The Grand Valentine Masque by Lyle Dagnen The weak, wintry sun barely warmed the room as it shown through the windows of the setting room Grandmother was so very fond of using for afternoon tea. He waited by the fire, warming his hands and his backside at the same time. Had he been in his country home, he would have been wearing warmer clothes than the formal visiting clothes he wore when in town. He wasn't fond of town. He preferred to be at his house in the country with his books, his horses, and his privacy. He knew why Grandmother had summoned him. The only reason he came in answer to her summons was that he loved her so dearly. She was kind to him, she understood, but she also insisted that he come out of his reclusive habits and do his duty—a duty he wasn't interested in doing. Not one wit. He'd as soon wear a kilt in a blizzard as attend social functions and dance with the airheaded heiresses who were after his title and his money. Besides, he had found the one woman that he'd ever love. She had died doing her duty of giving him an heir, taking their tiny son with her when she left the earth. He could not believe that the pain could still make his eyes smart so and his chest feel so damned heavy and painful. He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. The
rattle of a tea tray, accompanied by the chatter of Grandmother as she entered the room, gained his attention. She was in a talking mood. ‘Damn,’ he thought, and he sighed, ready to do battle again with the old woman who was so very dear to his heart. The Grand Valentine Masque was at hand, it was her favorite of all the social functions of the year. She had met his grandfather there. His mother and father had met at the ball; they had unfortunately died when their carriage slid from the icy road going home, drowning them both in the river. He considered the damn thing a portent of doom rather than luck and happiness. He had met Julianna there and had fallen quite hopelessly in love with her the very first time he had seen her. It was a hallmark dance for the family; Grandmother declared there was magic in the air. It had been ten years since he attended the ball; ten years since Julianna died. Ten years since the child they had both longed for had been buried with his mother. Ten years since he had buried his heart with both of them. He was thirty years old and Grandmother had decided that he was to once again enter society, choose a bride and produce an heir. She had [continued on p. 55]
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