Maid of Honor

by Stephanie Lilley

  "No, I haven't and that is quite rude of me. I wonder if you would believe me?” She laughed. "I met your brother last week. He is quite handsome."

  "Yes, he is."

  "We were celebrating Saint George's Day when his coach broke down. He stopped to visit with us. Do you know who Saint George was?"

  "Oh yes. Peter tells me lots of stories, especially when I am sick. I was sick this past Christmas and Mama says I am not recovering as I should."

  “I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps all this sunshine will make you feel better. I often have the headache myself, especially when I must be among a great crowd of people. My mama sometimes makes up a special tisane." She looked around, frowning a little. "Are you alone here?"

  “Oh, no. Tavvy, that is, Miss Tavisser, my governess, has run off looking for Bobbin." She wrinkled her nose. "My little brother.”

  "I have a little brother, although he is quite grown now. He was very mischievous too." She retrieved one of the shawls that slipped off Fanny's lap. How lonely this little girl seemed, bright and personable, and yet only swans and dolls for friends. She was unusually serious for her age, which Alianora guessed to be ten or eleven.

  "I have not yet told you my name,” she said and smiled. "It is Alianora."

  A snort came from the shawls. "Nooo. That is a faradiddle."

  "A faradiddle?" Alianora questioned but thought she understood. "No, it is quite true, I assure you. My name is Alianora and I do indeed live by the river, although our castle is now, unfortunately, in ruins.

  "You can't be Alianora. She isn't real."

  "Oh, I am quite real. Here, take my hand, touch my sleeve." The small hand that reached for hers was quite fragile and cold.

  "But that doesn't mean you are," Fanny objected with the merest hint of doubt in her voice. "I don't mean to be rude."

  "No, you aren't. It is difficult to believe, I think. Do I match your brother's description?" she asked with a laugh, pulling her long braid over her shoulder. Fanny stared at her. "A little, perhaps," she allowed. "But my Alianora is a princess."

  "Ah, there you have me. I am only the daughter of an earl."

  "My Alianora plays a harp."

  "She does? Now, that is a true coincidence. I play an instrument called a psaltery, which is not unlike a harp."

  "But you don't have it with you."

  "No, the days of strolling troubadours are past, I'm afraid. Aside from that," she added, glancing back at her mare, "I don't believe Hypatia would care for such strange noises coming from her back."

  Fanny giggled. She cradled her yellow-haired doll and said to herself, as if quoting someone else, "Alianora has gossamer gold hair as if the pale dawn light came to rest on her head."

  "What a beautiful thought," Alianora said in amazement and considered the source: Lord Cerestone. The thought warmed her and a part of her suddenly wanted very badly to be the Alianora so described. She picked up her braid. "Perhaps it would appear to be more 'gossamer' if I unplaited it."

  This appealed very much to Fanny who nodded vigorously. She watched as the loosened hair spilled in waves over Alianora's lap and onto the bench. Alianora shook her head and smiled at Fanny, awaiting her judgment.

  "It is gossamer!" Fanny cried. "Oh, may I comb it, please?"

  "Do you have a comb?"

  "Oh yes. My Alianora always needs to have her hair combed."

  Alianora obligingly presented her back, pushing all her hair back over her shoulder. She was prepared to endure the jerking and pulling of inexperienced hands, but Fanny's touch was surprisingly smooth and light. It was so relaxing that she could easily have fallen asleep had the bench not been so hard or cold even though it was in the sun. After a while, Fanny announced that she was finished and Alianora complimented her on her skill. She then re-plaited it.

  "Do you come here each morning?" she asked as she worked.

  Fanny nodded. "Miss Tavisser likes to let Bobbin run about because he is so very lively."

  "Would you like for me to come by again to see you?"

  "Oh yes! That would be beyond anything. Could you—could you bring your salt-ary?"

  "I could. Perhaps you'd like to learn to play it too?"

  Fanny agreed, looking brighter and more enthusiastic than the sad little girl Alianora had first encountered. They were interrupted by the return of Miss Tavisser looking quite bedraggled but triumphant as she dragged a small boy behind her. A large dog, introduced as Hector, immediately investigated Alianora then woofed and wagged his feathered tail, ready to play.

  Alianora introduced herself and Miss Tavisser said that she hoped Fanny "had not been too troublesome."

  "Not at all. She is a lovely person." Alianora asked if she might visit Fanny again and, Miss Tavisser, after looking down at the small pleading face, agreed.

  Alianora smiled at Fanny. "You see, I am also new in town and have few friends."

  Miss Tavisser pushed her other charge forward. "This is Master Robert."

  Master Robert looked up at his governess and grimaced then stared at Alianora.

  "You are dressed funny," he announced.

  "Bobbin!" Miss Tavisser said sharply. "Your manners! Please excuse him, my lady, he is particularly full of himself today."

  "I have a younger brother too, a little older than Robert, perhaps, but he was once a terror around the manor." She held out her hand. "I am pleased to meet you, Master Robert."

  He hesitated, then shook her hand very fast, then ran behind Miss Tavisser, peeking around her skirts. Alianora laughed then signaled her groom to bring the mare to her. She used the bench as a mounting block and, with a wave, rode back through the trees.

  "What an odd person she is, to be sure," the governess muttered, thinking she would just check with Lady Cerestone to be certain Lady Alianora was not too odd.

  Fanny looked after her new friend. "She is my Alianora."

