The Forbidden Valentine

by Isabella Thorne

  “Do you promise to keep my secret?” Eleanor asked her eyes alight with excitement.

  Her sisters nodded, one by one, and Eleanor passed the invitation to them, letting them read what Lord Firthley had written.

  “It is a secret admirer,” Betty exclaimed as she saw the valentine. She frowned at the initials, confused. “Do you truly know who it is from?”

  Eleanor took a steadying breath. “Lord Firthley,” she said.

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Lily said, immediately realizing the precariousness of Eleanor’s position.

  “What!” Grace said her eyes widening.

  Betty elbowed her in the ribs.

  Grace winced and rubbed her side. “Ow, what was that for?”

  “You cannot let Father know,” Betty said. “You cannot. Can you not see? Eleanor is in love?”

  “I am not,” Eleanor protested.

  “Eleanor’s in love,” Betty sang.

  “Please keep your voices down,” Grace begged. “You have no talent in subterfuge.”

  “Eleanor, you cannot,” Lily said.

  “I know, I know, it is a dreadful, terrible, horrendously idiotic idea, but I cannot help it, Lily. I want to see him.” Eleanor found herself pouring out the whole story of the broken stanchion on the sleigh and the mulled wine and the magic of the evening. “I felt something, and I want to know if it was real or just something I imagined. Will you help me?”

  “Of course we will help you,” Betty said immediately.

  Lily held her own counsel.

  “But how?” Grace whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the door. “There is nothing we can say to them to change their minds. I am sure. The Firthley war with the Hawthornes is practically legend.”

  “Are you certain of this path,” Lily warned. “If he is false, he could ruin you.”

  Eleanor waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I shall be careful, and I will not worry about the feud until I know my own feelings. It is hardly worth causing family strife if my feelings for Lord Firthley turn out to be nothing at all. No, I just wish to go to the theater. That is not so much is it? I will meet him and speak with him, but to do that, I will need your help.” She paused; waiting. “Lily?”

  Lily looked down at the note which had now made it into her hands. “I suppose one of us could ask Father to take us to the theater.”

  “Not Father, surely.”

  “Perhaps Robert?” Lily suggested. Robert was their eldest brother, who they rarely saw because he preferred the male company in card rooms and gaming halls to those events where marriageable ladies might be attending. He was actually very good at avoiding the grasping claws of mothers determined to marry their daughters to him.

  Grace scowled. “He won’t do it.”

  “Perhaps if we promise to protect him from all the marriageable young ladies,” Eleanor suggested.

  Betty nodded excitedly.

  “Father has been pushing him to go to events where young ladies are present,” Eleanor speculated.

  “Perhaps if we promise to protect him from their grasping marriage making mothers,” Grace suggested giggling.

  Lily turned to Grace. “Could you get your friend, Missus Hartfield, to chaperone us? She is married now, and that makes it all above board.” The previous Miss Lavinia Grant, now married to Captain Jonathan Hartfield, was only a year older than Eleanor herself, but she was friends with The Countess of Keegain and that should count for something in their parents’ eyes. Eleanor hoped, anyway. They were ever aware of the peerage. The girl was also friends with the Duke’s daughter, Amelia Atherton, but there was a scandal there to consider. Better not to remind Mother of that.

  “I haven’t spoken to her in an age.” Grace said, “But I am sure she would. Now that she is married she probably has no excitement at all in her life, poor thing. She would think this a grand lark.”

  “A lark which could ruin our sister’s good name,” Lily cautioned. “We must all be careful.”

  Betty spun in a circle. “This is so exciting. Now on to the important question.”

  “And that is?” Eleanor asked, sharing a look with Grace.

  “What are you going to wear?” Betty said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

  ~.~

  Chapter Seven

  David Firthley and his cousin Harry had arrived early to the theater. David stood, watching for Lady Eleanor, with a reluctant Harry by his side.

  “It is deuced cold,” Harry complained. “Could we not wait inside?”

