The Baron's Honourable Daughter

by Lynn Morris

  “That would be wonderful, Mamma,” Valeria said with delight. “And I for one want to see everything that goes on out in the street!”

  “I thought that you would,” Regina said with amusement. “So, St. John will be across from you—and I hope you’ll help me make certain that he will not be climbing out of the window. Those two birch trees that front the house are beautiful, but I can plainly see that St. John and Niall would think it a great adventure to escape from the house that way. At any rate, I decided, since we have a good-size empty bedroom, to put Craigie and Platt and Niall in the other one.”

  “Ah, and so Trueman is highly incensed that servants are staying in a family bedchamber,” Valeria said gravely. “Scandalous of you, Mamma.”

  “I suppose so. But also it allows room for all of the servants to stay on the servants’ floor. This way the maids don’t have to sleep up in that awful garret, and Ned and Royce don’t have to sleep down on cots in the basement.”

  Valeria’s eyes lit up as she considered, “So Mrs. Banyard, Trueman, and Mrs. Durbin have their rooms…and does that mean that Joan—I mean, Davies—gets her own room, Mamma?” Joan had officially been promoted to Valeria’s lady’s maid, and she had been so proud that Valeria had determined to refer to her publicly as “Davies” to reflect her newfound prestige, though when it was just the two of them, both preferred she use “Joan.”

  “Certainly,” Regina answered firmly. “As an upper servant, it is her privilege. I had some minor remodeling done to make the schoolroom into two small bedrooms, so Ned and Royce are sharing, and the three maids are sharing. But it’s so much better than the attic; I worry so because I know they must absolutely freeze in winter and be stifled in summer.”

  It was unusual for Valeria to outwardly express affection; but she felt such a surge of warmth for her mother’s kindness that she took both her hands and kissed her cheek.

  “Oh, Mamma, how I wish I were as dear and sweet as you!”

  Regina looked pleased. “Thank you, my darling, that means so much to me. And I’m glad I’ve taken care of the servants in this manner, no matter how much Trueman glowers at me. At any rate, I don’t think it’s necessary for us to tour the servants’ quarters, and I am more than ready for tea.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Valeria agreed, and they went back downstairs to the drawing room.

  This was the most luxuriously appointed room in the town house. On the street end, instead of casement windows, were two sets of double French doors that opened out onto small balconies. The Adam ceiling, painted a delicate oyster white, was a series of ornately molded circles containing octagons and geometric designs. From the large center medallion hung a gold-and-crystal chandelier. There was a quantity of furniture—sofas, wing chairs, side chairs, settees, cushioned stools—but instead of a clutter, Regina had them arranged into four distinct areas that had a graceful flow. The fireplace had a white marble surround, with fine carvings of vines and grapes. The walls were painted a warm tawny yellow, and paintings by Hogarth and Constable were alternated with large gilt mirrors, to enhance the light. On every side table were elegant double Argand lamps with gold bases and trim and frosted crystal shades.

  “I love this room,” Valeria said as she settled down on a plump sofa by the fire. “Lady Hylton is exactly right, Mamma, you have a gift for designing a room that is both opulent and inviting.”

  “Yes, I have decided that I shall make over the drawing room at Bellegarde,” Regina said, glancing around the room. “This really is much more welcoming, is it not?”

  Trueman came in with the tea tray. “Shall I pour, my lady?”

  “No, I will. Did Miss Segrave’s stationery arrive yet?”

  “Yes, my lady, this morning.”

  “Then please bring it here.”

  “Yes, my lady.” He returned with a wide flat box. Eagerly Valeria opened it.

