Lord Blackwood's Valentine Ball: An Authentic Regency Romance (2 page)

She waved one hand in an expressive flourish. “Colour! Sparkle! Vivacity! Style! That’s what attracts a man. You look positively washed out like this. No one sees your lovely figure, your pretty golden curls or your blue eyes because you seem to—what’s the word?—fade into the background. Dowdy is not attractive, it’s dreary. You’re a wallflower. A nonentity.” She patted Patience’s hand. “I’m not trying to be hurtful, my dear. I’m trying to
help
you. However, you won’t listen or take my advice. No wonder no one notices you.”

Patience gave a murmur of protest, but Henrietta was right. Mama had been such a strong, dominating character that she had decided what Patience should and should not wear and who was suitable to come courting. Alas, her forceful personality had put off several interested young men who might have proposed if given enough encouragement. Now, Patience resigned herself to never finding anyone. It was too late for love and certainly too late for her to find a man who would propose to her. Men wanted young, fresh beauties. Spinsterhood beckoned and Patience had accepted her fate.

She sighed. “I’m thirty.”

“You’re
only
thirty,” said Henrietta, who always seemed to have a differing set of decided opinions. “Still young enough to attract the right man and old enough to know what’s good for you and what’s not.” She picked up the invitation. “So what are you going to do about this?”

“Nothing,” said Patience in another sudden show of confidence. “My duty is to my friends. Lorna’s parents have asked me to chaperone her during her sojourn in London. Her mother also asked that I try to help Lorna meet a number of nice young men. I have written to several of Mama’s acquaintances, and they have been most gracious in extending courtesies to both of us. Lorna has received many invitations.”

“Well, I hope you haven’t been going out wearing that
sack
!” Henrietta cast yet another disparaging glance at Patience’s dress. “Life is not just about Lorna, you know.”

“I don’t think about myself,” said Patience, “and I have given up on ideas of marriage and children.”

She didn’t explain that she had given up because her lack of experience with the opposite sex was only too painfully apparent when she met eligible men. It could also be that Lorna was so vivacious and charming that her spirited good looks quite cast Patience into the shade when they went out together. She did not begrudge Lorna her social success. After all, Lorna was young and just starting out in life. She deserved to make an excellent match. She already had half of London’s most suitable bachelors eager in pursuit of her.

“Don’t talk such nonsense. That’s rubbish!” Henrietta snorted. “I can name five men at least who might be interested if you made a tiny bit more of an effort with your clothes and hair. You simply look too lacklustre to gain their attention, and it’s no wonder Lorna gets noticed first. You may be thirty, Patience, but you don’t look it. Why—” she gave an airy wave “—you could even be like Mrs. Salford and marry a younger man. They say Cornelia Salford is thirty-five if she’s a day, and her husband is at least eight years younger than she is. Quite besotted with her, too!” She stared at Patience. “However, I still think a mature man like Lord Blackwood is the right age for you.”

“Lorna’s parents want her to make a brilliant match, and I think Lord Blackwood would be the right man for her,” said Patience in a dogged tone. “He would calm down her boisterous ways, and I believe he is so wealthy that her mama would be gratified Lorna had made such a good marriage. Lorna is young; she has time to learn more mature manners.”

Henrietta uttered an angry squawk. “And you don’t have much time on your side, my dear, in the way she does. Make haste before your pretty looks fade. You don’t want people saying, ‘Poor Patience Cherwell. She never had a chance to meet the right man. She wasted her life.’”

Patience looked away. She could not explain things to Henrietta, whose mind was focused on one idea: Lord Blackwood!

“So, you’re not even going to
try
to attract Lord Blackwood?” Henrietta sounded aggrieved.

“No I am not! He doesn’t even notice me, and anyway, the number of times Lorna has received invitations from him to drive in the park and to go on excursions just proves to me that she has captivated him. They’re off somewhere right now, in fact.”

Henrietta’s rosy hue faded a little. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows rose. “The park? Excursions? You should be with them, making the most of your opportunities! You don’t let Lorna go off alone, I hope?”

