The Baron's Honourable Daughter

by Lynn Morris

  Platt stopped the carriage at the head of Old Bond Street. Ned and Royce pulled down the steps, and opened large black umbrellas to shield Regina and Valeria from the rain. They walked down the stone pavement, the ladies in front and the footmen slightly behind and to the side. Valeria observed that here again Regina was indulging her in a show of grandeur. Normally ladies were accompanied only by their maids on Bond Street.

  The shop of Monsieur Etienne Joubert, Tailor, was indicated only by a small brass sign on the door of what looked like a personal residence, for it had no large storefront windows, only a discreetly draped casement window on either side of the door. Regina and Valeria entered, and immediately Monsieur Joubert came forward to meet them, for Regina had, of course, notified him that they wished an appointment at eleven o’clock. He was a small, neat, precise man with dark hair fashioned in the Titus style, brushed forward with close curls around the face. His manner was courtly and charming.

  He bowed low, in the old-world manner with his hand pressed against his breast and one foot slightly forward. “Lady Maledon, Miss Segrave, I’m so gratified to have you ladies as my patrons. I am Joubert, at your service.” He spoke with a rich French accent.

  Regina said, “Thank you, sir. You came very highly recommended, and I am happy that we can rely on you to design and make my daughter some stunning riding costumes.”

  His eyes brightened as he looked Valeria up and down. “Ah, yes, sometimes it is hard to please the ladies, but it is my greatest pleasure to see a beautiful lady riding in Hyde Park in one of my creations. You, mademoiselle, will show my habits admirably, you’re tall and slender and must display very well when riding. The short, plump ladies, pah! They look like the puddings.”

  Valeria and Regina exchanged amused smiles at this, but Monsieur Joubert was paying them no mind. He walked around and around Valeria, humming and whispering to himself. “Hmm, hmm, oui, certainement, the dark blue, hmm, hmm, hmm, the bright green, the olive? Hmm, hmm…”

  At first Valeria was slightly uncomfortable with this close-circling head-to-toe scrutiny, but Joubert was so clinical that soon she relaxed.

  “Yes, the dark-blue superfine,” he announced. “How many costumes, mademoiselle?”

  “I would like four,” Valeria answered. “But I want them to all be very different. It seems that most of the riding habits I’ve seen are blue and green; that will be acceptable, but I should like differing shades.” One reason Valeria was so excited to have new riding habits was that in contrast to frocks, with their prevalence of whites and pale pastel colors, fashionable riding clothes were made in deep rich colors.

  “Of course, and I am thinking, yes, I am certain, I have the dark chocolate brown that will do very well for you, mademoiselle, with your coloring, and non, the other ladies I don’t recommend it, they will look too much muddy. Come along, please, this way.”

  He led them through the shop, and Valeria looked around curiously. On one side, hung on forms, were tailed coats and waistcoats. On the other side was a long glassed case containing precisely folded white shirts, high collars, and cravats. All along the walls, from floor to ceiling, were cubbyhole shelves of folded fabrics stacked neatly, arranged according to color, from snowy white satin for formal breeches to black velvet for court coats.

  At the back of the shop were four curtains, and Monsieur Joubert led them through one into a small anteroom that contained a settee, a full-length mirror, and a plain worktable. Four ladies curtsied deeply as Regina and Valeria came in. Joubert said, “These are my most able assistants: my wife, Madame Joubert, and my daughters Sarah, Caroline, and Muriel. They will take the measurements, and show you the different fabrics and trim. Here you see the basic riding habit, and I will explain to you why Joubert’s design will assure that you stand apart from and above the other ladies, Mademoiselle Segrave.”

  The riding habit on the dress form was structured exactly like the only fashionable wear for women for the past five years—in the Empire style. The differences, however, showed what set riding costumes apart from other dresses. They had more of an aura of masculine wear than the gauzy, dainty dresses usually worn. Made of the same fabrics as men’s coats, they were tight-fitting at the top, with the “waistline” just under the bosom, and long-sleeved. The skirts were heavily gathered for fullness, with a medium-length train that draped gracefully when the wearer rode sidesaddle. Men’s shirts of fine white lawn with ruffled fronts, or even with high collars and cravats, were often worn underneath. The trim that was all the rage at the time was for military touches.

