A touch of Valentine’s fun, Georgian style!

Feb 13, 1811

Elizabeth stood beside Charlotte, near the parlor wall, where all those who were not playing had been relegated. Candlelight filled the crowded parlor with warm flickering shadows dancing on the furniture that had been pushed to the sides of room. Chairs lay atop the settee; one card table had been turned atop another and pushed into the corner. Mama did not usually like her rooms tossed about so, but gave Lydia special leave for her Valentine’s Day party.

Lydia was full young to be hosting a party, even Mama acknowledged that. So, the idea was credited to Jane, and Mama sent the invitations herself. That made it all very proper and respectable. But, everyone in attendance knew whose party this was. Hopefully not to much gossip would follow.

“Lydia plays a very energetic game of ‘How d’ye do?’ I do not think I have ever seen her quite so animated before.” Charlotte kept her voice low and her eyes on the ring of young people in the middle of the room.

Elizabeth winced. Lydia, in her nicest sprigged muslin frock, jumped up and down quite vigorously in front of young Mr. Fielding, who was obviously enjoying the sight. He began jumping in time crying, “Tell me who! Tell me who!”

Lydia jumped along with him a little longer than necessary before answering, “Maria Lucas.” Two more bounces and she returned to her place.

Each person was supposed to be called only once in the course of play, but somehow Lydia had already contrived to jump, three, no it was four times now.

“She does seem make the most of the opportunity to enjoy herself.” Elizabeth shrugged. And Mama generally encouraged her, so there was little hope to change her. “I hope you do not disapprove too much of her idea for the forfeits tonight.”

Charlotte’s expression was difficult to read. “Requiring the young men to send a Valentine for each forfeit is rather clever, I suppose. And it is better than many other possible alternatives. But I think she is expecting to keep the postman very busy with deliveries to Longbourn on Valentine’s day.”

“And the library, too. She was not subtle when she recommended that the Young Man’s Valentine Writer could be found there. I thought I overheard several plans on how to be the first one to the library tomorrow.”  

Charlotte looked at the floor and sighed. “I fear that there may be some very disappointed young ladies, though.”

Including Charlotte.

Poor thing. At nearly eight and twenty, she knew she was on the shelf. No one said it, but everyone knew it. How difficult must it be to endure the yearly Valentine frivolities.

“Now we must play ‘Hot Cockles.’” Lydia cried from the middle of the room.

Elizabeth gasped. After so much punch all around, playing a game that required on player to put their head in the lap of another! That could not be a good idea.

Jane, tranquil and elegant, joined Lydia in the center of the room. “I think it is time for something more quiet. Perhaps The Courtiers?”

Elizabeth held her breath as Jane’s gentle encouragement won Lydia’s agreement. Jane even called Charlotte and Elizabeth over to play as well.

Several hours passed in laughter and good humor until Lydia suggested—rather insisted that they end the evening with the gentlemen drawing young ladies’ names to determine their valentine. Naturally, there were more ladies than gentlemen present. Charlotte declined to put her name in the bowl to help even the numbers. Elizabeth and Jane followed suit.

“You do not have to do that Lizzy, you know.” Charlotte whispered in her ear. “I am quite content—”

“I do not mind. It is all silliness, is it not? I do not put stock in these sorts of omens.” Moreover, the chance of Mr. Goulding or Mr. Bond choosing her name and deciding to begin paying her attentions—she shuddered. No, that she would rather avoid.

Another hour later and house was still and empty of guests.

“What a delightful party!” Lydia gushed as she wove her way unsteadily up the stairs. She had enjoyed many–too many–cups of punch.

Elizabeth walked close behind her, taking the candle from her, and steadying her just a bit. Falling down the stairs was hardly the way to end such a night.

“Now, I saw that you did not take a name, not you and not Jane, just as I thought you would not.” Lydia tittered as she slurred the words. “But that is hardly any fun and you should have fun. So, I have made your rooms up for you and you must play along with me or I shall be very put out.”

“What do you think she means?” Jane whispered just over Elizabeth’s shoulder.

“We shall soon see.” Elizabeth helped Lydia over the top step and to her room.

Elizabeth pushed her door open and peeked inside. Bay leaves had been pinned to the corners and middle of her pillow.

“Sleep well and dream of your beloveds.” Lydia sing-songed from behind her door.

Was it worth Lydia’s indignation in the morning to remove them before she slept? No, it was not. Elizabeth prepared for bed and laydown amongst the bay leaves. Fragrant and herbal, they were not so bad a way to fall asleep.

The next morning, the household rose very late. Oddly, Lydia seemed to have been the first to the morning room, anticipating her sister’s arrivals.

“So, did you sleep well? More importantly did you dream well?” Lydia asked, bouncing slightly in her seat.

“I had no dreams.” Mary muttered, pouring herself a cup of coffee, and falling into her chair. Like Lydia, she had also had a great deal of punch.

“I am not surprised.” Lydia sniffed and tossed her head. “But I am sure Jane and Lizzy had interesting dreams. Do tell, Jane, who will your lover be?”

Jane smiled that patient kind smile of hers. “A man I have never seen before. He is well looking and rides a tall horse, and seems very kind.”

 “That describes half the men in Meryton. What sort of help is that?” Kitty snickered. “Sure you must have had a more interesting dream than that, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth sat down. “It was interesting.”

“Do not keep it to yourself! You must tell us!” Lydia drummed her fingers on the edge of the table.

“I dreamt of a man who refused to dance with and who thought me very ill-looking indeed, I was not handsome enough to tempt him.”

“That cannot be! Do tell us what you really dreamt.” Kitty whined.

“Honestly, that was exactly what I dreamt. I am telling you exactly what happened.” Elizabeth exchanged glances with Jane who did not seem to believe her either. “You must believe me!”

“You are such a spoil-sport, Lizzy. See if I ever help you find your lover again.” Lydia harrumphed and bit into a slice of crunch toast.

That would probably be just as well, considering she had also dreamt of telling that same man that he was the last man in the world she would ever marry.

Good that she did not believe in omens—what kind of match would that ever be?