Free Lord Blackwood's Valentine Ball: An Authentic Regency Romance by Arabella Sheraton

ask?”
    Patience stared at the exotic blooms in Lorna’s posy. Such bright shades and even such lush flowers must evoke strong feelings. For some reason, the remaining lines of her Valentine had escaped from her mind. Lorna’s exotic posy must be from Lord Blackwood. Pink roses among the other blossoms meant love and passion. It must be so!
    “Hurry up,” said Lorna impatiently. “The hack is here.”
    Draping their cloaks over their shoulders and affixing their masks with velvet ribbons, they hurried out to the hired carriage and gave the driver the address for Lord Blackwood’s town residence.

Six
    P atience surveyed the glittering scene. She could pick out some acquaintances at a glance. Mamas and other matrons not anticipating any romantic gestures assumed the roles of duennas for the young ladies and did not don Valentine masks. Mrs. Sutcliffe was there to chaperone Sophie, and a number of her friends whose mamas were otherwise engaged. Resplendent in puce, Mrs. Sutcliffe had entered the spirit of the occasion with a glittering peacock fan. Sophie glowed prettily in primrose while talking to a masked gentleman who could only be Viscount Birdwell, judging from Sophie’s evident pleasure. Sophie’s friend, Miss Wicklow, looked ravishing in moss green. Was that Mr. Capshaw she spied bearing down upon Miss Wicklow? Clearly, many aspiring suitors would have their chance tonight to declare their intentions. Most of the guests wore elaborate and intriguing masks. Some masks even depicted birds, animals, or characters. Patience shrank back against the wall next to Mrs. Sutcliffe’s reassuring bulk and clutched her posy.
    “That attitude simply won’t do, Miss Cherwell,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe in a kindly tone.
    Patience jumped. She had been far away in a reverie. “What attitude won’t do, ma’am?”
    “Hiding away as if you’re a wallflower. You look very lovely tonight if I may say so, my dear, and it’s time you shone in company.”
    “W-Why, thank you, ma’am.”
    “Not at all,” said the matron. “I’ve been married to Mr. Sutcliffe for nigh on twenty five years now, and I remember being young and hopeful, waiting for love to tap me on the shoulder.” Her eyes glittered as she bent a steely glance on Patience. “You must mingle and let people see how lovely you are. You should not be so reticent. My beloved grandmother used to say, ‘You’re a long time old, so don’t waste your youth. Enjoy every moment of it.’”
    Henrietta’s identical exhortations echoed in her mind. Everyone was giving her the same advice, but good as it was, it was impossible to follow. She glimpsed someone waving across the room. Then Henrietta materialised next to her, breathless from walking quickly around the dancers.
    “Oh, my dear!” Henrietta clasped her by one hand. “You look delightful.” Her gaze fell upon the posy Patience clutched in the other hand. “So thrilling! Someone has sent you a posy. Oh, a miracle. I knew it would happen. Aha! I see anemone, pansy, violet, and I do declare a yellow iris.”
    Patience looked closer at the posy. Yes, half hidden by the other flowers, a yellow iris peeped out. A single flower. There must be some special meaning. But no, a friend had sent this posy. There was no particular significance to infer from it.
    Henrietta shot her an arch look and tittered with suppressed excitement. She glanced about the room. “Perhaps he will declare himself tonight.”
    “Who?” Patience asked.
    Henrietta cocked her head and widened her eyes as if to indicate how silly Patience was to even ask. “Why, your mystery admirer, of course.”
    She waved her hands about to indicate she carried no token, save for her fan dangling from a ribbon attached to her wrist. “I’m not here for love, of course, what with Mr. Paisley being such a splendid man that no one could hold a candle to him. I’m here to chaperone the Barlow gals—” She pointed discreetly to another part of the