The Baron's Honourable Daughter

by Lynn Morris

  With sudden inspiration, stifling a giggle, Valeria hid behind the hedge and crept toward him. He was pacing directly at the end of a neighbor’s walk.

  Valeria leaped, abruptly looming up in front of him, drew a pistol, pointed it at his chest, and growled, “Stand and deliver!”

  Utter shock, and then a slight frisson of fear, crossed his face. Next he stared incredulously, and then he roared with laughter. “Valeria, you’re a genius! It’s truly brilliant! A highwayman!”

  She wore the clothing that a highwayman of the last century might have worn, although her costume was likely much more finely made and expensive than robbers’ ever were. Her black coat was made of superfine broadcloth, and was long, as the last century’s fashion had been; and so was her waistcoat. Her shirt had long frilled cuffs, and the collar was flat, with a ruffled jabot. A wide leather belt with a silver buckle encircled her slender waist, and two fine Manton dueling pistols—her stepfather’s, stolen from a display of pistols and swords hung on the wall in the library—were stuck butt-out in her belt. She wore her specially made black leather gauntlets with long cuffs, a black tricorn hat with her hair completely tucked up into it, a black mask, and a billowing black silk cape.

  Her specially made boots were also from a previous age; they were above-the-knee, with a one-inch heel and a silver buckle. And tucked into these dashing boots were Valeria’s trousers.

  Daniel was babbling on, his face lit with somewhat libidinous delight: “Trousers, you look simply smashing, Valeria, it’s really quite extraordinary how enticing it is—”

  “Are we going to stand out here prating all night, or are we going to a bal masque?” she demanded, her dark eyes glittering in the mask’s embroidered eyeholes. As they climbed into the carriage, Valeria was not really too surprised that instead of sitting across from her, as was customary, Daniel sat beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders.

  She looked up at him and said slyly, “You’re going to try to kiss me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I certainly am.”

  “But sir, won’t you find it most peculiar, to kiss a highwayman?”

  “Believe me, Valeria, no matter how much you tuck your hair up and wear trousers, no one would ever mistake you for a man.” He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers; it was the first time Valeria had ever been kissed, and she found that it was quite pleasurable. She lifted her face again, and he kissed her, this time with more urgency. At first Valeria enjoyed the embrace, but then she grew disquieted; she was having trouble regulating her breathing, and Daniel was clasping her very closely. She pushed him away, at first gently, but when he resisted her she pushed harder.

  Reluctantly he drew away, and he was clearly frustrated. “Why do you push me away, Valeria? You like to be kissed, I can tell, and a woman like you should be kissed, often.”

  Valeria was nonplussed by this comment; somehow it made her sound…well, fast. But surely Daniel had no intention of offending her, she quickly reassured herself. Still, with some asperity, Valeria said, “I’m afraid that I have so little experience that I can hardly judge if you speak truth or not. That is the first time I have ever been kissed, and I did like it, but I prefer to give it some time before I decide whether or not I shall be kissing often.”

  In spite of his ire, Daniel grinned. “You will be sure to let me know when you decide, won’t you? Happy to be of service, and all.”

  The coachman pulled the carriage up to the more discreet side entrance on Poland Street, but even though it wasn’t the main entrance, still a rapidly streaming crowd of people hurried inside. Valeria felt no misgivings at all, only a mounting anticipation. When the groom opened the carriage door, with a flourish of her cape she stepped in front of Daniel and jumped down, disdaining the steps. She turned around to laugh up at him, and saw the heated admiration on his face, and knew that though she certainly looked unorthodox, she must be in very good looks indeed.

  Daniel tied a mask over his eyes, a white silk one. “Let’s go, highwayman.”

  The Poland Street entrance led directly into the great assembly room, or the rotunda, which was topped by a massive dome that was similar to that of the Pantheon in Rome. Valeria’s first impression was of a room of such vast size that she felt dwarfed. Gradually she realized that the square footage of the room itself was not what gave her the impression; it was the soaring ceiling, at least fifty feet high, with friezes all around depicting scenes of ancient Rome. At one end was a stage holding an entire orchestra. On the east and west sides were single tiers of boxes, set twenty feet up, themselves having twenty-foot ceilings and elaborate chandeliers.