  Monsieur Joubert explained how he could make unique designs using frogs, braid, piping, wide lapels. The ladies brought in several fabrics, and Valeria decided on two habits made of superfine broadcloth, one in dark blue, one in bright green; one kerseymere of olive green; and she positively fell in love with the chocolate velvet that Monsieur Joubert assured her would not make her regarder à la boueuses, “look the muddy.”

  After agreeing on different designs for each costume, Valeria went through the most extensive measuring process she had ever imagined. The four ladies were so thorough, and so exacting, that Valeria remarked to Regina, “One would think I were getting fitted for a second skin.”

  Madame Joubert said, “That would be a great shame, Mademoiselle Segrave, with a complexion such as yours.”

  Finally the appointment was completed. As they were leaving, Monsieur Joubert said, “Your order will be delivered in five days, mademoiselle.”

  Valeria put out her hand for him to bow over and said pleadingly, “Ah, but Monsieur Joubert, I do so love the chocolate velvet, and I’ve decided that I shan’t ride in Hyde Park until I can wear it. Just that one, perhaps tomorrow or the next day, s’il vous plaît, monsieur?”

  Monsieur Joubert smiled with a tight, precise little upturning of his lips. “Mademoiselle Segrave, I predict you will break many hearts this Season, for vous êtes très charmeur. You will have the brown velvet tomorrow.”

  * * *

  London boasted several clubs where the nobility and gentry enjoyed the pleasures of male exclusivity, luxurious comfortable appointments, outstanding food and fine drink, making and sustaining both social and political connections, and high-stakes gambling in all forms. By far the most prestigious of these clubs was White’s. Originally established in 1693 as Mrs. White’s Chocolate House, through the years it had gradually achieved preeminence as the most desirable men’s club on St. James’s and Pall Mall. White’s was notoriously the most difficult one at which to gain membership. It was now not only common, but expected, that when an heir of a gentleman of the ton was born, the butler was immediately dispatched to White’s to place the heir on the waiting list. It had been one of the Earl of Maledon’s greatest delights, when St. John was born, to send Trueman for this most solemn of ceremonies.

  It was in the famous bow window overlooking St. James’s. Alastair Hylton was having a leisurely drink with four of his friends. Alastair watched as young Daniel Everleigh tried to persuade Lord Stephen Tryon to wager with him. Everleigh was a bright-eyed, handsome young man with a puppy-like eagerness that sometimes amused Alastair and sometimes exasperated him. However, Alastair did have to admit to himself that perhaps his impatience with Everleigh’s boundless enthusiasms meant that he was getting old and stuffy.

  Alastair, Tryon, Charles Ponsonby, and Paul Northbrooke had all been at Eton and Cambridge together and were fast friends. Lord Stephen had taken a fancy to Daniel Everleigh, who at twenty was younger than the others but the kind of lively young dandy who was an amusing companion.

  “Tryon, you’re always ready for an interesting bet; I’ll wager a guinea that Lord Dashalong careens up and down the street at least twice more before the hour is up!” Everleigh said. Lord Sefton had earned the nickname because he was a famous whip, and drove around Town as if all the hounds of hell were at his heels.

  Lazily Tryon replied, “Fool’s wager, Everleigh. Here he comes again right now. We all
know he’ll make the rounds he always does and pass by three or four more times.”

  “Blast, I thought I might be able to snooker you before he flew by again,” Everleigh muttered, then brightened. “So, Hylton, speaking of Lord Sefton, he’s to be at your mother’s dinner party tonight, with Lady Sefton, yes? From what I’ve heard, it’s very wise of your mother to introduce Miss Segrave to Lady Sefton first for her sponsorship of Almack’s.”

  Almack’s Assembly Rooms was the most exclusive club for fashionable society. It was governed by a select committee of ladies known as the Lady Patronesses, the “fair arbiters” who in effect decided who would be members of the Beau Monde and who would not. Neither riches nor titles could guarantee admission to Almack’s; the strict patronesses made their decisions based upon good breeding, disposition, and deportment.

  “Oh? And why should this be such a clever move on the part of my mother?” Alastair asked evenly.

