Tokens of Love

by Mary Balogh

  “Nonsense,” Freddie said. “Of course you must stay.”

  “Indeed you must,” she echoed lightly. “A fine thing it would be if we turned you from the door with the weather growing more inclement by the minute.”

  A faint, almost angry gleam lit the deep-set eyes, and was gone almost instantly. “I have known worse.”

  At that moment the younger children arrived, led by ten-year-old Oliver, who threw himself upon his favorite uncle, plying him with questions until Charlotte said sharply, “Noll, do let your uncle be! You are old enough to know better, and are setting a shocking example to the little ones.”

  The boy flushed and drew back, but Freddie only chuckled and said, “Such a strapping young fellow. I scarce recognized you, m’lad. But cut along now, and we’ll see what I have for you later, what?”

  And then the duke was in the hall, his jovial presence restoring normality as he clapped his brother on the back, viewed the pile of luggage, and suggested with brotherly candor, “On a repairing lease, are we?”

  This was greeted with a wry grin, though the question was smoothly turned off as Lord Freddie introduced Colonel Valentine, whom the duke greeted most heartily.

  “Lottie will sort everything out, won’t you, my dear? Don’t know what we’d do without Lottie.”

  Oh, yes, she thought, filled with unaccustomed indignation. Lottie will sort everything out—except her own tumultuous feelings. Perhaps her only cause for thankfulness was that no one, not even Annis, knew of any connection between herself and the colonel. And in the constant bustle of new arrivals, there was no time to indulge in the luxury of hysterics.

  The twins were as delighted as the rest of the family to see their uncle, and were full of curiosity about his companion.

  “Isn’t he the most devastatingly attractive man you ever saw, dear Aunt Lottie?” exclaimed Fanny, with all the romantic fervor, Charlotte thought bitterly, of a silly, impressionable girl, the kind of girl she had once been. “Not handsome, precisely—in fact, his face can look almost satanic in repose—but such an air of authority about him, and when he smiles…” She sighed.

  “And only fancy his name being Valentine!” Her sister giggled, and the two girls exchanged glances brimming with mischief. “Almost as though he had been sent…”

  “You are both being very silly,” Charlotte said sharply.

  “Well, you must admit it is uncanny, his arriving so close to the feast of St. Valentine. He is much too old for us, of course, but—”

  Sheila Walsh “Not another word, or I shall be really cross.” Charlotte turned away as a blush stained her cheek.

  By dinner time, all the guests had arrived. Charlotte paid particular attention to her dress that first evening, as if she would prove to herself, as well as to Luke, that she hadn’t a care in the world. The guests were assembled in the long gallery, and she stopped to exchange a smile and a word with each groups—Lord and Lady Grayshott with their daughter, Mary, who was Annis’s particular friend, and Charles Mayne, Mary’s husband, as well as the Egertons. And in all the crush, she somehow managed to avoid Luke Valentine, who was in a corner with Freddie and a couple she did not know.

  She was more than usually pleased to relax finally with Sir Pelham Ballard and his sister, Emily, who were among her dearest friends: dear Pelham, who proposed to her at least once a year, and accepted her refusal with good grace, his pleasant, fresh features creased into a wry smile as he assured her that he should not give up hope.

  “You’re looking remarkably fine this evening, Lottie. That purply blue color suits you—matches your eyes,” he said of the exceedingly stylish lavender-crepe gown, made for her by Yvette on her last visit to London.

  Emily Ballard chuckled. “Purply blue, indeed! Poor Lottie. Believe me, I have spent years teaching him how to turn a compliment, but to no avail.”

  “Lottie knows what I mean, don’t you, m’dear?”

  “Yes, of course I do.” She laughed and looked up, full into Luke’s brooding eyes.

  Had she but known it, the colonel’s emotions were every bit as confused as her own. Never would he have allowed himself to be persuaded to come to Lambourn Manor if he had known she was to be present. But now that he was here, there were a million unanswered questions seething in his brain, of which one question surfaced way above the rest.

