Valuing Vanessa: The Hertfordshire Hoydens, #2

CHAPTER 1

26th August 1812

White’s Gentlemen’s Club

St. James Street

London

After a long day of dictating legal documents for the wealthy shipping magnate who was his long-time client, George Durand, Esq. decided to take an early dinner at White’s before making his way to his London lodgings. He preferred the calm, congenial atmosphere of the gentleman’s club to the noisy fuss of restaurants, and as a bonus, he wouldn’t encounter any eligible marriage partners or their matchmaking mamas. A full-flavored English beefsteak followed by good stiff brandy in the company of his cronies seemed like a delightful conclusion to his exceedingly monotonous day.

He settled into a cozy leather chair in the front parlor and was giving his order to the waiter when a newcomer approached him.

Durand! By all that’s holy, I haven’t seen you for an age! How the hell are you doing? And the saucy wee lassie?

The newcomer was Lord Nicholas Lacey, his former brother-in-law, whom he had not encountered since the somber dinner at the Lacey estate following the funeral of both their wives, as well as their mother-in-law. At one time, his family and Lord Nicholas’s had been inseparable—their wives Geneviève and Juliette being sisters—but since the day of the tragic carriage accident nearly two years ago, the two men had only seen each other in passing. No doubt this was due to the fact that their wives had been the organizers of the social calendar—and also that neither man had felt much like socializing since then.

Good to see you here, Lacey! Will you not join me for dinner? I’ve just ordered mine and would gladly suffer your company whilst I take my meal.

The tall, light-haired gentleman took the seat opposite from him and rubbed his hands together. Be glad to. What’s up for dinner, Hickham?

The waiter looked up obligingly. "Beefsteak, roast goose, pork pies, and flounder. Our chef has also prepared an excellent bouillabaisse, if that will appease your appetite."

Lord Nicholas ordered the flounder and turned to his former brother-in-law. A brandy?

George shook his head. I’m having mine after, he said.

His friend rolled his eyes. "I’ll have mine before and after," he told the waiter, with a sidelong glance at George.

Dipping rather deep these days? inquired George when the waiter had disappeared toward the back of the building.

Lord Nicholas shrugged. More so than before, I suppose. Never more than half-sprung, though. Haven’t been ape-drunk since my salad days.

Hickham brought him his drink, and Lord Nicholas took a generous gulp and set it on the side table. You know, when I recall how vexed I felt when Juliette used to scold me for it, I feel like getting on my knees and promising to never imbibe again if she will only come back to me. He stared down at his hands. Then he looked up and shook his head sadly. But she never does, so as long as nobody gives a damn…

George wrinkled his brow. Nonsense! You have family who gives a damn! I do myself, and so do all your other friends. And what about Blanche? Don’t you owe it to Juliette’s memory to conduct yourself with honor?

Nicholas scrubbed a hand across his face. Blanche? She doesn’t need me. She’s with m'brother and Caroline. Haven't seen her for months.

George's nostrils flared. "She's your daughter, man! Your responsibility!"

Nicholas flinched. "She's better off there. Father and mother figure, cousins more like siblings. A ducal household. What can I offer a fifteen-year-old daughter?"

Love, George responded. Her own father who shows her attention and doesn't shrink from involvement in her life. That beats all the rest, man.

Nicholas pulled at his cravat and stared blankly into the distance. Then he turned back to meet George's eyes. "What about your daughter? Is Louise not residing with Eliza's family? When did you last see her, George?"

Not any longer, George retorted. Eliza and John and family are en route to St. Petersburg for a post with Lord Cathcart. Louise is with me in St. Albans, and the last time I saw her was yesterday morning before I departed for London.

Nicholas pressed his lips into a fine line. Didn't want to take her along, I suppose. Be truthful, George, you are in the suds with Louise as much as I am with Blanche, are you not? What right have you to ring a peal over me?

Of course not, George sputtered, then he shrugged. Apologies, Lacey. Your daughter is naturally your concern and nothing to do with me, other than the fact she is my niece and Louise’s cousin. He grimaced and rubbed his chin. And you are not far wrong in your conjecture that my daughter and I are at odds, but not for the reason you think. You see, Eliza and John were more than willing to take Louise with them to Russia, and she herself was eager to expand her horizons at the Russian court, but I withheld my consent.

Nicholas whistled. "No doubt that set up her bristles, he commented. What motivated you to do that, Durand? Guilt? How do you expect to manage a daughter all on your own?"

I expect to hire a governess before too much time passes. For now she is under the vigilance of the vicar's wife, but that good woman finds my daughter very taxing on her nerves. His mind raced in search of answers for the first question. Louise's head is easily filled with grand thoughts of titles and associating with royalty. He shook his head. I cannot believe it prudent for her to be exposed to that sort of life and then have her hopes dashed upon her return to reality.

"Ah yes, I've heard that phrase in my home often enough, Nicholas admitted. ‘I’m the granddaughter of a comte, Papa,’ and it is nearly always followed by ‘and my uncle is a duke.’ No doubt after residing in a mansion with a ducal family, Blanche's head is likewise floating around the clouds."

"But your brother is a duke, argued George, and she will socialize in exalted circles the rest of her life. The d’Aumale title and estates that my daughter—and my wife and mother-in-law before her—pinned their hopes on someday regaining no longer exist, and almost certainly never will again. She’s the daughter of a solicitor, not a comtesse, and that is all she will ever be. I see no advantage in encouraging her delusions."

Perhaps, but you are yourself the cousin of a viscount. Do you not associate with his family on occasion?

Once a year, perhaps, said George, but my cousin and I are not intimate friends, and he has four sons, so there is little chance the title will ever come to me. No, Louise must learn to accept her place. His eyes brightened with unshed tears. But I must confess that the real reason I refused my consent was because I miss her. I have decided that I must have my daughter by my side.

Capital! exclaimed a new arrival, Lord Hooper, a mutual friend. I was certain this was where I could find two gentlemen in need of an evening of gaiety. Lacey, Durand, you must join our party at Vauxhall tonight. I have two tickets that will go unused if you do not take them, and this is a special masquerade in honor of the British victories on the Peninsula. A benefit for the troops, in fact.

A masquerade? Nicholas shook his head. I haven’t a costume.

And we just ordered dinner, protested George.

Nonsense, argued their friend, his chin high. Eat your dinner and meet us later. Old Taplin has a shop across from the carriage entrance. You can get all manner of masks and whatnot there. I don’t wear dominoes myself, he offered. Too hot for summer. A mask is quite enough, in my view.

Vauxhall, said George, exchanging a glance with Nicholas.

Why not? responded Nicholas with a shrug. I can’t say I have anything better to do.

George sighed. Might as well, he agreed reluctantly. A benefit for the fighting men, is it? I should like to think I’m not shirking my duty.

Lord Hooper threw his head back and laughed. You don’t fool me, Durand. It’s the myriad of delicate flowers of femininity you wish to feast your eyes upon at the Gardens.

George chuckled. You might just have something there.

Unquestionably, said Nicholas. Don’t all gentlemen have a weakness for pretty flowers?

And so it