Valentine's Day (5 page)

“You had best go and ask her for a dance, then. Everyone in the room will by now know the size of her fortune, and there will be no getting near her.”

“Oh, I have plenty of address, and besides, I can claim her as an old acquaintance.”

Which he shortly did, shouldering his way through the little throng of people who were gathered around Valentine, bowing with an indolent air, and saying, “I cannot hope that you will remember me, Miss Welburn.”

He quizzed her with his eyes. She flushed, lowered her own eyes, caught her lip, and then, recovering, said, “Why, Captain Brindley, what an uncommon pleasure to meet you again. Of course, I remember you well.”

Very well indeed, for this was a man she had once lost her heart to—or thought she had. A dashing captain with the reputation of being a gallant officer, he was a general favourite in Calcutta: handsome in his regimentals, well liked by fellow officers, a good dancer, an agreeable companion. Her father, wiser in the ways of the world, had warned her against him. “Everyone likes him, but he does not have a reputation for being a good friend in adversity, and his gallantry in the field has sometimes been at the expense of his own men. You must be aware that people are very often taken at their own valuation, and while he may be good to dance with, do not be taken in by him.”

Those words of advice only made her more determined to like Captain Brindley, and during that season they rode together on the maidan and danced and went on expeditions, always properly chaperoned and accompanied, until she was in a fair way to falling in love with him. She knew her father wouldn’t give his consent, and since she was eighteen, she couldn’t marry without his permission. An elopement was spoken of, and Valentine, ignoring the warnings of her mind, was all set to follow her heart into making a fateful decision.

Then an officer in Richard Brindley’s regiment—an older, more experienced man—took the opportunity to ride with Valentine one morning and told her some things about Captain Brindley that, unlike her father’s warning, cast doubts into her mind. Brindley, he said, was a fortune hunter, a man with heavy debts, a gamester with a damaging reputation where women were concerned. “In short, Valentine, you will not be offended when I tell you that he is not the kind of man of which good husbands are made. I fear you may be planning to throw your bonnet over the windmill, as the saying is, and I most strongly advise you not to. Apart from the distress it would bring your father, such a connection will bring you nothing but unhappiness.”

“Are you saying that if I had not my fortune, he would not be showing any interest in me?”

“It is right for every man to marry to his advantage, but I think his dealings with women have been unfortunate. I will be blunt: there have been stories of violence that he has shown toward women. He has a dominating nature, and there are some men who like to inflict pain. I would be very distressed to see you tied to such a man.”

Valentine had not been convinced; she thought the colonel had been put up to this by her father. Then word reached her of how Captain Brindley had beaten a dog, and she remembered the colonel’s words. A man who would beat any powerless creature must be contemptible, and she could see it would not be so great a step from beating a dog to beating a woman, even a wife.

She had known a woman, married to a government official, who would appear with faint bruises, always the result of a fall or her clumsiness, but Valentine’s father had told her that it was not so. She had been horrified and angry at this revelation. “It should not be allowed. The man should be taken into custody, and his wife must leave him.”

Her father had said, sombrely for him, that it was almost impossible for a wife to escape an unhappy marriage; particularly so far from home, without any family to take issue with her husband and protect her. “That is why marriage is a serious business, Valentine, my dear. You put your well-being—and, indeed, your life—into the hands of a man when you marry, so you must make quite sure that he is to be trusted.”

Now, in London, Valentine danced with Sir Richard, for she felt it would have looked singular not to do so. He seemed to have made the same good impression here as he had in India: He was greeted by everyone with smiles and cheerful words, he was suave and polished, and told her that she must not address him as Captain Brindley. “I sold out, you know, upon coming into a title and inheritance. I am now Sir Richard, and I have a pleasant estate with an old manor house. I hope you will do me the honour of paying me a visit there one day, for it is only a short ride out of London.”

Valentine smiled politely, but knew she did not want to renew the acquaintance more than common politeness demanded. Any feelings she had for Brindley had perished utterly on that unforgettable day in far-off Calcutta when the veil had fallen from her eyes. So she smiled and said he was very obliging.

Lord Marbeck said to Lady Mountjoy, “Your protégé seems to be enjoying Sir Richard’s company.”

Eliza’s mouth tightened, “I expect they are old acquaintances from India, but that is not a friendship I wish to see prosper.”

He raised an eyebrow and said, “You are a woman of great good sense, Lady Mountjoy. I would not like to see any woman in the clutches of Sir Richard. His reputation—”

“I know something of his reputation—not from my own experience, I hasten to add, but from what Mountjoy has told me. But I cannot see that Valentine is taken in by him. She is not dancing with the ease or the good humour that she showed when she was dancing with you.”

Chapter Nine

T
he season got properly under way, the weather improved, and Valentine’s life was a round of dances and balls, picnics, routs, and expeditions to Richmond and Hampton Court, to Ranelagh and Vauxhall Gardens. She made friends mostly among the young women in their second or third season or the younger married women, for the newest and youngest debutantes, only recently emerged from the protection of their governesses, bored her. Her unusual upbringing, and the independence she had been granted by her father, had given her an ease in company and a confidence that was unusual among the young ladies making their debuts. It caused some murmurings, but she was accepted by the patronesses of Almack’s. And then there was the fortune, so what would not have been forgiven in some young miss of seventeen was regarded with tolerance in Valentine’s case.

Among the men, her friendships were more wary. She liked to flirt and felt her power over men, but always in her mind was the memory of that unhappy relationship with Richard Brindley. It had left her, if not physically bruised, not able easily to trust any man. For his part, Brindley retained an easy friendship with her, not appearing intent on making an effort to fix his interest with her again.