  Everleigh shrugged. “Everyone knows that Lady Sefton is the most approachable and lenient of the patronesses. Surely she’ll be the most likely to sponsor someone like Miss Segrave.”

  Alastair repeated, “‘Someone like Miss Segrave.’ And what, precisely, does that mean?”

  “Aw, don’t get in a high dudgeon over your ward, old Hylton,” Everleigh said, grinning. “We have to get word of the new young ladies from other sources and you’re so tight-lipped about her. Lady Jex-Blake says that Miss Segrave is an ill-humored, sour girl and that she has little to recommend her for admission to Almack’s. She also mentioned that she’s as thin as a stick insect but has fat ankles.”

  Alastair looked thunderous for a moment, but then his jaw relaxed and he gave Everleigh a wry grin. “If I ever doubted that you’re a foolish young pup, that entire little speech just reminded me. First, Miss Segrave is not my ward. We are co-trustees of Lord Maledon’s estate, and I’ve found her to be a surprisingly good businesswoman. And second, if you take Lady Jex-Blake’s assessment of Miss Segrave as genuine, and believe that she is an authority on who will be accepted at Almack’s and who will not, then you’re even sillier than I thought.” Obviously a woman like Lady Jex-Blake would never see the inside of the hallowed rooms of Almack’s.

  Daniel Everleigh’s boundless good temper couldn’t be dampened by Alastair’s harsh words. “Then why don’t you tell us the truth about her, Hylton? Is she ill-tempered? What does she look like? And most importantly, are her ankles truly fat?”

  Slyly Lord Stephen said, “Lydgate told me she’s a stunner, Hylton.”

  “I think that may be a fair assessment,” Alastair said slowly. “But she’s poor, Tryon, with only two thousand per annum, so don’t flirt with her too outrageously. She’s still young and innocent, and she doesn’t need a rake like you leading her merrily along.” Lord Stephen Tryon was a devilishly handsome man, with jet-black hair and flashing dark eyes. A wealthy, much-sought-after bachelor, he was indeed given to leading women on.

  “So she is a beauty?” Everleigh asked with interest.

  “Mm, and Lydgate told me that she’s tall and slender and graceful, but that she does have a fine figure,” Charles Ponsonby said. “He didn’t say anything about stick insects.” Ponsonby was a rather plain man with brown hair and brown eyes, short and slim, but with an amiable expression that made him appear more attractive than he was.

  “I should think not,” Alastair grumbled.

  “Tall and slender, but with a fine figure?” Everleigh said, his dark eyes shining. “But she’s not taller than I am, is she? And is she curvaceous?”

  “Everleigh, do be quiet,” Alastair rasped.

  “Lydgate also said that she had eyes that a man could only dream of,” Paul Northbrooke added. He was a more jolly man than his friends, with laughing blue eyes and tow-colored hair, and already had a certain beefy English look about him.

  “Reggie never said anything like that,” Alastair said sharply, then relaxed as he saw the amused looks that Ponsonby and Northbrooke exchanged. They were his oldest friends, and Alastair knew they could see how uncomfortable he was with the conversation, and were teasing him. But why was he so uncomfortable? Why should he be so reluctant to talk about Valeria?

  He was still trying to work it out when Everleigh said insistently, “But what about her disposition? Is she really sour?”

  “She is not,” Alastair retorted. “She has what may be called a rather fiery temperament, but she is lively and witty and intelligent, and that’s why she’ll probably be bored with you, Everleigh, since apparently all you ever think about are horses, gambling, women, and their ankles.”

  “No, she’ll find me absolutely absorbing; I can charm a beautiful young lady when I exert myself,” Everleigh sniffed. “It’s just that most of them are not worth the trouble. I swear, for a solid year now all I’ve heard from my sister Adele and her friends is talk of frocks, frills, and furbelows, and I’m heartily sick of it. It would be enchanting to converse with a lovely young lady with a brain in her head.”

  “Enchanting,” Alastair murmured under his breath with a distracted air. “Odd that you would…never mind. I’m certain of one thing: if Miss Segrave wishes to take notice of you, Everleigh, then she will, and if she does not wish to, then she will not. She’s a lady who knows her own mind.”

  “She will,” Everleigh said confidently. “But you’ve forgotten the most important thing, Hylton. What of her ankles?”