  But once Valeria had taken in the room, her attention was riveted by the dancers, for to her eyes they were dancing in a bizarre manner. Instead of being arranged in long neat lines with partners facing each other, or in the orderly rectangles of the cotillion and allemande, the couples were closely clasping each other and whirling around and around in dizzying circles. “Good heavens, what are they doing?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “That is the German waltz. Ain’t it the utmost? It’s all the rage on the Continent, but you just know the bluenoses at Almack’s have not and probably never will endorse it, so you don’t see it in London.”

  “No, I can see why,” Valeria murmured. However, once one recovered from the shock of seeing such public intimacy, the dance itself could be quite graceful. As always, there were those who danced elegantly and those who danced awkwardly. Valeria particularly admired a couple who turned and glided with an airy grace. The woman was dressed in the eighteenth-century French style, with a towering powdered wig, a whitened and rouged face with a pasted-on beauty mark, and a marvelous golden satin dress with a natural waistline and wide panniers. Her partner was a tall man dressed in simple black formal wear, and wearing a black mask. They glided close by Daniel and Valeria, and with extreme alarm Valeria recognized the woman as Lady Jex-Blake. Their eyes met. Valeria managed to keep her countenance, holding her breath. Lady Jex-Blake’s hard gaze swept on without a single sign of recognition. Valeria breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Just look at some of these costumes,” Daniel said disdainfully. “I told you that even men who generally display good sense make themselves look ridiculous.”

  Valeria looked. She saw two judges, with long thick curly wool wigs and scarlet robes; an Arabian pasha, with a turban that was coming untied and billowing trousers; no fewer than four Henry VIIIs; a king’s jester; a harlequin; and several Romans in togas, sandals, and laurel wreaths. Many other gentlemen were dressed in the style of the French court of the previous century, with satin coats of blazing jewel tones, powdered wigs, and cosmetics. One portly gentleman wearing a bright purple coat evidently was costumed as the lately beheaded King Louis XVI, for at his neck was a lurid dribbling of what Valeria hoped was red paint. “Oh, horrors, surely that’s—that’s not funny,” she said in a strangled voice, and then helplessly giggled.

  “That’s old Colonel Nebbitts, he always did have a bizarre sense of humor,” Daniel said, chuckling. “His costume at least shows some imagination.”

  “But surely you approve of many of the ladies’ costumes, at least. They don’t look ridiculous.”

  “Oh no? Did you see that woman in the Marie Antoinette wig with the birdcage and live bird in it? Still, I do like the pretty little shepherdesses, and the ladies wearing the Grecian gowns. Oh, yes, some of those are delicious.”

  Valeria looked a little closer, and she was stunned to see that several women were wearing the simple tunic gowns of the classical era…and that they were wearing nothing underneath. For the first time it occurred to her that this was not at all like the other parties she had been to, and it caused her some consternation. But then she told herself with great practicality that she hadn’t recognized anyone at all so far, except for Lady Jex-Blake, and the woman had clearly not known her. The chances of anyone’s recognizing her were slim indeed. Besides, compared to some of the more ou
trageous costumes she had seen, Valeria’s was relatively unobtrusive. She decided that she should just relax and have a good time, and indeed she was looking forward to waltzing.

  Tugging on Daniel’s arm—he was distracted, watching one particularly curvy woman in one of the diaphanous Grecian gowns—Valeria asked, “Daniel, do you know how to do this waltz?”

  “Hm? Oh. Oh, yes, certainly. If you observe, it’s really rather simple; it’s just ONE-two-three, ONE-two-three, and you keep turning.”

  “Yes, I see. Can we try it?” Valeria asked eagerly.

  “Of course, but I have to warn you. In the waltz, the rule is that the gentleman leads, and the lady follows. That means that I signal you how and when to turn, and so on.”

