Chapter Thirteen

“Good morrow, madam.”

Alana blinked sleepily, pushing herself up on her elbow in bed and brushing her hair back from her face. “Sir Gabriel?” she said, looking at him across the room, where he sat at her writing table. “What do you here this morning? I’ve hardly seen you all week.”

“‘Tis Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, lord, so it is.” She collapsed back onto the pillow and then suddenly sat up again, tucking the coverlet around her shoulders at the gleam in his eyes. “Oh, Sir Gabriel! Your vow—”

“No matter. I had hoped that perhaps you might find happiness.” He shrugged. “It seems not meant to be.”

“Well, sir, if I were to believe old traditions, you are the first male I’ve seen today, and so you will be my sweetheart,” she teased.

He didn’t smile. “I’m not for you, madam. I would not be enough for you.”

“You may not exactly be substantial, but you’re far more trustworthy than most men I’ve met.” She smiled. “I can depend on you to appear when I least expect it.”

“Madam, I believe you’re being too harsh on young Kirkwood.”

“And I believe that is none of your affair. Would you kindly leave, sir, so I may dress?”

“In a moment.” He rose and crossed to her. “You’ve a costume for this evening?”

“Yes, a dress I found in the attic. Why?”

“I would that you wear this.” He pointed towards the bottom of the bed,

For the first time Alana noticed that a gown was spread there. It was the green silk gown she had seen in the attic, but it looked different. The silk was vibrant, bright, no longer faded, while the lace around the neckline was a pristine white. How Sir Gabriel had managed this, she didn’t know, she thought, reaching out to touch it. “It is beautiful, sir.”

“It was my Madeleine’s,” he said, making her look up sharply. “It would please me greatly if you would wear it.”

“I—yes,” she said, before she could change her mind. “If it fits, I will.”

“I am pleased. I will leave you, then.” He turned, and then stopped. “You will be leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Alana kept her voice steady by a great effort. Tomorrow she and her grandfather would leave. Left behind would be Heart’s Ease, and the way of life that had been hers for five years. Left behind would be John.

“I will say good-bye to you, then, madam.”

“Oh, no—”

“I fear I will be in no mood to speak to anyone tomorrow.”

“Oh, Sir Gabriel.” She held out her hand, and then withdrew it. Even if he were near, she couldn’t touch him. “Pray don’t despair. I shall keep searching for your family, and perhaps next year—”

“I hold out little hope, madam. I do thank you for all you’ve done.”

“Oh, Sir Gabriel.”

“Good day, madam.” He swept off his hat, and bowed. “And goodbye.”

“Sir Gabriel!” she cried, but he had faded from view. He was gone.

Tears prickled at her eyes as she stared at the spot where he had been. Absurd to feel this way, such loss and grief for a man long dead. Oh, if only she had been able to help him! It seemed more than one person would be bereft on this Valentine’s Day.

A little while later, dressed for the day, Alana left her room and walked towards the stairs. There, at the landing, she encountered John.

For a moment both looked at each other, and then John nodded. “Good morning, Miss Sterling.”

“Good morning, my lord.” Alana fell into step beside him going down the stairs, feeling a curious mixture of joy and pain. In the last few days they had hardly seen each other, except at meals; when they had, they had barely spoken. It was sweet relief, and exquisite torture. She prayed he would not renew his protestations of love; she wished that he would.

“You are leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes. And you?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

“Yes.” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to her. “Alana—”

“Oh, there you are, my lord!” Lady Pamela, garbed in a pink morning gown, bustled into the hall. “I know you’ll want your breakfast, but when you’re done, may I see you about the play? There are some lines I am certain Camilla would never have said.”

John shot Alana a look, and she bit back a smile. It really was most ridiculous, this play Lady Pamela insisted on staging, especially since she had removed what both John and Alana thought were the best lines, those brimming with humor. She had replaced them instead with simpering platitudes. What made the situation more humorous was that those lines had been taken directly from either Camilla’s journals or letters. John would be happy to be done with this task, Alana thought, and her amusement faded. Once he finished, he would leave. Would she ever see him again?

