by Lynn Morris
Still Valeria couldn’t help but think that in truth it was anything but funny to really be struck. Every day, usually several times a day, she thought of her stepfather, with burning resentment. She had tried to pray and ask the Lord to show her how to forgive Maledon, but it seemed impossible to her. She knew that this was her own failure, not the Lord’s, but somehow she couldn’t find a way to lessen her simmering anger.
At morning prayers they had recited the Great Litany, and now a line and response from it came to her clearly.
From all blindness of heart; from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy; from
envy, hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness,
Good Lord, deliver us.
She thought it ironic that just now The Devil came in to kill Punch, and a life-and-death fight ensued. Of course Punch would beat The Devil to death. If only it were that easy, but is it the devil, or is it my own uncharitable heart?
Suddenly a horse and rider came thundering right onto the fairground, scattering the crowd. Startled, Valeria stood up, seeing that it was a Maledon horse, a great black stallion named Achilles.
And then she recognized the rider, though she hadn’t seen him for seven years. Valeria forgot that she had thought him old, and mean, for all she could think was that Alastair, Lord Hylton, was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face like a classical statue’s set in marble, his seat on the horse perfect, his control of the horse magnificent. He dismounted, and stared right at her with heated recognition. His gaze was of such intensity that it almost overcame Valeria; she felt hot and cold at the same time. He started toward her, and she waited.
* * *
By stationing horses and fresh coachmen from Hylton Hall along the way, Alastair had managed to make it to Bellegarde Hall by Friday at about noon. He felt travel-grimed and weary, but he had no intention of delaying his errand to stop and clean up. When the carriage stopped at the front door of the Hall he jumped out and ran up the steps to bang on the door with the great lion’s-head knocker.
Trueman answered and stared at him with a moment’s loss of composure. Then he bowed deeply and said, “Lord Hylton, please come in, sir.”
Alastair handed him his hat and greatcoat and said brusquely, “I must see Lady Maledon immediately.”
“Yes, my lord,” Trueman said. “I shall be happy to tell her ladyship that you are here. If your lordship will just come into the drawing room?”
“No, no. I would much prefer to go to her.” He frowned. “Is she alone?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The children?”
“They are at the harvest fair, my lord.”
“I see.” Alastair bowed his head in thought. “I have some most distressing news for Lady Maledon, I’m afraid, and she should not be alone when she receives it. Is her lady’s maid a close companion to her?”
Though Trueman was clearly more than a little curious, he would never put himself forward to ask any questions, so he answered evenly, “Yes, sir, Miss Platt is very close to her ladyship, and would be a comfort to her, I’m sure.”
“Then bring her to me. I’ll wait here.” Alastair paced in the Grand Hall until the two returned. Craigie stood, waiting expectantly, and Trueman asked, “Would you like for me to take my leave, my lord?”
“No, I might as well tell you, since I have to let—what is your name?”
“Craigie, my lord.”
“Since I have to let you know, Craigie, before we speak to Lady Maledon. I’m afraid a tragedy has occurred. Lord Maledon has died.” Alastair spoke with a neutral voice; he had not been able to conceive any other way to deliver such dreadful news.
Craigie evidenced no shock, though her mouth tightened. Alastair noted that all color drained from the butler’s impassive face.
Alastair continued, “Craigie, do you know where your mistress is just now?”
“Yes, my lord. She’s having tea and reading out in the garden,” she answered steadily.
“Then we must go to her.” They went down the long hallway to the south side of the house. Behind them Trueman stood staring into space, unmoving.
Alastair thought that Regina Maledon presented an ethereal, almost angelic picture. She was seated at a linen-covered table holding a silver tea service, dressed in pale blue with a white shawl. The table was in a grove of larch trees, and a shaft of sunlight filtering through the deep verdant shade lit her head, which was bent over a book. She looked up, and Alastair was again struck by her glowing beauty; he had forgotten what an exquisite woman she was.
Her eyes widened, and then she closed them for a moment, as if in pain. She rose and came to meet them. “Lord Hylton,” she said in a whisper.
