VALERIA WAS FILLED WITH EXCITEMENT to finally be going to London for her first Season, but her animation was slight compared to St. John’s ceaseless hopping about in the coach. For the fourth time he opened the window and stuck his head out. Regina said, “St. John, I declare I’m going to signal Platt to stop the carriage so that he can nail that window shut. Again, it’s entirely too cold, you’ll catch your death.”
Reluctantly St. John closed the window. “But Mamma, Platt and Ned and Royce and Timothy are out in the cold, and they won’t catch their death.”
“They’re accustomed to it, because it is their job,” Regina said. “You, however, are not suited to flapping about in an icy breeze.”
“That thin blue blood,” Valeria teased.
“Oh, really, Valeria,” Regina reproved her. “As if you have anything to say about it.”
“Who has blue blood?” St. John asked, puzzled. “That’s silly.”
“Yes, it is,” Regina agreed.
The day, though frightfully cold, was bright and clear. They knew when they were approaching Town because suddenly the light was dimmed. London always had a coal-pall looming over it. They were just coming into the East End; they would go through the City of London and on to the fashionable West End. All of the haut ton owned houses in Mayfair. The Maledon town house was located at one of the most prized addresses, Berkeley Square.
Valeria had been to London during the Season three times. The first was when she was ten years old, and Lady Hylton had persuaded Regina to rejoin society. They had stayed at the Hylton town house, just across from the Maledon town house in Berkeley Square. That Season was when Regina had become engaged to the Earl of Maledon.
Then, in 1807, when Valeria was fourteen and St. John was two years old, the family had come to London for April, May, and June, the height of the Season, and they had returned the next year for the same three months. But both of these visits had been rather a bore for Valeria. She was still “in the schoolroom,” and her only companion was Miss Howells, her mousy, timid governess. Miss Howells was terrified of London, and wouldn’t accompany Valeria anywhere unless Craigie took Niall and St. John for an outing, and Miss Howells would venture to go with them. But this year, Valeria thought, was going to be the most exciting adventure she had ever had!
As they labored through the muddy, narrow, tortuous streets in the East End, Valeria wondered that her mother had decided to travel in such style. It was thirty miles from Bellegarde to London, and although it was only about a three-hour drive with their four magnificent Maledon horses, generally when one traveled that far to another city the footmen didn’t ride standing on the back. Ned and Royce, with their blue-and-silver livery, and full-length gray capes with blue satin lining, were stalwartly attending on this trip.
And then there was Timothy, the groom, riding postilion on the near front horse.
Normally this was necessary only when the team had at least six horses. But when Regina had explained to Valeria that she needed to pick a groom to accompany her as she rode in Hyde Park, Valeria had immediately picked Timothy. She had suggested to her mother that he would be thrilled to ride postilion, and somewhat to Valeria’s surprise, Regina had agreed, and had personally designed a special livery, a slate-blue skirted riding coat trimmed with silver cord and piping on the sleeves.
Timothy had been almost beside himself with excitement and pride. Valeria had thought that traveling to London, with the footmen and postilion rider, would be what her mother considered ostentatious. Now she reflected that her mother had really been indulging her, in many ways, since Valeria was so excited about London and the Season. She thought, I just turned nineteen two weeks ago. So many girls have already had two Seasons by the time they’re nineteen…and after three or four Seasons, if they haven’t managed to get themselves married off, they’re considered past their prime. Imagine being thought a spinster at twenty-one years old! It’s absurd! Oh, well, at least I’ll have one or two years of fun!
They entered into the wider, quieter streets of the West End, and then the carriage stopped in front of Number 23 Berkeley Square. The Maledon town house was one of a long row of gracious four-story houses, built of white stucco with black wrought iron fencing and trim.
Ned and Royce stood on either side of the carriage steps to hand down Regina and Valeria. St. John burst out of the carriage and ran to the iron railing that surrounded what was known as the area, the steps and landing leading down to the servants’ and tradesmen’s entrance. The basement was sunk only partly below street level, so that the kitchens and workrooms could have windows for good lighting. St. John jumped up to rest on his stomach on the railing, looking down the eight feet to the stone entryway.
