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.

  Six

  Patience surveyed the glittering scene. She could pick out some acquaintances at a glance. Mamas and other matrons not anticipating any romantic gestures assumed the roles of duennas for the young ladies and did not don Valentine masks. Mrs. Sutcliffe was there to chaperone Sophie, and a number of her friends whose mamas were otherwise engaged. Resplendent in puce, Mrs. Sutcliffe had entered the spirit of the occasion with a glittering peacock fan. Sophie glowed prettily in primrose while talking to a masked gentleman who could only be Viscount Birdwell, judging from Sophie’s evident pleasure. Sophie’s friend, Miss Wicklow, looked ravishing in moss green. Was that Mr. Capshaw she spied bearing down upon Miss Wicklow? Clearly, many aspiring suitors would have their chance tonight to declare their intentions. Most of the guests wore elaborate and intriguing masks. Some masks even depicted birds, animals, or characters. Patience shrank back against the wall next to Mrs. Sutcliffe’s reassuring bulk and clutched her posy.

  “That attitude simply won’t do, Miss Cherwell,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe in a kindly tone.

  Patience jumped. She had been far away in a reverie. “What attitude won’t do, ma’am?”

  “Hiding away as if you’re a wallflower. You look very lovely tonight if I may say so, my dear, and it’s time you shone in company.”

  “W-Why, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Not at all,” said the matron. “I’ve been married to Mr. Sutcliffe for nigh on twenty five years now, and I remember being young and hopeful, waiting for love to tap me on the shoulder.” Her eyes glittered as she bent a steely glance on Patience. “You must mingle and let people see how lovely you are. You should not be so reticent. My beloved grandmother used to say, ‘You’re a long time old, so don’t waste your youth. Enjoy every moment of it.’”

  Henrietta’s identical exhortations echoed in her mind. Everyone was giving her the same advice, but good as it was, it was impossible to follow. She glimpsed someone waving across the room. Then Henrietta materialised next to her, breathless from walking quickly around the dancers.

  “Oh, my dear!” Henrietta clasped her by one hand. “You look delightful.” Her gaze fell upon the posy Patience clutched in the other hand. “So thrilling! Someone has sent you a posy. Oh, a miracle. I knew it would happen. Aha! I see anemone, pansy, violet, and I do declare a yellow iris.”

  Patience looked closer at the posy. Yes, half hidden by the other flowers, a yellow iris peeped out. A single flower. There must be some special meaning. But no, a friend had sent this posy. There was no particular significance to infer from it.

  Henrietta shot her an arch look and tittered with suppressed excitement. She glanced about the room. “Perhaps he will declare himself tonight.”

  “Who?” Patience asked.

  Henrietta cocked her head and widened her eyes as if to indicate how silly Patience was to even ask. “Why, your mystery admirer, of course.”

  She waved her hands about to indicate she carried no token, save for her fan dangling from a ribbon attached to her wrist. “I’m not here for love, of course, what with Mr. Paisley being such a splendid man that no one could hold a candle to him. I’m here to chaperone the Barlow gals—” She pointed discreetly to another part of the ballroom with the end of her fan where the attractive Misses Barlow stood, clasping their posies and gazing around the ballroom with excitement. “They both received such pretty bouquets that their dear mama begged me to attend so I could see who is desirous of approaching her gals.” She clapped her hands. “And no sooner had Mrs. Barlow told her friend, Lady Spenser, but her ladyship desired me to attend on behalf of her daughter, Serena, who received a lovely pink posy.”

  She fanned herself. “All so rushed, of course, but I had an inkling my services would be required so I made sure my dressmaker had made me up something appropriate. One should always be prepared for an unexpected social event.” She glanced at Patience. “And I must say your dressmaker has surpassed herself tonight, my dear. No brown, beige, or dove? What a pleasant surprise.”

  Patience swallowed. “Er…this dress belongs to Lorna.”

  Henrietta let out a trill of laughter. “Lorna Hartley? Not likely. I dare say she never had such a colour in her wardrobe. Miss Hartley only wears strong shades, so she probably had this made especially for you.” She gave an approving nod. “And a very sweet gesture too, after all you have done for her, putting her ambitions before your own.” She touched the posy. “And since the flowers match so becomingly with your dress, I can only assume someone knew what to send you.”

