The Baron's Honourable Daughter

by Lynn Morris

  In the carriage, after several minutes of silence, Valeria murmured, “It was just a mistake, you know, Elyse.”

  “Yes, so Reggie says. But I think there’s more to it than a mistake,” she said quietly. “In fact, I’m sure of it. You saw Lady Jex-Blake, didn’t you?”

  Valeria’s eyes widened. “How did you—but of course, you must have seen her before I did. It quite devastated me. Why didn’t you warn me, Elyse?”

  Elyse said kindly, “Because, darling, it hadn’t occurred to me that you didn’t know she was in Town, and I thought that surely you had prepared yourself. I do regret it now.”

  Valeria waved, a small gesture of negation. “Never mind, you’re right. I had managed to forget about her, and all that unpleasantness. I suppose I should have been prepared, but Elyse, what could I do? What would you have done, in my place?”

  With sympathy Elyse replied, “Valeria, I’ve never been so unfortunate as to be in your place, or anything like it. I’m not surprised that you rushed headlong out of the park at first sight of her.”

  “Actually, that wasn’t my first inclination,” Valeria said evenly. “My first instinct was to strike her with my riding crop. At least I managed to restrain myself from doing that. I did cut her, though.”

  Elyse’s eyes grew round. “Did you? Oh, dear. Well, I suppose, under the circumstances…”

  Impatiently Valeria said, “Please do not tell me that I’m to be censured for that too. Surely that ill-bred, commonplace hoyden can’t have so much influence with the prince regent. But even if she does, I’m not sorry, not at all. And I’ll never speak to Mr. Everleigh again.”

  Elyse was silent for long moments, thoughtfully looking out on the crowds thronging Piccadilly, as they always did. “Valeria, although I understand your feelings, or at least as much as I can imagine them, please allow me to give you a bit of advice. Your best course now is to pretend that the entire thing never happened. For instance, are you going to stop riding in the park? Are you going to stop speaking to anyone who speaks to Lady Jex-Blake? Although she doesn’t frequent the best circles, she does have a wide acquaintance in London, particularly since the prince has shown some partiality to her.”

  “Silly Prinny,” Valeria grumbled. “Silly, stupid men. No, I suppose I can’t stop speaking to every man who cavorts with tawdry women. If I did, my conversations would be strictly limited to ladies.”

  “Nonsense. There are many men who aren’t attracted to that kind of woman at all. Even Reggie, who is hardly the most observant and analytical man, says that Lady Jex-Blake is the perfect example of a flash gimcrack sort of woman, and that she’s a downright embarrassment in a drawing room.”

  Curiously Valeria asked, “What does Lord Hylton say about her?”

  Elyse smiled. “Nothing, of course; you know that my brother is so aloof that he rarely comments on anyone at all.”

  Valeria’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really? He has commented on me, and to me, many times.”

  “Mm, yes, so he has,” Elyse said noncommitally. “At any rate, I can assure you that he doesn’t cavort with tawdry women either.”

  Valeria giggled. “The mental picture of Lord Hylton cavorting at all—oh dear, it’s just too ridiculous.” Then she sobered and said, “I do see your point, however. I should have been more, so much more, in control of myself. And from now on I am determined that I shall be. I shall be all that a young lady should be: complacent, composed, calm, and exhibiting only very limited, genteel, ladylike conversation.”

  “Will you now? I hardly think I will recognize you.”

  “Oh, very well, you may be as satirical as you like. But I am worried, Elyse. Do you think the story will get out, be widely known and repeated among our acquaintance?”

  Elyse sighed. “I’m afraid it must. Too many people saw you, and even if they didn’t know you then, they will, and they’ll remember. Particularly since we’re talking about men.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Elyse cocked her head to the side to look at Valeria curiously. “You really don’t realize, do you? Amazing. When men see a remarkably beautiful young woman riding on a magnificent stallion down St. James’s, they won’t forget it.”

  Valeria grimaced. “Then I shall get a shaggy cob to ride, and I shall make myself plain and drab from here on out.”

