“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.”

  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

  Patience 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.

 

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