Sat, May 19 2012
| TITLE: | The Valentine |
|---|---|
| AUTHOR: | Patricia Colby |
| CATEGORY/TYPE: | Angst, Romance |
| RATING/WARNINGS: | PG, Gen |
| MAIN CHARACTERS: | Rebecca POV, but all four main characters are in this |
| DESCRIPTION: | Rebecca receives an unsigned Valentine and tries to figure out who it can be from. |
| STATUS: | Complete |
| DISCLAIMERS: | None of these characters belong to me, I just have fun with them. No money involved, ever. |
Rebecca Fogg did not think that there was anywhere in England more lovely than Shillingworth Magna in the late winter. Coming in from her morning ride, her cheeks apple-red from the brisk February air, Rebecca thought again how glad she was that Phileas had made the suggestion to spend some days at their family home. She had been bored to tears in London waiting for her next assignment and the city was so disturbingly bleak and dreary in the winter anyway. In the country, however, everything was different. The air was crisp, the landscape was brilliant with fresh snow, and the entire atmosphere left her feeling invigorated. It was a perfectly splendid way to pass some time before her duties called her away and Rebecca was enjoying every minute.
On her way upstairs, she asked the young maid, Mary, to bring her a cup of tea to warm her while she changed. She had just started undressing behind the screen in her room, however, when Rebecca noticed a new addition to her vanity table: a cream colored envelope, propped between her hairbrush and a bottle of perfume.
Her curiosity piqued, Rebecca stopped in the midst of unbuttoning her blouse and went to examine the envelope. It was unsealed, bulging slightly, indicating that it was more than a simple letter, and carefully addressed on the outside with her name in formal letters: “Miss Rebecca Fogg”. With ever growing interest she opened the envelope.
“Oh.”
She could not help making a small sound of surprise when she discovered a red paper heart inside, delicately trimmed in fine lace, pink satin ribbon and tiny little seed pearls. Only then did Rebecca remember what day it was: February the 14th. Valentine’s Day. And someone had left her a beautiful handmade Valentine.
Rebecca smiled, entirely delighted. It had been quite a few years since she had received a Valentine. In her younger days, of course, she had received many, mostly from potential suitors who sought the favor of Sir Boniface’s ward and possibly her hand in marriage. When it had become clear that Rebecca had no intentions of marrying any of the young men who called on her, the Valentines had stopped.
Who, then, had sent this one? Rebecca turned the Valentine over in her hands and examined its crupulously, as well as the envelope, but there was no indication of the sender’s identity.
“Hmm. A secret admirer,” she murmured. “How mysterious.”
Well, the mystery could be solved easily enough. After all, how many possibilities were there? The trinket had not come by post, but it could have been delivered to the house this morning while she was out riding. No. That would mean the sender had to be within easy riding distance and there was simply no gentleman of consequence anywhere that near by. Well, unless she counted old Lord Higby, but, egads, he was well over eighty and practically blind. No, definitely not him. That meant that the unknown admirer must be someone at Shillingworth Magna. Hmmm.
Just then Mary came in with her tea and noted the trinket in Rebecca’s hand.
“Oh, that’s a pretty thing, Miss,” she commented as she set the tea service down on the night table.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Rebecca agreed. “Do you have any idea who might have left it, Mary? Did you see anyone near my room this morning?”
The girl shrugged. “No, Miss. Didn’t leave his name, did he?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Mary smiled mischievously. “If you ask me, I expect ‘twas that nice Mister Jules. Isn’t he the sweetheart?” She blushed when Rebecca looked up at her in surprise and quickly went back to setting out the tea.
Rebecca smiled to herself. “I imagine you’re right, Mary. Thank you for the tea.”
Mary curtsied and scurried out, her head bowed to hide her embarrassment. Rebecca shook her head, still amused by the effect Jules always had on their female staff. She could hardly blame them. In the years they had known him Jules had certainly become quite a captivating and cultured young man, not to mention strikingly handsome.