  Elyse rolled her eyes. “Speaking of impossible to picture. Never mind, Valeria, we have already decided upon our strategy to mitigate the damage. As soon as the story starts circulating, we’re going to tell everyone that you and your groom were accompanying me in my town coach, and we got separated in the crowds on Piccadilly. As you can see from the traffic outside, that wouldn’t be impossible. And here, look. You took this right-hand turn, which is St. James’s; and here, just across, is the left-hand turn onto Bond Street. It’s understandable, really, for anyone who’s not thoroughly acquainted with London. And there you are, a perfectly convincing story of a simple mistake.”

  “Oh, how can I thank you, dear Elyse?” Valeria said gratefully.

  “’Twas Alastair who thought of it, and he persuaded all of his friends who witnessed it, including Mr. Brummel, to go along with it.”

  “Mm, yes, that is a better plan than Bordeaux on the breeches,” Valeria said.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” Then she sighed deeply and thought, How is it that Alastair Hylton, of all people, has to be the one who rescues me? How tiresome it is to continually owe him a debt of gratitude, particularly since I’m sure by now he must despise me!

  They arrived at the stationer’s, and it was useless. The stationer, though properly obsequious, still had an air of prim disapproval that young ladies should be inquiring about oil paints. As they left the shop Valeria said acidly, “You know, it’s as if we were trying to purchase demon opium, or asking for directions to the nearest brothel.”

  Elyse laughed. “So I see you’ve been repentant for ten minutes or so, Valeria, and in those ten minutes I must say you behaved admirably.”

  Mischievously Valeria replied, “The longest ten minutes I’ve ever spent in my life. I’m so glad that’s all behind me now.”

  * * *

  In the next few days, Valeria saw Alastair Hylton on several occasions, as he usually was invited to the same parties as Lady Hylton and Lord and Lady Lydgate. She dreaded the first encounter, but Hylton treated her with the same polite detachment with which he treated everyone else. Although she thought that sometimes his gaze, when she caught him observing her, was particularly thoughtful, there seemed to be no rebuke in it. He even smiled at her a few times. Fleetingly she wondered about the exact nature of his opinion of her; but not for long. She was much taken up with Daniel Everleigh, whom she had decided to forgive for his association with Lady Jex-Blake. Neither he nor Valeria mentioned the encounter, of course, and Valeria reflected that so far, she’d had more fun with Everleigh than with any of the other young men who danced attendance on her. He was a lively companion, witty, oftentimes irreverently parodying the more staid and stiff members of Polite Society, which Valeria enjoyed.

  The next week, to Valeria’s surprise, Lady Hylton called on Valeria and Regina, and Alastair came with her. He greeted them with his customary formality, but Valeria thought—hoped—that she saw a certain warmth in his countenance. They all sat down for small talk, but Valeria was distracted, for Lady Hylton’s footmen were bringing in large heavy boxes wrapped in brown paper and setting them in the hall.

  Lady Hylton said, “Valeria, you’re as transparent as a child on Christmas eve. Yes, the packages are gifts for you.”

  “They are? May I open them?”

  Alastair said, “Perhaps, Miss Segrave, if I could crave your indulgence, and if you can contain your curiosity, I was hoping to speak to you about some estate matters first. Lady Maledon, Mother, if you will excuse us?” He rose and offered Valeria his arm to escort her into the library.

  Valeria thought it was typically high-handed of h
im; but then again he seemed to be in an unusually pleasant mood, so she was determined to make the most of it. As they settled down in two comfortable overstuffed chairs in front of the desk, she said lightly, “So, sir, may I assume that you’re not still flaming angry with me?”

  “I wasn’t angry. And ladies don’t say flaming,” he retorted; then his mouth twitched and he continued, “Mmm. You may have been correct, Miss Segrave, perhaps I do treat you like a cross nanny. I beg your pardon.”

  “Pardon granted, because to admit the honest truth I was baiting you a little. I wouldn’t say flaming in polite company—not that you’re not polite company—that is, I meant—oh, hang it all. I won’t say it again.”