  Although Regina was in half mourning, her social activities were still limited. According to etiquette, she could make and receive morning calls, but only with close friends; it was not proper that she should seek out new acquaintances. She could attend private dinner parties and private balls, but not large public assemblies or venues such as Astley’s Amphitheatre or Vauxhall Gardens. Because of this stricture on Lady Maledon, Lady Hylton and Lady Lydgate intended to sponsor Valeria in society so that she might attend those functions that Regina could not. Accordingly, since Valeria would be making social calls with her godmother and Elyse, she needed her own calling cards, because she would not be following the usual convention of using her mother’s cards with her own name written on them. Also, Regina had thoughtfully ordered writing papers that were different from the Maledon stationery. Valeria’s were a soft ecru color, and she had her own red sealing wax, and a simple seal with the block letter S.

  Her calling cards were the same soft beige color, the paper thick and textured. Engraved in plain black block letters was “Miss Valeria Segrave.”

  “Oh, this is all very fine, Mamma, thank you,” Valeria said. “But I was just thinking, shouldn’t—couldn’t I have my title on my cards?” As the daughter of a baron, Valeria had the courtesy title the honourable.

  “That would be rather pretentious, dearest,” Regina answered firmly.

  “But no one is going to know who I am,” Valeria said anxiously. “I understand the rule about us honourables being the sons and daughters of lower peers. I’ve always thought it so odd that although my correspondence is always properly addressed to ‘The Honble. Miss Segrave,’ yet the title is never spoken aloud when I’m announced or introduced. It’s as though it must be kept a deep, dark secret. Anyway, I thought that perhaps since it’s proper to include it on correspondence, it might be proper to put it on my calling card.”

  “It’s not that it’s improper. It’s as I said, I believe it to be pompous. You’re mistaken that people won’t know who you are. They will.”

  Valeria looked puzzled, and Regina continued, “Valeria, there are some—many—things that I’ve never explained fully to you concerning your station in life. One reason is that it was not so vitally important while we were at Bellegarde, for that is the Earl of Maledon’s home and domain. But here in London, you are not the late Earl of Maledon’s stepdaughter, nor are you simply the Earl of Maledon’s sister. You are Valeria Segrave, the daughter of Guy, Lord Segrave. That is how society here will know you.”

  “Really? I hadn’t thought of that,” Valeria murmured.

  Reluctantly Regina said, “Now I must explain your exact position in London Polite Society. The Segrave barony is one of the oldest in England. Your father was the twenty-first baron, but actually the feudal barony goes all the way back to the eleventh century. Do you understand the import of that?”

  Slowly Valeria answered, “I suppose such an ancient lineage is considered more—noble?”

  “Yes, it is. Although a barony is the lowest rank of the peerage, such considerations as the length of the line, and the purity of the houses enjoined in that line, are given a certain precedence over the formal rankings. Everyone in society understands this. That’s why you are already known in London, I assure you.”

  Valeria smiled mischievously. “I understand what you’re saying, Mamma. I know that everyone reads Debrett’s, and my father has almost three pages in it. But Lord Maledon’s—” She broke off anxiously. Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage listed all the peers of Great Britain, and was avidly studied by everyone who was anyone. In cruder terms it was often called the stud book.

  Regina said softly, “It really is all right, I’m very well able to hear his name. And so your brother is ‘only’ the fifth Earl of Maledon, with half a page in Debrett’s, while your lineage takes up a full three pages. And that, I am sorry to say, is meaningful to London society.”

  Valeria sighed. “Oh, Mamma, no one on this earth could be as saintly as you. I certainly can’t. I’m very proud of my father.”

  “And would you be so proud of him if he
hadn’t been a baron?” Regina asked.

  “Of course! But…I’m still glad that he was,” Valeria admitted with a sly smile. “Three pages in Debrett’s is certainly a plus for me in this town.”

  “You are incorrigible,” Regina said affectionately, “just as your father was. Still, Valeria, there is one more extremely important thing that I must impress upon you. Have you heard the term noblesse oblige?”

  “‘Nobility obliges’?” Valeria automatically translated. “What does it mean?”

  “It is a term that means that those who are noble must conduct themselves nobly,” Regina explained soberly. “It implies that noble ancestry must evidence itself in honorable behavior, and that with privilege comes responsibility.”