  Why had she not married?

  His thoughts winged back to that spring of 1809, when he had come home, sick at heart, devastated by the death of his beloved Sir John Moore at Corunna—Sir John, who had brought them safely through a 300-mile retreat carried out in appalling conditions, and had held off the French until the wind-bound transports arrived. Smarting with humiliation, Luke, together with the remnants of the gallant commander’s force, had finally retreated under cover of darkness to the waiting ships—his abiding memory, as the wind freshened with the dawn and the sails filled, the sight of a party of the 9th Foot with the chaplain, making their way slowly along the ramparts, carrying Sir John’s body.

  By the time he reached home, he had not been fit company for any civilized gathering.

  There had been, of course, the usual means of forgetting. And when the bottle and the gambling tables palled, there were ripe beauties, bored wives, and those less respectable, but delightfully available Paphians, all drawn by the fascination of a soldier whose regimentals were more than a little battle-scarred, and whose eyes held a wary hurt look. They were only too ready to help him forget his megrims. He would have been less than human had he not succumbed.

  And then fate had set the young Charlotte in his path—a refreshingly unspoiled girl in her first Season, and it was she, with her unfeigned admiration and passionate belief in him as a soldier, who had captured his heart, and given him back his self-respect. What others saw as mere innocent hero worship, he knew for something more.

  She was quite different from anyone he had known—his dear delight, he had called her—so young in some ways, but endearingly wise beyond her years, and although no words of love had passed between them, the feeling that they were meant for each other was implicit in the pleasure they found in one another’s company. So much so that he had relinquished his long-held belief that a serving soldier had no business taking a wife. Quite unknown to her, he had approached her father, only to be told that under no circumstances would Lord Wynford entertain the idea of his young daughter marrying into the army. Luke had been given short shrift. And lest he should retain any hope of a change of heart, his lordship further informed him that Charlotte had already received an excellent offer of marriage, and the betrothal would be announced on her eighteenth birthday.

  Luke was angry and bewildered, for Charlotte had made no mention of any suitor, and he could not believe she would so deceive him. His anger hardened into a determination to hear of it from her own lips, but before the opportunity presented itself, fate intervened. The army was about to take the offensive once more, and he received orders to sail at once for Lisbon with Wellesley.

  So, with his immediate future decided for him, and, believing hers to be equally assured, he had given up all thoughts of declaring his love, and instead wrote her a brief note wishing her happy.

  “Colonel Valentine.” It was the duchess, and with her a dazzling brunette whose gown of silver gauze left little to the imagination. He dragged his thoughts back from the past. “I believe you are already acquainted with Lady Alice Verity.”

  Lady Alice smiled archly at him, dark lashes fluttering over brilliant green eyes to curve her cheeks as she protested that the colonel could scarcely be expected to remember her, so long ago as it had been.

  “On the contrary,” he said gallantly, restraining his natural cynicism. “It was in Lisbon. You were a very new young bride. As I recall, your husband was some kind of diplomatic envoy?”

  “You do remember. How kind.” Her voice had an attractive husky quality. “My poor Arthur.” She sighed. “He took a fever, some three years ago—when we were in Bri
ghton, of all places. Prinny’s own physician attended him, but to no avail.”

  Luke murmured his commiserations, and wondered what degree of intimacy had existed between the Prince Regent and Lady Alice to warrant such attentions on the part of Prinny’s doctor.

  “Forgive me if I leave you for a moment,” Annis said. “I have just seen poor Mrs. Gibbons all on her own. I am surprised Lottie has not noticed. She is usually so observant…” And she drifted away.

  “I don’t know how Annis would manage on these occasions without dear Charlotte,” Lady Alice said sweetly. “Though I have often wondered if Annis’s vagueness is not a convenient pose. Oh dear, does that sound terribly old-cattish?”