“Come. We can discuss this over breakfast.” Lady Pamela took John’s arm and led him towards the dining room, leaving Alana to follow. As she walked behind them, feeling alone and abandoned and unable to keep her eyes from John, a startling thought came to her. Except for Sir Gabriel, who surely didn’t count, John was the first man she had seen today. Was he, against all odds, to be her sweetheart after all?

“This is the damndest, oddest house I’ve ever seen,” the Duke of Grafton growled that evening, as he escorted Alana into the music room, where the masquerade was to be held. He was not in costume, but wore only a domino and a mask. Alana had had trouble coaxing him to wear even that much. “Damn place is all pink.”

“Grandpapa, hush. You promised to behave,” she murmured, though privately she agreed. Lady Pamela had outdone herself for this gala night, carrying the decorations to an extreme Alana could never have imagined. Like many of the other rooms in the house, the music room was painted pink. Lady Pamela, however, had not been content with that. Nearly every inch of the wall was covered with lacy hearts, satin hearts, velvet hearts, of all sizes and all shades of red, from palest pink to deepest burgundy. Festooning the walls, and the gallery above where the musicians played, were garlands of silk roses in pink, red and white, twined with pink satin ribbons and gilded vines. The chairs were upholstered in crimson velvet; musicians and servants alike suffered in red doublets and white hose; and, hanging from a doorway was a porcelain Cupid, all pink and white. It was, so Alana had been told, meant to act as a kissing bough did at Christmastime. There was even a sprig of mistletoe hanging from Cupid’s arrow. Alana took one look at that and vowed to keep as far from it as possible.

As startling as all this was, though, what caught all eyes was the trellis, in the far corner of the room. It bloomed with more silk flowers, and in it stood Lady Pamela and Sir Ronald, holding court. She glowed in a gown of bright pink satin, something Alana was convinced the real Camilla would never have worn; poor Sir Ronald looked morose and rotund in the mulberry velvet coat she and John had found in the attic, worn with lace at the cuffs and the full breeches fashionable long ago. Alana felt a spurt of sympathy for him. “I do see what you mean, Grandpapa,” she said. “It is a bit much, isn’t it?”

“A bit much? This house is a bit much. I’m here only for you, Lainie girl.”

“For me!” Alana stared at him. “But I thought you wanted to stay.”

“Good gad, no! Just thought you should have some fun, after working all this time,” he mumbled, not looking at her.

Alana stared at him consideringly. “Grandpapa, what are you planning?”

“Are you accusing me of something, girl?”

“I know you.” Her eyes narrowed. “I will not marry Kirkwood.”

“And I don’t want you to. Enough of this, girl. Can’t a man want to see his grandchild enjoy herself?

“You usually don’t. You usually have another motive.”

“I am hurt, girl, by your low opinion of me. I want only what is best for you.”

“Unfortunately we tend to disagree on what that is.”

“But you will come home with me now.”

“Yes, Grandpapa.” Alana smiled. For all her grandfather’s gruffness, there was a pleading look in his eyes. “I will come home. So long as you don’t pinch at me to marry,” she added.

“Harumph. We’ll see. Ah, good evening, Ware. What think you of all this?”

The Marquess of Ware, similarly attired in a domino and plain mask, shook his head. “Never seen anything like it. Good evening, Miss Sterling.”

Alana curtsied. “Good evening, sir. And—” Her voice died. Behind Lord Ware stalked—Sir Gabriel? But he wouldn’t appear here, would he? Yet, there he stood, tall, commanding, in a coat of forest green velvet, with his hair carefully arranged in long curls and a huge plumed hat upon his head. His eyes were hidden by his mask, but she knew the gleam in them well. “I—what are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Good evening, Miss Sterling,” he said, sweeping off the hat and bowing low. Alana’s sense of unreality increased. It wasn’t Sir Gabriel’s voice; it was John’s. “Are you well? You look a trifle pale. Rather as if you’d seen a ghost.”