“Oh, Ned, go fetch him,” Regina said faintly. “That boy is going to give me an apoplexy. How happy I’ll be to see Mr. Chalmers.”
Ned went to St. John, who was hallooing down into the area. Clasping one muscular arm about his waist, Ned lifted him up bodily. “Begging your pardon, my lord,” he said sternly. He carried him back and set him down in front of Regina, brushed him off lightly, and stood back at attention.
“St. John, that entrance is for the servants and tradesmen. You will go into and out of the house by the front entrance,” Regina said.
“Yes, ma’am,” St. John said unconcernedly. “But you know the servants don’t mind me. They don’t like grown-ups coming down there, but they don’t pay much attention to me.”
Amused, Valeria said, “Yes, St. John, we all understand that, thank you. Still, don’t go climbing around on the fence like a wild monkey.” What he had said was perfectly true. The servants very much regarded the kitchen and servants’ hall as their own personal and private spaces. Valeria had learned that Regina made definite appointments on the rare occasions that she wished to tour them. And even though St. John was that august personage, the fifth Earl of Maledon, they were unconcerned when he went into the servants’ areas. They tolerated any children invading the servants’ hall.
The town house had a full-time housekeeper, Mrs. Durbin. Valeria remembered her well as a bony, severe woman with iron-gray hair. Valeria secretly thought that she made a much better business partner for Trueman than did the motherly, warm Mrs. Lees. The other servants had come ahead so that the house would be fully prepared and ready for the family to simply walk in and be at home. They were all assembled in the entrance hall to greet them: Trueman, Mrs. Durbin, Mrs. Banyard, Craigie, Joan, the two housemaids Sophie and Amelia, and the little scullery maid that Valeria had had such a memorable experience with, Mary Louise. Mr. Chalmers stood a little to the side, smiling. Regina, Valeria, and St. John came in, and while Trueman was taking their pelisses and bonnets, Regina asked, “Trueman, is everything in order?”
“Yes, my lady,” he answered.
“We shall tour the house,” Regina said, “and then tea in the drawing room, please, Mrs. Durbin. And Mr. Chalmers, would you join us, please?” Turning to Valeria and St. John, she said, “Come with me, we’ll go through the house so you’ll know just how everyone is situated.”
Valeria liked the atmosphere of the town house much better than the cold grandeur of Bellegarde Hall. It was built and furnished in the graceful, airy Palladian style, the rooms painted pastel colors, the furnishings mostly French. Even though the town house was much smaller than Bellegarde, Valeria found it more comfortable. Everywhere were enormous vases of fresh flowers; the sweet scents pervaded the entire house. At Bellegarde during the winter the arrangements were limited to dried flowers, but in London flowers and greenery were available year-round from the hothouses.
The entrance hall was floored with blue and white marble squares, and the walls were painted a light blue. White marble pillars were evenly spaced on either side. On the right was a graceful curved marble staircase with a black wrought iron railing. Down the hall and on the left was the wide arched entrance to the long, elegant dining room with oak flooring that had an intricate parquetry border. The walls were spaced with pilasters with finely carved cornices, painted blue with white trim. Crystal wall sconces were mounted between the pilasters. The long mahogany dining table was surrounded by twelve Louis XIV chairs. Above it, hung from a ceiling medallion, was an elaborate crystal chandelier. Regina told Trueman, “Since we won’t be entertaining, I don’t want that great chandelier lit every night. The wall sconces will be lit, and the table will be set with the six-candle candelabras.”
“Yes, madam.”
Regina turned to St. John. “Now let’s go to the library, where I think you’ll have a great surprise, St. John.”
“In the library?” he asked dubiously.
They went down the central passage to the single room that occupied the back of the long narrow house. The library also served as the earl’s study and office. The walls were lined with bookcases that displayed Grecian busts, ormolu urns, and other objets d’art. On one wall was the desk, a Hepplewhite of satinwood with rosewood inlay. But what astonished Valeria, and instantly enchanted St. John, was the addition of a large rectangular dining table, set somewhat incongruously in the center of the room. The top was covered with an immense map, and on the map were toy soldiers.