But, yes. Now that Rebecca thought about it, Jules was the most likely candidate to have left the Valentine, although leaving presents for her wasn’t his usual way of showing affection. He let her know the depth of his feeling in other ways, allowing her into his confidence, for instance, trusting her with things he wouldn’t tell anyone else. Even when he was sure that the others would laugh at his far-fetched ideas, Jules knew that Rebecca would never laugh. They were friends on a deeper level, something intimate but at the same time chaste, although she was quite sure that Jules had contemplated unchaste thoughts at one time. But certainly those were long past. So why the Valentine, then? Perhaps to give her a tangible memento of how much their friendship meant to him?
It really was a sweet gesture, Rebecca decided, and she was determined to go and tell Jules how much the little gift had delighted her.
Rebecca took her time going through her wardrobe and finally decided on a dark blue wool gown with the collar edged in lace, which was one of her favorite winter outfits. She then went to look for Jules, knowing that he was probably already at work somewhere. She was glad that Phileas had invited him out to the estate as well, knowing that Jules could use the time away from Paris to concentrate on his writing.
As expected, Rebecca found him in the privacy of Passepartout’s laboratory, intently bent over one of his new plays. Even though he had passed his law examinations a few years earlier, Jules still loved his writing more than anything and he had foregone a lucrative career in law to concentrate on his plays. A romantic idealist to the end, Rebecca thought fondly as she crept up behind him. He was so absorbed in his work that he did not notice her, even with the unmanageable rustling of all her crinoline. Boldly, Rebecca leaned over to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.
Jules started in surprise, his pencil skittering across the page as he turned to see who had intruded on him.
“Rebecca, what...?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly on seeing his shock. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He relaxed and gave her a smile. “It’s just that I didn’t hear you come in.” He reached up to touch the place where she had kissed him. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Rebecca had been standing with her hands behind her back, her expression one of amused secrecy.
“It was a thank you,” she replied, bringing the Valentine out into view. “For this. It really is lovely, Jules. I don’t know how you managed it, but it’s perfect. Do you know how long it’s been since anyone has sent me a Valentine? I shall treasure it always.”
Jules gazed at the red paper heart and frowned slightly. “I’ve never seen that before. Where did you get it?”
“It was left in my room. I assumed...you mean it wasn’t you?”
“I’m sorry. I wish it had been me, though. I certainly like the way you show your appreciation.” In past years Jules might have blushed at rendering such a statement to her, but they knew each other too well now.
Rebecca shrugged. “Well, now I feel rather sheepish. I was certain it was you. I wonder who it could be, then?”
“Someone who admires you very much, I think. But then, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t.”
“Hmmm,” she replied, raising one eyebrow and thinking what a sweet charmer he was. “Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Jules.”
He did not appear disturbed at all. In fact, he was smiling quite broadly.
“You can disturb me any time, Rebecca.”
She laughed and couldn’t resist giving him another affectionate kiss.
“I’ll remember you said that.”
Leaving Jules to his writing, Rebecca wandered up toward the breakfast room where she met Passepartout just emerging with a tray of empty dishes.
“Ah, Miss Rebecca!” he exclaimed with a grin. “You are having breakfast now?”
“Yes, Passepartout, I believe I will,” she replied, returning the smile. His good mood was just as infectious as it had always been and Rebecca hoped it never changed.
“There is your favorite today,” he went on. “The nice little Spanish oranges.”
“Oranges?” she said in amazement. “This time of year? Wherever did Cook find them?” When Passepartout ducked his head a little and shrugged, Rebecca guessed the truth. “You went out and found them, didn’t you? Oh, Passepartout, you really are a wonder. What would any of us do without you?”
Again he shrugged modestly. “Sometimes, I know where to be looking for oranges. Is not so hard.”
He made the task sound simple, but Rebecca knew he must have gone to a dozen different places to find them for her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to please her...
Then she had another thought. “Oh! Of course! You dear man! It was you who left the Valentine for me!” She laughed and gave him a hug, which nearly upset the tray of dishes.
“Valentine?” Passepartout asked, obviously pleased with her display, but also somewhat confused.
“Why yes, this lovely red heart,” she said, showing it to him. “You’re always doing such sweet things to make my day brighter. I simply adore it.”
Passepartout gazed at the Valentine curiously. “Is very nice, Miss Rebecca, but...”