  David shook his head. He was afraid they would miss her in the crowd. It seemed the Ton was out in force for the opening night of the play. He only wished he could sit beside the illustrious Lady Eleanor Hawthorne, but that was not to be.

  “I am sure there are some actresses who are not playing tonight,” Harry said. “They could join us in the box.”

  David looked at his cousin and shook his head. “Go on if you wish,” he said. “I will wait here.”

  “You are lost, man,” Harry observed, but he stood by his cousin.

  David nodded, absently agreeing while he went back to scanning each face as the patrons entered the theater. How had Lady Eleanor Hawthorne so taken over his thoughts he wondered. The fact that she was a Hawthorne only added the titillation of adventure. It did not make her more beautiful or more personable in any way. In fact, it was a hindrance. Lady Eleanor was not someone he could fall in love with. She was not someone he could marry. She was not someone he could even spend time with, or carry on a conversation in public, and certainly not in private. He wondered what had possessed him to offer the clandestine invitation to the theater at all, or even what possessed him to come to the theater tonight. What was the point? He could not speak with her. They could not even be seen with one another. What should they do? Stare at one another across a crowded room, like two love-struck calves? He should get a drink, and find a card game, instead of this fool’s errand. His time would have been well spent at home. Doing what, he wondered. Adding to the stack of poetry he had written? Writing poems which would never be shared with the lady, some because they were too revealing of his feelings, others because they were too risqué and all because he was a Firthley and she was a Hawthorne.

  No, he decided, he would rather stand and wait for her, to only catch a glimpse of her, than do anything else this evening. To feast his eyes upon her, that would have to be enough.

  “Do you see her?” Harry asked and David shook his head, still searching. Just then he spotted them: the lady and her sisters with her eldest brother and their chaperone. David caught Lady Eleanor’s eye for only a moment and then she was hurried along. She turned to prolong her glimpse of him, and he felt a jolt of excitement. He noted which steps she ascended to properly gauge where the Hawthorne box was situated. He had never had the occasion to notice before. Now he could not help but do so.

  He noted the direction she had taken, and Harry saw her too, then “Oh, jolly good. Oh. I had no idea she was so lovely,” Harry said.

  A spot of anger immediately rose up from his belly. What was Harry thinking commenting on her beauty? Right then, David realized Harry was right; he was lost. How could he not be? Lady Eleanor was so petite and delicate, but he knew there was an inner core of strength. What other woman would have walked in the snow to spare her elderly driver. No. She was a rare find, full of goodness and beauty. All of his doubts vanished. All of his reasons to stay away were unimportant.

  “Shall we actually see the show?” Harry asked.

  “Not yet,” David said. He wanted to wait until the last possible moment. He hoped that Lady Eleanor might find a way to break free and return to the lobby. Perhaps they could have a moment together.

  “We are going to miss the curtain,” Harry said.

  At last David thought she was not going to see her way free. At least from the box he would be able to gaze upon her while she watched the play. Still he lingered until the last moment, if only to catch another glimpse of her.
/>   ~.~

  The theater on Drury Lane was crowded as expected for opening night of the performance of Twelfth Night. Eleanor shared a glance with her chaperone.

  Missus Lavinia Hartfield was not only her sister’s friend. She was the young wife of a dashing sea Captain in His Majesty’s Navy. She herself had been forbidden to correspond with him during their courtship, but as she was often wont to say, “Love will win out.”

  Now, Eleanor was hopeful. She might have expected to have difficulty finding Lord Firthley in the crush, but his tall form rose above the other heads in the crowd singling him out. He stood bundled in furs against the weather, speaking with another young gentleman on the puddle-spotted walkway outside of the theater. Eleanor knew that she and Lord Firthley could not speak except with their eyes, but she was sure he had seen her, and then Robert had whisked her and her sisters into the theater and directly to their seats.

