by Lynn Morris
His mother, Elyse, and Reggie were having tea. Elyse was sitting on the floor at the hearth, toasting crumpets over the small bright fire. “Reggie, that is the fifth crumpet you’ve eaten, your appetite for dinner will be ruined,” Letitia warned.
“Can’t help it, ma’am,” he said, his voice rather muffled. “Toasted crumpets are like walnuts, you can’t eat only one, don’t you know.”
Elyse asked, “Alastair, do you want a crumpet?”
“No, thank you. I will take a cup of tea, though, Mother, if you’d pour for me.” Letitia fixed his tea and handed him the cup. He sat for a few moments in the wing chair by the fire, then restlessly took the cup to stare out the front window, sipping in an abstracted manner. Elyse and Letitia exchanged knowing looks, while Reggie furtively took a sixth crumpet.
Pointedly Elyse said, “With the rain yesterday, the road from Cawton Bridge might be mired; it’s such a dismal rutted track at the best of times. I hope they won’t be much delayed.”
Reggie mumbled something unintelligible, for again he was talking with his mouth half-full. Letitia started to say something, but just then Alastair stiffened like a dog pointing a bird, and his teacup clattered on the saucer. “I see them, they’re here,” he said in a strained voice. Elyse rose and dusted herself, straightened Reggie’s neckcloth, and brushed crumbs from his chin, Letitia set aside her embroidery, and they all went outside to greet their guests.
The splendid Maledon coach came dashing up the drive, Ewan driving with his usual flourish. As soon as it came to a stop Alastair opened the door, and stepped back as they all came out. Regina came first, then St. John, then Craigie, and then Niall. Letitia and Elyse greeted Regina and St. John with kisses, all of them talking at once. Alastair stood mute by the carriage, his face stunned.
Regina came to him and extended her hand, which Alastair took and bent over. “I’m afraid Valeria was unable to join us,” she said softly.
“Is she ill?” he demanded, half with concern and half with hope.
Regina had rehearsed many times what she would say to him, so smoothly she answered, “No, not ill. But it seems that she is still very tired from the rigors of London. She explained to me that she was really treasuring the peace and solitude of Bellegarde just now. She might, perhaps, join us in a week or two.”
Alastair’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw worked. He seemed not to be able to make any answer. After a few uncomfortable moments, Lady Hylton said calmly, “I am so sorry that Valeria felt unable to come. I shall write to her immediately and admonish her severely for her neglect of us. Come, let’s go into the house and get out of this wind.”
They all went into the house, but Alastair hesitated in the entrance hall. “I—I have just thought of something I need to attend to, if you’ll excuse me,” he said in a distracted manner, and hurried up the stairs.
“Oh, dear,” Regina said in a low voice. “Letitia, I couldn’t do a thing with her, all she would say is that there was no hope for it.”
Reggie looked astonished, staring up the stairs as Alastair disappeared. “What’s happened? No hope for what?” he asked plaintively.
“Well, she’s wrong,” Elyse rasped, and then with hard steps went up the stairs.
Bewildered, Reggie asked, “Who’s wrong? Wrong about what?”
Letitia smiled indulgently and said, “Come along, St. John, if Reggie has left any, you shall have some crumpets. And you too, Niall, we’ve already decided that we must keep the two of you together, to minimize the number of incidents.”
Upstairs Elyse went straight to Alastair’s room and banged on the door.
“Who is it?” he asked in a hard voice.
Elyse opened the door, stepped in, and shut it behind her. Alastair was darkly pacing back and forth in front of the window. Without preliminaries, Elyse said, “It’s high time to put a stop to all of this nonsense. You have acted, and are acting, stupidly, and Valeria is acting stupidly. Just stop it.”
Icily he snapped, “I may be stupid, but Valeria is not. How can you say that it’s not patently obvious that she wants nothing to do with me?”
