Secret Valentine (6 page)

Devin looked around, his gaze skimming over
the workbench. He seemed more interested in the baskets of lace and
her sewing supplies underneath. His interest landed on her smock
and stayed there an inordinately long time.

"Just a lady's craft room," she said
nervously. Just because she had let him into her private sanctuary
didn't mean she wanted him to go over every inch with a fine-tooth
comb.

His gaze jerked to her face, and Cecelia
wished she'd thought to put on her spectacles. There was just
something so penetrating about his look, as if he was seeing her in
her drawers. She looked for her eyeglasses, and he beat her to
them. "You don't need these, do you?"

"Did you come up here to talk about my
vision?"

"No." He folded the spectacles and held them
by the nosepiece.

At least he wasn't smearing the lenses with
fingerprints.

"I think you should attend some—"

"No. No more balls, dances, champagne
breakfasts."

"How about some soirées, some salons. I think
you would enjoy that sort of thing, talking about politics and
literature with other people as widely read as you."

Cecelia had felt so outcast by the
ton
that so embraced Devin. She didn't think he could possibly
understand how isolated and alone she could feel in the middle of a
crowded room. "No."

"Cecelia, I made mistakes last year. I would
make it better for you this time."

What was he up to? He must still be concerned
with finding her a husband. He would put more effort into it this
time. He must be very worried he would have to marry her himself if
he didn't rise above his normal complacency and exert more energy
in the hunt for a suitable suitor for Cecelia.

"If you don't want to go to Almack's or
balls, you don't have to. We could go to the theater, the
opera—"

"Perhaps I should just put on mobcaps and be
done with it." She didn't know why she didn't just consign herself
to the ranks of spinsters. Certainly at twenty-three she could
consider herself on the shelf, a veritable ape-leader. A mobcap
would just confirm the fact and relieve Devin of the need to worry
about finding her a husband or stepping into the role himself.

She opened her mouth to tell him about her
business and that he needn't worry about her needing to marry and
found she couldn't make her voice come out.

"Don't you want children? Don't you want a
husband? Don't you—"

"I want a lot of things I can't have. I want
my mother back." Where in the stars had that thought come from?
"I'm used to not getting—"

"—want me?"

"—everything I want." Had he said what she
thought he said? But she was rolling and couldn't stop. He had no
idea what it was like for her. Everyone adored him; everyone doted
on him; everyone gave him everything he ever wanted. Even her. "If
I ever marry, I'll have it all. I shall have the poems written to
my eyes and someone who"—she grabbed her poetry book and searched
desperately for the passage—"yearns to—"

He yanked the book out of her hand. "Quit
hiding in books, Cecelia. Quit hiding behind your spectacles. I
can't give you your mother back, but you can have most everything
you want. Just tell me what it is you yearn for."

Didn't he understand that the one thing she
wanted was the one thing she never deserved? What woman could
expect a man's love when her own parent couldn't love her?

Devin took a step toward her. Time seemed to
hang in that odd pre-explosion standstill, until he turned on his
heel and stalked out of the room.

* * *

Cecelia spent a lot of time in her attic
assembling cards as fast as she could. Business was picking up, and
she wanted to be sure to keep up with the demand. In less than two
weeks her opportunity for this year would be over. Work helped her
not think about anything else.

The valentines kept arriving daily. A set of
fine lawn handkerchiefs, which she was invited to toss in her
secret valentine's direction, was delivered. How she was to manage
that when she had no idea who he was, she didn't know.

Next a beautiful Coburg bonnet with a
burgundy ribbon around the brim arrived with a message that she
should not hide inside so her valentine would have more opportunity
to gaze upon her loveliness. Which had the effect of making her
smile when she tied it on to go out and make her rounds.

Devin had asked why she was smiling. She had
said, "No reason at all."

"New bonnet?"

"Well, yes."

"That's it then. New bonnets have a way of
making women smile."