  Valeria raised a sardonic eyebrow and put her right hand on the pistol butt at her left hip. “Oh, really. You’re telling me that I’m required to follow a man, and do exactly what he tells me to do? What a bizarre notion.”

  Daniel grinned, his most devilish. “I know that you have even less experience at that than kissing, but I’m sure you’ll be just as good at it, if you try.”

  Valeria said, “Well, then, stand and deliver.”

  They were a little tentative at first; and it did go completely against Valeria’s grain to surrender herself, as it were, to Daniel’s lead. A couple of times she jerked one way when he went the other; and once she stepped square on his right foot. She apologized profusely, but he just said good-naturedly, “Highwayman, I would endure much more than a trodden foot, even by a heavy boot, to be able to hold you close and dance with you like this.”

  This delighted Valeria so much that she soon found herself easily following his lead, STEP-step-step, and turning, turning, with Daniel’s arm warmly encircling her waist, pressing her close to him. Even the strangeness of wearing—dancing in—trousers was peculiarly exhilarating. From sheer excitement Valeria threw her head back and laughed.

  But her laugh was choked off abruptly, and she stumbled a bit. She had looked upward toward the boxes, and as if she had directly aimed, she looked straight into Alastair Hylton’s face. He sat forward in a jerky, convulsive movement. Even from twenty feet below him, Valeria could see his eyes narrow to slits.

  “Oh, no,” she muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” Daniel asked.

  “Oh, it’s that blasted Lord Hylton. I’ve just seen him, and I’m sure he recognized me.”

  Daniel glanced up at the box and shrugged. “Oh, yes, I recall now. Usually Hylton doesn’t attend Kincannon’s er—larger parties. But it seems that an old friend of Hylton’s is on shore leave from the navy, after having been away for a couple of years. Apparently he was grievously wounded in a set-to with a French privateer, a sword-blow to the face, and he is so disfigured that he’s shy of going into company. Kincannon and Hylton persuaded him to attend. That’s him, with the full-face mask. Anyway, what does it matter? It’s none of Hylton’s affair what you do.”

  “I know, but I was rather hoping that no one would know me,” she said uncomfortably. “And it never occurred to me that he would be here.”

  Daniel looked up at the box, saw Alastair staring at them, and casually nodded. “I doubt very seriously he will come down here at all, you know he would never waltz. Forget him, my sweet highwayman. I only want you to think about and pay attention to me.”

  “Surely you can’t be jealous of Lord Hylton?” Valeria teased.

  “Not jealous,” Daniel said carelessly, “just selfish. When I’m with a lady I like her to concentrate on me.”

  Valeria started to take exception to this curiously impersonal observation, but just then the dance wound down and came to an end. “Let’s dance another, if it’s a waltz,” she said.

  “We have all night to dance. I’m dry as a desert, let’s go to the supper room first and see if I can get a decent drink,” Daniel said. “And I’ll try to find you some of your boring lemonade, although I doubt if there’s a non-spiritous drink to be had here.”

  They were moving very slowly, as the crowd was thick, and many people were simply standing still, waiting for the next dance. Valeria threw an ever-so-cautious look upward, and to her dismay she saw Alastair start up from his seat and duck out of the box. A few moments later he was coming down the grand staircase. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “He’s coming.”

  Daniel frowned. “Val—Madam, I must insist that you forget him; he probably knows everyone in the place, so it is unlikely that he’s coming to talk to you. He’s probably going to one of the card rooms.”

  “Oh, how I hope so,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Here, the supper room is this—oh, hang it all. There he is, scowling like the god of thunder. I guess we can’t duck him,” Daniel said with a touch of uncertainty that belied his previous swagger.

  Valeria gulped and thought, Now I’ve got to stand and deliver…

  * * *

  Alastair came to stand in front of them, scowling blackly. Valeria lifted her chin in a clear challenge. “Hullo, Hylton,” Daniel said. “As you can see, I have a most charming highwayman for a companion tonight.”

  “So I see,” he said tightly. The first strains of a waltz started, and Alastair said, “This is my dance, Everleigh.”

  Before Daniel could say a word, Alastair grabbed Valeria’s right hand, pinned her around the waist, and whirled her off.