“Because that’s stupid,” Elyse said with heat. “If anyone has made anything patently obvious, it’s that you want nothing to do with her. All I’ve seen from Valeria is that she wishes to make it up to you.”
“What do you mean? Has she said that?” Alastair demanded.
“Of course she has not said anything of the sort. I was constrained by my promise never to mention your name, and what do you think she made of that? Of course she would think that you were angry with her, and that I couldn’t speak of you without offending her!”
He frowned darkly. “But that was not the impression I wished to give, as you well know. I spoke to her every time I saw her, and I believe I was particularly cordial, and yet she never gave me any encouragement at all.”
“Never gave you—Alastair, have your wits gone completely astray? What about when she sang that heart-wrenching song?”
Alastair frowned. “I’ve thought much about that, but I finally realized that she was merely—she was just pleasing us—all of you, for I know that Lady Maledon dearly loves to hear her sing. It had nothing to do with me personally.”
Elyse bowed her head and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Stupid, stupid, I must think of another word. I really can’t right now, however, for it suits so well.” She looked back up at her brother, and with a visible effort made herself speak calmly. “Alastair, listen to me. She was singing for you. She was singing to you, and you only. Honestly I don’t know the exact nature of her feelings toward you, but I am certain that she wishes to end this coldness between you.”
“You’re—you’re certain,” he repeated cautiously.
“Yes.”
He nodded, and then lifted his head. Light flickered in his eyes, which made them look midnight blue. “Then I must go to her, and explain, and beg her to forgive me. A part of me still thinks that she’ll never look kindly on me again, but I have nothing at all left to lose.”
* * *
Alastair took Achilles, and his hunter, Imperius, riding them in eight-hour shifts. He stopped to sleep only twice. By the time he reached Bellegarde the horses were utterly exhausted. Alastair was travel-stained and weary, but he was so looking forward to resolving things with Valeria, for good or ill, that he felt buoyed up.
He rode up to the Hall at a dead gallop, threw himself out of the saddle, and was banging on the door even before the grooms appeared to take care of the lathered horses.
Trueman finally opened the door, his normal imperturbable manner disturbed by Alastair’s sudden disheveled appearance. “Lord Hylton!” he blurted out in alarm, then recovered and bowed deeply. “Lord Hylton, please come in.”
Alastair stepped inside and asked bluntly, “Where is Miss Segrave?”
“I believe Miss Segrave is down in the summerhouse. If you’d like to come into the drawing room, my lord, I’ll send a footman to—”
“The summerhouse? Is that the little blue cottage down by the water garden?”
“Er—yes, my lord, but—” He was speaking only to empty air, for Alastair had wheeled and hurried off.
As he almost ran toward the southwest end of the park, he said to himself over and over, I’ll just tell her, as simply as I can, that it was I who behaved so badly that night, that I was horribly wrong, and ask her to forgive me. I won’t make any demands of her, I’ll just tell her that I hope one day we can be friends again…
* * *
Valeria daubed at the canvas, at first tentatively, and then eagerly. She was actually getting the backlighting correct, for the first time, after countless attempts. It was a soft amber glow, with just the perfect orange tint of a sunset in summer. Now she worked fast, perfecting it. As she finished she realized that she was humming happily to herself.
And then she realized the tune she was absently humming: And then she made her way homeward…with one star awake…as the swan
in the evening…moved over the lake…
She stepped back, and her head drooped. Tears started in her eyes. After long moments she straightened her shoulders with determination and dashed the tears away. “There now, it’s official. I am a perfect mess,” she said with distress. Glancing down at her bib apron, she added, now with wry humor, “And that would be both internally and externally.” Her bib apron was covered with colorful blotches; her fingers were stained; a huge dollop of orange paint had plopped down and landed on her right big toe, for her feet were bare. Thick strands of hair had escaped from the neat braided bun Joan had done for her that morning, and hung wantonly down around her face and wandered over her shoulders. Valeria spied a streak of blue paint in one long wavy dark strand.