Mr. Chalmers was grinning like a young boy. “Now we shall be able to learn all about the Peninsular War in style, my lord.” The set was intricately detailed, and comprehensive. There were infantry: foot guards, fusiliers, and grenadiers. The cavalry regiments—dragoons and Hussars—had their distinctive uniforms and were on horseback. There were even artillerymen with cannons. And to add to this magnificence, on the oceans were small models of Royal Navy ships.
“Coo-eee!” St. John breathed. “Is this—was this my father’s?”
Mr. Chalmers answered, “The maps are, yes, sir. But the toy soldiers are a gift to you from your cousin, Lord Hylton. He said that his father gave them to him when he was your age.”
“Lord Hylton!” Valeria exclaimed. “But surely he should give it—”
Utterly uncharacteristically, Regina interrupted in a soft voice of warning, “Valeria, it was a very thoughtful and generous gift to St. John. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to diminish it in any way.”
“No, ma’am,” Valeria sighed. All she was thinking was that surely the set should go to Alastair’s own son, but she did realize that if she said something to that effect it would cause St. John concern. He was sensitive in that way. And then again, Valeria realized ruefully, her instant reaction to anything that Alastair Hylton did or said was to object. That’s so silly and childish, I must stop resenting him…at least, when there is no good reason…
Valeria was relieved to see that St. John had paid no attention to her outburst, as he and Mr. Chalmers were already positioning pieces on the map, and Mr. Chalmers was pointing out such famous battle sites as Coruna and Talavera.
Regina said, “I think St. John will be content to see his bedchamber later. Trueman, go find Niall and tell him he may come to the library.”
Stiff with disapproval, Trueman said, “Yes, my lady.”
As Regina and Valeria went up the grand staircase, Valeria whispered, “You are in serious breach of etiquette, madam, and Trueman knows it.”
Regina sighed and whispered back, “He’s very vexed with me, and not just because of Niall. Let’s go on up to the bedchamber floors and I’ll show you why.”
Because the street-level floor was always called the ground floor, the upper stories were somewhat mis-numbered. Through the family bedchambers were located on the third story, it was called the second floor. There were four of them: on one side were the earl’s and countess’s bedrooms, connected by a dressing room, and the other two rooms on the opposite side were the same size, but unconnected. Regina explained, “I’m keeping my bedroom, because it’s in the back of the house and much quieter. Although now, in February, the street isn’t busy at night, later in the Season it will be noisy. But I was wondering, Valeria, if you wouldn’t like to have this front bedchamber, and we can both use the dressing room.”
“That would be wonderful, Mamma,” Valeria said with delight. “And I for one want to see everything that goes on out in the street!”
“I thought that you would,” Regina said with amusement. “So, St. John will be across from you—and I hope you’ll help me make certain that he will not be climbing out of the window. Those two birch trees that front the house are beautiful, but I can plainly see that St. John and Niall would think it a great adventure to escape from the house that way. At any rate, I decided, since we have a good-size empty bedroom, to put Craigie and Platt and Niall in the other one.”
“Ah, and so Trueman is highly incensed that servants are staying in a family bedchamber,” Valeria said gravely. “Scandalous of you, Mamma.”
“I suppose so. But also it allows room for all of the servants to stay on the servants’ floor. This way the maids don’t have to sleep up in that awful garret, and Ned and Royce don’t have to sleep down on cots in the basement.”
Valeria’s eyes lit up as she considered, “So Mrs. Banyard, Trueman, and Mrs. Durbin have their rooms…and does that mean that Joan—I mean, Davies—gets her own room, Mamma?” Joan had officially been promoted to Valeria’s lady’s maid, and she had been so proud that Valeria had determined to refer to her publicly as “Davies” to reflect her newfound prestige, though when it was just the two of them, both preferred she use “Joan.”
“Certainly,” Regina answered firmly. “As an upper servant, it is her privilege. I had some minor remodeling done to make the schoolroom into two small bedrooms, so Ned and Royce are sharing, and the three maids are sharing. But it’s so much better than the attic; I worry so because I know they must absolutely freeze in winter and be stifled in summer.”
