Maid of Honor

by Stephanie Lilley

  "I see Alia and Father are back. I did not think I'd have time to say good-bye." He leaned down and kissed his mother. "Good-bye, Mama. I'll be going now."

  "Farewell, my dear. We shall do perfectly while you are gone."

  He nodded. "Come Katie. See me off."

  Alianora and Lord Wynyate rode up from the river at a gentle trot. Earlier they had crossed the peninsula and ridden around the castle ruins examining the damage done from festivities of the day before. Workmen were already busy striking the loges and taking up the fences and pavilions. To some it would seem sad to see the dream dismantled, but Alianora was thankful that it was over. Her father had wandered among the ruins, dressed in an embroidered brown tunic, dark hose, and boots, and a warm wool cape that lifted with the cool breeze off the river. He had even, at one point, begun to sing to himself and she joined in, being rewarded with a pleased smile.

  She stopped not far from the house and watched as her father rode toward the stables. He saluted her, face flushed, almost youthful, his long white hair flapping beneath his plumed hat. She turned her old plowhorse around, walking slowly past New Grassmere on her way to the mews. It was time to exercise her hawk.

  But she looked at the manor, face filled with yearning, as if to memorize every crack in the gray stone, every mullioned window, every sharp dip of the roof, every vine of the leafless ivy that would soon bloom and shade the walls again. She looked down at the beds of daffodils, the knots of primroses, pink, purple, and white, the kitchen garden, the orchard that walked over the hills into the distance, the trellised rose garden, her favorite willows. The lovely smell of spring in Kent, along the Medway, on Wynyate lands . . .

  "No," she told herself. "I am not leaving forever. Only three months in London. Which is forever." She sighed then shook away the depressing thoughts as she reached the mews, happy that Lord Savernake has not yet arrived.

  The mews, housing nineteen birds, was several hundred feet from the stables so that neither the animals nor the birds could frighten one another.

  Stephen, her falconer, emerged into the sunshine carrying her goshawk, Belisande, and a pair of gloves.

  "All is well with your beauty, my lady," Stephen told her, reporting on the particulars of the casting, which was hard and dry, and the state of moult, which was just beginning.

  Alianora pulled on her gloves then put her wrist behind the hawk's legs as Stephen held the bird up and Belisande stepped back onto the glove. She could feel the pressure of the talons, but the glove was double leather over wrist and thumb so there was no pain. The hawk itself was a slate blue with mottled belly, still quite young. It wore a hood, jesses attached to the legs, and a bell tied to the deck feather in the tail so that it might be found were it to fly too far. Stephen climbed up on his horse, smiled a gap-toothed smile as he tied the lure to his saddle. The lure, a leather bag with chicken wings attached, would, when swung around and around, bring the hawk back if Alianora's unusual call did not. A whipper-in joined them bringing the hunting spaniels, Bucca and Finn, to flush out the prey.

  They had hardly left the small building when William waved at them from the direction of the stables. Alianora turned Geoffrey and rode to meet him.

  "Alianora," William greeted as she reached him.

  "I'll be going now. I just wanted to ask you to take care of Katie while you're in London."

  Alianora smiled in puzzlement. "Certainly, William. That is why I am going."

  He looked up at her, started to say something then caught himself. He knew his sister. If he told her that the true plan was to remove her from Grassmere so that she might become accustomed to the modern world and find a husband, she would balk. But if he made it seem that she was only to provide companionship for Katie, she would accept the move more readily.

  "Well, then," he said, clutching his beaver hat as a gust threatened to doff it. "I'll join you as soon as may be."

  She wrapped the reins around the pommel, confident that Geoffrey, who was more like a placid, moving sofa than a horse, would not take off, and extended her hand.

  "Have a pleasant trip, dear brother," she said.

  "And you, dear sister," he said.