He bowed, and spoke in a much gentler tone than before. “Lady Maledon, I’m afraid that I am the bearer of very bad tidings. Lord Maledon fell ill, gravely ill, and last Monday night he passed away.”
She stared at him, her eyes uncomprehending. He stared back at her helplessly. With one slender white hand she made a curiously awkward, fumbling gesture. Craigie reached out to her. At that moment her eyes rolled up and she crumpled.
Alastair picked her up and held her securely in his arms. “Take me to her bedchamber,” he ordered Craigie.
Without a word they returned to the house and upstairs to Regina’s bedroom. With infinite tenderness Alastair laid her on the bed. Her face was as white as the linens beneath her, and her breathing was very shallow.
“How may I be of assistance?” he asked Craigie in a guttural voice.
“Tell Trueman to send Mrs. Lees,” she answered tightly, “and then, my lord, if you will be so good as to go to the fair and bring Miss Segrave and his lordship home. Most all of the servants are at the fair, you see.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he assured her.
He found Trueman, now pacing in an aimless sort of way, still in the Great Hall. “Are you quite all right, Trueman?” he asked.
Trueman was so shocked at this solicitation that he gathered his scattered wits. “Yes, my lord, I’m quite well, I beg your lordship’s pardon,” he answered stiffly.
“Craigie asked if you would find Mrs. Lees and send her to Lady Maledon’s bedchamber to help her, as her ladyship is ill.” Without waiting for the butler’s reply Alastair went out to the stables. He saw that two grooms were assisting his coachman with his horses and carriage. “We need to saddle up a couple of horses. I need to ride to the fair and find Miss Segrave and Lord Stamborne, and I’ll need one of you to accompany me.” It gave Alastair a small chill to realize that now St. John was actually Lord Maledon. In some odd way this made the tragedy of Maledon’s death more real to him than anything else.
Alastair chose a great fiery stallion and began to saddle him, while a young fresh-faced groom saddled a chestnut gelding in the next stall. Thoughtfully Alastair asked, “How old is Lord—Lord Stamborne now?”
“His lordship is six years, my lord.”
“And Miss Segrave?”
The groom gave him an odd look. “Miss turned eighteen a few month ago.”
“Eighteen?” Alastair was surprised. He had that waif-faced child still in mind.
When they were saddled Alastair said, “Lead on. And we’re in a hurry.”
The groom, who was Timothy, had already heard the news from Lord Hylton’s coachman, and he took out across the park at a dead gallop, followed closely by Alastair. When they reached the fairground Timothy stopped and began to dismount to search, but Lord Hylton flashed by him and galloped right into the crowd, pulling the horse to a rearing stop right in the middle of the grounds.
As if he were being directed, Alastair immediately saw Valeria, and knew her. He was confused and startled for long moments. She had the same wealth of lush dark hair, the same wide dark liquid eyes, the graceful raven’s-wing eyebrows on a smooth white brow. But this was no coltish child; she was a tall, willowy vision, alluring and mysterious. She looked directly into his eyes, and h
e saw the glimmer of recognition. He was relieved, because it made him somewhat less uncomfortable, and also because he thought that introductions at this time would be ludicrous.
He dismounted; she watched him, her gaze direct and unwavering, as he came to her. She curtsied gracefully. “Good afternoon, Lord Hylton,” she said in an attractive, throaty voice.
“I’m so glad that you recognize me, Miss Segrave,” he said, bowing. “It makes my task a little easier. I know it’s unorthodox, but would you mind sitting down with me, please?” He didn’t want to take the risk of another lady’s fainting dead away at the news, but then he somehow knew that Valeria Segrave would do no such thing. The contrast between her and her mother was apparent, and it had nothing to do with their looks. Alastair could see strength, even fortitude, in Valeria’s countenance. He was reminded of Lord Segrave in the vigor of his prime.
Without a word Valeria sat down on the bench and watched him. He sat close to her but didn’t touch her. “I’ve been to Bellegarde and have spoken to your mother. I have very bad news for you and Lord Stamborne.”