It was unusual for Valeria to outwardly express affection; but she felt such a surge of warmth for her mother’s kindness that she took both her hands and kissed her cheek.
“Oh, Mamma, how I wish I were as dear and sweet as you!”
Regina looked pleased. “Thank you, my darling, that means so much to me. And I’m glad I’ve taken care of the servants in this manner, no matter how much Trueman glowers at me. At any rate, I don’t think it’s necessary for us to tour the servants’ quarters, and I am more than ready for tea.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Valeria agreed, and they went back downstairs to the drawing room.
This was the most luxuriously appointed room in the town house. On the street end, instead of casement windows, were two sets of double French doors that opened out onto small balconies. The Adam ceiling, painted a delicate oyster white, was a series of ornately molded circles containing octagons and geometric designs. From the large center medallion hung a gold-and-crystal chandelier. There was a quantity of furniture—sofas, wing chairs, side chairs, settees, cushioned stools—but instead of a clutter, Regina had them arranged into four distinct areas that had a graceful flow. The fireplace had a white marble surround, with fine carvings of vines and grapes. The walls were painted a warm tawny yellow, and paintings by Hogarth and Constable were alternated with large gilt mirrors, to enhance the light. On every side table were elegant double Argand lamps with gold bases and trim and frosted crystal shades.
“I love this room,” Valeria said as she settled down on a plump sofa by the fire. “Lady Hylton is exactly right, Mamma, you have a gift for designing a room that is both opulent and inviting.”
“Yes, I have decided that I shall make over the drawing room at Bellegarde,” Regina said, glancing around the room. “This really is much more welcoming, is it not?”
Trueman came in with the tea tray. “Shall I pour, my lady?”
“No, I will. Did Miss Segrave’s stationery arrive yet?”
“Yes, my lady, this morning.”
“Then please bring it here.”
“Yes, my lady.” He returned with a wide flat box. Eagerly Valeria opened it.
Although Regina was in half mourning, her social activities were still limited. According to etiquette, she could make and receive morning calls, but only with close friends; it was not proper that she should seek out new acquaintances. She could attend private dinner parties and private balls, but not large public assemblies or venues such as Astley’s Amphitheatre or Vauxhall Gardens. Because of this stricture on Lady Maledon, Lady Hylton and Lady Lydgate intended to sponsor Valeria in society so that she might attend those functions that Regina could not. Accordingly, since Valeria would be making social calls with her godmother and Elyse, she needed her own calling cards, because she would not be following the usual convention of using her mother’s cards with her own name written on them. Also, Regina had thoughtfully ordered writing papers that were different from the Maledon stationery. Valeria’s were a soft ecru color, and she had her own red sealing wax, and a simple seal with the block letter S.
Her calling cards were the same soft beige color, the paper thick and textured. Engraved in plain black block letters was “Miss Valeria Segrave.”
“Oh, this is all very fine, Mamma, thank you,” Valeria said. “But I was just thinking, shouldn’t—couldn’t I have my title on my cards?” As the daughter of a baron, Valeria had the courtesy title the honourable.
“That would be rather pretentious, dearest,” Regina answered firmly.
“But no one is going to know who I am,” Valeria said anxiously. “I understand the rule about us honourables being the sons and daughters of lower peers. I’ve always thought it so odd that although my correspondence is always properly addressed to ‘The Honble. Miss Segrave,’ yet the title is never spoken aloud when I’m announced or introduced. It’s as though it must be kept a deep, dark secret. Anyway, I thought that perhaps since it’s proper to include it on correspondence, it might be proper to put it on my calling card.”
“It’s not that it’s improper. It’s as I said, I believe it to be pompous. You’re mistaken that people won’t know who you are. They will.”
Valeria looked puzzled, and Regina continued, “Valeria, there are some—many—things that I’ve never explained fully to you concerning your station in life. One reason is that it was not so vitally important while we were at Bellegarde, for that is the Earl of Maledon’s home and domain. But here in London, you are not the late Earl of Maledon’s stepdaughter, nor are you simply the Earl of Maledon’s sister. You are Valeria Segrave, the daughter of Guy, Lord Segrave. That is how society here will know you.”
