A Very Austen Valentine

by Robin Helm

  “Miss Darcy! Good morning. This was just delivered,” the housekeeper began, beaming. She had been with Charlotte for the past six years or so, since Charlotte retired as a deb and embraced solitude. When Charlotte decided to take her own rooms, Mrs. Burton naturally chose to accompany her rather than stay on at Darcy House.

  Charlotte snatched the envelope and quickly removed the card. Inside was a ticket, but what she was more interested in was the signature – Your Valentine. She ran out of the house and down the steps, looking left and right. A dark figure was moving away, nearly three houses down already. Charlotte pursued.

  “Stop!” she cried, her voice barely a whisper against the strong wind. “Stop, pray!”

  The figure stilled. Turned. With his beaver pulled down and his collars up against the cold, Charlotte still could not make him out. Not until she was standing before him.

  “Henry!” she gasped, out of breath from exertion and shock. He reached out a hand to steady her.

  “Charlotte! You will catch your death, child.” He quickly removed his own coat to drape over her shoulders and led her back home. “Mrs. Burton,” he said, greeting her as he let himself and Charlotte inside, “your mistress has been out for a walk in her nightclothes.”

  It was a scold, as if the dumbfounded housekeeper could stop such a force. She snapped to attention at the rebuke and coaxed Charlotte back to the parlour, seating her before the fire and wrapping her in blankets.

  “Tea is on the way,” she said finally, curtseying her exit.

  Henry stared at her in alarm, for she had not spoken a word. At long last, she blinked and casted off the mountain of blankets. She stood to face him. “What is this?” she demanded softly, holding up the card.

  “It appears to be a card of some kind,” he said, his features blank.

  “This is a card from my Valentine,” she explained slowly, enunciating every word carefully.

  “Congratulations!” he said in mock enthusiasm. “Another year has been remembered.”

  “It was you. It has always been you,” Charlotte whispered, giving no regard to the tears spilling from her eyes.

  “Are you disappointed?” he asked, wiping one tear away carefully with his thumb. His eyes were vulnerable, but his concern was only for Charlotte.

  She blinked, wondering how to interpret her emotions. She absently rubbed at the pang in her chest with her free hand.

  “Disappointed?” She rolled the word on her tongue, trying it out. “No,” she decided, “I wonder I had not thought of you.”

  “Is that what bothers you?” he asked, chuckling softly.

  “You sent me Valentines for twenty years,” she said in wonderment.

  “One-and-twenty years,” he corrected indulgently. “It began with a music box.”

  Charlotte was taking her time processing years of details, so Henry spoke to fill the void. “The music box had been my sister’s, Gabriella’s. I carried it with me as a way of keeping her close.” He sighed as his own memories glided by. “When the boys were discovered eating your surprise from your parents, I offered up the music box.” He shrugged.

  “It is still one of my favourite pieces,” Charlotte whispered, her reverie broken. “It lulls me to sleep every night.” After a moment’s pause, she added thoughtfully, “All of your gifts have been cherished favourites. That must be why I assumed it was my parents for so long, because who else would know me so well?”

  “This year, you have a ticket to Bellini’s Norma, as do I. It is always a treat to watch your face.”

  “I have never noticed you in the audience,” Charlotte accused.

  “I choose our seating carefully,” Henry admitted, feeling rather proud of his feats.

  “But why, Henry? Why send a little girl, then a grownup girl, years of secret Valentines?”

  Henry exhaled slowly, studying the face before him – the face he knew so well.

  “At first, you were a new little sister. My second chance to do things right. Your own brother had no interest in you, no matter how I tried to influence him, so I adopted you as my own.” He gently chucked her chin. “You were such an appealing girl, so clever, yet eager to be charmed. You prattled at length about your interests, and I took notes, fueled with ideas for the years between our meetings. Then, overnight it seemed, you were grown, going to finishing school. I considered letting that be the end, but my Mama encouraged me to continue, claiming girls could be fickle and you might need the encouragement. At the very least, your secret admirer could not fail you during that pivotal time.”