Shrugging, she returned to her painting. Under her breath she murmured, “Yes, sometimes I am a complete wreck; but I’m better. I really am getting better. This is helping me, I know. This is how I can make an end to it. Even sad endings are better than thinking of eternal hopeless longings.”
A shadow fell across her canvas from the doorway, and Valeria turned to admonish the trespassing servant or gardener, for they had all been strictly forbidden to come to the summerhouse when she was painting.
Alastair Hylton stood there.
Valeria gasped, and dropped her paintbrush and palette. “Oh, no, not you!” she blurted out.
At her first glimpse of his face she had seen a sort of confusion of hope, determination, and uncertainty that sat strangely on Alastair’s smooth marble features. At her words he abruptly looked utterly desolated. And then she saw his quick, darting glances around the room. His eyes widened with astonishment.
All over the summerhouse were sketches, drawings, watercolor studies, and paintings in various stages, from barely begun to half-finished to finished but discarded. All of them were of Alastair. Pinned on one wall was a charcoal sketch, done with a very light touch, of him with his head slightly bent and a smile on his face. A complex oil painting of him riding Achilles was stood up in one corner; though the depiction of Achilles was excellent, the rider had no face. But in the painting that Valeria had just completed, she had finally captured Alastair to perfection. He was wearing his blue coat, and his eyes, she could now see, were the exactly right shade of gray-blue. He looked remote, yet there was a warmth in his gaze, and his mouth was relaxed into a half-smile. The painting depicted Alastair Hylton at his warmest, kindest, most approachable moments.
But finding the real Alastair suddenly before her, Valeria was so astounded that she couldn’t think at all; her mind was in a maelstrom of confusion. He took in the room, and as quick as lightning, his countenance changed again. His eyes blazed into a fiery blue, and fierce joy came over his face.
He took three quick strides to her, and helplessly she looked up at him. “You love me, Valeria!” he said in a guttural voice. “You truly do, I can see, you must, because of—” He waved his hand to encompass the room.
“Love you?” she repeated. “But of course I do! But you hate me! Don’t you?”
“Wha—hate—no! No! I love you, I just thought you could never forgive me,” he said, moving ever closer to her and searching her face hungrily.
“Forgive you? For what? No, you have to forgive me, I—stop. Stop. What did you say?” she asked helplessly.
Alastair closed his eyes for a brief moment, took a deep breath, then looked down at her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “We can talk about all of that later. Right now all I want to talk about is how much I love you, Valeria. I do. I have fallen hopelessly, irretrievably, helplessly in love with you.”
Valeria felt her heart light up like the brightest fireworks on Guy Fawkes Night. She threw her arms around his neck and jumped, and he grabbed her waist and lifted her up high, whirling her around. “He loves me! He truly does! Oh, thank you, thank you, my most blessed Lord!”
Valeria was dizzy when he set her down, but she kept her arms around him and said, “Oh, Alastair, I do love you so, I don’t know how it happened or when it happened, and then I was so awful, and I thought you despised me, and I loved you so desperately I didn’t know what to do, and then—”
He laid his finger on her lips, and he smiled with a delight that she had never seen on his face before. “You’re blithering, my darling. Strange how now I find that perfectly adorable. But just now I wish to ask you—”
“Of course you’d ask,” Valeria said in a hoarse voice. Then she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him, a long deep passionate kiss full of promise.
When they finally drew apart, while still holding each other closely, Valeria said breathlessly, “Lord Hylton, you now have my permission to kiss me whenever you’d like, without asking first.”
“I’m very glad to hear that, ma’am. But there is another question I’d very much like to ask you,” he said in a deep voice.
“What is that?” Valeria whispered.
He dropped to one knee, looked up at her imploringly, took her hand and kissed it. His lips were warm. “Dear Valeria, my beautiful starlight, will you do me the greatest honor, and consent to marry me?”
