Lord Blackwood's Valentine Ball: An Authentic Regency Romance (3 page)

Patience smiled. “It will be finished soon, and I think, when framed, will be the perfect gift for a doting mama.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but the door opened and Doris interrupted to announce, “Captain Lyndon, if you please, ma’am.”

A good-looking fair-haired man dressed in an officer’s uniform entered. He bowed to Lorna and then to Lord Blackwood and Patience. Lorna, clearly on friendly terms with him, danced over to the captain, her hands outstretched in a welcoming gesture.

“Dear Captain Lyndon, have you come to steal Lord Blackwood away so soon?”

The captain smiled at Patience and murmured that he was delighted to meet her. His gaze fell upon the sketchbook and he reached for it, saying, “By Jove! If that’s not Charles, then I’m a monkey’s uncle. Who did this?”

When Lorna announced that the gifted artist was none other than Patience, the captain grinned. “But you have made this old dog so handsome, Miss Cherwell, that I fear you will puff him up with flattery. How will he fit through the door with such a swollen head, I wonder?”

Amidst roars of laughter and goodbyes, the captain and Lord Blackwood took their leave with his lordship’s admonition to Lorna not to forget the
particular
details of the forthcoming Valentine Ball.

“For I expect to see you there too, Miss Cherwell,” he said as he shook her hand again. “There’s no escaping me this time.”

“Yes…no…but I mean—” she stammered, flustered by his meaningful look and the way he held her hand for a moment longer than necessary.

“No buts!” he said with mock severity. “All my friends are expected to attend.”

The front door closed, the sound of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves died away, and Patience looked at Lorna.

“What
exact
details of the Valentine Ball is his lordship talking about?”

Lorna made a little moue. “Now don’t try to cry off, Patience, for I know you never want to go to these flamboyant affairs, but this time you will come and you will look beautiful.” She grasped Patience’s hands. “I have the very dress picked out already for you.”

Patience shook her head, laughing. “Oh, no, I shan’t worry about anything fancy, dearest Lorna, because it is you all the men will be staring at in enthralled admiration.”

Lorna frowned. “Will you promise to wear the dress that I choose?”

Patience sighed. “You sound like Henrietta, except that you are far more tactful. Yes, if you insist, of course I will wear the dress that you choose.”

“Now for the details of the ball,” Lorna said, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Just think, Lord Blackwood has come up with such novel entertainment that I do believe this Valentine Ball will go down in history as the best one ever.”

“I’m listening.” Patience settled back comfortably on the sofa.

Lorna clasped her hands in glee. “Lord Blackwood has devised the most romantic way for gentlemen and ladies to declare their affection for each other without fear of rejection. Firstly, all the ladies must write a special Valentine to the man they would like to attract. Of course, these must be delivered as early as possible to the gentleman’s residence to give him time.”

“Time for what?” asked Patience.

“Time to find the right flowers to reply to the Valentine. All the men will scour the flower sellers’ stalls for the perfect blossoms.” She giggled. “Or else they will rush down to their family estates’ hothouses to select the prettiest spring blooms available.”

Patience frowned. “I do not grasp your meaning.”

Lorna sighed. “It’s quite simple, let me explain. Each gentleman must send a particular posy on the day of the ball—Valentine’s Day, of course—to the lady he would like to address. The lady will wear the posy at the ball to indicate to the gentleman that his attentions are welcome.”

Patience said, “That’s not a very certain method of discovering who likes whom.”

“But since no one is supposed to know who sends a Valentine, it’s also quite in keeping with the whole idea. It’s supposed to be a mystery. It’s so exciting to guess!”

“But how will the lady and the gentleman finally know their love token has reached the right target?”

Lorna clapped with joy. “This is the best and cleverest part! There will be a Valentine waltz just before midnight. Each gentleman will approach the lady wearing his posy—and of course, he must make sure his posy is unique so he does not mistake it for another—and ask her to dance. On the stroke of midnight, the music will stop and all will be revealed.”

“Pardon me for appearing dull-witted, my dear, but how will everything be revealed?”

Lorna looked taken aback. “Didn’t I say? It’s a
masked
ball! No one will know who is wearing their posy until everyone removes their masks. Isn’t that a novel entertainment?” She laughed. “And to make it even more romantic and daring, the lady must remove her partner’s mask at the same time as he removes hers! What do you think of that?”

“I hope there will not be too many disappointments,” Patience murmured.

Lorna smiled. “But it’s up to the lady to insert a reference, a clue, or a hint in her Valentine verse to the object of her affections so he does not make a mistake. The gentleman must then make sure his posy contains some token of recognition, such as a flower with a particular meaning or a ribbon to assure him he is sending it to the right lady.”