He knew, the wretch! But, good heavens, the resemblance was amazing. Why had she never remarked it before? “Good evening, Lord Kirkwood. ‘Tis rather warm in here.”

“So it is.” John glanced around. “And very pink.” For a moment his eyes met hers, and the old companionship, the old sense of sharing secrets that no one else knew, returned. Then he looked away, and the moment was lost.

“Harumph.” Grafton was glaring at John. “Contracted any more wagers, Kirkwood?”

“No, sir.”

“Harumph. Well, you both look as if you planned your costumes together.”

“No,” John and Alana said in unison, and then he looked at her more closely. “That is the gown we found in the attic.”

“Yes,” Alana replied, briefly. She had no intention of telling him where she had got it.

“It suits you.”

“Thank you, sir. If you’ll excuse us, we should make our greetings to our hosts.”

“Ours, too. Grafton, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Lord Ware said, and took the duke’s arm. The two men moved off, engaged in conversation, leaving John and Alana alone.

“Well,” John said, after a moment. “Shall we, ma’am?”

Alana regarded the arm he held out to her, and then sighed inwardly. She didn’t want to touch him; she wanted to touch him so much! “Thank you, sir,” she said, and placed her hand on his arm. She was acutely aware of his nearness as they crossed the room, and of the strength of his arm under her hand. Warmth spread through her in tingling waves, an odd feeling, but not unpleasant. If only she could trust him—but she could not go on with that train of thought. It would do no good.

“Why, Miss Sterling,” Lady Pamela gushed when John and Alana reached the trellis. “That is you behind the mask, is it not? And—is it really Lord Kirkwood? Why, Sir Ronald! Does he not look the very image of Sir Gabriel Follett’s portrait?” Sir Ronald mumbled something that they took as assent, and she hurried on. “The resemblance is amazing. And Miss Sterling. I see you chose to dress in the style of the time. Like me.”

“Yes, ma’am. I had this from the attic.”

“How very resourceful of you. But, green, ma’am? On tonight of all nights?”

“Pink doesn’t suit me, ma’am.”

“Well, no matter, you both look very well together.” Looking up towards the gallery, she waved her hand. Instantly the music the orchestra had been playing ceased, and a waltz began instead. “There. I’ve asked them to play that just for you. Do go and dance.”

They both stared at her in dismay. “Ma’am,” John began.

“Lady Pamela, I don’t think,” Alana protested at the same time.

“Oh, do go!” She beamed at them. “‘Tis only a dance after all. And pray do not forget my play later.”

John and Alana looked helplessly at each other. There was no hope for it. “Miss Sterling?” John said, holding out his hand.

“Thank you, sir.” Alana let him lead her out onto the floor, where other couples already waltzed. His arm went about her waist, holding her close. Much too close. “And was this your idea?”

“No. I want this no more than you do.”

“Why?” she flared. “Am I so unattractive, then?”

“Dash it, Alana! You make no sense. What do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her anger suddenly evaporating. It hadn’t been directed at him in any event, but at circumstances. Oh, why couldn’t things be different? “Why can’t you be more like Sir Gabriel?”

John looked down at her in surprise. “What did you say?”

Alana looked away, feeling her face color. “It is of no moment.”

“You wish me to be like a ghost? Is that what you are saying?”

“No.” Alana looked up at him. “He has remained true and steadfast to one love for over a century. I admire that.”

“He’d little choice.”

“If you recall, he did choose his fate,” she retorted. “It isn’t his fault others aren’t so faithful.”

“What do you want of me, madam?” he said, sounding so like Sir Gabriel at his most imperious that she blinked. “Do you wish me to be some insubstantial vision that comes and goes according to whim?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I am a man, Alana. A flesh and blood man. Not perfect, not particularly romantic, but a man. I have my faults. But please do not tell me Sir Gabriel was perfect, else he wouldn’t have got himself into such a fix.”

“Sir Gabriel sees love for what it is. He sees how important it is.”

“And I do not?”

“I don’t believe so, no, sir.”

