would be in his eyes; but then he cleared his throat—a sound of strangulation, not amusement—and she dared hope he had been as unsettled by their proximity as she had.
"You were about—" he spoke firmly behind her—"to tell me what I could do to help."
She threw him a challenging glance. "I was?"
He grinned and nodded.
Just one look at his grin, and Selina knew the truth. More than anything else on earth, she did want this man to share her troubles.
"I—" she faltered under the enormity of that thought —"You are very kind, but I—"
"Why do you not tell me the basis for your claim?" he suggested gently. "Perhaps, on a legal issue such as that, I might be able to shed some light."
Yes. Of course. Selina wondered that she hadn't thought of this herself. With so little money to support them, she had not dared to seek the advice of a solicitor, but Richard might well know more than she about matters of the law.
He might even be a solicitor, for all she knew.
Dismissing this notion as highly unlikely, she nodded her agreement and stepped over to her mother's chest.
Richard waited in suspense while she searched its contents. At last, he would see what he had come for. He was surprised when she returned with nothing more than a faded scrap of blue paper. Selina handed it to him, and he glanced at it no more than a second before raising his eyes.
"A valentine?" he said, unable to hide his astonishment.
His incredulous tone made her flush. "Yes, but see what it says." She moved to his side.
Holding her wrapper tightly about her, she pointed to the words on the worn piece of paper. "Read the message," she urged him.
Reluctantly tearing his gaze from her face, Richard returned it to the faded page with the silvered edges. It had been written in the quaint style of another century. A pair of hand-painted swans, their necks drawn to meet in the shape of a valentine, graced the top of the page. Yellow stains of age had spread over the words, but he could still make them out.
Turning to let the firelight spill over them, he read aloud,
"Moste suitors chouse theyr love by chance,
Yet, I disdayne to follow such a dance,
But take my plesyure from the birds above,
To plight my troth in steade to truest love,
That this won yeere shall turn to lyfe.
When Valentyne shalle bee my wyfe."
Finishing, Richard turned over the paper to see how it had been directed. In a flowing hand, he read, "To Mistress Anne Trevellian" and the signature of the sender, "Mr Joshua Payley Esquire."
Feeling Selina's eager gaze upon him, he raised his own eyes. "Where did you come by this?" he asked.
"It was among the few belongings my father brought from his parents' house. It had been tucked away inside a small volume of Milton's poetry, which was published in l645. My father received it as a gift from his father and took it with him to Cambridge."
Her gaze faltered. "It is the only piece of family history Augustus and I have. My uncle, who never speaks to us, has the rest of the family papers. My father never did return home from Cambridge. He was not received."
"And you think the book had been in your family for many years?"
Selina nodded, her face filling again with hope. "I know it had. My father said that was the significance of the gift."
Richard looked down at the valentine again and felt a wave of conflicting emotions. Sympathy warred with his common sense.
"Do you attach any significance to the fact that it had been so preserved?"
"No." Selina's calm voice reassured him that she had not imagined some improbable, Gothic plot. "I think it had been overlooked for years. For more than one hundred years."
He raised his head at that.
"If you'll remember—" the glow of eagerness lit Selina's face—"Cromwell forbade the practice of any custom he considered pagan in origin. Choosing valentines was one of these, yet we know that such laws were never strictly obeyed. The common people are not easily
"You were about—" he spoke firmly behind her—"to tell me what I could do to help."
She threw him a challenging glance. "I was?"
He grinned and nodded.
Just one look at his grin, and Selina knew the truth. More than anything else on earth, she did want this man to share her troubles.
"I—" she faltered under the enormity of that thought —"You are very kind, but I—"
"Why do you not tell me the basis for your claim?" he suggested gently. "Perhaps, on a legal issue such as that, I might be able to shed some light."
Yes. Of course. Selina wondered that she hadn't thought of this herself. With so little money to support them, she had not dared to seek the advice of a solicitor, but Richard might well know more than she about matters of the law.
He might even be a solicitor, for all she knew.
Dismissing this notion as highly unlikely, she nodded her agreement and stepped over to her mother's chest.
Richard waited in suspense while she searched its contents. At last, he would see what he had come for. He was surprised when she returned with nothing more than a faded scrap of blue paper. Selina handed it to him, and he glanced at it no more than a second before raising his eyes.
"A valentine?" he said, unable to hide his astonishment.
His incredulous tone made her flush. "Yes, but see what it says." She moved to his side.
Holding her wrapper tightly about her, she pointed to the words on the worn piece of paper. "Read the message," she urged him.
Reluctantly tearing his gaze from her face, Richard returned it to the faded page with the silvered edges. It had been written in the quaint style of another century. A pair of hand-painted swans, their necks drawn to meet in the shape of a valentine, graced the top of the page. Yellow stains of age had spread over the words, but he could still make them out.
Turning to let the firelight spill over them, he read aloud,
"Moste suitors chouse theyr love by chance,
Yet, I disdayne to follow such a dance,
But take my plesyure from the birds above,
To plight my troth in steade to truest love,
That this won yeere shall turn to lyfe.
When Valentyne shalle bee my wyfe."
Finishing, Richard turned over the paper to see how it had been directed. In a flowing hand, he read, "To Mistress Anne Trevellian" and the signature of the sender, "Mr Joshua Payley Esquire."
Feeling Selina's eager gaze upon him, he raised his own eyes. "Where did you come by this?" he asked.
"It was among the few belongings my father brought from his parents' house. It had been tucked away inside a small volume of Milton's poetry, which was published in l645. My father received it as a gift from his father and took it with him to Cambridge."
Her gaze faltered. "It is the only piece of family history Augustus and I have. My uncle, who never speaks to us, has the rest of the family papers. My father never did return home from Cambridge. He was not received."
"And you think the book had been in your family for many years?"
Selina nodded, her face filling again with hope. "I know it had. My father said that was the significance of the gift."
Richard looked down at the valentine again and felt a wave of conflicting emotions. Sympathy warred with his common sense.
"Do you attach any significance to the fact that it had been so preserved?"
"No." Selina's calm voice reassured him that she had not imagined some improbable, Gothic plot. "I think it had been overlooked for years. For more than one hundred years."
He raised his head at that.
"If you'll remember—" the glow of eagerness lit Selina's face—"Cromwell forbade the practice of any custom he considered pagan in origin. Choosing valentines was one of these, yet we know that such laws were never strictly obeyed. The common people are not easily
Similar Books