Patience nodded. “Yes, it does sound very unusual.”

“And here’s where I need your help, my dear, sweet friend.”

“My help?”

Lorna took her hands. “Dearest Patience, will you write my Valentine for me? I am so useless at any kind of artistic and literary expression.”

Patience demurred. “But, Lorna, my dear, that’s the whole point of sending a Valentine verse. It’s about how you feel, not about how perfect it should be.”

Lorna shrugged. “Well, I just know I cannot put pen to paper, and besides, can you imagine me trying to decorate my verse with illustrations and ribbons and all the elaborate things I’ve heard some people do? You will do it so much better than anyone else I know.”

Patience laughed out loud. Lorna’s artistic efforts left much to be desired. Her embroidery inevitably ended in knots and tears; and although she danced beautifully, her attempts at singing and playing the pianoforte were mediocre.

She patted Lorna’s hand. “Yes, of course, I’ll do it.”

“You’re not sending one to someone special are you?” Lorna asked.

Patience thought for a moment. The one person she would love to send a Valentine would not wish to receive it from her, and she would not make a fool of herself simply to release some of the pent-up emotion she felt.

“No,” she said slowly, “there is no one special.”

Lorna hugged her. “Oh, good! So mine will be unique and exceptional.”

“To whom would you like to send your Valentine?”

Since Lorna had many gentleman admirers besides Lord Blackwood but had not expressed any particular affection for anyone yet, who would be the lucky recipient?

Lorna turned a laughing, glowing face to her. “Why to Lord Blackwood, of course. Don’t you think he is just the handsomest, most wonderful man in the whole world?”

Three

P
atience felt as if a huge fist had appeared out of nowhere and punched her in the chest. It wasn’t a physical blow, of course, but her body reacted as if she’d been struck. Outwardly, she remained motionless, even calm, but inside she reeled from the onslaught.

Lorna loved Lord Blackwood already? She must love him to appear so happy when speaking about him and even suggesting he was to be the recipient of her Valentine.
Her
Valentine, meaning the Valentine Patience would create. Even though she had insisted to Henrietta that Lorna and his lordship would make a good match, somehow the idea of Lorna already having feelings for him had not occurred to her. Yet the carelessness of youth was apparent in Lorna’s statement that she could not possibly fashion a charming card and romantic verse of her own. The significance of a Valentine, declaring one’s hope of love that someone might reciprocate, also seemed to have escaped the laughing girl in front of her.

Patience was almost angry for a moment that Lorna did not want to try to make her own Valentine. How deep was her affection then for Lord Blackwood? Did Lorna even know what true, deep love meant? Patience would have given the world to be able to send a card to Lord Blackwood, even knowing he had no interest in her and would possibly be embarrassed by a declaration of love from such an insignificant person. Yes, he had been so kind and polite, but that was his noble nature. All superior men and women showed their greatness by their exquisite manners and their courteous acknowledgement of those around them.

She became aware of Lorna shaking her by the shoulders and peering into her face with an anxious expression.

“Patience? Are you unwell? Would you like to lie down and rest? Have I said something to displease you?”

Patience blinked and snapped out of her reverie. She laughed, forcing a gaiety she did not feel at all. The sound of her laughter had a brittle quality.

“Unwell? Of course not. I am quite all right. In fact, I am in the pink of health. Whatever made you say such a thing?”

Lorna continued to examine her, this time with a worried frown. “You suddenly went so pale and even stopped breathing for a moment. I thought I’d said something to upset you.”

Patience smiled and patted Lorna’s hand that still rested on one shoulder. “What nonsense. How could you upset me in any way? You are the dearest, sweetest companion anyone could wish for.”

“When I mentioned Lord Blackwood, your face went as white as paper and you looked as if you’d had the most terrible shock.”

Patience put one hand up to her brow, half-concealing her face in case her expression showed emotion Lorna could misconstrue. “I must confess, my dear, just as you spoke, I felt a sudden twinge of a headache that has plagued me all day. It was like a horrid sharp stab in my forehead.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so before!” said Lorna, jumping up from her seat. “I’ll get my smelling salts and some lavender water to bathe your temples. Then you can relax here on the sofa, and I’ll read to you very quietly until you fall asleep.”

With that, she pushed Patience back against the sofa cushions and raised her feet to rest on the other side. “There, now you lie perfectly still while I look after you. I am used to nursing my younger sisters so don’t think I am not capable.”

Patience closed her eyes. Being perfectly still was impossible as Lorna ran to the door and called for Doris to bring the required ingredients. Doris appeared in a few minutes with the necessary items, and Lorna proceeded to bathe Patience’s temples with inexpert hands, all the while chattering on about Lord Blackwood. Patience murmured a comment every now and then to show she was listening, but each moment of Lorna’s enthusiastic prattle wreaked havoc in her breast. At the same time, cold drops from the wet cloth Lorna applied to her forehead trickled down into her ears. Patience felt acute discomfort lying there but did not want to upset Lorna by getting up. The poor darling tried so hard to be helpful.

