Maid of Honor

by Stephanie Lilley

  "But, Peter, ladies never seek the sunlight. It makes for freckles." She giggled a little.

  "Yes, I can just hear Georgy saying such a thing." He stepped up into the foyer, paused at the bottom of the stairs, then started up to the first story. "But you have no freckles," he objected. "You have skin of pure alabaster." Alabaster. The word distracted him for a moment as a vision of Alianora's pale skin came to mind. He concentrated instead on where he put his feet. "Quite the thing, actually," he continued.

  He set her down on the bed when they reached her room. The soft cotton coverlet was embroidered with daisies to match those on the bed hangings and curtains. Two dolls in muslin gowns sat comfortably together in a small rocker. Fanny noticed them immediately.

  "I bought them for you while you were away," he said, bringing them to her. He looked at the door, frowning. "Where is Miss Tavisser?"

  "Oh," Fanny replied, laying aside several of her shawls and putting the dolls, one with gold hair and one with dark curls, on the pillow beside her. "She takes most dreadfully ill whenever we travel. Mama switched places with her this time and rode with us."

  "She must still be out there. It appears I must put you to bed myself."

  "Must I?" she asked wistfully. "I do wish to see the house."

  "As soon as you have rested, a complete tour, on my honor as a bookworm."

  She giggled, but the giggle turned to a cough. Cerestone sat down, pulled her into his lap and held her, stroking her hair until the spasm abated.

  "Now, in the future, you must not laugh," he ordered sternly.

  She smiled weakly. "I'll try not to."

  "And I'll endeavor not to be so very funny."

  Calling a maid to prepare his sister for a nap, Cerestone left to find Bobbin. After settling his little brother in the nursery and admonishing him to await the arrival of his governess before leaving, the viscount returned to tuck Fanny into bed, careful to include the new dolls.

  "Peter!" she cried as he turned to leave.

  "What is it?" he asked in concern.

  "I cannot sleep unless you tell me a story."

  "Ah," he said, recognizing the ploy. Nevertheless, he sat down on the bed, smoothing the hair from her face. "I just happen to have an amazing tale to tell you. It occurred on the road to London, only the day before yesterday, in fact." Somehow, it already seemed a long time ago.

  "What is it, Peter?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes a little brighter in her illness.

  "This is a true story," he began in a voice deliberately filled with wonder. "Although you who live in the present world may find it difficult to believe, I saw an enchanted castle on an island in a river, arising from the mist as we rode over a hill. At first there were trumpets, loud and haunting, rolling across the water . . ."

  He continued, drawing out the descriptions the way she loved him to do. In truth, he could do justice to any of Tench's novels, but he would never have admitted it. He became especially poetic when he spoke of Lady Alianora. Alianora, the medieval princess with gossamer gold hair as if the pale dawn light came to rest on her head. Fanny clasped her hands together at this part, eyes wide with interest. But in little time, her eyelids drooped, not a comment on his storytelling but on her own weakness. Cerestone lowered his voice, letting it fade as her eyes closed. Very gently he stood up, gazing with a frown at her pinched face. Miss Tavisser arrived. He nodded at her and quietly left the room.

  The remaining part of the afternoon was quite busy. After enjoining Beeley to find a very good doctor, and seeing that all the trunks, bandboxes, and portmanteaux, and the tottering Miss Tavisser, were safely bestowed at last, Cerestone returned to his newspaper. But Bobbin, who seemed to possess a supernatural amount of energy even for a small boy, asked if the viscount could now take them to the park as Hector was quite anxious for a run. Hector, as if to prove these words, bounded into the breakfast room, a woofing mountain of a dog, who circled the breakfast table three times then came to rest with his bristly head on Cerestone's lap.

  He looked at Bobbin who smiled confidently, "Hector says we should go now."

  "Hector is quite eloquent," he commented and rose.

  And off they went, cutting across Grosvenor Square down to Piccadilly and thence to the park. Hector flew over the new spring grass and disappeared for some time. Fortunately, the dog was not the slightest bit interested in cattle so the cows were left undisturbed. Ah, but waterfowl! A gold mine, one might say, and Hector mined the ornamental ponds. He returned extremely wet and muddy.

