The Valentine's Day Ball

by Julia Parks

  “Now I will send word to a couple of friends about where to find you. They are sailors on one of my ships. They will take you on a healthful sea voyage to the Americas. Try to be thankful for this, because I promise you, if I ever set eyes on you again, I will gladly put a bullet through your temple.”

  b

  Drew left and made his way to the shipyards and arranged Havelock’s voyage. Next, he went to the nearest posting inn. He hired a fresh pair and turned his rented phaeton back toward Bath.

  He changed teams at The Crown in Reading and continued on to Newbury. Here, his inquiry brought the news that Jane’s carriage had passed some three hours earlier. Waving his thanks to the young ostler in the yard, Drew continued on until he reached the George Inn in Hungerford.

  It was after midnight, but the ostlers in the yard were quick to come running as he halted his phaeton.

  “Will ye be stayin’ th’ night, sir?”

  “Yes. Tell me, did a lady and her maid stop here several hours ago? Her old coachman was driving.”

  “Aye, sir. Ye’d be thinkin’ on Miss Lindsay of Heartland, Bath.”

  “Yes, that’s the one,” said Drew eagerly.

  “Aye, they stopped an’ stayed, sir.”

  Drew threw the young man a coin and hurried inside.

  He was greeted by a sleepy landlord who was anxious only to return to his bed. Still, the proprietor knew quality when he saw it. He perked up more upon learning that his late-night arrival was a peer.

  He led Drew upstairs and showed him to a room. Lighting several candles, he apologized for its meagre size.

  “It’s fine. Tell me, where is Miss Lindsay’s room?”

  “Now, m’lord, I don’t hold with…” He winked and pocketed the gold crown Drew slipped into his out thrust hand. “Last room on the left at the end of the hall, m’lord.”

  Drew waited until the landlord shuffled back down the steps. Then he changed his riding boots for slippers and eased out of the room and down the hall, a single candle providing a small pool of light.

  He tried the door and found it unlocked. Damn the foolish chit! Jane must have lost her mind! A solitary female traveller to be so trusting in a public inn…

  Silently; he crossed the bare floor, and he raised the candle to light the bed. Yes, that was Jane’s long, glorious hair fanned out across the pillow. He set the candlestick on the bedside table.

  Leaning over the bed, Drew whispered, “Jane, wake up.”

  b

  Jane stirred, groaning as the horror of her nightmare hit her. Drew had been in it, Roland too. She was torn between them…Jane heard someone calling to her. She tried to open her eyes, but she was so very tired.

  “Jane!”

  Drew. It was Drew!

  She opened her eyes, but the shadowy candlelight lent his face a ghoulish cast. Closing her eyes, Jane reached beneath the pillow. She sat up, shoved the ghoul away with one hand, and produced a tiny silver pistol and fired.

  Drew staggered back, one hand flew up to cover his cheek. His voice strangely clear, he said, “Why does the woman I love want to shoot me?”

  He collapsed onto the floor as the padding of bare, running feet ended with the door being flung open. Tucker, candle in hand, pushed past the inn’s interested occupants.

  “Miss! Sweet Lord! It’s his lordship!” she breathed.

  The landlord elbowed his way inside, a wide-eyed maid following in his wake. He knelt beside the fallen viscount, made sure he was still breathing, and clambered back up on his feet.

  “An accident, my dear patrons, a mere accident!” announced the landlord, his deep voice restoring normalcy to the nightmarish scene. He shut the door and the knot of people dispersed. Quickly, he lit all the candles he could find.

  Jane, who had been frozen since the gun discharged, came back to life, dropping the weapon and beginning to shiver. “Is…is he…dead?” she asked, her teeth chattering.

  Tucker glanced up from her position on the floor. Her white nightcap was soaked with blood where she had pressed it against the side of Drew’s head. “No, Miss Jane, not dead.”

  “But…the…blood?”

  “Head wounds always bleed mortal bad.”

  “What happened, Miss Lindsay? This man arrived not more than twenty minutes ago. He claimed to be Lord Devlin.”

