Valentine's Day (2 page)

Valentine sat down and held out her hands toward the fire. “I daresay I shall get used to a cold climate in time. I had not imagined that spring would be so chilly.”

A footman came in bearing a tray, which he set down beside Valentine. She looked appreciatively at the plate of bread and butter and fruit, and waited while he poured a cup of coffee.

Lord Mountjoy said, “I know that your father was planning for you to come to London and do the season next year. I trust you left him well, that your journey was not because of some misfortune that has struck him?”

“Well, I have to report that poor Papa was eaten by a tiger, and so I am cast alone upon the world, a tragic orphan,” Valentine said.

Lord Mountjoy raised his eyebrows in a polite expression of disbelief. “People do succumb to attacks from wild beasts in places such as India, but I think that your father is a man of too much sense to end his days in the jaws of a tiger.”

“You are perfectly right, of course. My father is well, but there are circumstances—how shall I put this delicately?—matters concerning his domestic arrangements that made him inclined to send me to England sooner rather than later. I am twenty, you know, and so already almost too old to do my first season.”

“Nonsense. However, we have more immediate matters to discuss. I trust you didn’t travel from India with only a bandbox?”

“No, no, I have any number of trunks and boxes, which are being sent on from the docks.”

“Likewise, a maid?”

“Oh, I have no maid,” Valentine said cheerfully. “I had a maid in India, of course—we have a horde of servants there—but I did not feel it fair to bring any of them to England. I hear such tales of the cold and damp, which would not suit those bred to a hotter clime. Besides, I was told that people of a darker complexion are not always well received by their fellow servants, and so I thought it best to wait until I came to London to engage an abigail.”

“I do hope you did not make the sea voyage entirely unaccompanied.” Lord Mountjoy was not one to care much for the conventions, but he was well aware that to have travelled halfway across the world alone would be enough to blight the prospects of any young woman embarking upon her London season.

“You may set your mind at rest. I travelled in the company of Colonel Heron and his wife. They were very against my coming on to Mountjoy House by myself, but I did not share their concern. They live in Dorset, you understand, and were anxious to get home, so I didn’t want to put the colonel to the trouble of bringing me here before resuming his journey.”

Lord Mountjoy frowned. “I can’t believe that Colonel Heron would leave you on your own.”

“He didn’t realize I was on my own, for I pretended I saw a manservant of yours come to meet me. He was distracted just then, as was Mrs. Heron, so I made my escape.”

“You did not walk, I assume.”

“No, of course not. I came in a hackney cab.”

Lord Mountjoy winced. “Unaccompanied? I don’t wish to resume our acquaintance by lecturing you on the folly of such behaviour, but believe me, it will not do. Your father would say the same were he here.”

“You are right, he would be exceedingly angry with me. But he isn’t, which is fortunate. ‘What the eyes don’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over’ is a favourite motto of mine.”

Lord Mountjoy frowned. This was no demure, biddable young woman his old friend had dispatched to England. However, he would leave it to Lady Mountjoy to put her wise on the ways of the world.

“Don’t look so disapproving, because as it happens, I was not without an escort,” Valentine said. “An interfering gentleman who claims to be a friend of yours—he is certainly acquainted with Colonel Heron—insisted on accompanying me. Not in the hackney; he was on horseback, having ridden to the port to bid farewell to some friend of his who sails today.”

Lord Mountjoy didn’t look grateful at this news. “Indeed? Does this enterprising gentleman have a name?”

“Marbeck. He didn’t tell me his Christian name. A tall man, very bossy.”

“Marbeck is his title, he is Lord Marbeck. You were in good hands, and I am obliged to him.”

“I thought you might be, but he wouldn’t stay to be thanked. He says he will do the honour of calling on me, but he may save himself the trouble, as I think him a most disagreeable man.”

Lord Mountjoy was about to reply when his housekeeper, Mrs. Rushworth, came into the room to say that Miss Welburn’s chamber was ready if she would like to come upstairs.

Valentine rose, flashed Mountjoy another of her smiles, dropped a quick curtsy, and departed before she could hear any more about Lord Marbeck.