When Valentine taxed him with this, daring to speak quite bluntly, he said, “I had my chance, but you were too young then and I should not have pressed my suit. That is no reason why we should not remain friends; after all, I share your love of India. By the by, perhaps you have heard that the Everetts are returning from Calcutta. I daresay you will remember them.”

Valentine exclaimed with delight at this news; the Everetts had been good friends of hers and her father’s. “I had no idea, there was no mention of it when I left Calcutta. I hope nothing is amiss?”

“I believe that Mrs. Everett is expecting another child, and they feel that the Indian climate is not suitable for an infant. Moreover, Everett’s uncle died, so he has family matters to attend to. It may be that they will settle in England and not return to India.”

In the midst of this round of pleasures, Valentine saw little of Lord Marbeck, although when he was present at a soirée, he always came over to converse with her and ask how she did, and he usually stood up with her if they were at a ball. Her early dislike of him had quite vanished, and she felt she could come not only to like him, but to risk something deeper than that. So she was wary of him more than of any other man of her acquaintance. He aroused in her those feelings that had almost been her downfall with Captain Brindley, and that affair had taught her to keep a strong guard on her affections.

Lord Mountjoy spoke of Marbeck as a man busy with government affairs. He was active in politics and took his seat in the Lords for important debates, and although he took part in the season’s activities, there were many evenings when Valentine looked for him in vain. Lady Mountjoy had remarked upon it: “Like Mountjoy, he is much occupied with affairs of state, and therefore his time is not always his own.”

Valentine was annoyed with herself for being so pleased to see Marbeck arrive for a party Lady Mountjoy was giving at Mountjoy House. It was a select gathering, a few of their closest friends, and soon after he had made his appearance, Lord Marbeck was at her side. “I saw you riding in the park this morning; it isn’t customary for young ladies to ride out so early in the day.”

“You obviously do; I am sorry I did not see you.”

“I was just finishing my ride. I take my exercise early, as I have little time later in the day. And I prefer to ride then, when the park is not as crowded as it becomes at the more fashionable hour.”

“I was used to ride early in the morning in India, before the heat became oppressive. I find it delightful at that time of the day, with a mist still hanging over the park. However,” she added with a sigh, “I do long to gallop, for it shakes the fidgets out of me, but I know it is not at all the thing. And besides, galloping side-saddle is not the same—”

“Never tell me you rode astride in India?”

“Shocked, Lord Marbeck? I did indeed. My father brought me up very much as a son, and so when I was younger and we were upcountry and out of sight of censorious eyes, I often dressed in breeches and rode my pony astride. It was much more comfortable and sensible. Of course, it would not do back in Calcutta. There I had to ride out with my groom, all decorum.”

“Life must seem different for you here in London, but I believe you are enjoying the season?”

“Yes, I am. I find it a great delight. I love the parties, and there are so many interesting people.”

Marbeck raised his eyebrows. “I would not list interesting people among the delights of the London season. It seems to me that most people are dead bores.”

“You are perfectly right, but there is so much enjoyment to be had from observing people. One may see friendships formed and broken. Then there are mamas anxious to find husbands for their daughters, young ladies on the lookout for likely husbands, and young men careful not to pay too much attention where their intentions are not serious. It’s all a
comédie humaine
that must delight anyone possessed of a sense of humour.”

“I think you have a very good sense of humour, if I may say so, Miss Welburn.”

Chapter Ten

T
hey met again the following night, this time at a great ball, where Eliza noticed with appreciation how well Valentine was looking, quite magnificent in a new gown of gold silk and spangled net. A trifle daring for a single young lady, but it certainly suited her, and she was quietly pleased to see Valentine’s hand claimed by Lord Marbeck for the opening dance.

Sir Richard watched them as Valentine turned her head to smile at something Lord Marbeck was saying, and his eyes narrowed. He said to Lady Amelia, “You will lose him yet. I think Lord Marbeck is growing a good deal too fond of Miss Welburn. I fear attraction is ripening into a deeper affection.”

Lady Amelia had been brought up from earliest childhood to smile, but now her mouth tightened into a more natural line. “She shan’t have him, not if I have anything to do with it. Sir Richard, cannot you persuade her that you would make her a good husband? You have so much address, you charm all the ladies of your acquaintance. And while your private life might not bear much inspection, that is another matter entirely between you and your conscience.”

“My word, Lady Amelia, if you speak like this to Lord Marbeck, you will certainly scupper all your chances of snaffling him as a husband.”

“I would not be so stupid. I have no wish to have you as a husband, and so I may speak as I like to you.”

“I should very much like to get my ring on her finger; partly as revenge for making a fool of me in India, but mostly for her fortune.” He seemed to be lost in thought as he said, “She has no family here. Her father is a long way away, and I believe she has no other relatives in England.”

“There is Lord Mountjoy.”

“Lord Mountjoy is not famous for caring about other people, and she is not close. She is no blood relation, merely a goddaughter.”

“Once the knot is tied, Lord Mountjoy would be obliged to accept it,” Lady Amelia said, her eyes calculating.

“But even if I could persuade her to accept my hand, which I do not think possible, she is not of age. She will not turn twenty-one till Christmas, and who knows what may happen by then? For now, she still needs her father’s consent.”

Lady Amelia said thoughtfully, “Of course, were she to be ruined—were she found in a compromising situation—then as is the way of things, I’m sure a marriage would speedily take place.”