  As the young ladies entered the box, at Robert’s urging, Missus Hartfield chided him for his haste. “Lord Hawthorne,” Lavinia said, “The entire purpose of being at the theater is to be seen.”

  “I thought the point was to watch the play,” Robert said archly and Eleanor wondered when he had grown so jaded.

  “Nonsense.” Missus Hartfield said.

  “Yes,” Grace agreed heartily. “I do so want to see the production. Please be quiet. It is about to begin.”

  Eleanor found herself searching the theater for a glimpse of Lord Firthley. Turning this way and that, she searched for his box, but she could not see him. Was it possible that he stayed outside in the lobby waiting for her as Missus Hartfield suggested he might? Eleanor caught her breath. If they could speak, if only for a moment… The thought make her giddy with excitement and nerves. If anyone saw them, it was certain that word would make its way back to her parents, but perhaps once all of the other theater goers were in their seats, she and Lord Firthley could have a moment to themselves. The thought was too tantalizing. She could barely sit still, but if she moved too soon, Robert would expect her to return too soon. She forced herself to stillness until the orchestra began tuning.

  Just before the curtain rose, Eleanor stood and shot a look to her chaperone, Missus Hartfield. Lavinia nodded, a barely perceptible movement, but it was enough.

  “What is it, Eleanor?” Grace asked, with a wink to her sister.

  “I am so sorry,” Eleanor said. “I must visit the ladies retiring room. I do hope to make it back before the play begins.”

  Robert huffed and stood with Eleanor’s rising.

  Her sisters all exchanged excited glances, but as expected, Robert did not notice the subterfuge.

  “Well, that is a vain wish, Eleanor. You are too late,” Lily said with artificial censure in her voice.

  “Lily is right,” Robert agreed.

  “You are the one who rushed us to the box,” Eleanor said to her brother by way of an explanation.

  “Only because that pack of vultures was outside,” he commented.

  Is that anyway to speak of the young ladies who wish to make your acquaintance,” Missus Hartfield chided. “Heavens.”

  “Missus Hartfield, I have no desire to make the acquaintance of that passel of children that style themselves as ladies.”

  “Oh, Missus Hartfield,” Lily complained vigorously. “The play is about to begin. Must we all go?”

  Grace groaned dramatically and Eleanor would have laughed at her near perfect imitation of Betty’s theatrics, if she were not so terrified.

  “I should accompany you,” Robert said, obviously annoyed to go out again to escort the women through the lobby when he had just settled.

  Eleanor sucked in a breath. Robert could not!

  “Nonsense,” Missus Hartfield said, perfunctorily. “I will accompany Lady Eleanor. We will be perfectly safe between here and there, and as you mentioned, any gentlemen are likely to be seated by now, and there is little enough rabble…”

  “Actors,” Robert said.

  “Surely they are all on stage,” Missus Hartfield countered. “And I suppose that the two of you are safe enough here with your brother.” She bit her lip as if she were torn.

  “Of course,” Robert said preening a little that there should be any fear for his younger sisters’ virtue while they were in his charge.

  “Oh, thank you Robert,” Grace cried, happy to be able to watch the play undisturbed. “I do so love the theater.” She clutched her older brother’s arm and beamed up at him with a golden smile. He patted her hand indulgently.

  “And I do think Miss Poppy is smiling at you,” Lily whispered to her brother.

  He scowled.

  Grace giggled. “Which one?” she asked.

  Missus Hartfield turned, just before they left the box. “Lord Hawthorne,” She waved an ineffectual hand. “Perhaps you should shift seats, so as not to be interrupted again when we return,” Missus Hartfield suggested.

  Robert harrumphed but stood. The girls rearranged allowing the two seats on the end to be vacant for Eleanor and Missus Hartfield’s return.

  Missus Hartfield winked at Eleanor as her family shifted seats. Now they would be able to slip back into the box unnoticed. All was going as planned.

