Lord Blackwood's Valentine Ball: An Authentic Regency Romance (5 page)

“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Just think what it means if a woman displays her feelings to a man, sentiments that others might consider unseemly. They would judge her harshly.”

“But she must not care what others think,” he said in a voice that sounded strangely hoarse, as if he struggled with some repressed emotion. “If only she knew that he reciprocates her ardour with a consuming love that he would give anything to reveal. He burns inside for her touch, her approval, her consent, and for the slightest indication that he may proceed without fear.”

Patience gazed deep into his eyes. “He may proceed, my lord, without the slightest fear and secure in the knowledge that he is loved beyond all bounds of propriety, that the lady would give anything to find herself at one with him, joined to him irrevocably in life and love!”

“And what about an age difference?” he whispered. “What if the man is more than a few years older than the woman he loves? Will their love endure?”

Something squeezed her heart as his words meant the final confirmation of his adoration for young, beautiful, vivacious Lorna. Twenty years was a big gap between Lorna and Lord Blackwood. However, an age difference was not so important, not when two people loved each other. She owed it to her friend to encourage him. She had to press on, no matter if the task broke her heart.

“What is age,” she whispered back to him, “when two minds think as one, two hearts beat as one, and two bodies are joined as one? The union of mind, body, and spirit transcends age.”

Patience breathed hard as she spoke, and he continued to stare at her. He did not speak, and his face, already so dear to her, was as familiar to her as her own. Every detail of his features burned into her consciousness. She was floating; uplifted by a thrilling throbbing of blood in her veins, by an intense feeling that overwhelmed her. She leaned towards him in an alarmingly intimate fashion. A mere hair’s-breadth separated their faces. The tiniest movement from either of them would bring their lips together. She sat back and he released her hand.

“Pardon me,” he said. “I was captivated by the fervour, the strength contained in your reply.”

Patience, flustered, looked around for the charcoal she had dropped. “Oh, my apologies, your lordship. I am not sure what came over me to speak so freely about…er…matters of love. I am sure you consider me forward or impudent.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I am grateful for an open, honest answer in a society where people hide their true feelings and emotions behind a meaningless repartee that reveals nothing of the person’s real sentiments.” He smiled in a warm, intimate way. “You have set my heart at rest.”

He rose as the sound of voices floated towards them. Patience looked up to see Lorna running forward, her hands outstretched. “Oh, you must come and see the dearest little flock of ducklings that Sophie and I have found.”

She caught Lord Blackwood by one hand and tugged him along. He looked back at Patience and gave a small shrug as if in excuse.

Patience waved to Lorna but could not prevent a black despair stealing over her. Why did she feel this way when clearly she had achieved her goal? Lord Blackwood and Lorna strolled, arm in arm, towards the lake where the elusive ducklings had been sighted. Lorna looked up at him. Her face glowed with pleasure, or was it love? He bent his head and made some remark, which sent her into peals of laughter. She tapped his arm as if gently reprimanding him about something. He patted her hand and then covered it with his as they continued to walk. Yes, they always had so much to talk about. If he had wanted proof of Lorna’s love, then Patience had just given him the encouragement he needed to seek the ultimate consummation of that love: a proposal and marriage.

“My goodness!” said Mrs. Sutcliffe, stretching her arms as she woke up. She adjusted her bonnet and tidied her dress. “Did I nod off for a moment?”

Patience gave her a reassuring smile, “Yes, you did, ma’am, but for no more than two or three minutes.” Mrs. Sutcliffe stared at her, eyebrows drawn together. “Five at the most.”

“I’m relieved,” said the matron, “for I would not want anyone to think I had been remiss in my duty as chaperone.”

“Oh, not at all,” said Patience, “and besides, from this vantage point I have kept an eye on…er…things.”

Mrs. Sutcliffe leaned towards her and whispered, “It’s just the Capshaw boy is not what I had in mind for Sophie, and I simply don’t know how to dissuade him from trailing after her like a lovelorn schoolboy. His mama and I are old friends, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings by suggesting he is not good enough for my Sophie.”

“You needn’t worry, ma’am. I noticed that Sophie spent most of her time with Viscount Birdwell, and she only walked in a group with him and Miss Hartley and Captain Lyndon.”