“Huh. All that I’ve done, to help him fulfill his vow, even to finding out—”

“What?” Alana said, when he didn’t go on.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter, now.” She didn’t know, he thought. He had never told her he was descended from Sir Gabriel.

“Did you learn more about his descendants? Tell me!”

“I found a clue. Damn it, Alana, Sir Gabriel’s waited this long, he can wait another year. I cannot. Don’t you know I love you?”

Alana looked away. “I know you think you do.”

“I know you were hurt in the past. My father told me,” he said, as she looked up at him in surprise. “Do you really think I give a jot for your position? I would have married you before I knew who you were, and you know it. If you can’t get over your damnable pride—”

“I can’t trust you!” she cried. “I’ve seen how you are with other women, flirting with them, and I know of your reputation. How will I ever know if you love me, for me?”

“Dash it, Alana!” He whirled her about in frustration. “Very well, if that is how you feel, I can’t change your mind,” he said, finally. “But when the crystal heart broke, so did my heart.”

“Oh, gammon!”

“I love you, Alana.” He gazed down at her, his eyes piercing and intent. “I always will.”

Alana stared back at him, wanting to believe him, not daring to. If she did, if she took the chance—but what if he hurt her? She couldn’t bear to go through it again.

“The music’s ended,” a gruff voice said beside her, and she looked up to see her grandfather. “Not done to embrace like this in the middle of a crowded room.”

“Oh!” Alana pulled back, her mind whirling. So absorbed had she been in their conversation that she hadn’t noticed the dance ending. “How foolish of me.”

“Remember what I said,” John said, still holding her gaze with his, and raised her hand to his lips. “And remember, it is still Valentine’s Day.”

Alana snatched her hand back, feeling as if she had been burned. “I—yes,” she said, and turned, walking blindly away.

“Impertinent young pup,” the duke growled, and Alana snapped out of her thoughts.

“He isn’t,” she protested. “I think he truly loves me, Grandpapa.”

“Harumph. A lightweight like him? How could you ever be certain he doesn’t want you for your fortune?”

“He has one of his own, and a title. He doesn’t need mine. And he’s no lightweight, Grandpapa. He may have come here on a wager, but I’ve seen him working. I don’t know of many other young men who would have set to it as well as he did.”

“Harumph. You make him sound a paragon. The man flirts, Lainie.”

“It’s just his way! It means nothing. Why, I’ve even seen him flirt with Lady Honoria. She loved it, of course.”

“Still, don’t know if you can trust someone like that. Never know if the flirting’s real, or not.”

“I can trust him. Underneath he’s solid and dependable. He’s shown that, even though what I asked him to do seemed foolish, and—well, never mind.” But he had helped in the search of the crystal heart, even when he’d been convinced that Sir Gabriel didn’t exist. She could depend on him. She could trust him. “I love him, Grandpapa.”

“Do you, eh?” He peered at her from under bushy brows. “Well, Lainie girl, if it’s what you truly want, I won’t stand in your way.”

“You won’t? Oh, Grandpapa!” She started to throw her arms around his neck, and then stopped, arrested by the gleam in his eye. “Why, you old humbug.”

“What?” he said, his voice innocent.

“You wanted this all along, didn’t you?”

“Well, my dear, I do think it a suitable match.”

“Suitable! But you’ve protested against it all week.”

“And you decided in spite of me, eh?” His eyes twinkled. “Do you think I don’t know you, Lainie? If I’d pushed this match you would have stood firm against it.”

“I—” She stopped. “I would have, wouldn’t I?”

“That you would. You always were a stubborn puss.”

“John was right. I did let pride get in the way of love,” she said, wonderingly, and glanced away. Across the room, under the Cupid suspended from the doorway, stood John, bending to kiss Susan Valentine, with every appearance of pleasure. Something snapped inside her. A moment before he had been professing his love for her. Now he was romancing Miss Valentine. “I was wrong,” she said, and moved away.

“Lainie? Where are you going, girl?”

“I am tired of this masquerade, Grandpapa. I am going to go to the library and find some peace.” And with that, she turned and fled the room.