by Joan Avery
Victoria found this news discouraging. She wanted to assess her odds of winning, and getting to know the judge seemed the best way. She had no intention of enticing him. She was far too opinionated and forward to prove beguiling, and that was why she was in this predicament. Her father had considered her future and saw nothing but impending doom: an old maid with no offspring.
Offspring was her father’s goal, and titled offspring all the better. To accomplish this, he had basically sold her to the highest bidder with no consideration at all for her feelings. She remembered the day he had presented her with the fait acccompli.
It had been in early November at the home she had rented in Mayfair. She had arrived in London in August, along with her father’s unrealistic expectations. In the months after her arrival, she had met a few people who might gain her entry into the highest ranks of society, but this would not happen until the New Year began and with it the high Season in London.
“I’ve given you more than enough time, my dear.” Her father was an imposing man. He was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered with a full head of dark hair, and a bushy mustache that did little to soften his menacing look.
“Papa. You do not understand; these things take time. The London Season will begin soon and I fully expect to be a part of it.” It was only a half-truth. She had no interest at all in finding a husband. She had, without her father’s knowledge, enrolled in the University of London. For the first time in her life, she was with like-minded souls. In this small group of university women, she was not strange or headstrong or contrary.
“I’m afraid if left up to you, it will never happen. Marriage is not some romantic notion. It is a bond of fortune and opportunity. You are far too headstrong to understand the practicalities of the matter. I have gone ahead and made the arrangements for you.”
Her father had smiled smugly.
“How dare you! I demand you tell me what you have done.”
“I have formally engaged you to Lord Stanford. He is a distant relative of the Duke of Northumberland. A man of some standing in the community, I gather. The wedding will be after the holidays. I have some business at home I wish to attend to, and then I shall return to England for the wedding.”
Victoria couldn’t speak for a moment. When she did, it was barely above a whisper, “What have you done, Papa? I will not marry a man I do not know. I will not marry at all if you force me.”
“Ah, my dear. This is what I anticipated. Because of your stubbornness, I have signed a letter of intent, a contract if you will. You will have to make a choice. A husband, or your fortune. You cannot have both. My British solicitor tells me if you do not marry this man, it is possible your fiancé will have your fortune all the same. And you, my dear, will be left penniless. You have forced my hand on this. I cannot bear your obstinacy any longer. It is time you know the guidance of a man.”
Victoria couldn’t believe her ears. She had spent her life blithely ignoring her father’s wishes. She hadn’t envisioned a day when he might issue an ultimatum. And what an ultimatum.
“I will fight it, Papa. I cannot submit. It would be horrendous.”
“I doubt you will have any success in the London courts. This is not the United States. Tradition is far more important here.”
“Tradition! Denying a woman any rights to property is not a tradition. It is slavery. Indentured servitude. Worse than that, since she cannot even earn her freedom.”
Her father had ignored her tirade and gone to his room. The next morning, he had left without even saying good-bye. It seemed this act of his would forever estrange them. The memory brought tears to her eyes.
Emily tried to comfort her. “Victoria, what is it my dear? Please do not be so distraught. Surely things will work out.”
Emily’s blond hair and pert features contrasted sharply with her own more exotic looks. Emily was the epitome of feminine beauty and a model of daughterly obedience.
“Emily, marriage to a peer was what you agreed to. I do not want such a match. The cost is far too high.”
Emily’s face fell. Victoria took a step toward her and enveloped her in her arms. “Oh, I am so sorry. It was terribly insensitive of me. How could I be so thoughtless?”
Emily had been her companion since their school days at Bendenhurst Academy in upstate New York. Only Emily had withstood Victoria’s tirades against the second-class status of women and her strong-hearted stands against any perceived injustice. Emily had neither criticized nor agreed but had always been there for her. They were an odd yet successful match, complementary to each other in so many ways.
Emily had followed her mother and father’s wishes and married a man over twenty years her senior. He seemed kind enough, but there was no passion between the two that Victoria could see. Emily had gained a title, and her fortune had repaired the Whitney family homes and restored her husband’s status in London society. For Emily, the arrangement seemed to have worked out just fine.
“Victoria?” Emily broke the silence. “Perhaps we should go for a carriage ride in the park. It is nice out today. The weather has been so dreary lately I fear I am going to go mad.”
The weather had been bad. It was the talk of London. Since early in the autumn, a heavy mantle of fog had covered the city. It seemed never to lift. Perhaps a carriage ride would help. There seemed little she could do about her plight except wait, and the waiting was as maddening as the fog.
…
“Have you heard Jennie Chamberlain has given the Prince of Wales a new sobriquet?” Emily leaned in conspiratorially as the carriage moved at a leisurely pace through Hyde Park. “A new nickname that is terribly disrespectful,” she added in a stage whisper. She smiled with delight.
“Bertie was not enough?” Victoria indulged her friend. Gossip was one of Emily’s great pleasures in life. It was the only time Emily’s face sparkled with glee.
“No. No. She calls him Jumbo. Can you believe it? Jumbo!”
“Jennie Jerome was always beautiful and witty,” Victoria said agreeably.
