A Woman's Place

Chapter 1

Lady Victoria Oldbrooke had been perfectly brought up according to her station in life, as the only child of Lord Alfred Oldbrooke, Earl of Cheltenham. He had been madly in love with her mother, Philippa, who was the most beautiful girl of the season when she was first presented at court and to society. Somewhat wild in his youth, as an only son due to inherit a great estate and a large fortune along with his distinguished title, Alfred had let the years slip by, and then settled comfortably into his bachelorhood with no desire to marry. He was well beyond pursuing young girls in their first season when he first met Philippa, who was from an equally aristocratic family and bloodline. He knew her parents, and he was usually immune to the charms of very young girls, who often turned out to be too similar to their mothers as they grew older.

Philippa didn’t flirt with Alfred. She spoke to him as an equal, almost as a friend. He had loved everything about her, her kind heart and her strong opinions, her open view of the world, her curiosity and her fascination with worlds far beyond her own. She had a sharp mind, and she made him laugh all the time. She was demure, but behind the girlish façade, the occasional shyness of her first season, and her lack of worldly experience, she was very much a woman, and he was never bored with her, unlike the other women and sometimes courtesans he had spent time with. He was in love for the first time in his life, deeply in love. At fifty-­six, he was older than her father, and the age difference between them concerned him, but it never mattered to her. She knew her own mind, and together they had convinced her father that Alfred was the right husband for her. He had courted her for a year, and his feelings for her never wavered. She was nineteen when they married, and he was fifty-­seven.

He was fifty-­eight and Philippa twenty when she gave birth to their first child. He had discovered a whole new world with Philippa, one of tender feelings and unbridled love. She was fearless about the birth, as she was about all things. She was healthy and young, and they were both hoping for an heir. Philippa said she wanted many children, and they were off to an easy start. She had no problems during the pregnancy, and the baby came a few days before the expected date. Victoria was delivered by the same doctor who had delivered Philippa twenty years before, one of the most respected doctors in London.

Alfred waited in his study in an agony of worry, with a bottle of brandy to fortify him, while Philippa was in labor upstairs in their bedroom, attended by the doctor, two nurses, and her lady’s maid. He had no idea how long it would take. He expected to be there for many hours, and had finished his second brandy and was contemplating a third when the doctor arrived at the door, looking pale and surprised. It had all happened so quickly, he explained to Alfred. There had been no way to stop the bleeding. The doctor had done everything he could. He had saved the baby, a daughter, but Philippa, Alfred’s beloved Philippa, had died. Alfred had spent the night sitting by her side. She looked peaceful and more beautiful than ever, as he stroked her face and her golden hair, and kissed her hand, unable to believe what had happened. It wasn’t possible. She was only twenty years old and had been so full of life only hours before. Her parents came to see her in the morning before the undertakers took her away. She had been a much-­cherished only child of older parents, who were devastated and died not long after her. They glimpsed the baby before they left, but were too distraught to pay close attention to her. Philippa’s mother had a weak heart and her father had lost his only daughter, and was afraid he’d lose his wife as well. They blamed the baby for Philippa’s death.

Alfred saw his daughter for the first time after the undertakers had taken Philippa, and he was shocked at how much the tiny infant looked like her mother. She was the image of Philippa, her final gift to him. Philippa had hired a wet nurse to care for the baby and feed her, a robust young girl from the country who had nursed the infants of several of Philippa’s friends. She brought the baby to meet her father for the first time, and showed him how to hold her. He had never held an infant in his life, and the scene was entirely different from what he had imagined. He had dreamed of holding his son in his arms, with Philippa smiling as she watched them. Instead he had a daughter and had lost the love of his life. He named her Victoria Philippa for the queen and her mother. Queen Victoria was a distant relative of Alfred’s. It was 1889.

Alfred was inconsolable for months, but visited the nursery faithfully every day, and it warmed his heart to see Victoria. Her grandparents couldn’t bear to see her. Philippa’s mother’s health failed immediately and she never recovered, and died six months later. And her father died of a broken heart within the year. Within a year of her birth, Victoria’s only living relative was her father. Her paternal grandparents had died when Alfred was at university, where he had inherited his title, property, and fortune at an early age.

Victoria looked like her mother, with the same golden curls and big blue eyes. She was a beautiful baby, smiled easily, and gurgled with laughter when Alfred held her and talked to her. She took her first steps toward him on her first birthday and began to speak early. She had a lot to say and adored her father. He cried the first time she said “Papa” at nine months. He had the same joy being with the baby as he had had when he was with her mother. Victoria brought him back to life with her happy disposition. He would walk in the garden with her, and he often took her to their country estate in Hampshire, where he got her a pony when she was three. He taught her to ride and when she got a little older, they went riding together all over their estate. Victoria was his only heir, and his only living relative, as he was hers.

Victoria was curious about everything, just as her mother had been. She was similar to her mother in many ways, but also different in others. She had a thirst for learning at a very young age. She read voraciously, and loved the books her father gave her from his library. She was fascinated by how things worked, and remembered everything he taught her. The baby nurse had been replaced by a succession of nannies, and eventually the finest governesses.

The governesses taught Victoria all the things she was expected to know, drawing, watercolors, embroidery. She had a dancing master as well as a proficient music master who taught her to play the pianoforte. And she had a series of excellent tutors who taught her math, history, and geography. She was particularly gifted in science, which Alfred knew she would never need but which she enjoyed, so he indulged her. She loved going to museums, and she had a gift for languages and spoke Italian, French, and German, taught to her by her governesses. She dreamed of going to Oxford as her father had, which was not an option. Although women had been allowed to enroll since 1885, they were not allowed to earn degrees for their studies. And without a degree it seemed pointless to Victoria’s father. He said one day it might be possible for her daughters or granddaughters to graduate from Oxford, but it was not even remotely possible now. Philippa had left Alfred with an immeasurable gift, a piece of herself. Victoria was the best of both her parents. She had the kindness and the quick mind of both. Victoria was an avid student who loved to learn, and eventually was more learned than her governesses.

She grew into a beautiful young woman, and her father kept her in the country for as long as he could, while he went to the city alone for a few days every few weeks. He dreaded introducing her to society, and the proposals that would flood in the moment the men of their world saw her. They would want to marry her at once. Her fortune and her beauty were an appealing combination to most suitors. But she enjoyed being with her father, their peaceful life in the country, and occasional visits to London, which she found exciting. When she turned eighteen, he couldn’t hide her any longer, and they moved to their home in the city before her presentation at court and to society. She didn’t have the romantic notions of most young girls her age. She had no interest in marriage, and said she didn’t want children, since giving birth to her had killed her mother.

As soon as she was presented to society, at eighteen, Alfred had as many offers for her hand as he feared he would, and he felt guilty about how relieved he was when she turned them all down. He was seventy-­six by then, and the thought of finishing out his life without her was a painful one. He was grateful for her lack of interest in marriage and did nothing to discourage it.

He took her on a grand tour of Europe after her first season, privately celebrating the fact that she had rejected all her suitors. There had been some handsome and titled young men among them. A marquess, several counts, an earl, and the eldest son of a duke. She could have been a duchess, but preferred not to be. She was happy at her father’s side, and took good care of him. He grew frail in the years after her presentation. He had weak lungs and caught bronchitis every winter, and she would nurse him back to health. She was a strict and loving nurse, and was devoted to him.