  “I see. You’re saying that because of my status, I must be held to a higher code, I must conform to higher standards,” Valeria said. “I find it very ironic that they use a French term. Apparently their own nobility forgot their own code, and they all got their heads chopped off.”

  “Valeria, really!” Regina said. “If you should say something that outrageous in some drawing rooms, there might be hysterics. Listen to me, child. What was acceptable speech and conversation and behavior at Bellegarde is very different from what is required of you now. I know that I’ve explained this to you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Valeria said meekly. “Craigie has scolded me, my godmother has lectured me, and even Lord Hylton on several occasions uttered dire warnings that I must learn to behave acceptably in Polite Society. I will try very hard to be good.”

  “You must,” Regina said sternly. “I know that it’s difficult for you to curb your enthusiasms and to tamp down your fiery temperament, Valeria. But the rules are very strict. You must be decorous, calm, composed, and always gracious.”

  “And dull, and humorless, and only speak of such tedious things as the weather and the state of the roads,” Valeria muttered.

  “Nonsense,” Regina said briskly. “You are bright, and clever, and interesting, and those traits are valued in a drawing room. It’s just that you must be discreet, my dear.” Then she sighed and added, “And I fear that telling you that is much like telling St. John to behave himself and stop causing trouble. I may be pleading a hopeless cause.”

  Valeria laughed. “Well, Mamma, as Lord Lydgate says, ‘Apologies and all that.’”

  * * *

  That night Valeria was still so energized that she couldn’t sleep. The fire had died down and the bedchamber was icy cold, so she pulled on two pairs of woolen stockings and wrapped her plump down comforter around her, then went to sit in the bay window seat. The graceful birch tree in front of her bedroom window was a bare spiky sculpture now, and did not block her view. Three stories below were the fuzzy golden orbs of streetlamps; even the deserted Berkeley Square park was lit up. The scene was such a striking contrast to her bedroom window view at Bellegarde. When she looked out at night there, all she could see was shadows and moonlight and starlight. Here the sky was an impenetrable black.

  Already she wished day would come. She and Regina were going shopping, and then in the evening Lady Hylton was giving a dinner party to begin the process of introducing Valeria into society. Valeria was so galvanized that she thought she might never be able to sleep.

  She recalled her mother’s words that day, that she must be calm and composed and behave with decorum at all times. How am I ever to do that? It’s just not in my nature…She thought then of Alastair Hylton, and his insistence that she must learn to govern her tempestuous spirit.

  So easy for him to dictate, she thought sourly. He’s as stuffy and rigid as an old yew tree. She thought of the two letters she had received from him after he had left Bellegarde. Again it struck her how peculiar was their relationship. Normally a single man and a single young lady exchanged correspondence only if they were engaged. But Alastair Hylton’s two letters had had nothing to do with endearments, or affection; they were strictly business communications.

  The first she had received in November, while Alastair was still in Yorkshire at Foxden. Valeria had agreed it would be best to sell some of the Maledon horses, and Reggie Lydgate had decided that his family wanted to buy some. Alastair wished to purchase Achilles, his favorite mount at Bellegarde. Achilles was one of the purebred Maledon “black star’d” horses, a full seventeen hands high, glossy ebony with the distinctive white diamond on his face. Lord Lydgate wanted to buy four matched grays for carriage horses. The prices Alastair and Reggie paid for the horses seemed extremely exorbitant to Valeria, but Alastair assured her that they were fair market prices, for he wished to avoid any question at all of a conflict of interest. Alastair had gone on to say that Lord Maledon had neglected the stables in the past year; there were at least four other horses that could be sold for a good price. Alastair had offered to attend to the Maledon stables. He had recommended that they promote the head groom, Mr. Buckley, Timothy’s father, to stable manager. Alastair had said that he would be happy to arrange for the sale of any Maledon horse at Tattersalls Repository, the premier bloodstock auctioneer in England.