“The Churchills arrived last week for the holidays. No doubt they would have spent many a night at Marlborough House with the prince and his entourage but for the scandal. I think I would die of happiness were I ever to be invited to that lofty realm.”
Victoria laughed. She didn’t want to dissuade her friend of any dreams she had. It would indeed be remarkable if either of them ever set foot in the prince’s home.
The early morning light broke through the fog for a moment and lit the still waters of the lake, the Serpentine. The soft blue light set the surface shimmering. It was a scene out of some children’s fairy story. The dew on the grass and trees sparkled magically. Two snow-white swans glided over the silvery surface of the lake, leaving a trail of ripples in their wake.
The beautiful scene made Victoria thoughtful. There were parts of England she loved. This moment would be etched in her memory for a very long time. She had read somewhere that swans mated for life. The two before her glided silently along.
What must it be like to form a life partnership with someone that was at once peaceful and equal? It seemed everyone she knew had traded one thing or another for what society considered “a good match.” Perhaps her father’s fears were justified. She would die a lonely old maid. It was not what she wanted. She longed for companionship and children. She was just not willing to pay dearly for it. If this made her stubborn and foolish, so be it. She would reconcile herself to her fate and move ahead with the things that mattered to her.
They had left the park and were within a block of Victoria’s home in Mayfair when Emily jumped up from her seat, almost losing her footing in her excitement. “Oh, my!”
“What it is, Emily? What has excited you so? Please sit down before you fall.”
“Do you see? I believe he is at your house. No, no I am sure of it. He is at your house.”
Victoria craned her neck around the carriage horses to see someone in elaborate livery at her
door. While it was unusual, she failed to understand her friend’s enthusiasm.
“Oh, Victoria, I so envy you.”
“Envy me what?”
Emily plopped down beside her on the leather seat.
“You’ll see. I am so jealous.”
The man was gone by the time their carriage arrived at the entrance to the mansard-roofed house on Grosvenor Square where Victoria had taken up residence. The two women dismounted. But before she even reached for the knob, a young maid opened the door for them. The girl seemed to be in a state almost as agitated as Emily.
A fine vellum envelope lay on the silver tray of the hall table.
“Oh, miss. There you are.” Mrs. McCreery, the housekeeper rushed forward. Even she seemed in high color.
She took the vellum envelope from the table and held it out for Victoria. “This just came. I was about to send James out after you.”
“Surely a letter wouldn’t require my immediate presence.” Victoria’s brow raised.
“Open it, Victoria. Quickly, open it,” Emily insisted. “I have never actually seen one.”
Victoria picked up the silver letter opener kept on the table and carefully slit through the heavy vellum. An elaborate wax seal had been affixed to the envelope’s flap.
Emily sighed behind her as she read the beautifully scripted note.
It was an invitation to a Christmas ball—at Marlborough House—from the Prince of Wales.
Chapter Three
“Oh, Victoria, it’s so lovely I want to cry.” Emily sat on the edge of her chair in Victoria’s sitting room.
“Don’t be silly, Emily. One doesn’t cry over dresses. I could have happily worn something I already owned if you hadn’t insisted that the prince always requires the ladies at the party to wear new dresses. It is quite an absurd idea.”
“But this is not America, my friend, and things here are very different. It would be terribly disrespectful not to follow his wishes. One day he will be king.”
Victoria looked at herself in the floor-length mirror. The Emile Pingat dress was indeed breathtaking. Victoria preferred the Frenchman to the more popular designers favored by other Americans. Pingat’s gowns were unexpected and exotic. A bit like her, she had happily concluded.
This gown was of deep burgundy velvet. What set the dress apart was a panel that ran down the front from the neckline to floor. The intricate patterns created from embroidery, beads, and small feathers made it resemble something out of a land far from London. A bit Indian, both eastern Indian and American, it was deftly reinterpreted into something so striking it would gift its wearer with a second look from almost every observer.
“But wait, Emily, you must see the cloak that accompanies it.”
The young maid stepped forward with a cloak. It was a dream of feathers and fur, embroidery and beading. It was long in front and fell naturally over the dress with its back a peplum to fit over the small bustle of the gown.
Victoria stood over five foot seven. An Amazon practically. The gown’s long, flowing lines only added to her height, but she didn’t think to her detriment. Rather, it added a regal flair.
“Oh, it is breathtaking. You will be the belle of the ball. I am sure the prince’s entourage has never seen anyone more beautiful. How I envy you. You must remember everything so you can tell me afterward.”
Victoria wasn’t as optimistic as her dear friend. The invitation was so unusual she questioned its purpose. No doubt she was being invited as a novelty—some strange zoo animal to be studied and commented upon. Her name and that of Lord Stanford’s had been all over the scandal sheets and no doubt gossiped about in nearly every home in London both lowly and lofty.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t want Edward to accompany you?”
The offer of Emily’s husband as an escort was so generous Victoria responded thoughtfully. “How kind of you, Emily. Especially since I know how much you would like to go yourself. But I’m afraid if the invitation was meant to include anyone else, it would have said as much.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right. Still, it seems a bit odd to invite an unescorted woman.”