  Bobbin, meanwhile, trampled through flowers, ran at the cattle, climbed trees, and hugged Hector when the dog returned thereby thoroughly dirtying his nankeen suit. The viscount declared that they had all had enough exercise and hooked on Hector's lead once more, ordered that both of them be given a bath immediately upon returning.

  At the door, Cerestone handed the animal to a footman, noting that the young man did not flinch at the thought of giving such an animal a thorough wash. He would keep him in mind for similar duty in the future. Bobbin he sent upstairs. Beeley caught him as he turned with relief toward the library.

  "Lady Cerestone wishes to see you in the drawing room, my lord."

  The viscount sighed, head down, hand on the stair rail.

  "And I have managed to engage Sir William Blizard to have a look in on Miss Fanny, my lord. He is unable to leave the hospital this evening but will be here tomorrow by noon."

  Cerestone looked up. "Yes, I have heard of him."

  "And Mr. Rasherly and Mr. Parkington will meet with you at Watiers this evening."

  The viscount nodded then walked slowly up to the drawing room. He took a deep breath and entered.

  "Mama, you wished to see me," he said.

  She sat in one of the gold and black striped satin-backed chairs, elbow resting on a small table as she lifted a delicate glass of sherry to her lips. She semed to disappear into the primrose ruffles of her robe de chamber.

  "Yes. I intend to speak to you of Georgina."

  The viscount glanced longingly at the sideboard but decided not to drink, thinking that later he would indulge at the club. He sat down in an armchair and waited patiently for Lady Cerestone to continue. After sipping her sherry once more, she spoke.

  "Georgina must have some new gowns immediately. I have arranged for Madame Portoneaux to come here tomorrow." She eyed him as if she imagined he would object but Cerestone merely nodded. “She shall, of course, require a court dress, which is always quite dear."

  "Within reason, Mama, certainly. Georgina does not need a thousand brilliants and pearls to weigh her down."

  "One needs to sparkle a little, Peter." His eyes danced. "Five hundred brilliants, then, but no more."

  "You are teasing, of course. I know that you would wish your sister to appear well at the Drawing Room."

  "Yes, I certainly would wish that."

  She sighed, finishing her sherry. The viscount arose and refilled it for her. "It has been a difficult year. Georgina can be so—" She hunted for a delicate word.

  "Stubborn?" Cerestone supplied.

  "Precisely, although perhaps 'headstrong' is a better word. When she is at her tantrums, I find I must retire to my rooms or risk a megrim."

  He had had a taste of his sister's temper. When he had carried her away from school last year she created a terrible scene, screaming that he was abducting her, that he was beating her, begging loudly for help from any passerby, be it a pedestrian or an entire stagecoach. He hoped that one day she would realize she had embarrassed herself far more than him.

  "She will, most likely, be fine in society. A little town polish goes a long way."

  "There is the matter of her marriage." She lifted her glass then lowered it. "I depend upon you, Peter, to introduce her to the proper sort of people."

  "By proper, you mean, of course, 'eligible'?"

  "Of course, my dear."

  A mischievous light appeared in his green eyes. "Shall I consult my Debrett's
then?" He ticked off a list on his fingers. "Would you care for a title with a long ancestry? Will a baron do or must it be a higher rank? I have not been in town for some time and find myself quite ignorant."

  She smiled languidly. “You are teasing again, but I believe you understand."

  "Certainly, Mama. Georgy will marry the proper sort, I promise."

  Beeley interrupted them with a discreet cough.

  "My lady, my lord, there are visitors below. Lady Finsbury and her daughters, Miss Finsbury and Miss Cressida."

  Peter grimaced, remembering the notes he had neglected to read. Lady Cerestone bid the butler send them up.

  Lady Finsbury sailed into the drawing room like a Roman galleon with two small boats in her wake. She was a Junoesque woman, dressed all in rustling purple taffeta. Her younger daughter Cressida, a stylish, attractive young lady who knew her own worth, took the viscount's recently vacated chair. It was not the proper thing to do, of course. Young, unmarried ladies did not sit where a bachelor had just been sitting. Cressida knew this and she calmly defied anyone to mention it. No one did in the flurry of greeting and her gesture was wasted.