“I think Lord Blackwood is quite the most elegant man in London.”

Patience remained silent. Lorna, forgetful of her earlier promise of peace and quiet, prodded her. “You’re not asleep, are you? Did you hear what I said?”

Patience opened her eyes. “Oh, yes, I did. Of course he is. Quite the most elegant.”

“I agree,” said Lorna, as if forgetting that
she
had initiated the discussion about his lordship’s appearance. “I think he must have a gifted tailor because he always looks as if his clothes fit him so perfectly, like a glove, in fact. Compared to him, all the other men look quite rumpled!” She laughed. “The only man with an ounce of style next to his lordship is Captain Lyndon, his friend from military days.” She frowned. “Well, I think it’s from the military days, but I’m not sure.”

Patience felt a spark of interest. “Do you like the captain?”

Lorna stopped bathing her temples. “Yes, he’s very amusing and interesting. Not as amusing and interesting as his lordship, but he makes me laugh with droll stories of his campaign adventures.”

Patience lifted one hand to push away the cloth from her brow. “I think my forehead has cooled down, my dear. Thank you.”

“Not at all,” said Lorna, jumping up and almost knocking over the bowl of water. She rang for Doris to remove it and ordered weak black tea with lemon to revive her.

“And don’t forget the almond biscuits.” She turned to Patience. “Now, you continue to lie still with the smelling salts and get better. We’ll have another cup of tea, and you’ll feel as good as new in no time.”

Patience despised smelling salts and had consumed quite enough tea for one day, but she meekly acquiesced.

Lorna settled into her chair. “So what do you
really
think of Lord Blackwood? Do you like him as a person? Do you think he has a noble character? Do you think he will make a good husband?”

Lorna’s salvo of blunt questions took Patience by surprise. “I…er…well, I don’t know him at all,” she said. “You have spent more time in his company than I have.”

“You should try to get to know him better,” said Lorna. “It would make me so happy. More than you can imagine.”

Patience did not dare ask why, and Lorna did not volunteer a reason. The only logical reason must be that Lorna truly loved his lordship. Perhaps not as profoundly as she should, but in her own way. Lorna had specifically mentioned Lord Blackwood as a husband, a clear indication she must be thinking of something deeper than mere flirtation. Perhaps sending his lordship a Valentine card was a way of jolting him into a proposal or drawing subtle attention to the fact that she admired him as a desirable partner and sought more than a chivalrous friendship from him.

“For I respect your opinion so much, dearest Patience,” Lorna’s mama had confided to her by way of a letter before Lorna’s arrival in London. “You are so sensible about things. If you approve of a young man that Lorna likes, then her papa and I will certainly consider his suit.”

Lord Blackwood was much older than one would expect the bridegroom of a fresh, young debutante to be. However, many parents were not averse to their daughters marrying older men, more mature and established than some frivolous and spendthrift young coxcomb who would not prove to be as much of a steadying influence on their daughter. A wealthy older man with a
title
offered a bride the noble weight of historical grandeur behind him, as well as the pinnacle of social achievement any self-respecting mama desired when she announced to her cronies (and the world at large) that Lord Such-and-Such had offered for and been accepted by her darling. If Patience gave her approval to the prospect of Lord Blackwood as a suitor for Lorna, then no doubt Lorna’s parents would look even more kindly upon him.

Patience did not feel at all sensible when she thought about Lord Blackwood. In fact, too much time devoted to thinking about his lordship could possibly render her insensible in a very short space of time. She felt ridiculous because, of course, he did not give her a second thought after bidding her adieu. Patience vowed to desist from any yearning thoughts about him. However, she owed it to her young friend and her parents to do all she could to encourage Lord Blackwood’s suit if he truly loved Lorna and she loved him in return.

“Do you think he would make a
kind
and
loving
husband?” asked Lorna. “I mean, it’s hard to say, when one does not know someone as well as one should before making a judgement, but what do you think?”

Patience replied with complete sincerity, “I think he is deeply considerate of others, and always shows such unfailing courtesy to everyone that he appears to have the kindest of hearts. I think he will make some lucky woman very happy.”

Lorna clapped her hands in delight. “I am so glad you think this way. And you don’t think he’s too old? Some people might say an older man will be in his dotage soon.”

Patience had a brief vision of Henrietta’s disapproving expression as she voiced her strong opinion that a man of forty would not want to dance the night away to the whims of a mere twenty-year-old. Lorna and Lord Blackwood would indeed be the despised May-December match she had described. Would it work? Possibly, if both parties truly loved each other. Love could overcome most, if not all, obstacles.