Chapter Three

A
s soon as Mrs. Rushworth had left, saying that her miss’s boxes and trunks had just been delivered and a maid would be with her directly to unpack her things, Valentine tossed her bonnet on to a chair and flung herself on the bed. She cupped her hands behind her neck and gazed at the ceiling, a sense of wild excitement rising in her. She was in London at last, and weeks and months of pleasure and novelty lay ahead.

Too restless to lie still, in no time at all she was back on her feet and over at the window, looking out on to the square, thinking how elegant it was with its lush green garden and railings, and how pleasant it must be in the garden when it wasn’t raining. For a moment she felt a pang of homesickness for the commodious house in Calcutta, where the gardens were so extraordinarily green and lush after the monsoon, then turned parched and bare as the hot season came. She had flourished in India, a country whose climate and dirt and disease took a heavy toll on the Europeans who visited or settled there. But she had been blessed with robust good health and had survived the ailments of childhood perfectly well. She also had the good fortune to have inherited her mother’s dark colouring, so she never developed the sallow complexion that afflicted so many women who spent any time under the Indian sun.

She liked the look of Lord Mountjoy; her father had always spoken of him with great admiration and affection. Since he had brought her up almost as if she were a son, Valentine had no illusions about what men could be like; her father had told her that in his day, Lord Mountjoy had been notorious for his amorous affairs. “But I hear that since he met and fell in love with Eliza Harvill, he is a changed man,” her father said. “She was an unlikely bride for him, since she doesn’t come from any of the great families into which he might be expected to have married. That may be the reason for the marriage’s success, for it truly must have been a match of affection. You will like him. He is a clever man and does not suffer fools gladly, but he has an energy and an intelligence that you will appreciate. He will take good care of you, or rather Lady Mountjoy will, for the main task of taking you into society will be hers. Of course, you are not exactly coming out, since you have already been attending dances and dinners here in India, but it will still be your first London season. And you must be careful how you go on. You have been allowed a degree of latitude here in India—perhaps I have been at fault in that—which will be frowned upon in the rather more formal society of London.”

“Oh, I intend to behave and enjoy myself immensely. I shall buy a great many new clothes and ruin you, and I am sure that I will make many friends.”

That was probably true, for she had a happy spirit, and her frank and open personality endeared her to like-minded people. But Welburn was shrewd enough and remembered enough of life in England to feel a slight apprehension that his daughter’s forthright ways and lively manners might not be altogether appreciated in England. However, he was not a man to worry over what he could do nothing about, and so he had said a fond farewell to Valentine and, with a sense of relief, settled back into his own slightly complicated life, able now to spend as much time as he wished in the company of a delightful Indian woman.

There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Rushworth came back in, accompanied by a maid carrying a jug of water. “I’m sure, miss, that you would wish to refresh yourself after your journey. This is Jenny, who will look after you for the time being.”

Jenny, a slight girl with big brown eyes, bobbed a curtsy and said she would be very happy to help unpack.

It was with some astonishment that she did so, for while there were many fine muslins and lengths of wonderful silks, Miss Welburn appeared to have few gowns.

Valentine saw her surprise and explained, “We are behind the times in India. I know when people come out from England they always exclaim at how old-fashioned and dowdy we are. So I thought it best to bring lengths of material that can be made up here. One of my first tasks will be to find myself a good dressmaker.”

Jenny, carefully taking out a length of heavy cream silk and sighing with admiration, said, “Lady Mountjoy has her gowns made by Cerise, so perhaps she will take you there.”

“And I will need hats and shoes and gloves and all kinds of things. I shan’t have to buy parasols, for I brought several of those; although I am sure that the sun never shines in England, so perhaps I will not need them.”

Jenny looked at her, saw from her dancing eyes that she was joking, and permitted herself a little giggle. Then she caught herself up and returned to the serious business of unpacking the boxes. She exclaimed with delight at the shifts and chemises, all made of the finest lawn and silk.

Later, Jenny told her fellow servants, who were fascinated by the new arrival, that Miss Valentine did have some beautiful things: lengths and lengths of material, enough for dozens of dresses.

