“Baron Stockmar is awaiting you in the salon, Your Highness.” He opened the carriage door and lowered the metal steps.
The name momentarily startled Byrne, until he remembered that the son would have inherited his father’s title.
Byrne climbed from the carriage first, helped Louise down the steps, then hesitated, unsure how she would want to be seen with him. Certainly not on his arm, as that might convey too much about their relationship. Ordinarily, he’d precede her into a room to inspect its security or at least follow close behind, keeping a sharp eye for trouble. But Louise seemed to have no inclination to keep him “in his place.”
She reached for his arm and smiled up at him, as if to say, This is how it will be from now on.
He was at first surprised, then realized she was taking a page from her mother’s book. Victoria often accepted John Brown’s arm for a tour around the castle gardens, or when entering a room where she was entertaining. It was a familiarity most of her children—Bertie in particular—objected to. But their complaints did little to dissuade her.
Perhaps Louise’s siblings would also take offense at her familiarity with him. Her husband certainly should. But Byrne didn’t much care at the moment. Whatever made this woman happy would make him happy.
The room into which the butler led them was more of a library than the typical salon reserved for greeting guests. Shelves of books ranged from floor to ceiling in two tiers, with a balcony running around three walls to access the upper level of shelves. A large Germanic Biedermeier-style desk sat in the middle of the room, its top covered with paperwork and ledgers, as if the young baron planned to return to them as soon as his uninvited guests went away. Two no-nonsense, straight-back chairs had been arranged in front of the desk. No tea service or cordial tray was in evidence to prolong conversation.
A pale-complexioned man with straw-colored hair, full mustache, and beard stood up from behind the desk to greet them. He moved around the desk to kiss Louise’s hand before gesturing them to the chairs and returning to his own. “I understand this has something to do with my father?” His tone was solemn, his eyes unhappy. “Since he is the subject, and I have little to offer in the way of information, I expect this, regrettably, will be a short visit.” He paused, as if having second thoughts about his brusqueness. “But if you’d like refreshment—”
“No, please don’t bother,” Louise said quickly. “I shall come straight to the point of our call. It’s been years since your father was involved with our household.”
“Yes,” Christian said.
“And I realize there were hard feelings at the time of his . . . departure.”
“My father was a difficult man. Many found it a challenge to live up to his view of perfection. Your family was not to blame.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Louise sent him a gracious smile. “But I have good memories too, about the times you visited with us, Christian. I remember your entertaining us with stories of your childhood in Germany. Your mother raised you there, did she not?”
“Yes. But as to the stories, more likely I bored you to death.” He gave a dry laugh. “Life at the queen’s court was so much more interesting to me. I wished my father had brought me there more often.” He turned to Byrne. “My father liked to keep his family and professional lives separate, or so he claimed.”
“You must have missed him,” Louise said in sympathy.
Christian winced, picked up a pen, and turned it end over end three times before placing it back on the desk blotter. “I’m not sure that is an accurate description of my feelings toward the man. I suppose I resented his being away, but I also felt relieved not to have him always hovering over us. He was, as you well know, Your Highness, quite the tyrant.”
Byrne said, “So your relationship with your father was strained?”
“That would be a mild descriptive.”
“And,” Byrne added, “I assume that means any perceived wrongs done to the baron would be of little concern to you?”
“Wrongs?” Christian asked, looking from Byrne to Louise and back again.
“His dismissal by my mother,” she said, her voice gentle.
The laughter that burst from Christian’s lips made Louise jump. “Oh, my . . . that is amusing. I’ve always thought it amazing he got as far as he did, using Albert’s family as his personal entrée to English society. You see,” he said, turning to Byrne, “my father had unlimited power in the English court because of his relationship with the Prince Consort. It’s my understanding Albert let him get away with just about anything, and gave him the money to do it with. No wonder Victoria hated the man. Didn’t she, Louise?”
Louise tipped her head in diplomatic acquiescence. “Mama pleaded with my father to send him away. As I’ve told Mr. Byrne, he was the cause of her losing her dear governess. Mama never forgave the baron for that.”
Christian shook his head. “But he lost everything when the prince died.”
Byrne looked around him. The furnishings in the room were of high quality. Several fine oil paintings decorated the rich wood paneling on the one wall not covered in book shelves. This was not the home of an impoverished man. “He died destitute, Louise tells me.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you seem to have been left with a more than modest income.”
Christian raised a brow. “If you mean these books and paintings, yes. They are all that my father was able to keep of his possessions. The rest of his belongings, including nearly all of his personal art collection, he was forced to sell. I inherited his estate, such as it was. But as to the house and anything else I own, I’ve earned it.”
Louise must have also heard the defensiveness in his tone. “Oh, Christian,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry if we’ve insulted you.”
“Don’t be. My education, as distasteful as it was to me at the time, stood me in good stead. I don’t often use my inherited title. To be called ‘baron’ means nothing to me, as there is no land and no money attached to it. I earn an adequate salary tutoring the children of several wealthy families. And I supplement that by writing books, several of which have done quite well. I don’t live off a royal pension, as my father did, and I’m happy not to. Within two months I will marry the daughter of a successful and very wealthy merchant. My fiancée’s dowry will add considerably to my comfort, and she is thrilled to become a baroness. Titles, it seems, are worth something.” He widened his eyes at Louise, who smiled back at him.
Byrne respected the man. Christian seemed practical and not unkind. He also didn’t seem the type to set rats loose to terrify young princesses or pass along information to radicals.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” Byrne said, “and for being so forthright.” He was about to stand and leave when Louise stretched out a hand to touch his sleeve.
“I do not wish to be indelicate,” she began, her eyes resting on Christian with compassion, “but I wonder if you know of anyone else who might have resented the queen’s dismissal of your father.”
Christian’s eyes flared for a moment then settled back into calm, brown ponds. “I assume by that you mean a mistress?”
“Your father was away from Germany so much of the time. It seems not unlikely.”
The young baron sighed. “I am sure there were many women of various sorts with whom he kept company.”
Louise looked deflated, as if she too suddenly realized they were destined to come away empty-handed. “No one special?”
Christian looked down at his blotter then back up to her. “Every family has its, shall we say, black sheep?”