Free The Valentine's Day Ball by Julia Parks Page A

alone up here,” breathed Cherry, clutching at his sleeve.
    The young baron swelled with pride and patted her hand. “Of course I shan’t leave you, if you don’t wish it. Or Mary either!”
    “Very well,” said Lord Devlin. He nodded to the oblivious Roland Havelock. “Looks as though Mr. Havelock declines, so that leaves only you and me, Miss Lindsay.”
    All eyes turned to Jane who sat fidgeting with her gloves.
    “Miss Lindsay?”
    “What? Oh, yes, of course. Only I don’t have the key,” she hedged.
    “But Jane, the key is by the bottom step,” said Lord Pierce. “Don’t you remember? You dared me to go down there and—”
    “How silly of me to forget!” Peter, Mary, and Cherry stared at her, as if none of them could believe what they had heard. Jane never forgot. Never!
    Suddenly, Cherry giggled. “I know what it is! You’re afraid to go down there because of that monk being buried there! Afraid you’ll anger his spirit! It’s listening to that crazy old nurse all these years!”
    Now everyone turned expectantly to Cherry for details—everyone except Jane.
    “What rubbish,” said Jane, her voice as firm and certain as usual. “Come along, Lord Devlin. But I warn you, you will very likely ruin your coat.”
    “Hardly a deterrent, Miss Lindsay.” He removed the garment and placed it neatly on one of the blankets.
    As they moved away from the others, Cherry’s plaintive voice rose. “I am cold, Peter. Will you accompany me to the carriage, so I can get another blanket?”
    Jane stopped in her tracks and turned around. Mary waved her on, saying loudly, “What a good idea, Cherry. I’ll go with you.”
    Jane looked up to find Lord Devlin’s questioning gaze.
    “I had to make sure Cherry wouldn’t forget her manners, but Mary will take care of it. She is wise beyond her years.”
    “Hmm. And nearly as ancient as Miss Lindsay.” He reached down and picked up a sturdy stick. Taking out his handkerchief, he tied it around the end. “I took the liberty of equipping myself with a tinderbox from the picnic basket.”
    Jane led the way, talking all the while to bolster her courage. “There is one monk buried in the crypt. His name was Brother Valentine, which is why—so the legend goes—my ancestor who built Heartland named it as he did. It is also why St. Valentine’s Day has held a special place in our family’s tradition.”
    “A lot of superstition and poppycock, in other words, for this can’t possibly be the burial site of the St. Valentine who was supposed to have lived in the seventh century.”
    Jane laughed. “Perhaps, but the key to what you said is ‘supposed to have lived’! No one knows for certain, and I choose to believe that our monk is the original St. Valentine.”
    They had reached the entrance to the vault’s staircase, where the rough steps had been hidden by a well-placed shrub. The viscount pushed aside the foliage, lending a dim light down to the door.
    “I’ll go down first. Where did you say the key was?” said Devlin.
    “Next to the last step. There’s a recess in the wall on the right, I think it is.” Jane took a deep breath and followed slowly.
    I am not afraid. I am not afraid.
    “Ah! Here it is.”
    Jane could hear the trusty lock protest as Drew tried to turn the key.
    Please, don’t let it open.
    But her luck was out. The lock groaned but gave way. Lord Devlin took out his tinderbox and proceeded to light the makeshift torch. He took Jane’s limp hand and led the way into the tomb.
    The doorway was low, and Jane didn’t bend over enough. The snood that confined her long, heavy hair was plucked from her head.
    “Oh dear!”
    “What is it? Oh, never mind, I’ve got it.” He stopped, his head cocked to one side. His voice was silky as he murmured, “You should always wear your hair down. It is beautiful.”
    Jane was disconcerted by his manner. She took the net and shoved it in the pocket of her habit. “Shall we go?”
    He took her hand