The Valentine's Day Ball (32 page)

Jane hardly noticed, so shocked was she by Cherry’s revelation. “How do you do?” asked Jane automatically. Before Mr. Pope-Jones could evince a response, Jane took Cherry by the arm, saying, “I want a word with you.”

She led her reluctant cousin away from the other guests. They settled on a stone bench at the edge of the gardens.

“I know what you will say,” pouted Cherry.

“Good, then you probably have already thought of the answers. Tell me about your fiancé.”

“Reginald comes from an excellent family.” Jane nodded, and Cherry continued, her defensive words coming faster. “He is the eldest of three. He will inherit an agreeable estate on his father’s death. He already receives a yearly income of two thousand from his investments.”

“Investments?”

“Yes, it is the most fascinating thing, Jane, but he knows exactly what and when to buy and sell. He is really brilliant,” said Cherry in awe-struck tones.

Jane smiled. If she hadn’t heard it with her own ears, she wouldn’t have believed Cherry would look beyond the surface at anyone. And here she was, describing Mr. Pope-Jones’s brilliance at the first opportunity. Jane began to listen more keenly.

“Mother thinks we haven’t known each other long enough. Jane, you must persuade her; she will heed your advice.”

“About what, precisely, do you need me to persuade Aunt Sophie?”

“That it is quite proper for us to become betrothed so quickly and that we may announce our betrothal this evening!” Cherry’s eyes shone like diamonds, her face radiating happiness. Jane nodded her assent and received a crushing hug.

b

The guests were gone or sleeping in one of the many bedchambers. The house was silent as the ormolu clock on the mantel in her room chimed four o’clock in the morning. Jane forced herself to close her eyes and rid her mind of all thought. Gradually, she relaxed, and sleep overtook her.

Jane slept late. Many of her overnight guests had already departed for their homes. She ignored the morning gown Tucker had laid out. Instead, Jane donned her oldest, most comfortable riding habit. She paid a quick visit to her old nurse. Though Nana refused to leave her room, she still expected to hear all the details about Open Day. Jane remained only a few moments, promising to return that evening.

Jane tripped lightly down the back stairs and out to the stables. James threw her into the saddle and prepared to mount his own horse when Jane waved him away, insisting on riding alone like old times.

She rode to the abbey. Though she was careful to stay clear of the high, crumbling walls, she renewed her acquaintance with every nook and cranny except, of course, for Brother Valentine’s tomb. Like an exorcist, she resolutely banished her memories of Drew from the ruins.

An hour later, she rubbed Sinbad’s velvety nose and fed him a carrot before climbing on a fallen stone and remounting.

“Well, old fellow, it’s just you and I now. Or soon will be. Cherry will be married next spring. Aunt Sophie will probably go and live with her and Mr. Pope-Jones when they return from their wedding trip. I’m not complaining. It is quite peaceful at home by myself. And I certainly have interests to pursue and friends to visit. But sometimes, I wonder…”

The big horse never did learn what his mistress wondered, for Jane dug in her heels and off they went.

b

Drew shut the last drawer with a sigh of relief.

“That should do it, Lord Cheswick,” said the lawyer, straightening the small mound of papers on the old desk.

“Good! I never realized what a prolific letter writer my uncle was.”

“Oh, yes indeed! That’s how he kept abreast of all the latest details in society. Now, I must be going, unless you have other questions?”

“No, Mr. Pender. I want to thank you for all your help these past weeks. Not being familiar with my uncle’s business affairs, I’m afraid I would have made a sad botch of matters.”

“Not at all, my lord. I have every confidence that the Cheswick estate will remain in prime case. And please, let me know when you will arrive in London. The house there has been shut up for so long, it will take an army of maids to clean it. I’ll go ahead and hire the main staff, then you may make any changes you wish when you arrive.”

“Good. I won’t keep you. I know you are anxious to begin your journey.” Drew shook hands with the solicitor.

Sitting back down behind his uncle’s—no, he reminded himself,
his
—desk, Drew felt a great rush of relief. Finally, it was over. There would be no more funeral visits, no more solicitors. He could relax now in his own home.