Mrs. Sutcliffe’s face brightened. “Viscount Birdwell? Well, I never. That’s more like it.”

“But not a word, ma’am,” said Patience. “Perhaps she encouraged Mr. Capshaw only because you did not approve of him. I think if you don’t mention Mr. Capshaw’s name again or forbid him to visit, then he will very soon fade from Sophie’s memory once she discovers the viscount is more appealing.”

“Capital!” Mrs. Sutcliffe beamed. “Mr. Sutcliffe would far rather encourage someone of the viscount’s standing, so I’ll take your advice.” She took Patience’s hand and squeezed it in gratitude. “What a sensible girl you are, Miss Cherwell.”

Patience smiled but she drooped inside. Sensible. Who wanted to be thought of as a sensible person when love was what one desired?

Back home, Lorna danced about the sitting room and expounded on the unusual, interesting, or exciting things encountered at the park; of what the viscount had said and done; and of what the captain had said and done.

“You didn’t spend much time with his lordship,” said Patience. “Except for looking at the ducklings.”

Lorna widened her eyes. “Of course not, dear Patience. That was my whole plan for you and his lordship to get to know each other better. I saw you talking with your heads so close that I thought you might bump them together. What did you talk about?”

Patience reddened. “Oh, this and that. Nothing in particular. He asked me my opinion on a few subjects.”

Lorna gave her an approving smile. “Good, and I hope you told him what you thought without holding back. I so want you and him to get to know each other better.”

Patience smiled but did not reply. She had given her opinion freely to Lord Blackwood, and broken her own heart in the process.

Five

P
atience hesitated at the top of the stairs. A knot of tension tightened in her stomach. She still had mixed feeling about going to the ball, despite her promises to Lorna and Henrietta. Lorna, who had finished dressing first, was already inspecting the two posies lying on the hall table. One was a simple arrangement of spring flowers in delicate pastel shades of pale blue, purple, and white. The other was an elaborate confection of exotic blooms in pinks, whites, and yellows, probably hothouse plants.

Lorna pounced on the more elaborate posy and said, “This must be the one from Lord Blackwood. It’s so…regal!” Then she picked up the smaller, more modest arrangement. “This is very charming. Did it come with the fancy one, Doris?”

Doris, flushed with the romance of the occasion and having showed the household a Valentine card from the baker’s apprentice a few streets along, smiled at her. “Oh, no, Miss Lorna, this came separate. Someone delivered it, but he didn’t leave a note or nothing to say who it’s from.”

Lorna laughed. “He’s not supposed to leave a note, Doris! That defeats the purpose of a Valentine. The identity of the sender should remain a secret.”

Doris’s face fell. “Oh, but Ted Brown signed his name on his card to me. Is that all right, Miss Lorna?”

“It’s a matter of choice, Doris, and if you’re lucky enough to know it was Ted and not perhaps Horace Jones, the butcher’s man whom you dislike so much, you won’t go thanking the wrong person.”

Doris grimaced. “Oh, no, Miss Lorna. I can’t abide Horace Jones. He stinks of the abattoir, and he’s forever hanging about the doorstep like a grim shadow. He even offered me a regular supply of tasty pork chops if I’d step out with him, but I told him I prefer a nice fresh loaf instead.” She slowly slid the card from Ted out of her apron pocket and stroked it. “Ted has such a lovely hand, Miss Lorna. Clear and strong. He’s not so good with the poetry, but I don’t mind.”

Lorna, laughing, looked up as Patience descended the stairs. “Aren’t we all so lucky! Even Doris received a Valentine.”

“So I hear,” said Patience. “From Ted Brown. And I see two Valentine posies in time for his lordship’s ball. We are indeed fortunate.”

Patience stood back to admire Lorna’s ball gown, and made a twirling motion with one hand to indicate she should turn around. She had no idea where Lorna had discovered such a beautiful dress, but she had to admit it was breathtaking. Lorna looked magnificent in a pink gown that somehow did not clash with her fiery locks. A spangled scarf draped over her arms, silver sandals adorned her dainty feet, and her hair was upswept in an elegant twist with curls tumbling onto her shoulders. A quantity of her mama’s diamonds sparkled around her neck, on her ears, and on her wrists. Although Patience thought privately that the diamonds were too much for a young woman, Lorna’s mama had clearly wanted her to wear the jewels. Then, Lorna was not the usual shy young woman one expected. Bold and adventurous in nature and, Patience suspected, indulged by her loving parents, Lorna was no insipid young ingénue.

