And yet when Claire obliged and seated herself at the pianoforte, no one paid either her or her music the slightest heed until she finished her piece and rose to her feet. Then the ladies interrupted their gossiping about the fire.
“That was quite divine, Miss Ward,” Miss Garnett said.
“Oh, do play on, Miss Ward,” Lady Florence urged her. “You have a quite superior touch.”
Claire played on, smiling inwardly as the ladies resumed their conversation. She did not mind playing or being ignored. Indeed, she felt far more comfortable where she was, especially after the gentlemen came in from the dining room. And safer. She was a little overawed by the presence of so many strangers and despised herself for being so. One of the gentlemen was even a duke—the Duke of Langford.
Why she should feel suddenly fearful of playing a wrong note just because she had remembered that there was a duke present in the room she did not know. He was no more human than she, she told herself firmly. Besides, no one was listening to her music and so there was no reason for nervousness.
And yet when she glanced up and across the room to assure herself that in truth she was being ignored, it was to find herself looking straight across into the dark, hooded eyes of his grace. Claire looked down hastily and indeed played a wrong note. She grimaced and played on.
She rather thought that the man might make her nervous even without the exalted title. But then perhaps it was the title that gave him his remote, haughty air. His dark good looks merely enhanced it—though the silver hair at his temples proclaimed him to be a man well past the first flush of youth. He regarded the world from lazy dark eyes and occasionally from a quizzing glass. Claire suddenly had a panicked feeling and looked up to find the quizzing glass trained on her. She played on, unaware of whether her fingers had faltered again or not.
He had not spoken a great deal either at tea or at dinner. And yet he was clearly a favorite with all the ladies. And they made no secret of the fact, something that had rather shocked Claire. She had lived such a sheltered life, she realized. She knew nothing about the manners of polite society.
“Miss Ward.” Lady Florence’s voice stopped Claire’s hands on the keyboard. “Of course you must join us before I tell everyone what is planned for this Valentine’s party. I was so enjoying your music that I almost forgot to call you over until Gerard reminded me.”
Claire was not sure which of the gentlemen was Gerard. But she felt instant regret after all that she had been persuaded to play the pianoforte. All eyes watched her as she rose from the stool and crossed the room to take an empty chair close to the fire. She felt like a gauche girl, she thought in some annoyance, her movements jerky and self-conscious.
Lady Florence stood before the fire, looking as if she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Her red silk evening gown complemented the color in her cheeks. Claire looked at the latter in some fascination. Was the color natural?
“Tomorrow morning,” their hostess said, “we are going to observe the custom of the gentlemen drawing lots for valentines.”
“Two days early, Florence?” Lord Mingay asked.
“Why wait?” she said. “I have six identical valentines ready. Tomorrow each lady will write her name on the front of one and place it facedown on a table. Each gentleman will pick one, add his name to the lady’s, pin it to her bosom, and take her for his valentine for what remains of the party.”
Claire’s cheeks felt as if they were on fire. She must be sitting too close to the heat.
“I say,” Mr. Tucker said, looking about him. “A random choice, Florence? The whole thing is to be left to chance? No cheating?”
“Now, why do you ask, Rufus?” Lady Pollard asked, rapping him sharply on the knuckles with her fan. “Are there any of us ladies whom you would hope to avoid?”
“Or anyone you particularly favor, Rufus?” Miss Garnett asked.
Rufus Tucker looked about slowly at the ladies. “Not I,” he said. “No to both questions. So after tomorrow morning, Florence, we are to be in couples?”
“What a splendid idea, Florence,” Mrs. Tate said. “For three whole days we will each have the undivided attention of a gentleman? What a treat that will be.”
“I have plenty of activities planned to keep everyone entertained for three days,” Lady Florence said.
“Oh, bother,” Lucy Sterns said with a laugh.
Lady Florence held up one hand. “With plenty of opportunity for private tête-à-têtes,” she added.
“Ah, this is better,” Lucy Sterns said.
Sir Charles Horsefield seated himself on the arm of Lady Pollard’s chair. “Your servants are like to benefit too, Florence,” he said. “Six fewer beds to make up each morning after tonight.”
“Charles, you naughty man,” Lady Pollard said, slapping him on the knee while there was general laughter from the rest of the company. “You are quite putting me to the blush.”
“Then I am doing something no one else has accomplished these ten years past, Mildred,” he said, and there was another general burst of laughter while she shrieked again.
In addition to being too close to the heat, Claire thought, she was too far away from the door. Too far away from air. She was having difficulty breathing. Could she possibly be misunderstanding what she was hearing? But of course she must be. Everyone was laughing and in the best of good humor. They were joking. The jokes were in the poorest of taste by her standards, but she knew nothing of London standards. The truth was that Lady Florence had tried to organize a party that would be romantic in the true spirit of St. Valentine’s Day, and her friends were making lighthearted fun of her plans.
And yet, Claire thought, it would be unutterably embarrassing. Tomorrow morning she would be chosen to be one of these gentlemen’s valentine for three whole days. One of the gentlemen was going to find himself with a dreadfully dull companion. She was quite out of her depth in this company. She did not know how to laugh and talk wittily as these people did. Which gentleman would it be? she wondered. Her heart was racing and she felt more breathless than ever. And she did not know if the cause was panic or excitement.
She glanced up at the Duke of Langford, who was still standing and lounging against one corner of the mantel. He was looking back at her from those heavy-lidded eyes and idly swinging his quizzing glass on its ribbon. Claire licked her lips and looked back down again.