Which had served to make her frown, and he
had traipsed around with her with a perplexed silence. Until he
started asking why she had to visit several similar stores.
Couldn't she get everything she needed at just one of them?

Then came a set of pearl-studded hairpins,
which would tempt her valentine to remove all her pins and run his
fingers through her silken tresses. Cecelia wondered if the usual
tangles would stop him.

Her secret valentine was a romantic. That was
sure. She encountered her spotty friend one day on the street while
taking her cards to be delivered. He had been less spotty, but
hadn't pressed to delay her. Still, it could be him.

There was one shopkeeper's son who seemed to
gaze at her worshipfully from the back when she entered the shop,
but was too shy to come out unless another customer required
attention. It could be him.

Then there was Devin, who was behaving like a
baited bear since their argument. She was tempted to throw a raw
fish and honey pot at him and tell him to pick his indulgence and
settle his spleen; but it was partly her fault, so she kept her
mouth civil.

She thought his refusal to return home and
sleep in his own bed was largely the reason for his distemper. But
someone in a mood as foul as his wouldn't be capable of composing
sweet romantic messages.

She tried to convince him that he should just
move back into his home, but he growled at her and then invited her
to ride in the park with him. She refused and made an excuse of not
fitting into her old habit. Really, she didn't have the time until
Saint Valentine's Day passed.

She was so thankful she could count on him
leaving the house for Parliament at least three days a week. It
gave her a chance to make her deliveries without him hanging on her
sleeve. There had been too many times lately when he had insisted
on accompanying her and raised his eyebrows at her repeated
purchases of colored ribbons and lace.

She had given each of the maids and the
footman a specially made valentine card and sworn them to secrecy,
but she didn't feel right enlisting their aid for deliveries when
they were in Devin's employ.

She stepped into the emporium that displayed
her cards in the window. The store was crowded, and Cecelia hung
back looking at the merchandise. Finally, the harried shopkeeper,
Mr. Hartley, pointed her over to the curtained doorway while he had
his assistant take over.

She stepped behind the curtain into a
storeroom with a jumble of boxes, crates, bolts of material piled
haphazardly everywhere. Or she supposed there was some order, but
it was hard to discern from the sheer volume of goods crammed
everywhere. The scent of cinnamon and cloves, wool and rosewater,
hung over everything. She took another step in among the clutter,
and the smells shifted.

In front of her was a half-unpacked crate
with small wooden boxes inside. She lifted one up and nearly
dropped the exquisitely painted box when it chimed.

The curtain swished behind her, and Cecelia
turned to see the shopkeeper.

He looked at the box she held.

Cecelia felt suitably chastised when he took
it out of her hands.

"Just in from Vienna." He turned the box over
and wound a key on the bottom. He held it out and lifted the hinged
top, exposing a small, red satin-lined cavity.

A waltz played with tinkling clear notes.

They stood there as the music box played out
the few measures before it wound down.

"That is lovely," said Cecelia, sad the music
had stopped, but enchanted by the piece.

The shopkeeper smiled and set it on the table
with the others that had been unpacked.

"I'll take all the cards you got."

He was back to business, while she still felt
as if fairies hovered in the air.

Cecelia hesitated a minute. She had
deliveries for other stores in smaller packets, but ironically this
shopkeeper who had doubled the prices they had set was selling
twice as many as anyone else. Her more elaborate cards were selling
for as much as ten pounds. She pulled out the other two packets.
She would have to deliver something to the other shops tomorrow and
send 'round a note today. She would have to use Devin's
footmen.

"Do you 'ave more? I 'ave got one cove who
buys one or more everyday."

"Really, what does he look like?"

"A gentleman," as if that explained all. He
handed her the bag of money and the list. "I need more of these.
Now that Valentine's Day is getting closer I need a 'undred or more
for this coming week. Plus the order list is getting longer."