  “And so he is,” said Jane, regaining her sense of competency. “You must send for the doctor immediately.”

  The landlord nodded to the silent servant who hurried from the room.

  “We’ll need to get him into bed.” Jane stood up and pulled on her wrapper.

  “His room is down the hall, miss,” said the landlord, who was also judging the wounded man’s weight against his own strength.

  “It would take an army to carry him all that way,” said Jane. “We’ll put him in my bed.”

  “Very good, miss.” With Tucker staunching the flow of blood, Jane and the landlord pushed and pulled until they had Drew settled in bed. Tucker lifted the cloth, but the bleeding continued.

  “Miss Jane, send someone t’ th’ carriage for th’ medicine case.”

  “In a trice, Miss Lindsay,” responded the landlord.

  By the time the doctor arrived, the bleeding had stopped. The physician cleaned and examined the narrow, ugly gash that ran along one side of Drew’s head.

  “He’ll do. I’ll just bandage his head again. He’ll be fine in a day or two, though he may have a headache. He’s a very lucky man. A half-inch to the right and he would be blind or dead.”

  Jane shut her eyes and sent up a small prayer of thanksgiving. The doctor departed, and Jane sent Tucker away to get whatever rest she could for the remainder of the night.

  Jane pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. She stared at Drew, willing him to wake up, if only for a moment.

  Why had he been in her room? Had he followed her all this way, waiting for dark when she would be asleep so he could come into her room and smother her? What had he wanted? That awful nightmare had clouded her sound judgement. If she had been completely awake, she wouldn’t have shot at him. Would she?

  And so, the question remained: what was he doing at this particular inn, inside her room?

  With a sigh, Jane admitted she would never know the answer. She would always doubt her ability to discern truth from prevarication when listening to a man, especially when her heart was engaged.

  Oh! And it was definitely engaged. Her soul filled with despair. She was in love with this fierce, unconventional man! But where there was no trust, love would moulder and die.

  The sun rose. Outside, it would be another beautiful day. Her eyes red from lack of sleep, Jane sat by the bed, waiting.

  b

  Drew opened his eyes, wincing at the discomfort this caused him. He focused on the blurry figure by his side. It was Jane, her troubled green eyes never faltering.

  “The doctor says you’ll soon be fit again.” Jane’s voice was devoid of emotion.

  “That’s certainly good to know.” He watched her a moment longer before saying resignedly, “It’s over, isn’t it, Jane? We both must admit it and get on with our lives. I can see it in your eyes. I had hoped…But last night proved to me—rather forcefully—” he added, a glimmer of a smile lighting his eyes, “that we can never again completely trust each other. Thank you for staying with me through the night.” He raised up on one elbow and extended his hand for her to shake. Jane looked at it for a moment before putting her hand in his. One firm shake of the hand, and he released her.

  Without another word, Jane left the room.

  Tucker came in twenty minutes later to collect Jane’s clothing. She flashed him a look of frustration, but said nothing.

  After helping Jane dress, Tucker hurried back to Drew’s bedside for a brief farewell. “Now then, m’lord, I only ’ave a moment before we leave. D’you need anything?”

  “No…yes! My valet. Tell him to come here and bring my groom, my curricle and team, my cloth
es—just everything. I’m going back to London from here.”

  “Very good, m’lord.” Tucker turned as she heard Jane call her from the yard.

  “And, Tucker, tell our confederates that I’ve taken care that Mr. Havelock is out of the country. Still, I’ll feel better knowing you, Pipkin, and Mrs, Brown are keeping an eye on her.”

  “God bless you, m’lord!” said the tearful servant, taking his proffered hand and pressing it warmly.

  b

  Jane’s carriage entered the front gate of Heartland in the late afternoon. Tom Summers sounded his yard of tin to announce their arrival. Jane eagerly peered out the carriage window, anxious for that first glimpse of home.

  There it was, like a haven of peace! She sat back in the seat, folding her hands in her lap very properly.

  “Remind me, Tucker, to send for extra domestics to help clean in the next two weeks. And, of course, I must send out the invitations tomorrow. I fear it will be a late night.”