A moment later, he was drumming his fingers on the smooth desktop. Then he stood up and took a turn about the room. Idly, he studied the titles of the books on one shelf. He moved to the window where a steady rain was falling. If only he could go for a ride, this restlessness would leave him.

Drew returned to the desk and sat down. The dark, shiny surface was vacant; all evidence of his uncle’s affairs had been neatly summed up and stored. The estate was in excellent condition. The house was in no need of repairs.

Even if I could go for a ride, there would be nothing to do, nothing to accomplish.

“Drew, dear? Has Mr. Pender gone?” asked his mother from the doorsill.

“Yes, we have finally finished.”

“Good, I know you are glad of that. Luncheon is ready.”

“At least that will give me something to do,” he grumbled.

His mother cocked her head to one side and studied her son carefully. “You are bored!” she exclaimed.

“Am I? Perhaps you are right, Mother.” He escorted her to the small dining room. A large tray of cold meats and cheeses occupied the centre of the cosy table. A tureen of steaming rarebit stew and a basket of hot scones completed the simple repast.

“The signs are obvious, my dear.”

“I ask you, Mother, is it any wonder? I must admit I misjudged my uncle in one respect. He may have treated us badly, but he was an excellent landowner. His tenants prosper, his land is well tended, and his house is in perfect repair. Mr. Pender told me that even the house in London receives a yearly inspection from the handyman.”

“Yes, Rupert managed everything and everyone. Still, the house in London has been empty for fifteen years or more. In that time, carpets fade; upholstery grows brittle. I’m afraid we will have a great deal of work to do there.”

“Do you think so?” asked Drew eagerly.

“Oh, yes. I would be happy to help. Besides, now that you have inherited the title, you will want to take your seat in the House of Lords. I understand that any man with political aspirations simply must have a wife to act as his hostess, so you will want the town house ready for her.”

“This is one politician who won’t. You’ll just have to act as my hostess,” he sad, grinning at her.

“What? You mean I am to be denied my grandchildren?”

“Mother! Please, the servants!”

His mother, who had not so long before been little more than the housekeeper at Cheswick House, knew very well that the servants were probably listening. But she also knew these servants. They would never allow what they overheard to leave the house.

“Drew, I have heard enough. You have been moping around this house for the past month. You are depressing to be with, my dear.”

“Thank you so much,” he snapped.

She patted his hand. “You’re welcome, for only someone who cares would dare tell you these things. Drew, go to London. I’ll come along, too. We’ll trick the town house out in the finest style. And then you may drive me back to Bath, return Jane’s pendant, settle down together, and give me a houseful of grandchildren!”

Drew stood up so abruptly that he knocked over the heavy chair, the sound reverberating through the walls. He picked it up, gripping the back of it, and asked, “Do you think it would be so easy? For God’s sake, Mother, she shot me!”

“And so would I if you appeared all of a sudden in my bed.”

“Mother, I was not
in
her bed!”

“Very well then,
on
her bed. The poor thing had just come to realize someone wanted her dead. How could she be thinking straight?”

“Ha! Poor thing? Jane?” he scoffed. Then he was silent, thoughtful.

“It will take at least five months to redecorate that monster of a house. Jane will have thought things through by then. She will be missing you, Drew. We’ll return to Bath, and…”

Drew smiled, a tentative expression, neither full of despair or hope. “And she will fall into my arms.”

“If she doesn’t, my dear Drew, you’ll just be forced to pull her into them!”

Chapter Eleven

J
ane smiled and waved until the carriage was out of sight. Pulling her shawl close, she hurriedly returned to the warm house. As she set a chair closer to the fire, she reflected that December had been a cold, dismal month to this point, far colder than usual.

As a matter of fact, the Christmas season promised to be different, too, and the weather suited her mood. She would be alone for the first time in her life on Christmas. Oh, not truly alone. Friends would drop by, or she could call out the carriage and pay visits to neighbours—by herself.

“What on earth is the matter with me?” Jane looked around sheepishly Good! She had closed the salon door. It would not do for sharp-eared Pipkin to think she’d taken to talking to herself. “Which you have,” she added aloud once more.