  “I am relieved, and if you will also exclude hang it all from polite conversation I would be vastly relieved,” he said, but his tone was light. “So, there are some small matters concerning the estate about which I wish to inform you.” He went on to talk about the sale of the horses, for which they had received high prices, some events concerning the cottagers, and a problem with the drains in the stable wings.

  “I see,” Valeria said thoughtfully. “It does seem to me that you and Mr. Wheeler have managed all of these things admirably. Is there anything that I should do? Any instructions you have for me?”

  “Instructions for you? Why, yes, there are a few things, perhaps a few dozen things or more.” His gray-blue eyes were sparkling.

  To her amazement, Valeria could see that Alastair was actually teasing her. She smiled brilliantly and said, “Sir, please stop immediately! If ever a question was worded wrongly, mine was a supreme example. What I meant to say was that it would seem I’m rather superfluous here, it seems that I’m hardly needed at all for help with the estate.”

  “Of course that’s not true, ma’am,” he said, returning to his usual formal courtesy. “We are co-trustees, and I simply wish to keep you fully informed. However, if there are matters that you would prefer to deal with yourself, I should be happy to consult you before I make any decisions or take any actions.”

  “No, no, I’m perfectly happy for you to manage these things, sir,” Valeria said hastily. “Indeed, I’ve been so busy here in Town that I’ve scarcely had time to think of Bellegarde at all.”

  He shifted his position slightly and studied her, his expression now sober. “Yes, you are having a particularly successful Season, Miss Segrave, you have many admirers. I have seen that you’ve shown a marked preference for Daniel Everleigh. You do understand, do you not, that his family would never consent to his marrying you?”

  “Great heavens, no one is talking about marrying anyone!” Valeria cried. “I simply enjoy his company, and I think he enjoys mine, and we have fun—you have heard of such a thing, have you not?”

  “Yes, I have heard rumors of such,” he replied slowly, studying her. “And naturally I want you to have fun. But the problem is that people are already talking about you and Everleigh. I feel I must warn you that he is something of a rake, and at some point in time he’s going to move on to another young lady. Surely you wouldn’t wish it to appear that you were so foolish as to believe that he was courting you, and that then he carelessly threw you over?”

  Valeria’s eyes flashed. “Sir, what business of yours is it whom I dance with and whom I sit next to at the theatre and who takes me in to supper? I care nothing for people’s perceptions about my relationships with Mr. Everleigh. That is between me and him, and is no one else’s concern.”

  “But surely—”Alastair began, and then his face closed down, and he rose and offered her his arm. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, I didn’t mean to intrude on your personal life,” he said stiffly. “Since our business is done, perhaps we should return to the drawing room?”

  They returned without exchanging another word and Alastair stood propped at the mantel, gazing darkly down into the fire. Valeria sighed inwardly and thought, The cross nanny is back. However do I manage to continually irritate him? Just being around me seems to grate on his nerves.

  Letitia and Regina exchanged cautious glances when Alastair and Valeria returned, but Regina said brightly, “Darling, now that I know what your gifts are, I know you’re going to be absolutely delighted.”

  Valeria’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, my gifts. May I go open them now?”

  “You may not, because they contain the biggest litter of oil paints, brushes, palette knives, stretched canvas, and other obscure implements that I’ve forgotten, and it would make a disgraceful mess in the hall,” Lady Hylton replied tartly.

  Valeria’s eyes widened with delight. “You bought me oil paints? Oh, ma’am, thank you!”

  “Don’t thank me, child, such an odd thing would never have entered my mind. It was Alastair who told me you were so anxious to have them, and he found out how to procure them,” Lady Hylton replied.

  Uncertainly Valeria said, “Why, sir, I’m—how did you—and why did you—?”

  “Elyse told me of your shopping trip,” he said, and once again he seemed to warm a little, “and of the problems you were having trying to purchase oil paints and supplies. I simply asked a friend at the Royal Academy, and he directed me to the warehouses.”

  Valeria was astounded. “I—I—how can I ever thank you, sir? That’s so thoughtful of you, I could never have imagined!”

  “No, I’m sure you can’t,” he said dryly.

  Lady Hylton said sternly, “Valeria, I personally made the purchases, for you may never accept a gift from a young man, not even Alastair. You do understand that, do you not?”