Rebecca discerned the apologetic look he gave her. “But you didn’t leave it.”
Passepartout shook his head.
Rebecca sighed and crossed her arms. “Oh bother. If it wasn’t you and it wasn’t Jules, then who was it?”
“Maybe is someone you are not expecting,” Passepartout offered helpfully.
“Apparently so.” She shrugged and smiled. “Well, thank you very much for the oranges, Passepartout.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek that made him grin again. “I shall stuff myself silly with them.”
As Passepartout went about his duties, Rebecca continued into the breakfast room where her cousin, Phileas, was leisurely reading his morning paper and sipping coffee.
“Good morning, Rebecca,” he greeted her. “Did you have a pleasant ride?”
She murmured some vague response as she sat down and absently picked up one of the promised oranges from a white ceramic bowl. She frowned as she began to peel it.
“You seem perplexed,” Phileas remarked, laying his newspaper aside. “Did that new mare give you any trouble this morning?”
“Hm? Oh, no, Phileas. She was marvelous. You must forgive me but I have a bit of a puzzle.”
“Oh? Of what sort?”
She put down the half-peeled orange and held up the Valentine for his inspection. “Someone left this for me, but did not identify themselves.”
“Ah.” He shifted in his chair, crossing his legs. “But you have some idea who it was, I assume?”
“Well, at first I thought it was from Jules, naturally, but he denied that it was his doing.”
“You... thought it was from Verne?”
“He’s such a romantic at heart, I thought he was being sweet.”
“Yes, but...”
“Then I thought, ‘oh well, it must be Passepartout’. You know how he’s always leaving a flower on my desk or some such thing. But it wasn’t him, either.”
“Passepartout? But surely this is some sort of... love token...”
“Love token?” She chuckled. “Oh, it’s hardly that, Phileas. After all, who in heaven’s name would be courting my fancy these days?”
Phileas stared at her blankly. “Yes. Who indeed?” With that he resumed his reading, straightening the morning edition with a sharp snap of his wrists.
Rebecca scowled in frustration, both at her cousin’s sudden lack of sociability and her inability to figure out the puzzle.
“Do you know, it might be that new stable boy, John,” she mused out loud. “But no. Where would he get the lace and pearls, for heaven’s sake? And he would never have the nerve to be so bold anyway. Oh, really. I like a good mystery, but I like ones I can solve. Phileas, do you have any ideas?”
Dead silence.
“Phileas?”
Now what is he miffed about? Rebecca gazed across at her cousin and a curious thought struck her. What if...?
No. It couldn’t be Phileas. He had never in his entire life sent any woman a Valentine, least of all her. Why should he start now? But as she thought about it, Phileas had not seemed the least bit surprised when she showed him the trinket. Rather he had seemed... uncomfortable, as if he was unsure of her reaction. And now he was definitely in a sour mood, offended, perhaps, by her failure to realize that the Valentine was from him?
That seemed silly, but there really was no other solution to the mystery.
“Phileas, was it you?” she asked quietly, still in disbelief.
Her cousin muttered something irritably, hidden behind his paper. Rebecca then knew the truth, strange as it might be.
“I’m so sorry,” she tried, all at once sensing his injury and hoping to make amends. “You know it really is lovely...”
Her efforts were too late.
Phileas stood up abruptly, dropping the newspaper on the floor so that she could see the cold mask of indifference that he had put in place. She knew that look. It was the one he hid behind when he had no other emotional recourse.
“For God’s sake, Rebecca, it’s only a bit of red paper and some ribbon. Let’s not discuss it anymore, shall we?”
He stormed out of the room, leaving Rebecca so startled that she could do nothing except to sit there and watch him go. What was that all about, she wondered? Why had Phileas been so upset? She knew her cousin better than anyone and yet this behavior was quite unprecedented.
Rebecca gazed down at the trinket in her hand and touched the pretty lace with her fingers. Phileas had made this for her himself, she was sure of it now. It was entirely charming and sweet and delightful...and entirely encharacteristic of her cousin. He wouldn’t have just left it on a whim. There had to be a reason. What had he called it? A love token?
A love token.