She pulled him up and blurted out, “I will! Oh, yes! When? Soon? Please?”
“As soon as ever I can, dearest one,” he said, then kissed her again.
* * *
And it was soon, for Alastair, Lord Hylton, easily obtained a special license from the bishop. He offered to give Valeria a magnificently grand wedding at St. George’s, but Valeria much preferred to be married at the humble little parish church at Bellegarde, Our Lady of Grace.
It was filled to overflowing, not only with thousands upon thousands of flowers, but with friends and family.
With a cloud of fragrant orange blossoms in her hair, virginal and pure in her white satin dress, Valeria looked up at her betrothed and repeated the solemn vow.
“I, Valeria Segrave, take thee, Alastair Edmund James Hylton, to be my wedded husband, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”
Alastair took her left hand in his, held up the plain gold band, and spoke in a deep, rich voice filled with gladness: “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
Then, touching the ring to the tips of her thumb and first two fingers, he said, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
The ring slid onto her finger.
With open thankfulness Alastair said, “Amen.”
Reading Group Guide
Valeria’s inability to forgive her stepfather and Lady Jex-Blake was the beginning of her gradual falling away from the Lord. When you have such problems with others, are you able to overcome your resentment and bitterness and honestly ask the Lord to give you a loving, forgiving heart even toward your enemies?
At Evensong, a passage from the Confession particularly touched Valeria’s heart: We have left undone those things which we ought to have done, And we have done those things which we ought not to have done, And there is no health in us. Many times we’re more conscious of committing sins than we are of simply neglecting to do the things we should do to maintain the “health” of our relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ. Can you think of such things in your spiritual life that would enrich your walk with the Lord?
In a novel, textures are very important. This is writing with a clarity that not only gives the reader a mental vision of the scene, but that evokes a deeper immersion in the book. In The Baron’s Honourable Daughter, were there any textures that you particularly responded to? For instance, did you imagine the feel of a heavy satin dress, think of what turtle soup smells like, or try to sense the heavy coal-dirtied air of London?
Minor characters in a novel often play almost as important a part as the major characters. Did you find the minor characters to be vivid? Did they hold your interest? Did you hav
e a favorite, one that you might have liked to know more about?
Valeria finds that painting offers her not only an outlet for her creativity, but that it gives her solace and emotional comfort. God has given us all sundry gifts to help sustain us. Have you found your God-given talent?
Regina teaches Valeria about noblesse oblige, or “nobility obliges.” Nowadays this may be considered archaic, but the concept is actually a spiritual law. Do you understand the parallel of “with privilege comes responsibility” and the teachings of the Lord Jesus? See Luke 12:48.
When Valeria is wearing mourning for her stepfather, she feels like a hypocrite. Do you sometimes feel that when you “go through the motions” you are being hypocritical? Do you think that even when we don’t “feel spiritual” we should still maintain our outward appearance of being a Christian? Are you able to seek the Lord’s help, even with persistence if the heavens seem to be made of brass?
The early 19th century was in all respects foreign to our times. Did you find that you were able to relate to the characters and their problems? Did you enjoy some of the more obscure references (such outmoded things as chelengk, sarcenet, parterre) or would you have preferred fuller descriptions?
When Valeria finally realizes the depth of her sins, she is completely unable to find comfort either from her mother or her best friend. Only when she understands that she must first seek forgiveness from the Lord is she able to finally find comfort. When you are unhappy, do you sometimes depend upon others to comfort you, or do you first seek cleansing and solace from the Holy Spirit?
What might be called the height of Valeria’s sin was wearing trousers in public. Although this is laughable today, in 1812 it was indeed shameful behavior. Still, simply wearing breeches wasn’t really the sin; like all of us, she experienced a gradual falling away from God. What was the first indication of her estrangement from the Lord? What very small steps along the way led toward her “fall”? In your life have you experienced apparently harmless thoughts or feelings that eventually separated you from God?