  Alastair rolled his eyes. “I had occasion of observing them a couple of times, and I found them to be quite trim. Tonight, if you’re fortunate, you may have the opportunity of judging for yourself.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  VALERIA KNEW THAT SHE LOOKED very well for Lady Hylton’s dinner party. Her dress was a thin, crisp silk of the palest golden-yellow shade, her petticoat of the same delicate fabric. The hem of the dress was trimmed with sienna-brown embroidery, and the short puffed sleeves had six tiers of fine lace. Joan had arranged her hair with particular care, entwining in it a brown satin ribbon trimmed with garnets mounted in gold. The only jewelry Valeria wore was square-cut garnet drop earrings. As she and Regina arrived at the Hylton town house Valeria was grateful for her new gown; like all women, she felt more confident if she knew she looked her best.

  The Hyltons’ butler, who looked fully as supercilious as Trueman, took their wraps and then escorted them up to the drawing room. Lady Hylton’s dinner party was scheduled for the fashionably late hour of eight o’clock, but Valeria had insisted that she and her mother arrive ten minutes early. She wanted to be in the drawing room with her godmother and her friends Elyse and Reggie Lydgate when being introduced to the other guests. Although Lady Hylton had fully informed her about all the guests, she felt that receiving them as they arrived would be much more comfortable than walking into a roomful of strangers and being presented to them one by one.

  Lady Hylton, Alastair, and Lord and Lady Lydgate all welcomed Regina and Valeria warmly. Elyse took Valeria’s hands, then kissed her on both cheeks. “You look stunning, Valeria,” she declared. “And I don’t just mean your lovely dress. You’re positively glowing. Are you nervous at all?”

  “Somewhat, but not nearly as much as I thought I should be,” she answered. “But then again I may get an abysmal case of jitters when the illustrious personages start arriving.”

  Alastair said, “I sincerely doubt that. I’ve never seen anything that makes you nervous, Miss Segrave.”

  The thought You do flitted through Valeria’s mind, but she merely said, “Oh, but you’ve never seen me struggle to impress such a doyenne of society as Lady Sefton. If I don’t get accepted into Almack’s I shall be ruined before my first Season even begins.”

  Alastair’s lip curled slightly, and Elyse said, “Don’t take any notice of him, Valeria, he thinks Almack’s is much overrated, and never deigns to attend. Men, of course, can afford to be disdainful of such things, while young ladies cannot.”

  He said, “When I attended the balls there I
felt as if I were a deer being stalked by a crowd of hunters. It was excessively tedious.”

  With spirit Valeria said, “It is possible for a young lady to simply enjoy attending a ball and forming new acquaintances without being a predator in search of a husband, you know. I, for one, have no intention—” She broke off abruptly.

  Alastair’s lips twitched. “Yes, I do recall that you have very definite opinions concerning marriage. Your vehemence on the subject almost gave poor Mr. Stanhope the vapors.”

  Valeria said, “Oh, yes, poor Mr. Stanhope, I’m sure I shocked him terribly. But don’t worry, sir, both your mother and mine have lectured me endlessly about maintaining strictly proper comportment, so I shan’t be making such scandalous outbursts in public again.”

  “Oh, really,” Alastair said doubtfully.

  “Yes, you see, I’ve no problem at all with them lecturing me,” Valeria said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ll certainly follow their constant instruction upon the improvement of my behavior.”

  Elyse said with amusement, “You know, Valeria, you’re the only girl besides me who has ever dared to stand up to my brother. Most young ladies who try to converse with him get positively frozen into paralysis.”

  “Most young ladies are babbling idiots,” Alastair said succinctly.

  “Valeria certainly is not,” Elyse retorted.

  His cool gray eyes met Valeria’s. “No, she is not.”

  Valeria was trying to work out if this was a high compliment or very faint praise when the other guests started arriving. Lady Sturway and her children Adele and Daniel Everleigh were announced. As Valeria was introduced and made her graceful curtsy, she noted that Lady Sturway was modestly pretty with elegantly dressed dark hair and eyes. Miss Everleigh was plain, and she had a certain pinched look about her mouth that made her appear vaguely dissatisfied. Valeria also observed that Adele’s up-and-down appraisal of her from head to toe was extremely sharp and assessing.