  “Your Mama knows?” Charlotte asked in surprise.

  Henry grinned ruefully and continued.

  “Then, you were a debutante. I thought any further secret admirations would be in poor taste, but your parents were devastated to think of your Saint Valentine’s Day passing you by empty-handed. I think they suspected me all along,” he remarked in an aside to himself.

  “My parents know?” Charlotte asked, becoming increasingly annoyed.

  “My dear, I am not a magician, nor was I willing to compromise your chances for a good marriage,” he replied flatly.

  As if on cue, Mrs. Burton entered, making quite a bit of racket in the process.

  “She knows, too, does she not?” Charlotte asked.

  “And such a relief it is, my lady, to have the charade over,” Mrs. Burton acknowledged while setting up the tea. “On the other hand,” she added, pausing all motion, “we have enjoyed years of pleasure watching you open your special treats.” She beamed at the guest before continuing her duties. “They were always so thoughtful!” She curtseyed and left them again.

  Neither moved to the tea tray.

  “Once my Seasons concluded, you continued,” Charlotte began, wanting to hear the full explanation.

  “Yes. You did so well, I expected news of your betrothal daily. That, in my mind, was the only way to end it.”

  “Unless you married first! There was Glorious Gloria. As kind as she was, I doubt a wife would enjoy having her husband send gifts to another as a secret admirer.”

  “Ah! Yes,” was the response. Henry’s brow furrowed. “I had forgotten her name. Lovely creature. Married a clergyman, I believe.”

  “Your father was ill.”

  “He called me away. It had all been a misunderstanding. Apparently, he was expecting me to wed …,” Charlotte’s eyes rounded to see Henry’s blush, “someone else,” he finished lamely.

  “You would … would marry … me?” Charlotte stuttered in amazement. Memories flashed with blazing speed now. Henry as her knight, Henry as her caretaker, Henry as her amusement, Henry as her best friend.

  He just smiled, wistfully, fleetingly.

  “You would marry me?” Charlotte asked softly, lower lip trembling, eyes flashing.

  Henry’s smile grew. “I was hoping for a better proposal than that, after waiting all these long years. Perhaps a bent knee or a profession of love, but I suppose I will say ‘yes’ and hold you to it.”

  “Henry Brandon! For shame,” she could not help but laugh. She rubbed at a new sensation in her chest, a heart throbbing sensation of pure joy. “How long have you felt this way?” she asked, in awe of her very good fortune.

  “I never fully gave myself up to it, not consciously. I could not be sure of you, so convinced you were of my place as your brother.” He cringed. “How you wounded me with your affectionate words.”

  She laughed fully, embracing the natural deepening of attachment she felt towards her best and lifelong friend.

  “But why Saint Valentine’s Day? Why choose this holiday for sending gifts to a little girl?”

  Henry shook his head. “Does Little Lottie like riddles, or puppies, or feathers?”

  “Answers, you pest! She likes answers!”

  Henry sighed and removed the card from Charlotte’s hand. Carefully, he opened it, holding it up for her observation.

  “It is signed as it always is – Your Valentine.”


  “Tom once told you that our Mama insisted upon giving us nonsensical names,” he hinted.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened.

  “Henry Valentine Brandon,” she answered, breathing it in. She folded herself into his arms. Those arms that had so patiently waited, the hands which had so thoughtfully tendered gifts to her each year.

  She looked up into his eyes.

  “My Valentine.”

  The End

  Mandy Cook (née Helm),

  a former Navy nurse,

  also wrote

  The Gifted.

  Available on Amazon.com.