  Cerestone kissed his aunt. The two dowagers touched cheeks and moved to a confidante. Jane Finsbury stood quietly. She was only a little older than Cressida, not nearly as pretty but possessed of kind eyes and a sincere smile. The viscount took her hand and squeezed it fondly.

  "Refreshment, Beeley," Lady Cerestone ordered. "And send for Miss Georgina." She looked at her sister. "Sophia, it has been an age."

  "Susan," Sophia said in her scratchy staccato voice. "We would have preferred your company at Christmas."

  "I was obliged to attend upon Uncle Willowbury, as you recall."

  "Has he included Robert in his will at last?"

  "I believe so. He hinted as much—" They continued speaking.

  Cerestone let go of Jane's hand and moved to a chair across from Cressida, remarking that she looked quite fetching.

  She leaned forward and said softly, "You received my note, Peter?"

  "Yes," he admitted. "I apologize—I've not had time to read it."

  "Oh." She sat back, pouting, knowing that a pout showed her small, beautiful mouth to great advantage. "I had hoped that you would keep your promise."

  "Promise?" he asked, puzzled.

  "That you would teach me to drive, of course," she said as if he couldn't possibly forget such a treat. "And I thought tomorrow would be nice. In Hyde Park, naturally."

  "In the park? That might be dangerous."

  "No, it wouldn't, Peter. Why, everyone drives at such a slow pace that it couldn't possibly be the slightest bit dangerous."

  He thought about it a moment. "I think that for your first lesson we should choose a time when the park is uncrowded. Late morning."

  "But Peter," she started to object then thought better of it. She smiled. "Late morning is quite all right."

  "Good. I'll come for you at ten," he told her without noticing that her eyes widened at what seemed to her an extremely early hour.

  At that moment, Georgina arrived. She had a kiss for her aunt, and, with barely a civil glance at her brother, she carried Cressida off to her room. Cerestone joined Jane who had been sitting quietly on the window seat looking at a magazine she'd found on a table. She looked up and smiled.

  He sat beside her. "Have you finished the book I lent you?"

  She laughed. "If I hadn't finished it in a year I'd be a sorry reader, wouldn't I?"

  "If you'd read anything at all in a decade you'd be unusual in the general populace."

  "Now, Peter," she scolded. "Most people might have read a Gothic romance."

  He narrowed his eyes.

  "Yes, I see," she said with a chuckle. "You do not consider them 'books.' Don't be such a snob."

  "Well." His glance lightened. "It does prove that both the author and the reader know their alphabet."

  "Well, there, you see! They are quite useful after all.”

  He looked at her, the slight strain hidden behind her smile. "I thought you vowed never to come to London."

  "I did vow. Strenuously. But no vow holds water with Mama if she disagrees. She must bring both her daughters to London for the Season."

  "To detach one daughter from the local vicar?" he asked softly.

  She looked down, blushing. "If you mean Andrew, then I do believe so."

  "Of course I mean Andrew. Has he spoken yet?"

  "Not in so many words, but we have an understanding." She glowed at the thought of him then looked at her cousin. "Have you found someone yet?"

  Lord Cerestone's eyes grew distant. "No."

  "Well," Miss Finsbury said, noting his look. "You have been quite isolated at Woodhurst. Perhaps there will be someone for you in London."

  He shook his head.

  "I would see you happy, dear cuz," she insisted.

  He smiled. "I am happy. You know me, dear cuz—books, books, books. My life is full and interesting."

  Now why did Miss Finsbury give leave to doubt that? Something in his tone of voice, the feeling that he held something back.

  She was about to tease him further when a terrible commotion below interrupted them. They heard Bobbin yell "Hector!" and Cerestone knew immediately the cause of the problem. Georgina and Cressida came in from the landing, shrieking inelegantly, chased by a very wet and foamy creature.

  "He's ruined my gown!" Cressida screamed in a voice remarkably like her mother's. Georgina joined her behind a large sofa. "That wretched, wretched dog! Peter, do something!"

  Struggling not to laugh, Cerestone went after the animal, but his hands slid right off the soapy coat.