  “Yes, Miss Jane,” said the maid.

  “But first, it is imperative that I send a note to Aunt Sophie. I must set her mind at ease. Then I can resume my preparations for our Open Day celebration.”

  The carriage stopped and James let down the steps and opened the door. As Jane descended from the carriage, she smiled. Not only could she feel the house welcome her, but Pipkin had assembled most of the first-floor staff by the front door.

  “Welcome home, Miss Jane,” intoned the butler.

  “Thank you, Pipkin. I am so delighted to be home.”

  Pipkin bowed his head and said, “‘Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee,’ said our Lord.”

  Jane grinned. It was good to be back home where she belonged. As she entered the house, a feeling of contentment settled over her. She made her way upstairs, lingering at the landing to look down at the marble entry with its crystal chandelier.

  Mickey followed, loaded down with her things. He waited patiently for her to proceed.

  Jane turned to him and asked, “Did you miss me, Mickey?”

  “Yes, Miss Jane.”

  “I missed everyone here, too.” She noticed a large, unfamiliar box he carried. “Where did that come from, Mickey?”

  “Th’ boot, Miss Jane, along o’ all th’ rest.”

  Jane continued up the stairs to her room. When Mickey had put down his burdens, Jane said, “Go and ask Mr. Summers who put this box in the boot of the carriage.”

  “Yes, Miss Jane.”

  Jane placed the plain box on the bed and opened it. The red dress! And the others, too! But how? She picked up the deep red evening gown and held it against her. How excited she had been at the prospect of wearing the daring dress for Drew.

  Jane walked over to the cheval glass to study her reflection. It would be every bit as revealing and appealing as she had hoped. Abruptly, she returned it to the box. The other dresses she would wear, but not the red one. It had been made for someone else, someone who was alluring and exciting—not plain Miss Lindsay.

  “Miss Jane?”

  “Yes, Mickey?”

  “Mr. Summers says Lord Devlin gave ’im th’ box t’ put in th’ carriage.”

  “I see. Thank you, Mickey.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Jane.” The footman lingered and said, “Miss Jane?”

  “Yes,” sniffed Jane.

  “You’re not goin’ away again, are you?”

  “No, Mickey, I’ll not be going away.”

  b

  Jane slept like a baby, her spirit untroubled by dreams, either good or bad; such was the influence of being at home.

  She had not written out invitations the night before, being too tired, so she rose early and spent the morning at her escritoire penning invitations to all of her acquaintances, from the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth to the poorest family in the village. Sending these off with Mickey, she returned to her writing desk and wrote several more invitations, one of which was to her old school friend, Sally.

  Sally hadn’t made an appearance at Open Day for several years due to babies and other family obligations. But perhaps this year she would come. Jane hoped so; she would dearly love to have a long, comfortable visit with the gay and worldly Sally Cumberland. Perhaps Sally could advise her…No, she needed no advice. She was managing superbly on her own. Still, it would be wonderful to see Sally again.

  b

  Despite the physician’s recommendation to Drew that he rest for two or three days before returning to London, Drew left the inn the next morning. His head continued to ache, but his vision had cleared.

  Most of the ton had already left for country homes or the seashore, so Drew had no difficulty securing rooms on Bond Street. The rooms were not elegant, but would do until he found something permanent. He had decided to make London his home, and if his mother wished to see him, she could come for a visit.

  Though his head ached abominably by evening, Drew decided to go out to his club. He was dressed impeccably, his cravat and coat pressed to a nicety by his finicky valet, Crispin. His dark hair had been carefully arranged to cover the healing wound.

  After entering White’s, Drew nodded to Mr. Ambrose, bowed to Sir Thomas, and finally settled across from Lord Wharton for a few hands of piquet.

  Sir Thomas stopped by Drew’s table. “Didn’t know you were back in London, Devlin. Here for a long stay?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I’m planning to purchase a house once l find one that is suitable.”