Patience made an irritated noise. Henrietta could be extremely trying. “No, of course not alone. She goes out either with me as chaperone or with his lordship’s groom and Lorna’s maid in attendance. Lorna also invites her friend, Miss Sutcliffe, and sometimes Miss Sutcliffe’s mama accompanies them. Lorna and his lordship seem to have a lot to talk about—they are always deep in conversation, so I can only surmise he is interested in her. And she seems to like him well enough.”

She did not mention that Lord Blackwood often tried to include her in these conversations, but she found his presence overwhelming, to say the least. When he addressed a few words to her, Patience became tongue-tied and blushed like a foolish young debutante at her first ball. How she longed to exchange witty, sparkling repartee with him and add her thoughts to the conversations between him and Lorna. The pair laughed and chatted so comfortably together, as if they had known each other for an age. They appeared to be more friends than anything else, but a man like Lord Blackwood did not seek out a particular lady for attention without some specific goal in mind. Perhaps he had deeper feelings and Lorna was too young and inexperienced to recognise his behaviour as anything more than pleasant companionship. However, given encouragement and opportunity, that could change.

Henrietta looked downcast for a moment. “Well, I am disappointed.” Then she brightened as her natural optimism in matters of the heart came to the fore. “But not to worry, we can make sure you create a lasting impression at the ball. If you like, I can come over to make sure you are dressed properly for once in your life. No dismal gowns, please!”

Patience sighed inwardly. Since Henrietta clung limpet-like to her idea, it appeared to be useless to try to change her mind.

“No, don’t trouble yourself, Henrietta. I am sure Lorna will not let me out of the house in a dull gown.”

“I don’t understand you. Aren’t you the
least
bit interested in Lord Blackwood? He is so very attractive.” Henrietta sounded plaintive. “I tell you, if I were only thirty years younger…”

Patience did not answer right away because she could not. How could she tell Henrietta that she feared she was falling truly, madly, deeply in love with Lord Blackwood? Just the thought of him created the strangest feelings, sensations that were quite frightening because they felt like waves of physical desire. It was lunacy to feel this way, and such passionate thoughts were best kept secret!

Charles Edward Jasper, Lord Blackwood, was, in her opinion, the handsomest man she had ever met, possibly, the handsomest man in London. The first time he shook her hand had sent a shocking tingle radiating right through her body and caused her to blush so fierily that she was sure he must have noticed. He had held her hand for a few moments as he spoke to her, his touch producing such an alarming effect that her knees trembled as if they had turned to water. Patience had felt breathless and thought she might have gasped her greeting. He did not appear to have observed her awkwardness because by then he had turned to welcome Lorna and her ever-giggling friend, Miss Sophie Sutcliffe. Had he even really noticed her that first time? Perhaps the only reason he tried to engage her in social chat on subsequent occasions was out of politeness to her as Lorna’s hostess during her London sojourn.

For her part, Patience had noticed everything about Lord Blackwood in one massive burst of clarity, as if his physical proximity heightened all her senses. The cleft in his firm chin, the somewhat tired look in his eyes that might be the sadness Henrietta mentioned, the way his coat fitted him so well across the breadth of his shoulders, his height which made her feel small and delicate, and the manly aura he exuded. He wore subtle spiced cologne water that she found appealing and strangely sensual, although she had pushed that wicked thought away, lest it cause more blushes. His eyes were hazel, flecked with green, and he had long dark eyelashes and straight black brows. It was futile to be the least bit interested in Lord Blackwood because he was not at all attracted to her. His smile for Lorna was caressing—or did she just imagine it?—and his glance fell upon Lorna’s fiery tresses and rose petal complexion with tenderness—or did she imagine that as well? He seemed to like Lorna’s freckles as much as every other young man who met her.

“Of course I am not in the least bit interested in Lord Blackwood,” she said firmly. “I have promised Lorna’s mama to do my best for her. Lord Blackwood’s invitation might be the ideal opportunity to declare himself to Lorna.”

Henrietta eyed her with a disconcerting and perceptive gaze. “Hmmm. We’ll see.”

Patience turned her head at the sound of the front door closing. “That must be Lorna now.”

Doris, the parlour maid, opened the door, bobbed a curtsey, and said, “Lord Blackwood, if you please, ma’am.”

Two

L
ord Blackwood? Here, in her home? Patience felt as if a giant force had sucked out all the air in her lungs. For a moment, she could not speak and just nodded to Doris to show in their guest.