  To Hector, this was a game; tag was a favorite of his, and he leapt onto the confidante to escape. Unfortunately, he didn't notice until far too late that it was occupied by two ladies. They screamed and pounded him with their reticules.

  Ah, thought Hector, a new game, this one called 'fetch,' wherein he trained the humans. He opened his cavernous mouth, snapped it shut on Lady Finsbury's reticule, and raced out the door. Lady Finsbury did not cooperate, being a remarkably untrainable human, fainting heavily instead. The viscount followed Hector down the stairway trying to appear stern and angry when he spotted Bobbin, but, in the end, leaned weakly against the railing, yielding at last to his mirth. He looked up to see Jane, only a little worse for wear, laughing with him.

  Chapter Five

  "The city air, how I have missed it!" Katie examined as they pulled into Bruton Street just off Berkeley Square. Her dark eyes were alight, her face flushed.

  Alianora wrinkled her nose as a footman opened the door and let down the steps. The air did not smell particularly good to her; in fact, it seemed heavy with soot from the coal fires and quite a nasty, lingering smell of garbage. Inside, their town butler, Shoop, informed Katie that a guest was already awaiting them. The drawing room door flew open and out bundled a comfortable dumpling of a woman. Sarah Bowman, Katie's cousin, who greeted Katie with a soft, surrounding hug, her huge ruffled cap waving in the cool breeze, the nice odor of lavender/linen wafting from her. She made mother-henlike cluckings as she turned and hugged Alianora, saying, "My other lamb!"

  Alianora paused as the others went into the house and looked up and down Bruton Street. There were houses all shouldering one another, so close together, so close they almost shut out the sky. A gust of wind blew right through her thin traveling suit and pelisse and she shivered. These were Katie's clothes, borrowed until she and Katie could visit a London modiste. She did lament the short hem—why, her carriage slippers could be seen in their entirety and not a little of the ankle when she descended from the carriage! She shivered again. How she missed her velvets and heavy, furred capes!

  They had dinner that evening in the Blue Saloon where a cheerful fire crackled in the hearth. Here there were indeed blue needlework chairs, blue satin chinoiserie wallpaper, dark blue brocade curtains, Delft tiles surrounding the fireplace. There were portraits
of ancestors all staring down at the long dinner table. Alianora was glad Katie had invited Mrs. Bowman to stay with them. She was full of gossip about the Fashionable World.

  "Oh, Alianora!" Katie said as she sat at the head of the table. "You have no idea how much better I feel! Of course," she added, sobering for a moment, "I shall never completely recover but I must try, for William's sake. And he is depending on this visit to lift my spirits."

  Alianora sipped from her small wineglass, as a footman served her roast beef. Ah, beef, she sighed softly. "I am as empty as a tabor."

  Katie laughed. Mrs. Bowman opened her liquid blue eyes very wide. Alianora paused, looked at them.

  "Alia," Katie said with a smile. "A lady must never admit she is hungry, it is poor ton. We must appear to eat nothing."

  "I cannot eat?" she asked, horrified, then she narrowed her eyes. "You're teasing. That cannot be one of the rules of society."

  "Well, yes, it is," Katie admitted. "However, the rule is that we never admit we're hungry and we eat almost nothing in public."

  "Then it is all right for me to eat dinner here, now?" Alianora asked with a half smile.

  "Oh yes, but not when we are dining elsewhere, specifically not at a supper ball."

  “Not at a supper ball?"

  "Perhaps it is a bit contradictory; society's rules are rarely logical," she said ruefully. "But they exist, and must be obeyed or you risk censure."

  Alianora frowned at her roast beef. "I don't know if I shall be able to remember them all."

  Katie smiled sympathetically. "We'll help you, of course. And you are naturally quiet and polite, which is all that is truly required of a young girl."

  "Is this to be my 'Season'?" Alianora asked hesitantly.

  "Why, it might be, if you wish." Alianora did not wish but said nothing.

  Mrs. Bowman waved her fork emphatically, endangering the portion of creamed asparagus thereon. "And beware of heathens. London is full of the creatures."

  "Heathens?" Alianora asked, startled.

  "Barbarians, vultures," Mrs. Bowman supplied.