“Really? I hadn’t thought of that,” Valeria murmured.
Reluctantly Regina said, “Now I must explain your exact position in London Polite Society. The Segrave barony is one of the oldest in England. Your father was the twenty-first baron, but actually the feudal barony goes all the way back to the eleventh century. Do you understand the import of that?”
Slowly Valeria answered, “I suppose such an ancient lineage is considered more—noble?”
“Yes, it is. Although a barony is the lowest rank of the peerage, such considerations as the length of the line, and the purity of the houses enjoined in that line, are given a certain precedence over the formal rankings. Everyone in society understands this. That’s why you are already known in London, I assure you.”
Valeria smiled mischievously. “I understand what you’re saying, Mamma. I know that everyone reads Debrett’s, and my father has almost three pages in it. But Lord Maledon’s—” She broke off anxiously. Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage listed all the peers of Great Britain, and was avidly studied by everyone who was anyone. In cruder terms it was often called the stud book.
Regina said softly, “It really is all right, I’m very well able to hear his name. And so your brother is ‘only’ the fifth Earl of Maledon, with half a page in Debrett’s, while your lineage takes up a full three pages. And that, I am sorry to say, is meaningful to London society.”
Valeria sighed. “Oh, Mamma, no one on this earth could be as saintly as you. I certainly can’t. I’m very proud of my father.”
“And would you be so proud of him if he hadn’t been a baron?” Regina asked.
“Of course! But…I’m still glad that he was,” Valeria admitted with a sly smile. “Three pages in Debrett’s is certainly a plus for me in this town.”
“You are incorrigible,” Regina said affectionately, “just as your father was. Still, Valeria, there is one more extremely important thing that I must impress upon you. Have you heard the term noblesse oblige?”
“‘Nobility obliges’?” Valeria automatically translated. “What does it mean?”
“It is a term that means that those who are noble must conduct themselves nobly,” Regina explained soberly. “It implies that noble ancestry must evidence itself in honorable behavior, and that with privilege comes responsibility.”
“I see. You’re saying that because of my status, I must be held to a higher code, I must conform to higher standards,” Valeria said. “I find it very ironic that they use a French term. Apparently their own nobility forgot their own code, and they all got their heads chopped off.”
“Valeria, really!” Regina said. “If you should say something that outrageous in some drawing rooms, there might be hysterics. Listen to me, child. What was acceptable speech and conversation and behavior at Bellegarde is very different from what is required of you now. I know that I’ve explained this to you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Valeria said meekly. “Craigie has scolded me, my godmother has lectured me, and even Lord Hylton on several occasions uttered dire warnings that I must learn to behave acceptably in Polite Society. I will try very hard to be good.”
“You must,” Regina said sternly. “I know that it’s difficult for you to curb your enthusiasms and to tamp down your fiery temperament, Valeria. But the rules are very strict. You must be decorous, calm, composed, and always gracious.”
“And dull, and humorless, and only speak of such tedious things as the weather and the state of the roads,” Valeria muttered.
“Nonsense,” Regina said briskly. “You are bright, and clever, and interesting, and those traits are valued in a drawing room. It’s just that you must be discreet, my dear.” Then she sighed and added, “And I fear that telling you that is much like telling St. John to behave himself and stop causing trouble. I may be pleading a hopeless cause.”
Valeria laughed. “Well, Mamma, as Lord Lydgate says, ‘Apologies and all that.’”
* * *
That night Valeria was still so energized that she couldn’t sleep. The fire had died down and the bedchamber was icy cold, so she pulled on two pairs of woolen stockings and wrapped her plump down comforter around her, then went to sit in the bay window seat. The graceful birch tree in front of her bedroom window was a bare spiky sculpture now, and did not block her view. Three stories below were the fuzzy golden orbs of streetlamps; even the deserted Berkeley Square park was lit up. The scene was such a striking contrast to her bedroom window view at Bellegarde. When she looked out at night there, all she could see was shadows and moonlight and starlight. Here the sky was an impenetrable black.
Already she wished day would come. She and Regina were going shopping, and then in the evening Lady Hylton was giving a dinner party to begin the process of introducing Valeria into society. Valeria was so galvanized that she thought she might never be able to sleep.