Jane laughed. Now she was being maudlin. Perhaps she should have gone with her aunt and Cherry to the Pope-Joneses’ for Christmas. But somehow, it hadn’t appealed to her. Was she jealous of Cherry’s happiness? She didn’t think so. Rather, it was the fact that Jane felt Christmas should be a time for family and close friends, not an excuse for an awkward social institution like a house party.

So here I am, looking around the empty gold salon.

Enough of this! Jane stood up and pulled the bell.

“Pipkin, tell the stables to send round the carriage. I’m going shopping.”

“Very good, miss.”

b

Jane spent the remainder of the morning and the early afternoon searching for little gifts for every staff member at Heartland as well as each tenant’s children. With Tucker’s wise council, she felt she acquitted herself very well. She selected a new Bible for Pipkin, who tended to wear them out. She purchased a box of sweets and some handkerchiefs for Nana, and for Mrs. Brown, a journal of blank pages, so the cook could record her recipes. For the maids and footmen, she selected small tokens. Finally, Jane shopped for the children of her tenants. She bought lengths of soft rope to make jump ropes for the girls, and Tom Summers offered to add painted wooden handles to the ends of each one. For the boys, she had wooden tops, and for the babies, warm blankets. And for all of them, she had an ample supply of sweets. Shopping for the children was the most fun of all.

With her purchases loaded in the carriage, Jane said, “Now, Tucker, I have one more gift to select, and you cannot be with me.”

Her maid smiled. “I was thinking th’ same thing, Miss Jane.”

Maid and mistress parted company on Milsom Street. Jane lingered where she was, peering into the pastry shop window..... When Tucker was out of sight, she stepped two doors down and entered the linen draper’s shop. She had just settled on a blue shawl of the finest weave when a familiar voice interrupted her train of thought.

“No, I wanted a navy blue. That is too light.”

Jane followed the sound and soon found the voice’s owner. “Mrs. Peterson, I didn’t know you had returned to Bath!”

“Only yesterday, Jane. How nice to see you again. You look wonderful! I must ask you about Miss Pettigrew.” Faith Peterson turned to the clerk and said, “I shall come back an- other time, young man. Let’s go have some tea, Jane.”

“I would love to.” She handed the clerk her selection. “Wrap this up tight for me, please. I’ll come back for it later.”

“Very good, Miss Lindsay.”

When they were settled at a dainty table at Jolly’s Pastry Shop, Mrs. Peterson said, “I saw the notice in the paper about Miss Pettigrew’s betrothal. She must be very happy.”

“She is. I believe it is truly a love match. It rather shocked my aunt and me. Cherry has always been such a flibbertigibbet. But she is quite devoted to Mr. Pope-Jones.”

“A good family, the Pope-Joneses, I mean.”

“Yes, she and my aunt are spending Christmas at their country home.”

“Were you not invited?” asked Mrs. Peterson.

“Yes, but I declined. This is Cherry’s moment. Besides, I can’t think of anything worse than spending Christmas with strangers.”

“Spending it alone is definitely worse. I know,” said the older woman. “Well, it shan’t be. You will come to my house for Christmas dinner. Then neither one of us will be alone.”

Jane hesitated, wanting to ask if Drew would be present but not daring. She knew Mrs. Peterson was not above matchmaking, but she wouldn’t lie if asked a direct question. Finally Jane mustered enough nerve to ask, “Will Drew be there?”

“No, I’m afraid not. That is why you coming would keep me from becoming moped. I do so hate to be alone at Christmas.”

The sorrow in Faith’s tones made Jane ask anxiously, “He’s not ill or anything, is he?” What if he had died from the pistol shot?

Chuckling, Mrs. Peterson patted Jane’s hand and said, “Of course he’s not, my dear. He’s in York, and he has recovered completely.”

“I…you mean Drew told you about…?”

“Yes, he couldn’t hide it from me. When first I saw him, I noticed his hair was combed strangely. I soon had the whole story. I do hope it taught you not to sleep with guns under your pillow.”

“No. That is, I don’t usually do such things, but it was a strange inn, and I was travelling alone.”

“And someone had tried to take your life,” whispered Mrs. Peterson, after looking around to be certain no one was eavesdropping.