He hesitated. Her unfathomable expression didn’t change. “Please continue,” she said quietly.
“Lord Maledon fell very ill, and he died Monday night.”
As had her mother, Valeria stared at him for long moments, but there was complete comprehension in her eyes. Then her face darkened with pain, and she said what was, to Alastair, a very odd thing. It was the first line of the Great Litany.
In a ragged voice she whispered, “O God the Father of heaven: have mercy on us miserable sinners…”
PART II
Chapter Nine
VALERIA’S FIRST SENSATION AT THE NEWS of her stepfather’s death was sickening remorse. Her stepfather had died without her forgiveness. She knew very well that this would have had no effect on the state of his soul, but that she had withheld it was a stain upon hers. To forgive him now, simply because she was sorry that he had died, would be no act of Christian charity. It was too late. Bitterly she thought that regret must be one of the cruelest results of sin.
But she realized that she would have to sort out her own troubled heart later. Just now she must be mindful only of her mother and her brother.
Lord Hylton was watching her with a sort of detached curiosity, she thought. With an effort she sat up perfectly straight and regained her composure. “How did my mother receive this?” she asked.
He grimaced. “Not well at all, I’m afraid, Miss Segrave. She went into a deep swoon. Her lady’s maid is attending her.”
Valeria nodded. “Craigie can help her.” She looked around, trying to gather her thoughts. It occurred to her how very strange the scene felt. She was surrounded by people smiling and laughing, the antics of the performers, the high endless cackle of Punch, the catcalls and cheers from the puppet show audience. For a moment she felt that she and Lord Hylton were not really there, they were alone in some dark place where tragedy filled the air rather than laughter.
She saw Timothy holding his and Lord Hylton’s horses, and the sight of his dismay as the young groom glanced at her helped her to focus. “Before I tell my brother, please relate to me the circumstances of my stepfather’s death,” she said.
Lord Hylton seemed to be groping for words, so Valeria went on evenly, “I know I’m young and that men think young women are so dainty and excitable that they shouldn’t be exposed to anything unsavory. But I assure you, sir, that I already know how my stepfather was living, and I won’t be overcome with shock to hear how he died.”
After a moment Alastair said, “Yes, I can see that, Miss Segrave.” He went on to relate to her the events of the night of Lord Maledon’s death. He told her in a clinical manner that Lady Jex-Blake had discovered the body, leaving out the details of the lurid scene. “I was obliged to leave before we got word of the doctor’s report, so my knowledge of the exact cause of death is incomplete.”
“I see. Do I understand that you and Lady Hylton made the decisions, and the arrangements, and not Lord Kincannon?”
“I am a kinsman. I felt it was my duty, and my mother is so close to your mother that she felt it was incumbent upon her to offer her help in Lady Maledon’s stead.”
“This is a great comfort to me and my family,” Valeria said sincerely. “What arrangements have been made? Where is my stepfather now?”
“An inquest was necessary, of course, but my mother and Kincannon were sure they could expedite that. Lord Maledon is returning here in a funeral wagon, and my mother and my sister and brother-in-law are accompanying the body. It is my hope that they will be here sometime tomorrow, but I can’t be sure of it. We didn’t want to post any communications to Bellegarde, for fear that I might be delayed, and it would have been disastrous for the news to reach your mother in such a manner. Also, my mother wouldn’t have tried to leave messages at the coaching inns along the way, because I traveled faster than the post.”
Valeria’s eyes widened. “You—you said that Lord Maledon died on Monday? And you traveled that great distance in three and a half days? That must have been a very difficult journey, sir. I cannot adequately express my appreciation for your thoughtfulness.”
“As I said, it is my duty,” he said formally.
Valeria was slightly taken aback. Lord Hylton had an air of assurance and authority, which was reassuring. But he couldn’t be said to have a comforting presence. His manner and expression were dispassionate. The direct gaze of his unusual gray-blue eyes was cool and distant. His reserve was somewhat chilly.
