The Valentine's Day Ball (31 page)

“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.

b

The two weeks until Open Day flew by. Jane was tempted several times to postpone the entire event, but she managed to accomplish all that needed to be done.

Aunt Sophie had returned within a few days after receiving Jane’s missive. Cherry arrived a week before the festivities. She received a chilly greeting from her mother, but they were both too good-natured for it to last. Cherry produced a charming, rose-coloured dress from her trunk and presented it to her mother, who was very shortly hugging her daughter and exclaiming over every ribbon and flounce on Cherry’s new Parisian wardrobe.

Jane was hurrying along the upstairs hall when Cherry called to her. “Jane, please come here. I have a present for you, too.”

“How thoughtful of you, Cherry,” said Jane as she unwrapped the package. Inside lay a beautiful comb and brush with handles carved out of a delicate crystal. “They are beautiful, Cherry. Thank you so much!”

Cherry’s face lit up like a sunbeam. “I’m so glad! It took me days to decide what to get you, Jane. I knew our tastes were dissimilar in fashions, so I didn’t want to choose something you would consider hideous. And though you love to read, a book seemed too impersonal. Then I saw these. You have such beautiful hair. I knew they were perfect for you!”

“Thank you, Cherry for the brush and comb, as well as the compliment.”

Jane’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she quickly excused herself. Shutting the door to her own room, she indulged in a fit of crying. When the tears had been spent, she bathed her face and picked up her schedule of tasks.

b

The day before the gala event, Jane received a letter from her friend Sally. Jane had hoped Sally would simply arrive on her doorstep since she had yet to receive a letter of regrets. But as she read, she discovered she was doomed to disappointment.

Dearest Jane,
I must apologize for waiting so long to reply to your kind invitation, but I was so hoping I could come for a visit. Little Andrew has had the chicken pox, so I was waiting to make sure he was recovered enough for his mummy to leave him. Yesterday, I decided he was indeed restored to health after he took his pony out for a ride without permission--in the streets of London, if you please! His father says the boy is like me!

So, I had the maid pack my clothes while I tended to the hundred and one last details. Then I went to my room to dress. I sat down before the glass and looked at my face. I saw six red dots on my cheeks! Chicken pox! Can you imagine? Let me tell you, it is not amusing! I have spent the morning trying not to scratch, but it is impossible! And, my dear Jane, they appear in the most shocking places!

So, I fear Heartland will be forced to have its Open Day without me. But enough about my ailment. I
’
m beginning to sound like my great-aunt Penelope.

Now, I must catch you up on all the latest on-dits. First of all (since you wrote me not long ago to inquire into the gentleman
’
s background), you
’
ll be interested to know that the former Lord Devlin is now Earl of Cheswick. He and his mother are on their way to York even as I write.

Also, do you remember Geraldine, that hateful, red-haired girl at school? You
’
ll never guess who she has just married! A bishop, no less! It seems that...

Jane finished reading the letter quickly. To be sure, the only fact that interested and distressed her was that Sally wasn’t coming. And Mrs. Peterson? Her journey to York explained why Jane hadn’t received a response to that invitation. She was relieved to know it wasn’t because Drew’s mother had discovered Jane had tried to kill her son!

Still, Open Day had lost some of its sparkle for her. Sally’s silliness and
esprit de vivre
made everyone feel like laughing. Without her, Jane would just be the most proper Miss Lindsay. And while she would be hostess to a veritable army, she would still be alone.

b

Finally the big day came. The guests began arriving in the morning. Jane wore one of her Parisian gowns, a pale peach crepe. When Cherry saw it, she exclaimed over its cut, demanding to know if Jane had discovered a new dressmaker in Bath.

Jane smiled enigmatically. “No, Cherry. I still patronize Mrs. Warner’s shop.” That was true enough. She had been in Bath only two days earlier and had stopped in to speak to Mrs. Warner about a new hat.

Jane turned to greet their first guest. The remainder of the morning was filled with games and relays for the children. Men of all social stations participated in footraces, and some of the young bucks organized a horse race. The ladies played croquet or set a few stitches on their needlework, their gossiping tongues keeping time with their needles. The Dowager Duchess of Wentworth shared a comfortable chat with a farmer’s wife as they discussed topics ranging from the best type of apple for baking to raising children. Sir Humphrey and the squire discussed politics with the village smith. And here and there, groups of fashionable and not-so-fashionable young people laughed and teased, entertaining themselves with childish games like tag and spillikins.

By late afternoon, the lines between the classes became apparent once again. After dark, there was to be dancing under the trees as well as a huge buffet. In preparation for what many considered the highlight of Heartland’s Open Day, everyone was resting—ladies in the bedchambers, farmers’ wives on quilts spread on the green lawn. Napping children shared their pallets with nannies or mothers. The gentlemen played piquet or billiards while sipping port or brandy. The tenant farmer joined the village shopkeeper for a cooling glass of ale.

The sun met the horizon. The lawns were once again busy as the Heartland servants set out the plentiful buffet before joining the merriment.

The orchestra, hired from the Bath Assemblies, began to tune their instruments. Like magic, the guests assembled for the first dance. Following a tradition begun so long ago no one living remembered its origin, Pipkin bowed in front of the elegant Miss Lindsay and requested her hand for the country dance. Anyone not acquainted with the couple might have mistaken them for grandfather and granddaughter, so handsome they were together. At the end of the first refrain, the other guests joined in.

Jane noticed Cherry clinging rather too closely to a young man she didn’t know. “Pipkin, who is that with Miss Cherry?”

“I believe that is Mr. Pope-Jones, miss. He is staying with the squire. I understand Miss Cherry made his acquaintance during her recent sojourn to Paris.”

Before the next dance began, Jane sought out her cousin. Cherry was still in Mr. Pope-Jones’s company, but her mother was also present.

“Jane!” exclaimed Aunt Sophie. “Please, you must tell me what to do!”

“Mama, you act as if we have done something wrong,” whispered Cherry indignantly.

“Mrs. Pettigrew, I assure you…” began the young man.

“Excuse me,” said Jane, breaking into the babble. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Where are your manners, Cherry?” asked Aunt Sophie.

“Jane, this is Mr. Reginald Pope-Jones. My fiancé,” she added defiantly. “Reggie, this is my Cousin Jane.”

The handsome young man made her a creditable bow. “Charmed, Miss Lindsay.”