  When Valeria received the letter, she had told herself that it was high-handed of Lord Hylton, as usual. But then she realized that at least he was courteous enough to inform her. She also admitted that here was another example of a part of managing the estate that she herself couldn’t possibly do. She knew nothing of breeding programs or selling horses. And Lord Hylton would probably be coming back to Bellegarde to attend to it…and Valeria severely chided herself for feeling the least bit of anticipation at the prospect of seeing him again. When instead Alastair sent his head groom to see to the Maledon stables, and transport the newly bought horses back to Hylton Hall and Whittington Park, the Lydgate estate, again Valeria scolded herself, this time for feeling such a sharp pang of disappointment.

  The other letter that Alastair had sent her had been somber indeed; and this time Valeria had felt no frustration at his cold formality. He had merely informed her that he had arranged for the London house that had been purchased the previous year to be vacated. Mr. Stanhope had said he already had prospective buyers, and he would conduct the sale, and all proceeds would be deposited into Lord Maledon’s account at Barclays. Alastair had not mentioned Lady Jex-Blake.

  Valeria thought with dread about what she would have done if she hadn’t had Alastair Hylton to attend to this. The answer was simple. There would have been nothing at all that she could have done, alone. Again it was pressed upon her how much she needed Alastair Hylton.

  No, I don’t need him personally! she argued with herself. In fact, I don’t need him at all, it’s really St. John who needs his help.

  Why do I brood over him so much? What do I care what he thinks, or what he feels? It’s so confusing, one minute I admire him…well, maybe mostly his looks…and the next I’m angry with him. I just—I just have a stupid missish crush on him, I suppose, because he is so very handsome. But obviously it must be a very shallow crush, because I really can’t stand the man!

  Even as the thought formed in Valeria’s mind, she knew that it wasn’t true. She didn’t truly dislike him. Then with impatience she commanded herself to stop obsessing over Alastair Hylton. She was in London now, she was going to have so many exciting and interesting diversions, and she was going to meet a crowd of new people, including young men who didn’t criticize her all the time. Perhaps some of them might even be as handsome as Lord Hylton.

  Doubt it, the sneaky little voice in Valeria’s head whispered.

  “Oh, hang him!” Valeria muttered. “I’m going to bed, and to sleep, and forget all about him!”

  She did try. But as she finally began to sink down into slumber, the last vision in her head was of Alastair, Lord Hylton, riding the magnificent steed Achilles to the Barley Mow Fair…searching for her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I FIND IT DIFFICULT TO BELIEVE that you are actually going into a tailor’s shop, Mamma,” Valeria teased. “It’s very bold, fo
r you.”

  “Not really,” Regina said. “Letitia has assured me that ladies always have tailors design and make their riding habits.”

  “But I told you that, Mamma, after Elyse advised me when I admired her riding costumes so much.”

  “Yes, but it was Letitia who assured me that it’s quite proper. I would hardly have taken your advice on that,” Regina said lightly. “My sometimes-too-daring daughter.”

  “Only sometimes,” Valeria said.

  Although it was one long street, the only one that ran the entire width of Mayfair, it had been constructed and developed at two different times, and so the north end was called Old Bond Street, while the southern part was called New Bond Street. Old or new, Bond Street was the most fashionable shopping district in London. The storefronts were mostly glassed, well lit and with sumptuous displays: watchmakers, drapers, china and glass merchants, milliners, dressmakers, stationers, confectioners, fruiterers, jewelers, silversmiths.

  One of the most attractive features of Bond Street was that stone pavements had been constructed so pedestrians could walk along the street above the mud and muck of the roadway, so promenading along Bond Street had become a popular pastime for the elite Beau Monde. Today, however, the street was not crowded, as it was a cold, dismal, rainy day. Valeria was disappointed, as she had wished to see the Quality in their finery almost as much as she had wished to see the shops.