Everything that should have clashed somehow blended into a vibrant, glittering vision of loveliness. The posy of bright colours would make a splendid accompaniment. Lord Blackwood must feel incredible passion for Lorna to send something so glorious. Had she mentioned passion in the Valentine poem? Yes, something along the lines of “as my heart burns with passion’s flame.”

Writing out her feelings, putting her heart’s desire to paper had been the hardest thing in the world. Light-hearted Lorna, always laughing without a care in the world, had likely never felt the pain of an enduring and unrequited love. Every loving glance Lord Blackwood sent Lorna twisted like a knife in Patience’s breast. She had felt better after composing the Valentine. Like purging oneself of a fever or an illness, her heart had lifted, as if the mere act of writing had removed a load from her. A sense of resignation replaced the gnawing ache of sadness. There was nothing left to do but wait for Lorna to announce that Lord Blackwood had made an offer she would be a fool to refuse.

He might even announce their engagement at the ball, although propriety dictated that he seek permission from Lorna’s parents first. They would hardly refuse his suit. Such a proposal from an eligible man like Lord Blackwood would place Lorna at the pinnacle of London society. Of course, that did not guarantee happiness, but when she looked into Lord Blackwood’s eyes, it was easy to forget all he represented and see only the man and the possibility of love and passion.

Patience shook her head. Enough of these thoughts. The Valentine had been sent. The inevitable must follow.

“And you look simply beautiful, dearest Patience,” said Lorna, giving her an admiring glance.

“Oh, yes, you do too, Miss Patience,” said Doris, with a sigh of awe and pleasure. “Like a picture in one of them fancy picture galleries you like visiting!”

Patience adjusted her skirt. “I…I’m not sure.” She tugged at her bodice, hoping to raise the décolletage an inch or two. “Perhaps this is too low?”

Lorna gave her hands a light slap. “Leave your dress alone. You have such a wonderful figure, and yet you go around swathed from head to toe like an Egyptian mummy!”

Patience coloured. “I do not.”

Doris gave a sage nod. “Oh, yes, you do, Miss Patience. All them high-necked, long-sleeved gowns would suit a nun more because they don’t show off one bit of your figure. You’re like a young girl of twenty in this dress. You look like a mermaid from a fairy tale in that colour.”

Patience stared at her reflection in the mirror above the hall table. The dress was a beautiful aquamarine satin with a sheer filmy overdress in a lighter colour. Trimmed with discreetly placed beads and sequins, the ensemble shimmered. Patience appeared to be floating in a gauzy azure cloud like Venus rising from the sea foam. Her complexion glowed and her hair, in a simple Grecian knot, trailed a few gleaming curls onto her shoulders. Patience had finally opened her mother’s jewel box, and now a dainty diamond pendant twinkled between the swell of her breasts, which Patience still thought were far too exposed for decorum’s sake. A sapphire and pearl brooch and matching earrings completed her ensemble.

“I wish I could wear such bright colours as you, Lorna,” she said with a wistful sigh.

“You would look and feel terrible,” was Lorna’s blunt reply. “You’d run away as soon as anyone paid you a compliment.” She slipped one arm around Patience’s waist. “I know you!”

Patience laughed. “You’re right. I am such a coward. As soon as anyone pays me attention I want to hide away.”

“Well, you look exquisite, like a beautiful gem, and you’re not going to escape tonight.”

Patience came back to reality with a thud. The ball! The masks!

“What about—?”

Doris produced the required masks, her lips quivering with glee as she handed each one reverently to its owner. Somehow, Lorna had wrought a miracle, despite her clumsy fingers when it came to needlework. Each mask was decorated with sequins, feathers, and glittering embellishments.

“It’s beautiful,” said Patience, touching hers with care. “All the adornment matches my dress perfectly.” She glanced at Lorna, who had already put hers on. “And yours is wonderful!”