  THE LOVERS’ RUSE

  Susan Kaye

  THE LOVERS’ RUSE

  Copyright © 2018 Susan Kaye

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher and author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Chapter One

  The Lovers Meet

  “You say the summer here is cool, but this sun feels hot to me,” Commander Frederick Wentworth said to his brother, Edward. He had been with his brother for a week and the daily walk was one of the few things to anticipate. So far.

  “It is today. But this is mid-July. All of June was wet and cold. You are just bored because you are used to large port towns with near-endless amusements.”

  It was true. “Can you blame me? I was given a step-up in rank and then tossed ashore without so much as a thank you. Were it not for my measly half-pay I’d be a beggar. I need a ship to keep me occupied.”

  “So, says every other naval officer languishing in Plymouth. Be patient, brother, your time will come. And fear not, I am glad to share my tiny cottage in the meantime.”

  “I never thought we’d be sharing a bed again.”

  “It’s not so bad. I can endure the snoring.” They laughed, for it was Edward who snored. “Until they recognize their mistake, enjoy the quiet and calm of—”

  “Move aside,” a voice thundered from above. The Wentworth brothers hurried into the grass at the edge of the road to allow an open carriage and four matching bays to pass. The carriage was fine with attendants liveried in buff with garish orange cuffs and caps. An overly intricate crest on the door declared a family of prominence. Frederick followed his brother’s lead and nodded to the ladies inside.

  As he was about to comment on the rudeness of country folk, the carriage slowed, then stopped.

  “And who are they?” he asked as they approached.

  “The girls are the daughters of Sir Walter Elliot, a baronet. He has the ownership of Kellynch Hall. The lady is their godmother, Lady Russell. The wife of the late Sir Henry Russell. She is a tenant of Sir Walter’s.”

  “Wife of a knight? Somerset has a very fine class of tenantry then.”

  As they drew closer, Edward lowered his voice. “She has the lease of Kellynch Lodge. The lady and the girl’s mother came together from Gloucester.”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  Edward scowled at Frederick, and said to the ladies, “Good morning—”

  “This is your brother, Mr. Wentworth? I have heard a great deal about him.” The older woman glanced over his brother and gave Frederick a thorough examination.

  “All of it good, I hope—” Frederick thought to charm the ladies with a bit of humor.

  “Please allow me to introduce my brother, Ma’am.” Edward stepped in front of his brother. “Commander Wentworth of the Royal Navy. This is Lady Russell, Miss Elizabeth Elliot, and Miss Anne Elliot. I consider the ladies to be neighbors as we see one another out walking often. They reside about two miles from here.”

  The Commander’s charm would not be appreciated, evidently. He bowed to the ladies. Miss Elliot was bored and did nothing to hide it. Her sister, Miss Anne, was smiling at Edward, and Frederick as well. “Your brother always speaks very highly of you, Commander. In fact, we each had access to different newspapers and he took great pride in reading me the articles about the battle of San Domingo. In which you were injured, I believe—”

  “Anne, really,” said Lady Russell.

  “That is hardly proper, sister.” Miss Elliot scolded her, glanced at Wentworth, and then back to Anne.

  “I am sorry.” The girl’s cheeks flared pink and she looked away. “Please excuse me, gentlemen.” She looked up but not at the brothers.

  “Your kindness does you credit, Miss. And no, I was not injured very badly. Nothing which would gain me a commendation anywise.”

  The lady and Miss Elliot were not amused. “We are all glad to hear this, Commander.” Lady Russell nodded to the footman to be on their way.

  Miss Anne, seated next to Lady Russell, raised a hand and smiled. Frederick could not tell for which of the brothers the wave was meant. Miss Elliot turned once and looked. Her expression did not change, but she did catch Frederick’s eye.

  Chapter Two

  The Lovers Compare

  The road took a wide sweep around a stand of ancient black walnut trees, putting the Wentworth brothers out of sight. Anne watched the trees pass, still smarting from the sharp tone of her godmother and her sister. Thankfully, both of the gentlemen had smiled and neither seemed to mind at all. However, they were men and not prone to concern about such niceties. The thought of Commander Wentworth warmed her cheeks. Lady Russell and Elizabeth were commenting on the clearing skies. This would give Anne the perfect excuse if either should notice her color. The sun would not hold it against her if she blamed it for rosy cheeks.