Rebecca’s heart contracted sharply. Oh dear Lord. She remembered now. Some years ago her good friend, Lady Celia Wexford, had received a proposal from her gentleman on Valentine’s Day in the form of a trinket just like this. Rebecca had told Phileas that she thought it was the most romantic thing she had ever heard. At the time, Phileas had merely shrugged it off.
But he had remembered. Somehow he had kept that memory in his heart, wanting to give her the same romantic overture that she had made such a fuss over when Celia had been the recipient. Rebecca herself had almost forgotten the whole affair, but Phileas had not. His Valentine was meant to serve the same purpose then: to be a question.
Rebecca could not say that it came as a complete surprise. She had somehow always expected it, somewhere in the back of her mind, the thought not quite conscious, but always present in everything she and Phileas said and did. How, then, had she failed to recognize it now? Of course Phileas was upset. He must have been planning this all along, probably for weeks or even months. That’s why he had suggested the visit to Shillingworth Magna around Valentine’s Day. That’s why he had been rather edgy ever since their arrival. Rebecca had thought he was just worried about a couple of the stallions showing signs of colic. In truth, he had wanted everything to be perfect for this day. He was probably even responsible for hinting to Passepartout about the oranges. And, of course, he had expected her to know that the token was from him straight away and he had expected her to understand its meaning.
What made matters worse was the fact that Rebecca understood why Phileas had chosen this way to propose. In reality, it was the only way he could ask her to marry him. A direct proposal would have meant risking a rejection to his face, something he was unprepared to go through after all the other pain and disappointment he had suffered in his life. He couldn’t go through it again and yet, he had wanted this enough to at least risk the Valentine, hoping that he would not need to say anything more. Rebecca knew how much the effort had cost him. She knew how much he had been counting on her recognition of what he was trying to do. But she had failed him and he had taken her flippancy as her way of saying no. Oh Phileas.
Rebecca felt a sudden wave of anger at being put in this position. How could he expect her to know what the trinket meant after all this time? Couldn’t he have given her some sort of hint or indication of what he intended? But she realized that Phileas had tried. He had named the trinket as a love token and she had ignored it. No, she had done worse than that. She had practically laughed in his face.
Rebecca slumped in her chair, knowing that she could not put all the blame on Phileas. In truth, she should have remembered Celia’s trinket straight away, considering how much it had impressed her at the time. Why had she been so blind? Why hadn’t she realized from the start what the Valentine meant? Perhaps she had become too comfortable with Phileas over the years, always assuming he would be there, never questioning their relationship. She had looked right over him without even thinking, as if he were a part of the furniture. In some ways, that attested to how much she counted on him, but in another way she realized now how much she had taken him for granted. It made her cringe to think she had been so callous all this time.
But, did she really want to be his wife?
Even if her answer was yes, did it matter now? Phileas, his pride severely wounded, might not open up this way ever again. He would wallow in his self-pity and disappointment, never risking another chance at their happiness, and things would remain the way they were forever. For him, risking love was a terrible gamble. To have her shun him like this only reinforced his belief that the risk was too great. Better to stay comfortably numb to the whole thing and not let it interfere with his life.
Rebecca swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Suddenly she knew with absolute certainty that she did not want things to stay the way they were. She did not want to remain Phileas’ spinster cousin for the rest of her life, sharing his home and his table, but never going beyond that. She wanted to be his partner, legally and permanently and passionately. Obviously, Phileas felt the same way. God, she loved him so much. She could not imagine her world without him and, yes, she wanted to consummate their relationship in every way possible. Yes, she wanted to be his wife. The thought made her entire body tingle with suppressed desire. Phileas, as her husband, sharing her bed. Oh God, yes.
But now she had hurt him terribly. How was she ever going to make that up to him? How was she going to make him see how much she wanted to go back, start over, and do it right this time? Going to him now would do no good. If she tried to apologize out of hand, she knew he would close up on himself like a fortress, he would become unreachable. After that display just now Phileas would never let her through the defense of his emotion, no matter what she said. He would think she was patronizing him and would refuse to take her answer seriously. She knew him too well, perhaps. Surely there must be some way to get through to him, to make him listen to her and see the sincerity of her apology and the depth of her love.