With dignity she responded, “Still, I thank you for your efforts, sir. I must give Timothy some instructions, then. If you would be so kind, I’ll ask that you speak to our coachman, Platt. I’ll take St. John to the carriage and tell him there.”
“I’m happy to be of any service, Miss Segrave.”
They went to speak to the groom. Valeria asked, “Do you know what’s occurred, Timothy?”
“Yes, miss, his lordship’s coachman told us that the earl has died.”
“Yes. I’d like for you to find Dr. Thaxton and ask him if he can attend Lady Maledon as soon as possible. Then find Reverend Emmery and ask him if he can come to Bellegarde to conduct our evening prayers. I saw both families here earlier today, but if you cannot find them here at the fair, go on into the village to give them the messages.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and led the two horses to the nearby grove of trees to hitch them.
Valeria said, “Lord Hylton, my brother is over there, at the puppet show, with his friend Niall, who is Platt’s son. I’ll tell my brother to come with me to the carriage. Meanwhile, please tell Platt about Lord Maledon, and tell him I’d like for Ned and Royce to accompany us back to Bellegarde.”
Valeria found it odd that the time since she’d first seen Lord Hylton ride up had been so short that the puppet show was still going on. Again she had that peculiar feeling of time and place being somehow out of joint. She went to St. John, who was seated on the ground with a crowd of noisy children in front of the brightly colored booth. Reaching down, she took his hand and said, “St. John, I need you to come with me, please.”
“But, Veri, Punch is only now—” His bright expression faded when he saw her face and he nodded and rose, still holding her hand.
“Niall, come along,” she said, and the boy followed them to where Ewan was standing behind the crowd of children. “Platt, this is Lord Hylton, he needs to speak to you. St. John and I will be in the carriage, waiting.”
Ewan said without expression, “Yes, miss.”
Valeria and St. John walked to the carriage in silence. With a feeling of bittersweet poignancy Valeria watched as St. John opened the carriage door, pulled down the steps, and then stood back for her to get in. He sat across from her and stared at her, his expression a mixture of dread and suspense. Valeria took his hand again. “St. John, I’m so sorry, but I have very bad news. Your father fell ill while he was in Yorkshire, and it was quite s
udden. On Monday night he passed away.”
His fawn-brown eyes darkened, and he dropped his head. Almost inaudibly he said, “My father is dead?”
“Yes, dearest, he is.”
“Does our mother know?”
“Yes, that gentleman with me was Lord Hylton. He traveled down from Yorkshire, and he first went to Bellegarde to speak to Mamma, and then came here to let us know.”
He nodded slightly. “We should go home now, to Mamma.”
The desolation in his child’s voice deeply wounded Valeria, but she knew that she must now, of all times, disguise her distress. She must, she must be strong for her mother and St. John.
In only a few moments Ewan and Niall returned with Lord Hylton, and Ned and Royce followed them. Ewan began unhitching the traces while Ned and Royce took their usual station on the footboard. It struck Valeria how incongruous they looked, standing at the rear of the fine carriage in their everyday clothing of breeches and top boots and brown coats, instead of their grand livery.
Lord Hylton came to the door of the carriage, and Valeria realized she must perform introductions. “Lord Hylton, may I present my brother St. John, Lord Stam—” She stopped abruptly with an unpleasant shock.
Though he was grave, Alastair now spoke with an ease that surprised Valeria. Bowing slightly, he said, “I am a kinsman of yours, sir. I am Alastair, Lord Hylton. I’m glad to finally have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Cousin, though I am deeply sorry it is under such tragic circumstances.”
“Thank you, sir,” St. John said woodenly. “I’m St. John.” He hadn’t seemed to notice Valeria’s sudden discomfort.
“And you may call me Alastair.” He turned to Valeria and said softly, “Miss Segrave, you seem to have everything well in hand. Is it your wish that I return to Bellegarde? I know this is an extremely difficult time for your family, and I would be most happy to stay at the inn in the village so as not to impose upon you and your mother.”