“Not someone,” said Jane quietly. “It was my cousin, Roland. I have come to realize that in the past months.”

“Have you?” Her tone was incredulous. Jane returned a puzzled look. “Then why on earth haven’t you written to Drew, you foolish child? He has been the worst bear, always cross!”

“I didn’t suppose he would care. If you could have seen the look on his face before we said goodbye, you would agree.”

“Nonsense, Jane!” Mrs. Peterson stopped. Lowering her voice, she added, “He had just been shot, Jane. How should he have looked? Never mind, you will write to him today?”

“No!”

“Then I will.”

“No, please, Mrs. Peterson. I couldn’t do such a thing, and neither will you. The circumstances have changed!” Jane whispered frantically.

“Changed? In what way?”

“Drew is now the Earl of Cheswick. He will think it strange that I’ve changed my mind. He and everyone else will think I am marrying him for his title.”

“Jane, I can’t argue with you about what the world will think. You are no doubt more versed than I am in the ways of the
ton
. But you must ask yourself if the opinion of the world is worth losing a lifetime of happiness. Drew loves you. He would gladly give up his title and the estates if you would be his wife. Has he not spent the last five months putting up with tradesmen and workers, trying to get his town house ready for you?”

“He has? But why? Why would he simply assume I would come running at the drop of the hat? I haven’t heard a word from him!”

“And you won’t. Drew is a proud man, very dictatorial. He is more like his late uncle than he would care to admit. You know what he is—he takes charge of the least detail of one’s life. I tell you, I wouldn’t choose such a man. But there is a depth of feeling in him that is so precious, so out of the ordinary. And, I suppose, all of his overbearing ways are worth this—at least for someone of your strong character. You will be able to stand up to him. I daresay you’ll lead him a merry dance.”

Mrs. Peterson’s eyes had grown misty, but Jane was growing impatient. “But I cannot simply write to him!”

“No, but I can.”

b

“It’s anthrax, my lord. No doubt about it. We’ll have to destroy the entire herd and burn the carcasses.”

Drew stared at the field of cattle. Most of them appeared healthy still, but he knew it was only a question of time before each one sickened and died.

“Then do it,” he said. Turning on his heel, he climbed on his horse and rode away without a backward glance.

When he had been summoned back to York by his capable estate manager, he had hoped the man was mistaken. But after viewing a bonfire of dead livestock as he passed one of the neighbouring estates, he knew the worst had come true.

For the gentry, the epidemic would mean a loss of income; for the labourers, it spelled death. If their milk cow died, they faced starvation. And worse, perhaps, the workers themselves could contract the deadly disease.

When Drew reached the manor house, he shut himself up in his study and composed a letter to his mother, explaining that he would remain in York for several weeks. He knew she would be disappointed he would be away for Christmas.

b

For Jane, Christmas was indeed different, but in a delightful way. Drew’s mother had exaggerated when she had told Jane she would be alone on Christmas. She had invited twenty-six people to her dinner. Guessing games and singing were the entertainment of the afternoon. After dinner, guests were invited to participate in an exchange of gifts. The gifts had to be created, however, for Faith Peterson hadn’t warned anyone about this plan.

Everyone drew names; they then had a half hour to find a gift. Jane had drawn Giles Stanton’s name. She thought and thought and was about to give up when her frustrated gaze fell on Lydia Ashmore. Slowly, she smiled. She took Miss Ashmore aside and asked permission to write on a card the gift of one kiss from Lydia. The young lady blushed, but laughed and agreed.

When they reassembled in the drawing room, the merry exchange began. The Dowager Duchess of Wentworth began by handing a card to her friend and hostess. Faith began giggling as she read it aloud.

“I give you, my oldest friend, a piece of advice. Never accept an invitation to a dinner unless you first discover if the hostess has planned some inane form of entertainment.”

“I protest, Your Grace,” said Giles Stanton. “I think this a very good sort of game.”

“I suppose so, since you cheated and drew Miss Ashmore’s name,” said the dowager.

“You next, Giles,” said Jane. He grinned. From his pocket, he produced a small velvet box. Lydia Ashmore gasped and looked to her parents for guidance as she opened it.