Henrietta leaned forward and whispered with utmost glee, “You see? Moreover, here you are in such a dreadful, dull dress! No wonder he pays Miss Hartley attention. Remember to be amiable, and perhaps he will not notice what you are wearing.”

For the first time in her life, Patience wished she were wearing something ravishing, but at that moment, she could not think of anything she owned that would fit such a description. She raised one hand to pat her curls, in the hope that she did not appear dishevelled. As if he would notice, anyway!

Lorna bounced into the room in her usual ebullient manner, followed by Lord Blackwood. Patience could not help staring at him, fascinated. As always, he was impeccably dressed. He exuded an aura of confidence and charm, and a magnetism that drew her, despite her best efforts to resist. With a supreme effort, she wrenched her gaze down to her hands gripped together in her lap. Her heartbeat quickened and something caught in her throat.

“Mrs. Paisley, we meet again. I remember making your acquaintance at Lady Standish’s dinner a few months ago. How do you do?” With perfect manners, he shook hands with Henrietta, who looked thrilled that he remembered her from a previous social occasion and murmured her compliments. Notwithstanding her protestations of undying loyalty to the departed Mr. Paisley, model husband
par excellence
, Henrietta was not averse to a mild flirtation with a handsome titled gentleman. She tittered and simpered with as many blushes as a debutante at her first ball.

As Patience looked up, he came over to her, extending one hand. “Miss Cherwell, what a pleasure to see you again. I hope you are well.”

His warm, almost intimate smile only made matters worse. Although her legs nearly refused to obey, she managed to get to her feet without mishap and took his hand. His fingers tightened on hers in a firm grip. Although he held her hand for only a few moments, she felt as if ages passed before he released it. Again, those uncontrollable sensations rippled up and down her body, and she felt her cheeks grow pink. Lorna announced that Lord Blackwood’s friend, Captain Lyndon, had continued in his lordship’s carriage to deposit Miss Sutcliffe and her mama at home. He would then return to collect Lord Blackwood in about twenty minutes.

“I hope I might prevail upon your hospitality for a few minutes,” he said to Patience. “Miss Hartley insisted I come in to pay my respects, and of course, nothing has given me greater pleasure than to visit your charming home. I hope you will excuse Miss Hartley’s unconventional invitation. I would not dream of invading your privacy otherwise.”

“I…er…of course, your lordship,” she replied, trying to swallow a huge lump that had mysteriously appeared in her throat and impeded her speech. “You are…er…most welcome.”

Henrietta saved her from further awkwardness by declaring that she must be on her way to another pressing engagement. Lord Blackwood bowed in farewell and then sat down on the sofa. Patience hastened to accompany Henrietta to the front door. In the meantime, Lorna had called for more tea and a panic-stricken Doris, her mobcap askew over one eye, maneuvered the tea tray out of the room, trying not to drop or break anything en route to the kitchen. Such a hubbub of activity gave Patience a few precious moments to restore her shattered composure. If only he had not come! But how wonderful that he
had
come! Oh, she did not even know her own thoughts at that moment. Confusion reigned in her mind along with contradictory thoughts, and this horrid turmoil was both unwelcome and uncontrollable.

At the front door, Henrietta gave her a knowing wink. “What a lovely man! Such a catch! Don’t let the grass grow under your feet, my dear, because he
likes
you.” She wagged a finger at Patience. “Now do not let Miss Hartley monopolise his lordship. He is too polite to put a stop to her silly coquettish games. Men so often get distracted by these little chits who don’t have the sense of a pea-goose.”

Patience pressed both hands to her cheeks, sure that her face burned with her embarrassment. “How can you say such a thing, Henrietta? He likes Lorna very much. He has made it quite clear—well, it’s evident to me—where his affections lie.”

“Has he, indeed? I wonder!” Henrietta made a pooh-poohing sound. “Perhaps you should borrow my spectacles. Of course, he likes Miss Hartley. Why wouldn’t he? Everyone likes an amiable young gal with lots of personality, and that’s what she is, no doubt about it. What I mean is—” she leaned closer to Patience “—that he likes you very much
more
!” She tapped the side of her nose. “In that way. I know these things. Remember what I said about Miss Lavinia Moorcroft? I said that Sir Herbert Griswold would propose to her and not to that feather-brained Miss Penelope Harris whose mother looks more like a bullfrog every day. I was right. Have I
ever
been wrong?”