Yes, she thought after a few moments, setting her jaw in determination. There had to be a way. There was always a way.
+ + + +
That same evening, dinner was a strained affair. The lovely kidney pie that Cook had slaved over went mostly untouched by the Foggs, who were both uncharacteristically silent and distracted during the meal. Jules, sensing the tension without much difficulty, seemed to have lost his appetite as well. Passepartout slipped quietly in and out of the dining room, pouring wine or serving and removing dishes as the need arose. He glanced at Jules questioningly from time to time, but the young Frenchman could only shrug in response.
Finally, Rebecca could not stand the dismal mood any longer. She folded the napkin on her lap and cleared her throat delicately.
“Jules, I was wondering if I might ask your advice on something?” she said rather more stiffly than she had intended.
Jules perked up, eager to be of any help. “Certainly, Rebecca.”
“You see, I have a dear friend who has just received an overture from a gentleman whom she cherishes very much. Unfortunately the lady misconstrued the meaning of the overture and inadvertently caused the gentleman some injury. Now she is very much afraid that the overture may be withdrawn.”
Jules blinked in confusion. This was obviously not what he had been expecting. “Uh, hm. Well, Rebecca, couldn’t she just ask the gentleman?”
“No, I’m afraid that would be entirely unacceptable under the present circumstances.”
Before Jules could think of an answer, Passepartout stepped up to the table to freshen Phileas’ water glass.
“Master, you being a very fine gentleman, maybe you understand how this other gentleman would be thinking?”
Rebecca sensed the abrupt stiffness in her cousin’s posture, though she did not dare to look over at him. Passepartout, it appeared, understood the situation entirely, but if Phileas was not willing to go along then all was indeed lost.
Several seconds passed while Phileas seemed to mull over his answer as he finished his wine.
“It is difficult to say, Passepartout,” he said finally. “After all, it is a matter of some delicacy.”
Rebecca cringed inwardly, her fingers clenching in her napkin. Jules, however, came to her rescue.
“But you did say there was a misunderstanding,” he prompted. “Isn’t that right, Rebecca?”
“A very serious one, yes,” she agreed. “And my friend wishes to apologize for the misunderstanding most humbly. But, of course, she certainly understands why the gentleman would still be reluctant. She can only hope that he might be willing to give her another chance.”
“I am thinking that he is a fair man, this gentleman,” Passepartout remarked. “Would you not say so, Master?”
Phileas pretended to examine an imperfection in his table knife. “I don’t believe fairness has anything to do with it,” he answered flatly. “The lady obviously did not want the overture in the first place, otherwise she would not have misconstrued it.”
There was a hint of panic in Jules’ eyes and Rebecca knew he had caught on. He was, after all, a highly intelligent young man.
“Rebecca,” he chimed in quickly, “if your friend had recognized the overture right away, do you know how she would have reacted?”
“She would have been delighted to accept,” Rebecca replied firmly. “But she does admit that she was caught off guard. After all, the gentleman had not given her any sort of warning as to his intentions.”
Passepartout again made some excuse to approach the table. “Master, maybe the gentleman should be taking this into his thinking, yes?”
Phileas’ eyes flashed dangerously. “Warning? Now she’s making it sound like an assault on her person. Clearly, acceptance was not on her mind at all and the matter should be left at that. No gentleman would pursue a lady who does not wish to be pursued.”
Rebecca felt her blood pressure rise. “Well, if the gentleman wasn’t so pigheaded, perhaps he would see that the lady actually wants to be pursued.”
Phileas snorted. “Only because she feels pity for the poor chap now, I suppose. It’s hardly the sort of acceptance a gentleman might hope for.”
Rebecca rose to her feet in fury and Phileas followed suit.
“And perhaps the gentleman should realize how much the lady is in love with him and stop feeling so sorry for himself!” she snapped.
“Oh, in love, is she? Then why didn’t she say so earlier?” Phileas shot back.
“Because the gentleman ran off in a huff and never gave her a chance, that’s why!”
“He was merely excusing himself after the lady had seemed to discount his overture! It was the only gentlemanly thing to do!”
“The lady has already rendered her apology about the misunderstanding! And she is very clearly accepting his overture now with the greatest sincerity!”
