“But it is all to depend upon chance,” she said. “Or upon fate or Cupid. What did you think of the hearts on the gentlemen's table?”
It was very tempting to lead her deliberately astray. And yet she was pretty and good-natured and favored him. He had come with the full intention of courting her. Had he not met her sister, the chances were that he would be entering wholeheartedly into this game of chance that was not intended to be left to chance at all—not as far as Lady Eve Hanover was concerned, anyway.
“That one of them was lopsided,” he said, “but otherwise perfect.” It was not strictly true, but close enough. There would be some chance left in the game. More than one heart had been less than symmetrical in shape. He had not noticed another with a clumsy cut at its base.
“You and I will be first to choose,” she said. “You as the gentleman of highest rank and me as hostess. “
“Not your brother?” he asked.
“William feels that as host he should be last,” she said.
“At least,” he said, “he will not have the agony of a decision to make.”
She laughed.
And so when the ceremony began later that evening, before dinner, with the duke and duchess as amused spectators, Viscount Brandon had seven hearts to choose among, while everyone else watched, the gentlemen joking, the ladies tittering and bright-eyed.
Perhaps even then he would have given in to temptation if he could. But there was no mistaking the short and fat red heart with its two rows of pleated lace. He pretended to ponder before picking it up, turning it over, and smiling and bowing to Lady Eve. She blushed as everyone else exclaimed and applauded.
She was not so fortunate. There were three lopsided hearts on the other table, one with the scissor cut at the bottom, another with the lace crooked at the center, and the third quite perfect apart from the lack of symmetry of its two halves. Lady Eve smiled and picked up the last of the three and turned it over.
“Sir Reginald Brock,” she said with a dazzling smile for that gentleman as he bowed and looked thoroughly pleased with himself.
She was perfectly well-bred, the viscount thought. Not by the flicker of an eye did she show disappointment, if indeed she felt disappointed. She touched him on the sleeve while Miss Woodfall made her choice.
“Would you believe that there were three lopsided hearts?” she said.
The viscount frowned and shook his head ruefully. “But at least,” he said, “I had the good fortune to draw your name.”
She smiled again.
Valentine’s Day was, as Lady Eve had predicted, one of good fun. For her careful planning of the Valentine's game had ensured that no couples were paired for the entire day to the exclusion of all others. No gentleman had had the fortune—or misfortune—of choosing a valentine who had also chosen him.
Viscount Brandon found the situation to his liking. For while he gave his attentions to Lady Eve all day, seating himself beside her at luncheon, he found that the Honorable Miss Mowbury was intent on luring him into her company and that Lady Eve was flirting quite determinedly with Sir Reginald Brock.
And the day was much to his liking, too. It was fun, exhilarating, busy. There was all the anticipation of the ball, which would bring other neighbors to Durham Hall. He could enjoy himself without in any way feeling trapped.
Trapped? He smiled ruefully to himself as he went to his room to fetch his greatcoat after luncheon. Had he definitely decided, then, that he did not wish to offer for Lady Eve Hanover? She was as charming and as lovely and as eligible as she had been a week before, when he had been contemplating this week in the country and its probable consequences with some pleasure.
Yes, he had decided. Of course he had. Circumstances made it almost impossible for him to pay court to Barbara. But he could not marry Eve when he loved her elder sister. Perhaps in the future, he thought. Perhaps after a year or so, when his prospective courtship of Lady Eve had been forgotten, when perhaps she would have married someone else. Perhaps he could come back.
He walked through to his bedchamber from the dressing room and opened a drawer next to the bed, which held nothing except a large red velvet heart with lace that had yellowed with time. He smiled and waited for the stab of pain. But it did not come. Only a sweet nostalgia, a faint longing for what might have been. She had been dead for a little less than two years. Dear Anna-Marie. Could the heart mourn no longer than that?
He set the valentine carefully back into the drawer where he had placed it on his arrival at Durham Hall and thought of someone who had not danced for eight years to the day, except for an awkward waltz in a small parlor to the accompaniment of his humming. Of someone who wanted to dance again, to live again. Of someone who was alive and warm.
He shook his head and went back to his dressing room for his greatcoat. There was to be a drive to the village. Most of the guests, himself included, were eager to ransack the limited resources of the shops there for small Valentine’s gifts. One for Lady Eve. None for Barbara. It would not be proper. She would not be willing to accept it. Perhaps something for her son instead.
He left the room and hurried down to the hallway, which was loud with chatter and laughter.
Barbara did consider going to visit Mrs. Williams on the afternoon of Valentine’s Day to deliver the shawl she had finished the evening before. But she had been there yesterday afternoon, taking a basket of cakes and a book to read from. It would be strange to call two days in a row.
And she considered walking into the village to buy some new silks for her embroidery. But she had bought some just the previous week and told Miss Porter that she now had all the colors she needed for weeks to come. It would look peculiar if she went back so soon.
Besides, William delivered the puppy just after luncheon and brought word that Eve and most of the guests were themselves going into the village to shop. And of course there could be no leaving Zachary anyway. He was so very excited over his new pet and needed to share his excitement with someone more important to him than his nurse.
And truth to tell, she did not wish to go out and miss the viscount’s visit. The chances were that it would be very short. It was even possible that he would not come at all, but she thought he would. He was a man who seemed to feel it important to keep his promises to children.
She would stay, she decided. After all, the few minutes of his visit were all she would have of Saint Valentine’s Day. A foolish and a disturbing thought.