  Before anything negative could be said about her behavior or the Commander, she said, “The curate’s brother is very handsome, is he not, Elizabeth?”

  Her sister’s expression at the moment was inscrutable. She had turned to watch the brothers as they drove away. This indicated some sort of curiosity. It certainly wasn’t in the curate. As the elder brother, he was too old and far too poor for even mild interest. No, Elizabeth was interested in the Commander. However, there was no possible way it was romantic, for he too was poor; and with no social connections to speak of, he offered her nothing worth pursuing. Unless Elizabeth was thinking he might have a future in the navy. Admiral and Mrs. Frederick Wentworth did sound grand.

  “Anne, you are growing pink in this sun. It is time to take you home.”

  “You are quite right, Lady Russell. Anne is obviously over stimulated.”

  A touch of a smile lifted the edges of Elizabeth’s mouth. “By the sun, of course,” she added.

  ⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟

  They began again to walk. “Why is their mother not with them?”

  “Lady Elliot died before I came. About, oh, five years ago.”

  “I wouldn’t think young ladies would need a chaperone in the peace and gentility of this area.”

  “I’m sure they don’t. We are the roughest types they are likely to encounter.”

  “Miss Elliot is very pretty.”

  “Don’t set your cap in that direction. Miss Elliot can be ... turbulent.”

  The carriage finally disappeared down the road. Frederick pulled a long green weed from its stalk and chewed the tender tip. “Then perhaps she needs a sailor to tame her.”

  Edward choked and laughed all at once at this. “Yes, and as you are putting your hand to the impossible, declare the tides abated while you’re at it. Miss Elizabeth Elliot is obviously attractive. Once you acquaint yourself better, you will know she is as inviting as the Irish Sea in the dead of winter.”

  The thought of winter was somewhat appealing while walking in the warming July sun. “The Irish Sea in winter is not so bad. You must know how the weather influences her and drives her, and how to sail her, that’s a
ll.”

  “You are hopeless, brother.”

  “I thought your whole profession was declaring love’s ability to change the rascal. And the turbulent.” He took a few steps before he realized Edward had halted. “Well?”

  “God’s love may change a human being. Frail human love has no such promise.” Edward shook his head slightly as he caught up with his brother.

  “Tell me about Miss Anne. I know from this meeting that she speaks her mind and is curious. The two of you reading the papers is proof of that.”

  “Yes, well, I enjoyed having someone with which to talk about you. And Miss Anne is influenced by good writing, and superior thoughts.” Edward’s tone was resolute. His admiration was unshakable.

  Frederick stopped Edward with his arm across his middle. “I saw the girl is pretty, not like her sister but in a vital, fresh way. I do not think there is anything you could say about her to make her less appealing to a man than to abbreviate her character to that of a bookish, snobbish spinster. Try again.”

  “I chose my words badly for she is nothing of the sort.” He pushed his brother’s arm away. “She is a delightful young woman. She is just quiet.” He paused and turned. “In the autumn she brought me a few books while I was recuperating from the small-pox. They were on her own library subscription. I would never have been able to read those texts otherwise.” He started on again. “The knowledge I attained makes having the illness a blessing of sorts.”

  It was Frederick’s turn to laugh. “Your optimism is inspiring. Leave it to you to find a bright side to a sickness that can easily kill you.”

  “That is not what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant, brother. I’m just saying that it is a rare breed of man who can find the good in nearly dying.”

  “I merely wanted to say that Miss Anne is a—” He paused. “Anything I say makes her sound like a miserable sort of prig.”

  Frederick drew close and gave him a little shove. “She is a diamond amongst the dust of Somerset.”