“Are you ready to be the belle of the ball?” asked Lorna.

Patience felt her stomach turn over. It was one thing to admire oneself in a ravishing outfit, and quite another to be subject to public scrutiny. She confided this to Lorna, who took off her mask and stared at Patience with a puzzled frown.

“But no one will know who you are, you silly goose. That’s the point of the masks.”

“But what about later?” said Patience. “At the end of the Valentine waltz everyone removes their partner’s mask, as you said, and I won’t have anyone to be my Valentine.”

“No?” Lorna pointed to the dainty posy with delicate pastel shades that matched her dress so perfectly it was quite marvellous. “I think you will.”

Patience shuddered. “Oh, I couldn’t bear to have a perfect stranger approach me! Besides, what will I say to him when we remove our masks?”

“He might not be a perfect stranger,” said Lorna with a meaningful look. “He might be someone you know and who has been admiring you from afar for ever so long.”

A hot tide flooded Patience’s body. The only man she wanted to see was not going to be there for her. Judging from the exquisite posy he had sent for Lorna, he desired her. The exotic flowers were an ardent message of love.

“Nonsense,” she said roughly. “This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be going. I’m sure Sophie will be there with her mama. You don’t need me to accompany you.”

Patience made as if to head back up the stairs to her room, but Doris, a surprisingly militant look on her face, jumped in front of her. With arms akimbo, Doris said, “Sorry, Miss Patience, but you has to go ter the ball. You cain’t go back upstairs. Over my dead body.”

Patience stared at her. “Doris!” she said in a shocked voice. “Such behaviour. I’m surprised at you.”

Doris shook her head apologetically as she advanced towards Patience, who took careful steps backwards. “I’m sorry for my impudence, Miss Patience, but it’s important for you to go to the ball. Miss Lorna cain’t turn up on her own and look around for someone to keep her company at the last minute. It ain’t right. It won’t look good. People will talk. It’s all bin arranged and you must go.”

Patience glanced at Lorna, who shook her head with a mournful look. She widened her eyes and gave a helpless shrug as if the decision were out of her hands.

“You know I can’t go alone, Patience. What would people say if I arrived at Lord Blackwood’s ball without someone to bear me company? Think of my reputation. What would Mama and Papa say?”

Patience gripped her courage with both hands. It was about Lorna, of course. She could not stay at home and spoil Lorna’s chances. Lord Blackwood would more than likely propose this evening. After all, the Valentine she had written to him had been so poetic, so filled with the outpourings of every ounce of love she felt, that it would surely move and inspire him. Judging from his conversation with her in the park, Lord Blackwood was a man with deep and tender depths. No doubt, he had a fountain of love just waiting to lavish on Lorna.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she said, taking Lorna’s hand. “I let my timidity get the better of me.”

“No harm done,” said Lorna with a happy giggle. She picked up her posy and then handed the other one to Patience. “Someone certainly had the right idea when he sent this to you. It matches your dress perfectly.” She laughed. “It’s as if the person knew what colour you’d be wearing. How fortuitous. I know flowers have meanings, I only wish I were clever enough to know some of them.”

Patience looked down at the arrangement. It was beautiful. But who could have sent it? Perhaps a friend, someone who knew she was going to the ball and did not want her to feel embarrassed by being the only lady without a token of admiration. Lorna was right. The colours of the flowers suited her dress so exactly that she had a sneaking suspicion perhaps Lorna had sent it to spare her the humiliation. That was it! Dear Lorna wanted to spare her feelings. She smiled. She would play along with Lorna’s little charade.

“Yes, it does. You did send your Valentine to Lord Blackwood, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” said Lorna. “That was the whole idea, wasn’t it? Why do you ask?”

Patience stared at the exotic blooms in Lorna’s posy. Such bright shades and even such lush flowers must evoke strong feelings. For some reason, the remaining lines of her Valentine had escaped from her mind. Lorna’s exotic posy must be from Lord Blackwood. Pink roses among the other blossoms meant love and passion. It must be so!

“Hurry up,” said Lorna impatiently. “The hack is here.”

Draping their cloaks over their shoulders and affixing their masks with velvet ribbons, they hurried out to the hired carriage and gave the driver the address for Lord Blackwood’s town residence.