  Luke raised a quizzical eyebrow. “How can I possibly answer such a question without giving offense?” And as her laugh gurgled again, “Does Miss Wynford live permanently with her sister?”

  Lady Alice turned, her eyes very wide as they observed Charlotte in her stylish lavender gown. “I believe not. She has a small establishment somewhere in the country, where she lives with her old nurse, but Charlotte spends much of her time with various members of her family.”

  “But she never married?” He despised himself for asking the question.

  “No, indeed. Such a pity.” The words dripped, honey-sweet. “She is not ill-looking, after all, and her disposition is such that she must have made someone a charming wife. Sir Pelham has been her devoted slave for years, of course, but perhaps she cherished hopes of a better offer. However, Annis has confided to me her expectation that this celebration may create the very atmosphere to bring Charlotte and Sir Pelham together at last.”

  Across the room, Charlotte’s cheeks burned. From the way they were looking at her she could only suppose that Luke was discussing her with that woman. How dare he!

  “My dear,” murmured Emily. “If you are not careful, poor Lady Alice will frizzle where she stands.”

  Charlotte bit her lip. “Was I that obvious? I can’t think why Annis invites her. She has a poisonous tongue, and a way of retaining her insufferable air of sweetness and light whilst setting everyone else at odds.” Very conscious that both Emily and Pelham were staring at her, she half laughed and said, “How is that for cutting up a character?”

  “Well, I own I cannot quite like her,” Emily said, “though I can’t for the life of me say why. She has never been anything but charming to me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh, come now,” Pelham remonstrated, a little pink in the face. “How can you possibly dislike anyone for being charming?”

  Charlotte laughed. “Dear Pel. You put us to shame. But then, you are too amiable to see anything but good in anyone.”

  Dinner passed off without incident. The guests were for the most part known to one another, which made for a pleasant air of informality, which continued unabated when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies later in the drawing room to take tea.

  “Do you go back to Paris and your position with Wellinton, Colonel Valentine?” asked Annis during a lull in the conversation.

  “No, ma’am. I expect to remain in England for the foreseeable future.”

  Lord Freddie chuckled. “Close, ain’t he? I daresay he won’t like me blowin’ the gab, but I can’t see why he needs hide his light. Fact is, Luke is about to become a man of even greater consequence—aide-de-camp to the Duke of York, no less.”

  The colonel’s expression was unreadable as a chorus of congratulation filled the room. At his side, Lady Alice eyed him a little coyly.

  “My dear colonel,” she said, “this is wonderful news. I am sure, if I had anything half so exciting to impart, I could not have kept it to myself.”

  “Perhaps not, ma’am. But then, I find nothing exciting in the prospect of becoming a glorified parade-ground soldier.”

  “You’re a man who thrives on the thrills of the battlefield, I daresay,” the duke commented with a chuckle. “Well, I don’t blame you for that. I hope we can provide a few thrills for you while you’re here. It ain’t the same, I know, but we’ll be out with the hunt in the morning if the snow don’t ruin m’plans.”

  “Enough, Edward,” Annis protested. “If you wish to talk sport, you must do so later in the library. For now, Emily is about to give us a song, and Charlotte will accompany her.”

  Charlotte would as soon not have drawn attention to herself, but as there was a chorus of approval from those who had previously enjoyed the sweetness of Miss Ballard’s voice, she was obliged to comply. Several times she glanced up to find Luke watching her with a disturbing intensity, and it was only with the greatest effort of concentration that she refrained from striking a wrong note.

  A pleasant hour was passed thus in entertainment, after which, the more intrepid members of the party made up two tables of whist, and of the rest, several ladies, weary from their travels, retired for the night, while their menfolk repaired to the library to blow a cloud and discuss the apparent upturn in the economy, which might see an end to the recession that had ruined so many of their friends in the years since the war.

  It was quite late when Charlotte herself retired. The house was quiet, except for the faint hum of conversation beyond the library door, but as she crossed the great hall toward the stairs, a figure emerged from the shadows to block her way.