  Lord Cerestone rose early the next morning, grateful that the earl had invited the three of them to spend the night. He also accepted the offer of a morning ride when he heard that Lady Alianora was out with her hawk. Riding swiftly over a hill and through a stand of beeches, he caught up with the party just as she sent the bird from her fist. He watched it dash across the long field, clipping daisies, to where the dogs had startled a number of small birds out of a thicket. The hawk rose, stooped but missed, then rose again.

  A very high-pitched series of notes tickled his ear—not a whistle but more a melodious scream. He stared at Alianora. She held up her hand, singing the hawk back to her.

  The hawk flipped its tail as it turned and flew straight for her like a slate arrow. After flapping its wings a few times above her, it landed lightly on her wrist.

  "Oh, Stephen," he heard her say. "She's never returned so quickly." That beautiful laugh. "What a pity that I must halt the training now."

  She was magnificent, Cerestone thought, in her fig brown riding habit that flowed over the flanks of her horse. She wore a large, plumed, felt hat over a coronet of white gold braids. He gave no greeting, not wishing to disturb her work, and so stayed just at the edge of the beech woods, watching.

  How could he explain to his friends the strange allure she had for him—as if she had stepped directly from the pages of Le Morle d'Arthur. She studied her hawk as it flew again, her face in profile. He admired the cool, alabaster color of her skin, the cheeks tinged peach by the wind, the small nose, the determined chin. Fragile and yet filled with strength, someone who could present a threat to a vulnerable heart which, of course, his was not.

  His mount shifted position and startled him out of his study. Neither Buck nor Henry would be able to understand his interest—Buck had grudgingly allowed that she was attractive in a peculiar way and Henry still did not see the women for the horses. Familiar only with women in society, debutantes only interested in party dresses and routes, Cerestone had been convinced that there was not a woman alive who could share his love of history and the printed page—or understand it. He must marry one day; as the eldest son he had a duty to the family name, but the thought of living with a wife who would interrupt his research with her prattling, who would complain when he forgot to come to dinner or forgot to dress for a ball—he let no servant disturb him while working in the library—made him cringe.

  Until now Fanny had been the only exception. His sharp features softened as he thought of his younger half sister. She who was confined to a wheelchair after a particularly vicious fever some years ago would often sit in the library for hours with him, entertaining herself with books or helping him inventory the Woodhurst collection. He often took her into the garden when the weather was fine and invented stories to amuse her. Sweet natured, intelligent, and quiet—why could he not discover a woman to match the excellent qualities in his little sister?

  He glanced back in the direction of Grassmere. His thoughts were overly colored by last night's pageant. Perhaps he had better return to his friends, although Buck was still getting his beauty sleep, and Henry had ridden with Tench to the blacksmith's to see about the condition of the coach. He reminded himself that they were a trio sworn against all aspiring mamas with hopeful daughters; they had agreed to return from London unshackled.

  He had only just decided to leave when Alianora turned and saw him. She smiled a little, hesitantly, then looked back at her hawk. In all good conscience, he could not now go back without at least greeting her. Cerestone kicked his mount forward.

  Alianora spoke softly to Belisande, careful to hold her just below eye level as hawks found the human face frightening. At the sight of Lord Cerestone her heart began to beat faster; she found it difficult to breathe. She had managed to smile in greeting then turned awa
y as he frowned. Was he angry?

  "Good morning, my lady," he said, suddenly by her side.

  She took a breath. "A fair morning, my lord," she answered with an impish smile.

  "Ah yes." He nodded in understanding. "Your hawk missed its prey."

  " 'Tis not unexpected," she told him softly. "She is beginning to molt and is not as hungry as she might be." It amazed her how the words simply ran off her tongue when she was around this man. His expression might be severe when he was not smiling, but one had only to look in his beautiful eyes, as she did now, to see the humor and kindness there.

  "Will you fly her again?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "Only if we come across a flock of chickens. She does love a chicken."

  His eyes danced. "Are there many such flocks about?"

  "Only the tenants'. And they are loath to have a hawk descend among the hens."

  "Puts one off one's laying, I should imagine."

  She smiled, looking down. "Yes. There are no eggs for a week."