  Mischievously Valeria replied, “I know I tend to forget some rules, but I do recall that one very clearly. I will never accept a gift from a young man, not even Lord Hylton.”

  “Thank the heavens,” Lady Hylton sighed. “So, Valeria, are you to try your hand at portrait painting? If so, I wish to be your first subject.”

  Valeria laughed. “Oh, no, ma’am, I think St. John and Niall would do better portraits with finger paints. No, I fully intend to stay with landscapes. And Mamma, I’m so excited, please may I—”

  “No, you may not,” Regina said calmly. “Letitia warned me about oil paints, and the only place I can think of that I would want to be covered with splotches of unremovable paint is the attic. And it’s much too cold for you to work up there just now, Valeria.”

  “That’s to say nothing of the odor,” Lady Hylton said severely. “You have to mix the paints with all sorts of noxious substances, I understand.”

  “That is true, Miss Segrave, you must be particularly careful. We’d hate to have you have the vapors from noxious odors,” Alastair said with amusement.

  “I have never had the vapors,” Valeria said stoutly. “And I never intend to. But please, please, Mamma, may I just run upstairs very quickly, to see about the attic? Perhaps it may not be so cold as you think.”

  As Lady Hylton and Alastair were closer to family than to guests who must be entertained, Regina relented. “Very well, dear,” she said indulgently. “You may go play with your new toys.”

  Valeria ran out of the room and started calling for the footmen to bring the boxes up to the attic. Regina, Letitia, and Alastair exchanged amused glances. “Sometimes she’s still like a child,” Letitia said affectionately.

  In a low voice, Alastair murmured, “But not childish. Childlike, in innocence. Something to be treasured in a young woman.”

  Letitia and Regina pretended not to hear.

  As it was, Regina was right. Even before Valeria had finished unpacking and marveling at all the paints and supplies, her fingers and toes were icy. Regretfully she thought that perhaps in a week or two the weather would warm up enough for her to be able to work in the attic.

  That night Valeria, along with Lord and Lady Lydgate, attended a musicale at Lord and Lady Sturway’s, with Adele on the pianoforte, accompanied by two violins, a viola, and a cello. They played baroque music, selections from Corelli and Vivaldi, and they performed exceptionally well. As they were heartil
y applauding, Valeria said to Mr. Everleigh, who was, as always, seated next to her, “Your sister is very talented, Mr. Everleigh.”

  “Mm, yes, I suppose she is. What I don’t understand is why she takes so little pleasure in it. At least, she doesn’t look as if she’s taking pleasure in it. Adele was much more fun when we were children, but as soon as she came out of the schoolroom she started doing this.” His brown eyes sparkling with merriment, he wrinkled his nose and pursed his mouth, then said in a nasal voice, “This is what I call her ‘prim mouth.’ I’ve told her that it makes her look like a malformed fish, but she will do it.”

  Valeria laughed out loud, which earned her some disapproving glances from two elderly dowagers who had risen from their seats just in front of her. Valeria ignored them. “You are wicked, sir,” she trilled. “For shame, and your own sister, too.”

  “I’m unrepentant,” he declared. “If she insists upon making a face like the worst prig, then she must pay the price for it. Shall we go help ourselves to some punch? It’s my father’s own recipe, a delicious concoction of lemon, sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and allspice.”

  “And rum,” Valeria added, “and you know very well that I have no head for spirits, only a headache. I would cherish some lemonade, though.”

  She took his arm and they followed the crowd drifting toward the drawing room, where tables of refreshments had been set up. They made very slow progress, often coming to a standstill so as not to run into the people in front of them. Everleigh said, “Pah, lemonade, such a bland drink for one who is certainly not a bland woman. In fact, you are the most clever, the most fetching, the loveliest—”

  “Good evening, Miss Segrave, Everleigh,” a deep voice drawled just by Valeria’s left shoulder. Valeria looked up to see Alastair Hylton standing by her, holding a glass of champagne. He had a sardonic look on his face, and Valeria thought that he must have overheard Everleigh’s raptures. Uncomfortably she replied, “Good evening, Lord Hylton.”