  Her heart leapt and then steadied. “Must you give me such a fright?” she protested with an attempt at lightness.

  “It seemed the only way to be certain of finding you alone, since you have shown a marked determination to avoid me all evening,” Luke said!

  “That is nonsense. I have been much occupied in attending to the needs of our guests.”

  “Of which I am one, though, I assure you, I would not have come had I known you would be here. However, we need not come to cuffs over that when we have more important issues to resolve.”

  There was an inexorable note in his voice. Charlotte said swiftly, “You are mistaken, sir. I have nothing to say to you. The past is past. We were two different people then—let us not raise their ghosts to haunt us now.”

  She turned to leave, but as she reached for the banister rail, he grasped her wrist, forcing her to look up at him. In the dim light, his face was full of shadows. “As you wish, but I must know one thing,” he said with low-voiced urgency. “Why did you not marry?”

  The question at first surprised her, then made her angry, “That is none of your business.”

  “Perhaps not. But indulge me, nevertheless.”

  “Why should I? If you suppose for one moment that my single state is in any way due to your shabby treatment of me—”

  “Why should I suppose any such thing when, to the best of my knowledge, you were well on the way to being married before I left?”

  If Charlotte had been surprised before, she was now openly astonished. “But that is not true. Who can possibly have given you such an idea?”

  “Your father,” he said curtly. “When I applied to him for leave to propose to you.”

  For an instant the world spun. Had he not still held her wrist, she must have fallen. “You saw Papa?”

  “And was informed in no uncertain terms that you were already as good as betrothed. Are you now telling me it was not so?”

  “Well, of course it was not! I…” Her father had said not one word of this, and young though she was at the time, she could scarce believe he would have kept Luke’s offer from her. But why should Luke make up such a story? She endeavored to think back. “I believe there was some talk of Lord Braybury offering for me, but it was only talk. He was all of forty years old and I could never have entertained… !” All the anguish, the bitter heartbreak of Luke’s sudden disappearance, with only a polite little note to remember him by, came flooding back as if the time between had not existed. “Oh, how could you have believed that I would promise myself elsewhere, when it must have been quite obvious to you that I—” She caught herself up short.

  This would never do. She was behaving like the g
reenest of green girls. “Oh, well, it is all history now,” she concluded with cool finality. “As for your intentions, I cannot believe them to have been entirely serious, since you apparently accepted your congé without ever troubling to discover the extent of my feelings.”

  Luke released her arm as though it suddenly burned his fingers. “If that is your conclusion, then perhaps what happened was for the best, for I can find in you little trace of the girl I once thought I knew.”

  Charlotte turned abruptly away so that he should not see how much his words had hurt her. She was halfway up the stairs when his voice came to her. “I have no wish to embarrass you further. I shall leave first thing in the morning.”

  And her muffled reply, thick with tears, came floating back. “There is no need for you to go on my account, but you must do as you please.”

  “It will be for the best.” Luke awaited her reply, but none came. “Damnation!” he said softly.

  Lady Alice, who had approached in catlike silence, was in time to hear their final exchange. Well, well, she thought, and emerged to say with charming diffidence, “My dear Colonel, I wonder if I might impose upon your good nature to escort me to my room? This is such a rambling house, I feel quite nervous about tackling the corridors alone—and I have been quite unable to find a servant to accompany me.”

  ———

  Charlotte was up very early the next morning. A night spent tossing and turning, trying to make sense of what Luke had said, had left her with a head that throbbed unbearably. More than anything at this moment, she longed for the peace and tranquility of her cottage. Instead she would be obliged to pander to the whims of Annis’s guests, while at the same time striving to keep her nieces from overtiring themselves before the evening’s festivities.

  On drawing back the curtain, she saw that the expected snow had still not materialized, but the half light heralding the dawn revealed a heavy hoar frost almost as thick as snow. It sparkled jewel-bright as it clung to every bush and tree. Perhaps a little fresh air would clear the worst of her headache.