“As you said yourself, the Prince of Wales is a bit unconventional.” Victoria chose to let her friend remain innocent of her own suspicions.
“Who do you think will attend? Certainly the Duke and Duchess of Westminster. And the Duchess of Manchester. She was a German princess and is a great beauty. But her reputation is not the best. The queen demanded the Prince of Wales shun the woman, but he has ignored his mother. Can you believe it?”
Victoria smiled as her friend was caught up in the excitement.
“They say the Duchess of Manchester allows her guests to play cards for money at her dinner parties and married women flirt and carry on with men who are not their husbands. How scandalous they all are!” Emily carried on in high spirits. “Everyone of any importance will be there. With the exception, as I said before, of Jennie Churchill, or should I say, the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough. The rumors say Jennie’s father settled a generous dowry on her. What was quite shocking over here was he also gave Jennie a personal allowance of over one thousand pounds a year. One thousand pounds! It was not to fall under her husband’s control. It made Jennie quite independent, you see. It outraged the elderly Lord Randolph. Things just aren’t done that way here.”
Emily apparently realized her mistake almost immediately and covered her mouth with a gloved hand.
No, things were not done that way here in England, Victoria thought. Here once a woman married, English or not, all her wealth became her husband’s unless otherwise stipulated. Oh, how she wished her father had the foresight of Leonard Jerome.
“I’m sorry. I should have thought before I spoke.” Emily looked truly crestfallen. “But it does explain why the men here get so nasty when they are refused.”
Nasty indeed. And litiginous. Victoria slowly removed her elaborate cloak and handed it back to her maid, her mood suddenly deflated. Well, she would not be discouraged. Her barrister, William Manning, was said to be one of the best. Certainly there was a difference between an engagement and a marriage. The first shouldn’t carry with it all the contractual obligations of the latter. Surely the judge would see that and correct any injustice.
“I shall lend you my jewels. I have a ruby necklace Henry gave me that would be absolutely divine with your dress.” It was Emily’s way of making up for her regrettable comment.
“That would be lovely. Thank you. I don’t think I have anything that would do the dress justice.” Victoria smiled at her friend’s naïveté. A gift from her husband? No doubt the necklace had been purchased with Emily’s own money.
“Oh, oh my.” Emily was suddenly agitated.
“What is it?” Victoria was afraid Emily would soon faint if she didn’t calm herself.
“I have had a terrible thought.” Emily’s eyes were huge.
“I’m sure it cannot be horrible. What has you so upset?”
“What if Lord Stanford has been invited as well? They say he is a great favorite of the prince.”
Victoria considered this and her heart raced. While she had been expecting the worst already, she was not prepared to face her ex-fiancé in a social setting before none other than the Prince of Wales.
“Surely they are aware of the situation,” Emily concluded, “and wouldn’t subject you to such a humiliation.”
Victoria wasn’t so sure.
“And one simply cannot refuse an invitation from the Prince of Wales. It just isn’t done,” Emily said.
“If they have invited him, I’m not sure who would be more humiliated,” Victoria said. “Me for backing out of a loveless marriage. Or Lord Stanford for seeking an arrangement to relieve him of his debt and enable him to continue his debauchery.”
Emily’s eyes were once more huge. “Oh, Victoria, you are so strong and fearless. I wish I were as brave.”
The words made Victoria a little worried about her friend. “A
re you unhappy? Does your marriage not suit you?” she asked.
Emily’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “I truly know nothing else, my dear Victoria. I don’t know if I am happy or not.” She shook her head as if trying to figure out the answer to the question. “I want for nothing. My husband is kind and gentle with me. I don’t know if I expected anything more.”
Love! Victoria wanted to scream it at her friend. You have a right to expect love. But she couldn’t. Emily wasn’t her. Emily had always been the quiet and dutiful daughter. She had never questioned that her parents would decide when and whom she would marry. Perhaps it was better that way; perhaps that way one would never be disappointed.
But Victoria wanted more. She wanted to love and respect her husband. She wanted someone who would admire her thoughts and value her actions. She didn’t want Lord Stanford—a spineless bon vivant who didn’t respect himself and was no doubt incapable of respecting anyone else.
Neither did she want a replica of her father, arrogant, misogynistic, and overbearing. Men like her father and the man who would decide her fate, Lord Montgomery, were beyond understanding. They were creatures from the past. They held on to their power by denying it to others.
She could never marry a man like that.
She made a vow. She would never marry a man like her father…or like the judge, Lord Montgomery, for that matter.
Chapter Four
“My lord, Lord Percy has arrived and has asked to see you.” Dennison was in the doorway with the door held slightly ajar behind him.
Hugh looked up from his papers and nodded. “You can let him in.”
Dennison quickly stepped aside as Henry Percy barged through the door. “Montgomery! Where have you been hiding yourself? Has to be a fortnight at least since we’ve seen you at the club.”
“Percy, good to see you. I haven’t been hiding. Just a bit of a build up of cases I was trying to deal with before the holidays.” Hugh rose from behind his desk and extended a hand to the tall, thin man before him, not at all happy about the interruption. Still he was pleased to see his old friend.