Patience laughed, calmer now that her blush had subsided. “Nonsense, Henrietta. Despite your accurate matrimonial predictions with other people, I am sure you are quite mistaken about me and Lord...er… Thank you for stopping by. Don’t let me keep you from your pressing engagement.”

Henrietta gave a little trill of laughter. “You’ll see, my dear. I’ve never been wrong before. I’ve never felt surer than now. Get back in there and be charming!”

Patience reflected on her friend’s statement as she closed the front door. Henrietta was remarkably astute in her predictions of whether a union would take place, and she had an unerring instinct when it came to matching up couples. Nevertheless, this time London’s self-proclaimed matchmaker was wrong. Lorna and Lord Blackwood would end up together. So why did the whole idea, which she was hoping to see materialise, fill her with such despondency? Lord Blackwood was out of her reach, so from this moment on, it would be best to ruthlessly quell the bizarre sensations he managed to arouse in her.

When Patience returned to the parlour, she was horrified to find Lorna and Lord Blackwood sitting next to each other on the sofa, paging through her sketchbook. They looked up as she came in, and did not appear at all guilty for the intrusion into her personal work. Lorna beamed at her.

Lord Blackwood rose and bowed. “My apologies for being so impertinent, but when I admired some of the watercolour paintings on the walls, Miss Hartley explained that you had painted them.”

He glanced at the wall behind him. “That lake scene is particularly fine.” He looked down at the sketchbook lying open to an image of Lorna. “I must say, Miss Cherwell, you are a gifted artist. You have captured Miss Hartley’s likeness to perfection.”

“Oh, those are only preliminary drawings,” said Lorna. “I have the finished sketch in my room. Let me fetch it. Then you’ll see just what a talented artist I have for a friend.”

“I would be delighted to see Miss Cherwell’s work,” said Lord Blackwood.

Before Patience could protest or stop her, Lorna darted out of the room, leaving her with Lord Blackwood. Patience was frozen to the spot.

Alone with the man whose presence managed to wreak such havoc with her senses? Any other woman would seize the opportunity with both hands to captivate the object of her affection with smiles, fluttering eyelashes, and clever banter. However, she could not think of a single interesting thing to say to begin a conversation. All she could do was stand and stare like a frightened rabbit. Lord Blackwood, with his usual aplomb, rescued her in the friendliest way.

He walked over to another set of paintings and asked, smiling, “Pray do tell me, Miss Cherwell, where are these scenes? The places look familiar, but I cannot recall if I have ever visited there.”

“Those two were done in Oxford and the other three in Cornwall.”

Relieved to have the opportunity to talk about a pastime she loved, Patience followed him. Her nervousness diminished as she pointed out this and that location and explained the circumstances surrounding her visits there. He listened, inclining his head on occasion, and asked about yet another scene. As she spoke, she noted with relief that her initial emotional unsteadiness had disappeared. She was calm, and even managed a small laugh that did not sound too shrill. Where was Lorna? Was she deliberately taking so long?

Then Lorna reappeared with the portrait in one hand and a box of Patience’s charcoals in the other. “Here it is!”

She handed the finished sketch to Lord Blackwood, who spent a few minutes scrutinising the image. Patience went hot, then cold as he examined her work. Finally, he put the sketch down and smiled in a way that melted her heart and every bone in her body like an ice on a hot day. If she were not careful, she might end up in a lovesick puddle on the floor. What had happened to the iron control she had sworn to exert just moments ago?

“This is simply beautiful,” he said, handing the portrait back to Lorna.

Patience thanked him for the compliment, but a pang of despair reverberated through her. Beautiful, meaning he thought Lorna was beautiful, which was certainly true.

“Let Patience draw your likeness,” Lorna said to Lord Blackwood with an enchanting smile.

“No…I couldn’t. I can’t…” Patience stuttered, sounding like a gibbering idiot.

Lorna gave an unladylike snort. “Of course you can. Look how well you did my portrait. It’ll take two minutes.” She turned to Lord Blackwood. “Patience is so quick. In just a few moments, she will capture your living image on paper. You will be astounded.”