  The kennel worker came up with them bringing the spaniels and a freshly killed coney. This Stephen would feed to Belisande when they returned to the mews. Alianora turned Geoffrey back toward the house and Cerestone followed.

  "What call did you use for the hawk?" he asked conversationally. "It was unusual."

  She laughed softly, looking at Belisande. "My own special call, my lord. One that cannot be used by another."

  "You were singing," he said.

  "Singing, in a manner of speaking," she said, laughing. Cerestone chuckled. "Will you be bringing your hawk to London with you?"

  "No. I could not force her to leave her territory. She's been here since she was an eyass."

  "That, I presume, is a baby hawk."

  "Just out of the egg, my lord."

  "It will be difficult then, for you to leave her," he said sympathetically.

  "Yes," she said softly, that one word carrying with it the message that she was reluctant to leave everything here.

  "You will return," he said just as softly.

  She looked up then laughed at herself. "Of course, I will. This is my home." Nevertheless, she was thoughtful. Would she be as content here once having seen London and what it had to offer? Katie could speak of nothing but the wonders to be found there.

  The viscount frowned in annoyance as he spotted Lord Savernake riding swiftly toward them on a showy hack. The earl greeted Alianora with a flourish that disturbed her hawk.

  "My apologies, my lady," he said, "for missing your ride this morning. I fear my man did not awaken me at the correct hour." He remained smiling even as she murmured “good morning" and refused to look up, staring instead at the space between Geoffrey's ears. He looked over her head at Cerestone in surprise.

  "Cerestone, I hadn't noticed you," he said coldly.

  The viscount raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Savernake. Is that you?"

  The earl merely sneered as he was suddenly forced to control his nervous hack. The spaniels were dancing and barking, picking up on its nervousness. The hawk flapped its wings, something that appeared to terrify the horse.

  Alianora worked to soothe the bird, speaking softly, thinking that Belisande would have taken wing by now if she had not put the hood on, between the earl's broad gestures and his mount's noisy head-tossing. She looked at Lord Cerestone who was frowning across Geoffrey's gently nodding head. His eyes softened when he met her gaze.

  "Savernake," he said, sitting at ease in his saddle. "Have you lost your famed skill?"

  The earl almost sawed on the reins. "Hard mouth," he answered through clenched teeth. The horse danced sideways.

  "I do believe, Lady Alianora, that Lord Savernake's mount finds your hawk an object of terror."

  "That, my lord, is why the mews is hidden from the stables," she said quietly.

  With reins pulled taut, Savernake brought his horse closer to Alianora.

  "My lady, I would be honored if you would consent to drive with me this afternoon," he said with a charming smile.

  "Is your driving as skilled, Savernake?" Cerestone asked, a guileless tone in his voice. Smoldering black eyes glared at him.

  "You may trust me completely, my lady."

  Alianora sighed. Perhaps it would be better simply to humor him while he was here. It certainly was becoming difficult to avoid him. Ride out with him in order to earn some time without his presence.

  "Impossible," Cerestone said, interrupting her internal debate.

  "Impossible?" Temper flared in the Savernake’s dark eyes. "I was speaking to the lady."

  "And, since she is engaged to spend the afternoon with me, you are also speaking to me. The answer is no. We do not wish to go driving with you."

  Savernake looked at Alianora. "Is this true, my lady?"

  "It is what I desire," she answered, an impish smile tugging at the comers of her mouth.

  "Perhaps this evening, then, we may take a stroll in the gardens?"

  "Now, there you are also behind the times," Cerestone told him.

  The earl jerked on the reins. ''Now, dear sir, just what is meant by that?"

  "I do believe I was speaking English."

  "I do believe there is an offensive note in your voice. "

  "A-flat."

  Alianora choked.

  "You accuse me of being a flat?" Savernake's voice rose. He reared back, which caused the horse to rear, which caused the spaniels to bark crazily, which caused the hawk to shriek, which caused the horse to take off, foaming at the mouth.

  "Oh, dear," Alianora said and finally gave way to laughter, the bell-like tones ringing clearly through the din. .