  They danced in silence for long moments, staring at each other. Alastair kept his jaw set, his lips a thin line. Valeria looked defiant, her color high. Finally she said, “Why don’t you stop glaring at me and let me return to my partner?”

  “Oh, but I’m enjoying the dance so very much.” His arm around her waist became like a vise, and he pressed her impossibly close to him.

  “S-stop it,” Valeria said, trying hard but unsuccessfully to pull back.

  “Why? You don’t think, do you, that this is the worst affront you’re going to suffer tonight?”

  Valeria lashed out, “No, I think that the endless harangue you’re going to give me is the worst I’ll have to suffer through tonight.”

  He tightened his jaw, but loosened his iron grip on her. She looked away, though his arctic gray gaze never left her face. Both maintained stony silence for long moments, and they danced. Alastair was having the mightiest internal struggle he had ever known, trying to find the words to impress upon Valeria what a deadly serious mistake she was making. It devastated him to think that she might be completely shut out of all Polite Society.

  Finally he said in a bloodlessly cold tone, “You are correct, madam, I did intend to lecture you, which is ungentlemanly of me considering that you’ve made it clear that it bores you to distraction.

  “I must, however, say two things, and I beg you will bear with me, however noxious you may find it. The first is that I hope that you fully understand that if you are recognized, you will be ruined. Right now I doubt that there are very many, if any, of your acquaintance here; but when Almack’s closes, there will certainly be many gentlemen who will attend. When word gets around that you are here, in this costume, the Lady Patronesses will probably void your voucher at their very next meeting, and Polite Society will shun you.

  “The second thing I must say is that although I know you are thoughtless, and rash sometimes, I never thought that you were false and cruel. I never thought that you would dream of subjecting your mother to such appalling disgrace. She has suffered much already, having to put the best face on the scandal of Maledon’s death; and now this, a betrayal by her own daughter.”

  Valeria’s rage seemed to fade as Alastair’s harsh words began to sink in. Slowly, very slowly, her face began to turn pale as she stared up at him. Her brow became furrowed, and her breath began to quicken as if there weren’t enough air in the room. Alastair feared she was about to faint as she sagged helplessly against him.

  Quickly he half-turned her, anchored his left arm around her waist, and reached across and grabbed her left arm to steady her. His lips close to he
r ear, he whispered, “Valeria? Oh, no, I—just breathe, take deep breaths.” He recalled how he had thought, when he had seen her at the fair, bearing such bad news, that she was made of stronger stuff than her mother. But it seemed now that he had managed successfully to utterly shatter Valeria. Already he felt scalding regret.

  Dancers whirled around them, staring curiously; but Alastair ignored them. Finally Valeria straightened up, although her shoulders were stooped. Blindly she plucked at Alastair’s hands, pulling them away. Reluctantly he let her go.

  “Take me home,” she said raggedly, her head bowed.

  Very gently Alastair took her hand and threaded it through his arm, then led her out the door. Lord Kincannon’s grand barouche box, with a team of six silvery white horses, was parked just at the Poland Street entrance. Alastair barked to the coachman, “I’m Hylton, I’m taking this lady home in Lord Kincannon’s carriage. Berkeley Square. You, you, sir,” he half-shouted to one of the grooms. “Go inside and find Mr. Everleigh. Tell him that I’ve escorted the lady home, then go tell Lord Kincannon that I’ve borrowed the carriage for an errand. I’ll be back shortly.”

  The groom opened the door, and Valeria crept in as if she were an elderly woman, then collapsed onto the plushly padded seat. Alastair sat across from her, then rapped on the ceiling to signal the coachman.

  Valeria’s head was so deeply bowed that her chin touched her chest. Her tricorn hat fully shielded her face from Alastair. He did see, however, enormous tears falling onto her gauntlets. A small sob escaped her—a pitiful, wounded, helpless sound.

  “Valeria,” Alastair said softly, unaware that he was using her given name, “listen to me, I—”

  Without looking up she said in a muffled weak voice, “Oh, please…please, no…no more.”