She recalled her mother’s words that day, that she must be calm and composed and behave with decorum at all times. How am I ever to do that? It’s just not in my nature…She thought then of Alastair Hylton, and his insistence that she must learn to govern her tempestuous spirit.
So easy for him to dictate, she thought sourly. He’s as stuffy and rigid as an old yew tree. She thought of the two letters she had received from him after he had left Bellegarde. Again it struck her how peculiar was their relationship. Normally a single man and a single young lady exchanged correspondence only if they were engaged. But Alastair Hylton’s two letters had had nothing to do with endearments, or affection; they were strictly business communications.
The first she had received in November, while Alastair was still in Yorkshire at Foxden. Valeria had agreed it would be best to sell some of the Maledon horses, and Reggie Lydgate had decided that his family wanted to buy some. Alastair wished to purchase Achilles, his favorite mount at Bellegarde. Achilles was one of the purebred Maledon “black star’d” horses, a full seventeen hands high, glossy ebony with the distinctive white diamond on his face. Lord Lydgate wanted to buy four matched grays for carriage horses. The prices Alastair and Reggie paid for the horses seemed extremely exorbitant to Valeria, but Alastair assured her that they were fair market prices, for he wished to avoid any question at all of a conflict of interest. Alastair had gone on to say that Lord Maledon had neglected the stables in the past year; there were at least four other horses that could be sold for a good price. Alastair had offered to attend to the Maledon stables. He had recommended that they promote the head groom, Mr. Buckley, Timothy’s father, to stable manager. Alastair had said that he would be happy to arrange for the sale of any Maledon horse at Tattersalls Repository, the premier bloodstock auctioneer in England.
When Valeria received the letter, she had told herself that it was high-handed of Lord Hylton, as usual. But then she realized that at least he was courteous enough to inform her. She also admitted that here was another example of a part of managing the estate that she herself couldn’t possibly do. She knew nothing of breeding programs or selling horses. And Lord Hylton would probably be coming back to Bellegarde to attend to it…and Valeria severely chided herself for feeling the least bit of anticipation at the prospect of seeing him again. When instead Alastair sent his head groom to see to the Maledon stables, and transport the newly bought horses back to Hylton Hall and Whittington Park, the Lydgate estate, again Valeria scolded herself, this time for feeling such a sharp pang of disappointment.
The other letter that Alastair had sent her had been somber indeed; and this time Valeria had felt no frustration at his cold formality. He had merely informed her that he had arranged for the London house that had been purchased the previous year to be vacated. Mr. Stanhope had said he already had prospective buyers, and he would conduct the sale, and all proceeds would be deposited into Lord Maledon’s account at Barclays. Alastair had not mentioned Lady Jex-Blake.
Valeria thought with dread about what she would have done if she hadn’t had Alastair Hylton to attend to this. The answer was simple. There would have been nothing at all that she could have done, alone. Again it was pressed upon her how much she needed Alastair Hylton.
No, I don’t need him personally! she argued with herself. In fact, I don’t need him at all, it’s really St. John who needs his help.
Why do I brood over him so much? What do I care what he thinks, or what he feels? It’s so confusing, one minute I admire him…well, maybe mostly his looks…and the next I’m angry with him. I just—I just have a stupid missish crush on him, I suppose, because he is so very handsome. But obviously it must be a very shallow crush, because I really can’t stand the man!
Even as the thought formed in Valeria’s mind, she knew that it wasn’t true. She didn’t truly dislike him. Then with impatience she commanded herself to stop obsessing over Alastair Hylton. She was in London now, she was going to have so many exciting and interesting diversions, and she was going to meet a crowd of new people, including young men who didn’t criticize her all the time. Perhaps some of them might even be as handsome as Lord Hylton.
Doubt it, the sneaky little voice in Valeria’s head whispered.
“Oh, hang him!” Valeria muttered. “I’m going to bed, and to sleep, and forget all about him!”
She did try. But as she finally began to sink down into slumber, the last vision in her head was of Alastair, Lord Hylton, riding the magnificent steed Achilles to the Barley Mow Fair…searching for her.