“I don’t think so,” she responded in a weak tone. “He seems to be so healthy and active from the reports I have heard. One can be young and behave like a dotard, or else one can have a few extra years but still be as athletic as ever.”

“That’s my opinion as well,” said Lorna with an approving nod. “I heard Lady Carrington complain the other day that her eldest daughter’s new husband is like an old man. He never wants to do anything more than is necessary and prefers being closeted in his club with a cigar, a bottle of brandy, and his newspaper.” She made wide eyes at Patience. “And he is not yet thirty! Imagine when he is
forty
.”

“The same age as Lord Blackwood,” said Patience, unable to prevent the image of his lordship materialising in her mind. His strong, capable hands, as expert with the whip and rapier she imagined as with holding a lady’s dainty gloved fingers while leading her into a dance. His strong shoulders were perfect in either evening or country attire. Imagine being enfolded in those arms and resting one’s cheek against his manly chest. The corners of his eyes creased in laughter and his eyebrows drew together when he gave something or someone his deepest thought or utmost attention. How did she know so much about him when they had spoken on so few occasions? It was shocking!

“Yes,” Lorna said with a happy chirrup. “The same age as Lord Blackwood. I don’t think his lordship is too old at all. He seems so youthful. He dances well; he knows all the latest news and
on-dits
. And you can ask him anything about the theatre and music and books.”

Patience suppressed the unkind thought that this was hardly conducive to a deep and meaningful relationship with a woman who considered reading the
Lady’s Monthly Museum
and
La Belle Assemblée
quite enough intellectual activity. Then Lorna surprised her.

“He told me all about Mrs. Shelley’s
Frankenstein,
and I was so intrigued by the story that he promised to lend me his copy. Imagine writing a story about recreating a person after death and bringing him back to life!”

“Would you be interested in such a book?” she asked. Lorna, although hardly feather-brained, tended to be attracted to the activities that most young women of her age found entertaining. Intellectual books were not generally high on the list of pleasures desirable to a vivacious debutante enjoying the London Season. Since her arrival, Lorna had flicked through a few popular novels, yawned over a couple of volumes of poetry, and expressed a half-murmured desire to see the Elgin Marbles at the British Museum after reading about them in the newspaper. Beyond that, nothing too scholarly.

“But of course, one would need to learn about someone’s reading habits if one is to consider sharing a life with him,” Lorna said with a sly smile. “In fact, one should learn as much as possible about that person. I think you and Lord Blackwood share so many of the same intellectual tastes that getting to know him would be
much
easier than you think. And as I said, it would make me so happy.” Her tone was pointed.

“I will try. However, I feel shy when I am in his company. He seems so…above me.”

Lorna burst out laughing. “Oh, not at all. He has the greatest admiration and respect for you. Even more so, now that he has learned of your wonderful artistic talents.”

Patience blushed. “No, my dear, you do exaggerate.” She longed to ask Lorna about this supposed respect and admiration but dared not do so. She needn’t have worried. Enthusiasm bubbled from Lorna like a woodland brook as she expounded further on the subject.

“Why, just the other day, he quite wore me out with asking all about you.”

Patience caught her breath and then dismissed the notion before it even blossomed in her mind. Naturally, any prospective groom would wish to become acquainted with his intended bride’s social circle to feel more relaxed when meeting her friends and associates. Details supplied in advance could be very helpful in assisting when a
tête-à-tête
dried up. If one already knew that Lady So-and-So was an amateur lepidopterist then conversation should never flag.

“I can’t imagine why,” she said as drily as she could. “I am sure his lordship is far more accustomed to beautiful and glamorous women such as Lady Gwendolyn Iverson and Miss Annabel Cartwright. They move in the same exalted circles as Lord Blackwood, far above lesser mortals such as me.”

“I know why,” said Lorna, wide-eyed with innocence. “Because when you care about someone you want to know everything about them and the people around them.”

“Exactly,” said Patience, “so I hope his lordship considers himself very well versed on the subject after your discussions with him.”

Lorna looked puzzled. “Why are you being so harsh? Lord Blackwood is such a nice man. Everyone likes him. You can hardly accuse him of being high in the instep just because he knows a few arrogant persons.”

She folded her arms and pouted. “I have seen him speak kindly to the lowest of people. Why, just the other day in the park, the carriage stopped next to an old soldier. Well, I am sure he was once a soldier. He was sitting on a bench, and he had on the most dreadful shabby uniform that I think was originally scarlet. His beard was long and his hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed and combed for years. He had lost one leg and there was just a stump sticking out with a pair of crutches lying next to him.”