  Patience felt herself go hot and cold. Not Lorna? Then who could have sent the flowers? Oh, please, not someone who would fawn all over her, becoming a nuisance. How would she get rid of him? What should she say? An evening of embarrassment loomed before her. Could she escape before the midnight Valentine waltz? She could not leave Lorna alone at the ball. Oh, what a dreadful situation! Perhaps she could ask Henrietta to chaperone Lorna while she slipped away…

  “Give him a chance. You may find him very agreeable indeed,” said Henrietta.

  “What—?” Patience stammered.

  Henrietta wagged one finger in reprimand. “I know that look. It tells me you already anticipate the worst and are trying to think up an excuse to escape before it happens.”

  Patience squared her shoulders. “I am not!”

  “Hmm.” Henrietta shrugged. “We’ll see if you’re still here by midnight. Oh, here comes your first admirer.”

  Patience had no chance to refuse her prospective partner for, smiling, Henrietta indicated the gentleman should approach. Patience was swept up with someone who romped through a country-dance without fawning over her or trampling on her feet. Pleasantly surprised and a little out of breath, she then agreed to two more dances with a new partner who behaved impeccably, complimented her dress, and finally left her back where she had started with Mrs. Sutcliffe. Another dance with an agreeable partner who found her a chair and a glass of lemonade and engaged her in pleasant small talk before excusing himself to dance with another lady. Glancing across the room, she saw Lorna dancing with a tall, fair-haired man who seemed vaguely familiar. She could not place him, but Lorna seemed to be enjoying his company. She did not have a moment to spare, however, with more dances, more amusing talk, and then it was almost midnight.

  Time had sped by so fast that it could not possibly already be five minutes to twelve. The orchestra conductor tapped with his baton and advised everyone to seek their partners. Already, each man was approaching the object of his affection. Some ladies sat, their shoulders drooping until an admirer approached them, murmured an invitation, and they sprang up, eager to dance. The most important dance of the evening…the Valentine waltz. Patience looked down at where her posy nestled in her lap. A pretty arrangement, and no doubt sent by some well-wisher, possibly even Lorna, but all for nothing.

  “May I have this dance?” A gloved hand extended into her line of vision.

  She looked up to see a tall, well-built man wearing a plain black mask. He smiled and there was something familiar about it. Had she met or seen him before?

  “I think there’s some mistake,” she murmured but the man ignored her protest and swept her into his embrace as the music began. His arms encased her body in a strong grip, one hand pulling her near while the other held her waist. He was too close for comfort. She tried to inch back but met hard muscle as resistance. She gave up fighting what became a very enjoyable experience once she relaxed. Her partner danced superbly, spinning her round with ease and skill. Couples whirled across the floor like brilliant birds-of-paradise, the candlelight sparkling on the women’s jewels and decorations. Myriad colours reflected in the long mirrors for which Lord Blackwood’s ballroom was famous.

  Her companion did not make conversation, and Patience was content to glide across the dance floor, clasped in his arms. She truly did feel as if she were floating, but something else was happening. The man’s nearness, the scent of his cologne, his voice when he had spoken all began to coalesce in her mind. She glanced up at his face, so close to hers. His chin! There was no mistaking the cleft.

  It could not be Lord Blackwood. It should not be Lord Blackwood. It must be someone who closely resembled him. But what if it were? This was a terrible mistake! How had he chosen her for the Valentine waltz instead of Lorna? Lorna twirled past in a cloud of pink, her head thrown back as she laughed at something her partner said. The man she was dancing with had fair hair! She had seen Lorna earlier with the same man. Everyone had blundered tonight. Perhaps the posies had been mixed up. Her heart began to thud. Soon the dance would end, and what was she to say to him? He probably expected to see someone else in her place.

  Somehow, without even seeming to guide her in this direction, her partner danced with her out onto a balcony. One last swirl and the music stopped as the clock began to strike the twelve notes to midnight. This was the signal for each man and woman to remove their partner’s mask. With trembling hands, Patience reached up to pull the ribbons holding the mystery man’s mask. She could feel his hands in her hair, gently untying the ribbons of her own.

  How on earth had she ended up like this? Outside, on a balcony, and somehow pressing her body against the unbelievably attractive man who had danced with her? She tried to take a small step backwards, but his arms tightened around her.

  “Don’t run away, Miss Cherwell.”

  Just the sound of his voice again revealed all. She took the mask from his face and stared into the hazel eyes of the man she loved, the man who smiled at her with such an intimate, warm, compelling smile.

 

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