Lord Blackwood looked at her. “Please, Miss Cherwell. Must I beg this favour of you?”

His smile deepened into something that Patience thought could be tenderness, but no, she was wrong. His tender smiles were for Lorna alone. He laid one hand on hers, and Patience almost jumped out of her skin as his touch produced a tingling sensation. She whisked her hand out from under his under the pretence of reaching for her sketchbook.

“Wh-Why is it so important, your lordship?” Her voice was tremulous with an emotion she could not name.

He looked rueful. “I have been promising my mother a likeness for nigh on five years now. However, after examining some of the paintings my friends have had commissioned, I decided there wasn’t a single capable painter in London. Alas, either my friends are grotesque or the artists did not render an accurate likeness.”

“Oh, I can promise that Patience will astonish you,” said Lorna with a gleeful chirrup.

Just then, Doris came into the room bearing the tray with fresh tea and cakes. While Lorna instructed her to set it down and began pouring the tea, Lord Blackwood leaned closer to Patience and said in a low voice, “I will be eternally in your debt, Miss Cherwell.”

His voice was deep and pleasant and his tone confiding, causing another unwelcome ripple she would have prevented, if such a thing were possible.

Focusing on her sketchbook to avoid looking right into his eyes—for heaven knew how she would comport herself then—she murmured, “Of course, your lordship. Anything to bring your mother pleasure.”

“And me,” he said. “It would bring me the greatest pleasure. More than you can imagine.”

Patience looked up, her mouth half-open in surprise. What had he meant by that? Too late—he had already reached one hand out to Lorna and accepted a cup from her. Again, his smile for Lorna was warm and embracing. He was just being polite by paying her compliments about her artistic skills.

All too soon, they had finished their tea. Lorna opened the sketchbook to a clean page, made sure Patience had the right charcoals, and suggested a flattering angle for his lordship to adopt.

“Am I allowed to talk?” he asked with a laugh. “Or shall I simply assume a sober mien?”

“Just relax,” Patience advised him, “and if you wish to speak, then do so.”

“I shall tell an amusing anecdote I heard the other day,” Lorna announced. “And then your model can be still, Patience.”

A few minutes passed as Patience outlined the subject who sat listening to Lorna with an amused half-smile on his face. She sketched him with quick, bold strokes, capturing the set of his jaw, his aquiline nose, and the way his thick dark hair sprang back from a wide, strong brow. Then she looked up to find him watching her, his smile again bordering on an intimacy that frightened her.

“Oh! You startled me,” she said, hurriedly shifting her gaze to concentrate on filling in some small, insignificant details on his collar.

“May I see?” he asked, reaching out for the sketchbook. Their fingers touched and the
frisson
that coursed down her arm made her quiver. Lord Blackwood studied the sketch for a few minutes, a slight frown drawing his eyebrows together. Then he handed it back to her with a sigh. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Miss Cherwell, this is not me.”

Patience gasped. “Not you? But your lordship has been sitting here in front of me. Of course it is you.”

He laughed. “I meant you have made me too handsome. I don’t think my mother would even recognise this image as her son.”

“But you
are
handsome!” Patience blurted out the words before she could stop herself.

He leaned towards her and took one hand. “Do you think so, Miss Cherwell? If you say so, then I will accept your judgement.”

His voice, now almost a whisper, caressed her ears. Patience might faint if he remained for much longer in the room and at such close proximity. She glanced in Lorna’s direction. Lorna, humming a popular tune, was busy sorting through her workbox for embroidery silks and seemed not to have noticed anything. With great effort, Patience broke free of the spell, the strange enchantment that he managed to weave around her, and said firmly, “Your lordship must understand that an artist portrays what he or she sees, and so I am sure your mother would own to such a fine-looking son.”

He laughed. “Whatever you say, Miss Cherwell. Will you complete this sketch for me? It is Mama’s birthday in a few weeks, and I have been racking my brains to find something novel and entertaining for an elderly lady with enough money to buy up half of London.” He gave a shrug of mock helplessness. “I have bought her jewels, shawls, porcelain ornaments, and strange and exotic artifacts from distant shores. In fact, I am sure she has an entire museum of unique gifts from me.”