She swallowed. Was he bamboozling her? No,
his look was sincere. "I'll get you as many as I can. They take
time to make."

He handed her cards with tally sheets clipped
to them. "These 'ere are the backorders. Can you get these done,
too?"

Cecelia swallowed hard. She noticed the
heart-in-hands theme seemed especially popular. Her heart started
to flutter. "They won't be exactly alike."

"I tell 'em no two are
zactly
alike."
The shopkeeper's serious mien broke and he gave her a wicked smile
and a wink. Was he the one sending her valentines back to her?

She hadn't considered him before. He was,
well, not old, perhaps in his thirties with dark hair styled like a
gentleman's. He was attractive in a slick, dark way. But she could
only see him being romantic when it served to gain him something.
She blinked.

"You can do it, can't you?"

It was as much a goad as a challenge. She
wasn't sure if she could do it, but, oh, she wanted to try. The
idea left her breathless with fear and tingling with nervous
excitement. "I may have a footman make my deliveries over the next
few days, then."

"And the money, miss?"

"I'll be round for it, eventually."

"Good 'nuf, Miss." He touched his forehead.
"Never thought when you first came round, things could be so
good."

"Me either." A shadow passed over her
excitement. She had done so well that there wasn't any doubt she
had raised enough money to live modestly on her own. Her dependence
on Devin would end soon. In spite of his recent bearishness, that
thought made her sad.

Cecelia returned home to find a calling card
with the corner turned down waiting for her. She checked the name.
Her spotty friend from last year. How odd. He had never called on
her last season.

Of course, he had been young, younger than
her and as green to town as she was. But they had grown friendly.
Yet, his calling on her at her guardian's house would signify a
seriousness turn in their friendship. Was he now looking for a
wife? Could he possibly be considering her?

Cecelia tapped the card against her lips.
Really, he was a nice boy, but he hadn't stirred more than fondness
in her. With Devin around how could any suitable man compare
favorably?

Still if her spotty friend had such a keen
romantic streak, perhaps she should at least stop thinking of him
as spotty.

* * *

"How much of this would one need for a lady's
riding habit?" Devin asked the shop girl.

"Would depend on how large the lady is,
milord."

"Slender like you. Give me what you think you
would need plus a couple of yards in case I'm wrong."

The shop girl gave him an amused smile.
Without thinking much, he grinned back. But if she was hoping he
would be back come closing time, she was mistaken. There was only
one woman's favors he wanted these days, and she was oblivious to
him. Well not quite oblivious, but so naive she didn't understand
his frustration.

The shop girl handed him the brown velvet
tied in tissue. Chocolate brown they had called it. He had picked
it because it reminded him of Cecelia's eyes. Dark, rich,
velvety—damn he wanted her. The valentine cards here weren't as
nice as at the other shop, but he was running late. And he still
needed to compose a message on the back.

He returned to the quarters his solicitor had
found for him just off Bond Street.

"I need a pen and ink, if you would be so
kind," he said to his valet, who had to double as a footman in his
rented rooms. At least he didn't have to cook as they both returned
to his town house for meals.

Devin shrugged out of his coat and rolled
back his sleeves.

His valet set the requested items down on the
writing desk. "That's not one of..."

Devin looked at his man. "Not what?"

"Not like the others, milord." He picked up
Devin's jacket and brushed the sleeves as if the care of his
master's clothes were the most engrossing task in the world. Of
course he was well paid to care about Devin's clothing.

"I know it's not as nice, but I didn't have
time to go to the other shop." Devin picked up the pen, dipped it
in the ink and hesitated. Hell, he had to get it done. Just write
something, he told himself. He could only hope the cards and gifts
were working, because he wasn't making in progress in person. In
fact, his charm seemed to have deserted him at a time when he
needed it most.

* * *

For the first time, Cecelia received a
valentine that wasn't made by her. In fact, she thought the simpler
card much inferior to her creations.
Get off your high
horse,
she told herself.