the natives of the islands, the viscount looked about furtively and whispered, “Voodoo.”

  Cherry shivered. “Do tell,” she almost whispered.

  Lord Devlin’s stories of pirates and scenery were naught compared to his next tale.

  “Their superstitions are many, intertwined with their native religions as well as bits of Christianity. It was a well known fact to the landowners that on certain nights of the year it was best to simply lock one’s doors and not venture outside until daylight.” Lord Devlin’s narrowed eyes moved from one listener to another.

  Cherry breathed an “Ohhh.” He quirked one brow at Jane’s sardonic smile, but he continued his tale with an ominous laugh.

  When his story was told, Devlin’s smile broke the spell.

  “A fascinating story, to be sure,” wheezed Havelock, who promptly settled back for a little snooze.

  After putting away the remains of their cold collation, Jane settled beside Mary Aubrey. Mary was twenty years old, the veteran of two Seasons in London, and still unmarried. It was rumoured that she would not be averse to receiving the attentions of the local curate, Mr. Primrose, but her mother wanted better things for the eldest of four daughters.

  Mary was often overlooked at social functions. Her appearance was neither striking nor repulsive. And her wit was sharp and, at times, biting. Jane preferred Mary’s company to women closer to her own age.

  “It is just as you predicted,” said Miss Aubrey quietly, her nod indicating her brother and Lord Devlin dancing attendance on Cherry who smiled and flirted with her bewitching blue eyes.

  Jane smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, Mary. Cherry isn’t deliberately rude. She doesn’t realize one shouldn’t monopolize the only two eligible partis at such a small gathering.”

  Mary stretched her lanky frame and leaned against the stone wall at her back. “Don’t forget, one of those eligible partis is my brother. I’ve grown accustomed to that puppy dog look. He’s been making a cake of himself since the day Cherry turned the tables and quit tagging along behind him.”

  They shared a quiet laugh before Mary continued. “Of course, Lord Devlin is a different case entirely, but I have no interest there. He seemed almost annoyed when we arrived and interrupted your tête-à-tête.”

  “And it was of such a personal nature,” scoffed Jane. “I was merely relating the history of the abbey. While I do not care for Lord Devlin’s manner, he does seem possessed of a more lively intelligence than the average spoiled darling of the ton.”

  Without thinking, her eyes came to rest on her Cousin Roland, who snored quietly, his head listing to one side where he leaned against a large stone. Jane’s mouth twisted in distaste. No wonder he slept after the vast quantities of food and wine he had consumed.

  Not knowing what turn Jane’s mind had taken, Mary said, “Still, he was very solicitous to me, serving my plate, seeing that I was comfortably seated.”

  Jane frowned. “Cousin Ro—? Oh! You mean Lord Devlin.”

  “Yes, Miss Lindsay. May I be of service?”

  Jane blushed painfully as she peered up at the tall viscount who had wandered their way while she was wool-gathering.

  “No, Lord Devlin. I…I was speaking to Miss Aubrey.”

  He nodded, but she felt a fool.

  To the group in general, Lord Devlin said, “I propose that we see this crypt Miss Lindsay was telling me about earlier. Who wants to join us?”

  Cherry shuddered delicately. “I wouldn’t go near such a horrid place!”

  Mary shook her head also. “You must count me out, I’m afraid. There are probably mice and perhaps bats.”

  “Lord Pierce?”

  “I saw it many years ago,” he said, never taking his eyes from Cherry. “But I wouldn’t mind venturing down there again.”

  “Oh, no, Peter. You mustn’t leave Mary and me alone up here,” breathed Cherry, clutching at his sleeve.

  The young baron swelled with pride and patted her hand. “Of course I shan’t leave you, if you don’t wish it. Or Mary either!”

  “Very well,” said Lord Devlin. He nodded to the oblivious Roland Havelock. “Looks as though Mr. Havelock declines, so that leaves only you and me, Miss Lindsay.”

  All eyes turned to Jane who sat fidgeting with her gloves.

  “Miss Lindsay?”

  “What? Oh, yes, of course. Only I don’t have the key,” she hedged.

  “But Jane, the key is by the bottom step,” said Lord Pierce. “Don’t you remember? You dared me to go down there and—”

  “How silly of me to forget!” Peter, Mary, and Cherry stared at her, as if none of them could believe what they had heard. Jane never forgot. Never!

  Suddenly, Cherry giggled. “I know what it is! You’re afraid to go down there because of that monk being buried there! Afraid you’ll anger his spirit! It’s listening to that crazy old nurse all these years!”

  Now everyone turned expectantly to Cherry for details—everyone except Jane.

  “What rubbish,” said Jane, her voice as firm and certain as usual. “Come along, Lord Devlin. But I warn you, you will very likely ruin your coat.”

  “Hardly a deterrent, Miss Lindsay.” He removed the garment and placed it neatly on one of the blankets.

  As they moved away from the others, Cherry’s plaintive voice rose. “I am cold, Peter. Will you accompany me to the carriage, so I can get another blanket?”

  Jane stopped in her tracks and turned around. Mary waved her on, saying loudly, “What a good idea, Cherry. I’ll go with you.”

  Jane looked up to find Lord Devlin’s questioning gaze.

  “I had to make sure Cherry wouldn’t forget her manners, but Mary will take care of it. She is wise beyond her years.”

  “Hmm. And nearly as ancient as Miss Lindsay.” He reached down and picked up a sturdy
stick. Taking out his handkerchief, he tied it around the end. “I took the liberty of equipping myself with a tinderbox from the picnic basket.”

  Jane led the way, talking all the while to bolster her courage. “There is one monk buried in the crypt. His name was Brother Valentine, which is why—so the legend goes—my ancestor who built Heartland named it as he did. It is also why St. Valentine’s Day has held a special place in our family’s tradition.”

  “A lot of superstition and poppycock, in other words, for this can’t possibly be the burial site of the St. Valentine who was supposed to have lived in the seventh century.”

  Jane laughed. “Perhaps, but the key to what you said is ‘supposed to have lived’! No one knows for certain, and I choose to believe that our monk is the original St. Valentine.”

  They had reached the entrance to the vault’s staircase, where the rough steps had been hidden by a well-placed shrub. The viscount pushed aside the foliage, lending a dim light down to the door.

  “I’ll go down first. Where did you say the key was?” said Devlin.

  “Next to the last step. There’s a recess in the wall on the right, I think it is.” Jane took a deep breath and followed slowly.

  I am not afraid. I am not afraid.

  “Ah! Here it is.”

  Jane could hear the trusty lock protest as Drew tried to turn the key.

  Please, don’t let it open.

  But her luck was out. The lock groaned but gave way. Lord Devlin took out his tinderbox and proceeded to light the makeshift torch. He took Jane’s limp hand and led the way into the tomb.

  The doorway was low, and Jane didn’t bend over enough. The snood that confined her long, heavy hair was plucked from her head.

  “Oh dear!”

  “What is it? Oh, never mind, I’ve got it.” He stopped, his head cocked to one side. His voice was silky as he murmured, “You should always wear your hair down. It is beautiful.”

  Jane was disconcerted by his manner. She took the net and shoved it in the pocket of her habit. “Shall we go?”