  As the two women hurried from the box, Eleanor thought she could not have had a better chaperone. Still Eleanor shivered thinking what would happen if her parents were to find out about this rendezvous. Lady Eleanor quaked in her shoes as she imagined further what her Grandfather might say. The Earl of Thornwood was rigid in his rule of his descendants and even her own parents obeyed his command without question.

  Eleanor paused, her heart in her throat. There he was standing across the lobby, Lord Firthley. He was dressed formally in a cut away tail coat. He nearly took her breath away. He had not yet noticed her presence, and she paused admiring his tall shape and aquiline nose, so prominent in profile. His dark hair had been trimmed into a more manageable style, than the rumpled curls he had sported when she last saw him. She found she missed the curls. Still, she admired the way he gestured, as he spoke to his friend; his long fingers so expressive. All of his features were precise and aristocratic. How had she ever mistaken him for a stable master? He was laughing at the words of the gentleman with him, and she thought, he laughed often, more often than her own family. Just then he looked up, as if drawn by some inexplicable force; as if he could feel her very eyes upon him. When his own dark eyes lit upon her, they brightened with joy. He laid a hand on his friend’s arm and stopped his conversation, excusing himself. In a moment he was at her side.

  He stopped an arm’s reach away from her and bowed smartly. “Lady Eleanor,” he said.

  Eleanor felt a thrill of both delight and fear at his nearness. She knew they were both highly cognizant of the fact that they were in public.

  Eleanor began to introduce him to her chaperone, but Missus Hartfield shook her head.

  “We are acquainted,” she said.

  A slight frown passed Lord Firthley’s face. He seemed at a loss of how he may have met Missus Hartfield.

  Lavinia laughed. “You do not remember me.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “It is no matter,” Missus Hartfield said. “I am here only to procure Lady Eleanor’s happiness.”

  “I too only wish for Lady Eleanor’s happiness,” Firthley said, and Missus Hartfield stepped away to allow them a moment of privacy, or at least as private as one could be in such a public place.

  The sound of the orchestra playing in the theater and the rustling of dresses as the last of the ladies took their seats, left a hush over the lobby. “I had planned a thousand things to say in this moment,” Firthley said at last. “And now I am struck dumb.”

  His voice was so melodious. It seemed to slide into her very soul. She nodded and then found her own voice. “And I.” She wanted to reach up to him, to touch him, but she remained still.

  Firthley smiled and Lady Eleanor felt his joy in the air like a brush of heaven.

&nb
sp; “I want more than this moment,” Firthley said, “And yet how quickly this moment slips away. Tell me, that I may at least write to you.”

  “Yes,” Eleanor said immediately, and then reason reared its ugly head. “But our families…my father would never allow it. I see no way to pursue this…whatever it is,” she said. Her heart was beating in her throat. She could barely breathe.

  “Attraction?” Lord Firthley suggested.

  “It cannot be.”

  “And yet it is. Do you say it is not so?”

  “Truly. I do not know,” Lady Eleanor replied, but even as she said the words, her heart beat faster. “I do not see how I can refuse your request, when my heart decries it, but I also I do not see how you may continue to write to me,” she said. “My family will quickly grow suspicious.”

  “I am sure that love will find a way, through paths where wolves fear to prey.”

  “That rhymes,” she noted. “Did you write it?”

  “No,” He admitted. “Lord Byron did. But it is apt, is it not?”

  She nodded, studying his face as if to memorize it.

  “Then might I write to you, through your chaperone?” he asked with a glance at Missus Hartfield.

  Eleanor nodded again. She had her reservations. What they were planning was dangerous, but she could not refuse. Even now, she knew this lone meeting would not be enough. She could not bear it if this were their last moment together.

  “I would like that very much, Lord Firthley.” Eleanor replied, her voice holding only a hit of a tremor. “If Missus Hartfield is agreeable.”

  “Certainly,” Lavinia said as she returned to them. “I believe that is the best course, though we cannot be gone from the box too long, Eleanor,” she warned. “Lord Hawthorne will be distraught. We should not want to give your brother the vapors.”