One of the footmen said it was to be hoped that she would get herself rigged out in them as soon as possible. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw her standing on the doorstep; such a fright she looked, with her hair all over the place.”

“She intends to have her hair cut in the latest style,” Jenny said primly. “That will make a big difference.”

Chapter Four

I
t was not to be expected that the arrival of a young person of attractive appearance at the residence of Lord Mountjoy would escape the notice of polite society. Before the day was out, rumours were flying around London as to what his lordship was up to while his wife was languishing in the north.

“Poor Lady Mountjoy is marooned up there at Mountjoy Castle with her children, while Lord Mountjoy gets up to his old tricks in London as though he were still a bachelor. My heart goes out to her, I assure you, but I always said that marriage would end in tears,” Mrs. Jessington said to her husband.

Arthur Jessington was a sterner moralist. “Were he still a bachelor, it would be an outrageous thing to take a young woman into his house—flaunting a mistress, in fact. He must be lost to all sense of propriety; it is altogether reprehensible.”

Mrs. Jessington was leaving the very next morning for Yorkshire, and she at once decided that she would break her journey in Eyotshire. Her dearest friend, Eliza Mountjoy, would be happy to put her up for a night or two, and it was only right that she be informed of what scandalous mischief her lord and master was up to while her back was turned.

Meanwhile, unaware of the scandal flying about town, Lord Mountjoy attended to some business affairs and then sat down to write to his wife, informing her of his goddaughter’s arrival.

You will have heard me speak of her father, Philip Welburn, an old acquaintance of mine. His wife, Valentine’s mother, died when the child was barely out of the nursery. He has spent most of his life in India, first with the East India Company and then making what I gather is a very substantial fortune on his own account. I last saw him some dozen or so years ago, when he paid a visit to England, and we correspond occasionally. I do not yet know what are the circumstances that have caused him to send Valentine to England this year instead of next, but I daresay when you come to London, you will be able to get the truth out of her. And this letter is to beg you, my dearest Eliza, to make the trip to London sooner than you had intended. Valentine will need a woman’s attention. In particular, I do not think they are up-to-date with the fashions in India, and while I do not pretend to be anything of an expert on female attire, other than to admire, it is obvious to me (and to a scandalised Mrs. Rushworth) that her clothes are unsuitable for a London season. Besides, her sudden arrival at Mountjoy House will inevitably cause a deal of comment and gossip. She came without a maid, having travelled alone from the docks in a hackney cab, quite unconcerned. She appears to be a resourceful young lady, who will need your guidance if she is not to fall into some scrape or other. I look forward, dear heart, to seeing you again as soon as may be possible. Your affectionate Mountjoy.

He laid aside the letter with other correspondence to be sealed and franked; however, it was caught up in his business papers, and it was not until two days later that it was discovered and dispatched by express to Eyotshire.

Chapter Five

E
liza Mountjoy was far from pleased to see Anna Jessington. She knew her to be a shallow creature with a vicious tongue; she was fashionable, sought-after, and influential, mostly on account of what she might say if she weren’t flattered and indulged. Eliza suspected that she had at one time had a
tendre
for Lord Mountjoy, as so many women had.

But Eliza put a smile on her face and went down to greet her unwelcome guest with every appearance of delight, saying mendaciously that of course she was enchanted to see her.

Mrs. Jessington kissed the air beside Eliza’s face, exclaiming, “So happy if I can stay for a night or two.”

Thank goodness she did not have a longer visit in mind. Eliza took her into the morning room, rather than her own sitting room, and settled down to make polite conversation. “Where did you lie last night? You say you are on your way to Yorkshire, to Harrogate; do you plan to take the waters? Are you not quite well?”

Mrs. Jessington had a particularly irritating laugh, and it rang round the room now. “Oh no, I am perfectly well. I am always well, as you know. I have an aged aunt who lives in Harrogate, my late father’s sister, and I feel obliged to see her two or three times a year.” Another tinkling laugh. “Such a dull place, Harrogate, so dowdy. And my aunt, I assure you, is as dull as the town she lives in. You will understand the necessity of my visits when I tell you that she is extremely rich, and it is always best to keep in well with one’s rich relations, don’t you agree?”