“Yes, I suppose she’s made that quite obvious, thank you!”
“So, is the gentleman going to accept her acceptance or not?”
“Well, I should bloody well hope so! He’s not a complete blithering idiot!”
“Well, good for him!”
Rebecca paused and smoothed down her skirt, giving her time to continue in a more dignified tone. “Has he in mind a date?”
“He was thinking about tomorrow, unless the lady has any strong objections.” Phileas, too, was bringing himself back under control.
“Tomorrow would be quite acceptable, I’m sure.”
“Excellent.”
“Indeed.”
Several tense seconds passed where Rebecca and Phileas stood staring at each other, their stances fixed and uncompromising. Jules and Passepartout were frozen in place, not daring to breathe at all, afraid to do anything that might upset the delicate truce they had just witnessed.
Then Phileas took a deep breath, straightened his cuffs and turned to his valet with an air of perfect calm.
“Well then, Passepartout,” he said quietly. “Would you be so kind as to go and inform Reverend Bodkin that we will be needing his services tomorrow?”
Passepartout grinned magnanimously. “I am going this very minute, Master!”
“Wait! I’ll go with you,” Jules offered, but then he stopped in the doorway and turned back to give his friends a warm smile. "By the way, congratulations.”
Once alone in the dining room, Phileas turned to Rebecca and she saw in his eyes everything she had ever hoped to see there. In response she started trembling all over and her cousin’s upper lip quivered with emotion.
“Oh, Phileas,” she exclaimed, all of her love contained in those two small words. She went to him and he enfolded her against his breast as if he might never let her go.
“My dear Rebecca,” he whispered, his voice breaking with heartfelt tenderness. “I shall do everything in my power to make you happy. I swear it.”
She choked and felt the tears come, but it was all right. Phileas was there to kiss them away.
+ + + +
Later, as Rebecca retired to her own room for the last time, she picked up the Valentine where it lay on her vanity and smiled as she caressed the carefully placed ribbon. How strange to think that because of this one small trinket there would be a wedding at Shillingworth Magna tomorrow and Phileas would become her husband.
Oh, there would have to be a grand, showy wedding in London at some point, she knew. Her Majesty, Rebecca’s godmother, would never allow her to get away without one. She and Phileas would have to go through the motions that society demanded and be stalwart in the face of rumors about their private wedding, but that would all be later. Tomorrow was the important thing. She and Phileas would have the wedding that they both wanted, in the quiet serenity of their family’s parish church, with Passepartout at Phileas’ side and Jules escorting her down the aisle. She had already decided on wearing the green velvet holiday gown that Phileas had admired so much and she would carry a bouquet of bittersweet and evergreen, perhaps the most fitting symbols of all.
The servants, of course, were already making excited preparations for a small celebration at the house afterward. Cook would bake a superb cake and McIver would rosin up his bow and there would be many tears and kisses. Rebecca knew it would be beautiful and joyful.
She did not fool herself, however. She knew life married to Phileas would not always be wonderful. Both of them could be so damned stubborn and uncooperative at times. She was also sure that facing Sir Jonathan with the news of her marriage would be distinctly unpleasant. Rebecca could already hear his outrage at her impertinence for wanting to continue her profession as a married woman. Let him shout. He would get used to the idea. In truth there was nothing that could shake her belief in her future happiness: working for the British Secret Service, having Phileas for her husband, continuing the Fogg family line. Yes, it all pleased her very much indeed.
Carefully, Rebecca placed the Valentine at the bottom of her jewelry box, nestling it into a safe little corner. Knowing Phileas, there would never be another one to go with it. For the most part he considered such displays of affection to be unnecessary. It didn’t matter. After all, he had placed his entire heart into this one, risking everything on a piece of red paper and some ribbon. What more could she ever ask of him? And tomorrow, when he placed his mother’s ring on her finger, she would place her entire heart into a vow of love, to be his for all time. She could give him no greater token than that.
+ + + +
Author's Note: for those who might object to such a quick wedding (ignoring the banns and other such traditions), I did it this way because that's how it happens in Around the World in Eighty Days. I figured Jules got the idea from somewhere! Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!