“Well, what is it, girl?” asked the dowager.

“A ring, a pearl ring,” she whispered.

“Will you accept it, Miss Ashmore?” asked Giles.

“I…” She looked at her father.

“Go on, Lydia. I’ve spoken to your young man.”

Giles placed the ring on her finger and might have kissed her in front of everyone if Jane hadn’t interrupted. “I should give you your present now, Giles.” He was none too pleased, but he took the card with a smile.

Reading it aloud, he said, “With the young lady’s permission, your gift is a kiss from Miss Ashmore.”

Everyone started laughing as Giles claimed his present.

Next, it was Jane’s turn. Faith also brought out a velvet jewellery box. As she handed it to Jane, she explained, “I cheated, also, Jane. I had this for you all along. Actually, it is not from me. It is something Drew found.”

Jane opened the box gingerly.

“Hurry up, girl!” snapped the dowager.

She stared at the contents of the box. The pendant. The Heartland pendant. It could be no other.

“How?” she whispered.

“He found it at a pawnshop. Someone told him where it might be found,” explained Drew’s mother softly. “Let me put it on you.”

“No, no. Not now, I am too overwhelmed. Thank you.” Holding the box tightly in her hand, Jane watched the rest of the gifts being exchanged. She would look up suddenly and discover Drew’s mother watching her, but she still was too stunned to seek an explanation.

When all the guests were taking their leave, Jane found a moment to be alone with Mrs. Peterson to ask, “Was there any message?”

“Only that he hoped this would make you happy until he could speak to you again, face to face.”

Impetuously, Jane hugged her. Then she hurried out to the waiting carriage.

b

Drew settled back against the comfortable squabs of the carriage. Had the weather been better, he would have taken his curricle, but not across York, not in the winter. Still, there was something to be said for being driven. He would arrive in Bath feeling jostled but not exhausted.

He had been anticipating this journey for six weeks, from the day just before Christmas when he had received his mother’s encouraging letter. He had been like a lion caged, unable to leave immediately. But the epidemic of anthrax had spread throughout the region—entire herds of sheep had been slaughtered, and still it spread. Then the terrible blizzard had hit. Food was scarce; people were starving, his people. Drew had been obliged to remain, even after the roads had become passable once more. Finally, the crisis had passed, and he had been free to leave.

He had received numerous letters from his mother, each containing glowing pictures of his and Jane’s future together. Being a realist, Drew had taken this with a grain of salt. He was unwilling to trust his optimistic parent in this. She was probably exaggerating, he had cautioned himself more than once. Jane may have realized he hadn’t been behind all her accidents, but that didn’t mean she was ready to spend the rest of her life with him.

So he had determined to journey to Bath at the earliest opportunity to gauge Jane’s feelings. Unfortunately for Drew’s patience, this earliest opportunity was the second week of February.

b

Jane began to avoid Drew’s mother. She knew Mrs. Peterson meant well, but Jane doubted her veracity after receiving neither a visit nor a letter. The older woman’s continuous promises of Drew’s devotion had begun to ring hollow as the weeks passed.

Jane threw herself into the preparations for Heartland’s Valentine’s Ball with a feverish energy. Cherry helped, but her fiancé was staying with the squire again, and she was often to be found in his company.

Two days before the ball, Jane sent Cherry to inspect the hothouse flowers with the head gardener. Two hours later, Jane set out to search for her cousin. She discovered her and Mr. Pope-Jones holding hands in the summerhouse, a cosy fire keeping them warm.

Her Aunt Sophie was also proving elusive. With Cherry’s nuptials scheduled for the first week of April, little else interested Sophie Pettigrew. Jane would set her to making a list of chores for the maids and would return an hour later to discover a list of additional guests for Cherry’s wedding.

Jane threw up her hands in defeat. Then an inspiration hit her. She had been so busy she hadn’t found any time to make up the anonymous valentines for the wallflowers. Jane gathered up all the necessary materials in a box and carried them to the summerhouse.

“Cherry, I have another chore for you, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Jane! I’m sorry, I forgot about the hothouse flowers. I’ll take care of that right now.”