  They watched as the earl bounced and jounced across the field, only just turning the horse from the thorny copse, but in so doing swerved so sharply that he lost his grip, boots, knees, and hands, and flew sideways into a bush. The sounds he made after that were not polite.

  "Stephen," Alianora began, gasping for breath. "Stephen, perhaps you should see to him." Stephen nodded and rode away. "He is, I'm afraid, a guest," she added.

  The viscount acknowledged this. "I apologize for goading him before you, my lady."

  "But you would gladly goad him beside me." She lifted her eyebrows, imitating his expression.

  He had to laugh. "Preferably out of your presence—if we must come together at all. He and I are not bosom beaux."

  She smiled then turned to the hawk once more. The ruffled slate feathers lay down one by one at her words.

  "I did mean what I said about this afternoon," he told her then wondered why he was leading himself to the slaughter. He should be running, riding as fast as Savernake away from her, but he could not quench the overwhelming desire to see her again.

  "And I meant what I said, my lord,” she answered.

  They passed through the beech woods, smelling the sharp scent of worts crushed under hoof, passing in and out of bright sun patches until emerging at the crest of a rise. Cerestone pulled up and Alianora joined him. They both looked at Grassmere, rising above flowering chestnuts, the scythed lawn rolling up to it like a smooth green carpet. The whipper-in took the dogs on ahead.

  "What it must be like to live here," Cerestone sighed.

  Alianora patted Geoffrey's neck. "Like any other place, I should imagine."

  He looked at her for a long moment. "Could you imagine what it is like elsewhere?" he wondered, struck with the thought that London would be a rude surprise to her, with hawks like Savernake on every corner. He smiled inwardly. One might say she was quite adept at handling hawks, but human hawks were more dangerous.

  "I am not afraid," she told him.

  "Ah, London frightens me. I shall be glad to return to Woodhurst."

  "Your home?"

  "Yes. A gift from Charles II to Sir Sydney Cerestone for supporting him in France. We were also raised to a viscountcy." His eyes grew a little distant, his features relaxed. "Just now the orchards are blooming, the wind from the southwest smells of the sea
—there are the flowers, red campion, yellow water lilies . . . And when it rains the smell of newly plowed earth. The maids will be airing out the library grown musty over the winter." He laughed to himself. "I hope they remember to close the windows before it rains again."

  "Woodhurst sounds lovely. You are as comfortable there as I am at Grassmere."

  "However, I must see that my sister, Georgina, has her Season in town."

  "And I must help my sister, Katie, recover from her loss."

  "Yes, I was quite sorry to hear about her little boy. "

  "She is better."

  "It will not be all bad, I believe, in the city," he told her. "There are parks, places to ride and picnic. There will be the opera and theater. And parties, of course, endless parties. Tiresome, but then one may make of them what one will. Interesting or boring. I will be giving a ball for Georgina to make certain society takes note of her. I hope that you will be able to attend."

  "Will that not depend on your sister?"

  "Not at all. This will not be a party for her friends, but for her to be seen—an expensive announcement that she is on the Marriage Mart."

  “Marriage Mart?"

  He looked a little embarrassed. "I am afraid that is what a Season is for a young girl. Her chance to look about for a husband."

  That shook her a little and she couldn't quite explain why. She was not going to London for a Season; she was going as a companion for Katie.

  "I had not realized," she said quietly.

  "It is not spoken of, not generally, simply understood," he told her, thinking how much he took for granted. Did she really have no knowledge of society?—it spurred him into quite a feeling of protectiveness, which he immediately tried to fight back.

  Stephen came up with them and reported that Lord Savernake had injured only his pride and was even now returning to the house. They were distracted by a horseman riding toward them from the stables. Henry. Cerestone smiled. On foot he might appear awkward, even clumsy in his stockiness, but once mounted, Henry was a centaur. The viscount, with an apologetic glance at Alianora, rode to meet him.

  "Fixed," Henry announced as they met.

  "The axle, the wheels?" Cerestone asked.