  “Why would you want to do that, my boy? Your uncle’s got a perfectly good town house on Grosvenor Square. They don’t get any more suitable than that.”

  “True, but that is his house,” said Drew, continuing his play.

  “So what? He’s got an agent in the city. Go to him and get the key. Lord knows your uncle will never know.”

  Lord Wharton placed his cards on the table, pushed back in his chair, and said slowly, “He’s right, you know. Besides, it’ll be yours soon enough. The man must be over seventy if he’s a day!”

  “I’ll think about it,” promised Drew.

  “You do that,” said Sir Thomas. “And since you’re staying in town, I’ll tell my wife you’re here. She’ll get the word around in no time. All the hostesses are crying for eligible men at this time of year. By tomorrow, I predict you’ll be up to your ears in invitations!”

  “That’s kind of you, Sir Thomas.”

  “Think nothing of it. Good evening.”

  Lord Wharton nodded before observing, “Now that the Season’s over, my wife encourages me to invite my political friends to the house. Keeps us from getting dull, don’t you see. We get into some rather heated discussions from time to time, but if you’d care to come, I know Lady Wharton would be delighted.”

  “Thank you, Wharton. I should like that very much. As a matter of fact, one of these days I plan to sit in the House of Lords.”

  “Really, Devlin! Most interesting, most interesting. How do you stand on the Corn Laws?”

  b

  Drew slept later than he had planned. A moderate drinker as a rule, he had taken wine too often with the hard-headed Lord Wharton. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he cradled his head as Crispin pulled back the window curtains. Drew silently vowed he would refrain ever after from trying to keep up with any politician.

  “Your coffee, my lord.”

  “Hmm.” Drew took the cup and saucer and took a quick gulp of the strong, hot liquid. Better.

  With his wiry tiger, Piglet, hanging on the back of his curricle, Drew drove into the city. Farther and farther he went until he reached Fleet Street, Number twenty-three.

  When he entered the pawnshop, a dignified older man came forward. He was dressed like a respectable lawyer, though the fabric of his clothing was frayed.

  “My name is Mr. Armstrong. What may I do for you, sir?”

  “Mr. Armstrong, I am looking for a piece of jewellery, something for a lady of
my acquaintance.”

  “I have many beautiful things.”

  “My friend is particularly fond of rubies—large rubies. You see, I would like to prove to her that my heart is truly engaged.”

  “I see, I see.” The man hesitated. Clearly he was on the horns of a dilemma. It seemed obvious to Drew that the shopkeeper did know about the Heartland pendant. He must still have it, but he was afraid of being caught selling stolen goods. Drew could see him vacillating as he weighed one side against the other.

  Finally greed won.

  “I believe I have just the thing.” The dapper old man vanished into his back room. He emerged moments later clutching a velvet box. With a flourish, he opened it.

  There it was—the Heartland pendant! He hadn’t sold it because he hadn’t dared. There wasn’t another like it in the world.

  “How much?” Drew lifted the heavy pendant and turned it this way and that.

  “It is very valuable, sir. Only notice the size of the heart-shaped ruby in the middle of the setting. And the diamonds surrounding it? There are at least twenty.”

  “Agreed. How much?”

  The man took the pendant and studied it thoughtfully before returning it to the box. “Let me think, Mr…?”

  “It’s my lord,” said Drew “Not mister.”

  “My…my lord?” The shopkeeper’s bony fingers closed around the velvet box. Drew grabbed the hand, forcing the man to drop the box.

  “Tell me how much, Mr. Armstrong. But remember, I could easily arrange for Bow Street to come here and take an inventory. That would prove most enlightening. Now, Mr. Armstrong, you were saying?”

  “Fi-five thousand,” stuttered the old man.

  “One,” countered Drew.

  “One? But I paid—”

  “Then make it two thousand. I am weary of all this bartering.”

  “Very well, my lord, you win. Two thousand it is.”

  Drew left the pawnshop and went straight to his bank. With a sigh of relief, he gave the pendant over to the safekeeping of one of the senior partners. When his mother came to London for a visit, he would let her return it to Bath and its rightful owner.