  Chapter Six

  Alianora stared in horror at the carriageway quite six feet below her as the perch-high phaeton moved smartly along. The vehicle was so high that she had been obliged to climb a ladder to enter it. Lord Savernake was, of course, not about to allow Alianora, or any feminine passenger, to leave the phaeton precipitously. To that end, he let his right arm lie along the folded hood, resting tight against her back, his hand loosely gripping her upper arm. He handled the reins competently, using the whip to advantage when needed, removing his protective arm only for that purpose.

  Alianora found the carriage seat too narrow, having moved as far as possible from the earl, and still his thigh pressed rather too insistently against hers. She sat forward a little, stiffening her spine, making an uncomfortable ride even more uncomfortable. She gripped the top of the side panel and braced her feet against the dashboard, remembering as she did so Katie's troubled look and Mrs. Bowman's blunt disapproval of this outing.

  "He's not to be trusted, lamby," Mrs. Bowman declared. "Why, you're no more than a babe and he's a worldly heathen."

  Katie admitted she could not like the idea of Alianora riding in such a vehicle.

  Alianora sighed helplessly. "I should not have accepted his invitation."

  "Well, truly, I believe no harm can come of a simple outing in the park. You need only be civil and polite and refuse to go anywhere private with him."

  "I wish now that I had not agreed."

  Katie smiled a little. "It would be impolite to refuse him now. If you truly do not wish to go in the future, refer him to me." There, that was unequivocal. She would wait to hear from William before saying anything further.

  Alianora shook her head. "It is a problem I must face myself, rather like bearding the lion in his den, or pulling a dragon's tail. After all, I must learn to resist the heathens of the world, mustn't I?" They both laughed.

  No, Alianora decided as the early afternoon breeze set the plumes on her new bonnet fluttering, sent clouds overhead scudding across the sun. No, she did not care for Lord Savernake's insistent familiarities. Was all
his attention leading to a proposal? She hoped not but could not deny the possibility. It was too bad that her father liked him so well for she simply could not tolerate this man. But she could not say so directly—that was not part of the Marriage Mart game. She must do all in her power to discourage him without losing one ounce of civility in the process.

  Lord Savernake had been all this time speaking of his vehicle, calling on her to admire the fine japanned body, blue picked out in gold, and the highstepping matched chestnuts, how responsive they were to his commands, how skillfully he tooled the ribbons—refuting Lord Cerestone's jibes at Grassmere. He spoke of others in the park, how well he knew them, and shared some light gossip. At times he halted by the side of the tanbark to speak to those strolling along or riding by; sometimes he pulled alongside another carriage for a short way.

  Alianora greeted all his friends and acquaintances, wondering a little at some of the intense stares and the way some seemed to point and put their heads together. Perhaps that was simply the way city people were. She did wonder, in this tall vehicle, what might happen if, in all this stopping and starting and visiting, one team crossed another's path? And what might happen if the huge rear wheels of the phaeton should catch the wheels of another carriage or worse, simply fall off. It truly frightened her and she tried not to think of it.

  Savernake was comfortable, admiring the color of her eyes when he glanced at her. She seemed a positive dunce in society, but he would require no more of a wife than her fortune. She could remain in the country all her life, leaving him free to pursue his former life-style. Once again, this morning, the nasty advent of bailiffs had awakened him from a restful dream of riches.

  "That is quite a pretty rig you're wearing," he commented, knowing that a woman, slow or not, loved flattery. He did wonder briefly if she would even understand what he said, then decided that he was too severe.

  "Thank you, my lord," she answered, thinking that she really must do something about his grip on her arm. She kneaded her new reticule. Inside she could feel a neatly folded handkerchief, a vinaigrette box that Katie had insisted she carry, a paper of pins for hasty repairs, a comb, and a steel looking glass. She moved her fingers over and over the items, thinking. She lingered over the pins.

  She appreciated his compliment because, in truth, she did like her new carriage dress. It was of an ice blue tricot de Berlin with two flounces resting on the tips of her white kid sandals. She wore a white velvet pelisse painted along the hem and front borders with bouquets of pink, purple, and yellow spring flowers. On her head sat an Angouleme bonnet with a blue satin ribbon tied in a bow beneath her right cheek. Admittedly, her new outfit made the clothes she wore at Grassmere seem quite plain. That did not, however, distract her from her consideration of how to stop Lord Savernake from touching her so intimately. She held on to the paper of pins, nodding to herself. One more move on his part and she would stab him.

  Unaware of the violence in his companion's heart, the earl continued musing on his comfortable future. He would, in truth, marry an heiress whose countenance could frighten a mastiff if it meant rescue from the duns. And Lady Alianora, fortunately, was striking in her own way. He would leave her in the country while he pursued his own happiness in town. Such a lovely thought. He glanced at her pale face and smiled, dark eyes glittering.

  At that moment Lord Cerestone tooled his curricle into Hyde Park for Cressida's third driving-lesson. He was not happy. Either his cousin was naturally obtuse or deliberately so as she had hardly, as yet, even learned to hold the reins properly.

  Of course, she was being deliberately obtuse. Cressida smiled at her cleverness. How else did one catch a man but by proving how helpless one was, thereby evoking his manly instincts? She peeped up at her cousin from under the brim of her conversation bonnet admiring his manly form. She took every opportunity to press closer, every jounce, every pit into which the wheels dipped found her clutching his arm for support, letting her reticule dance over his buckskin-clad thigh.

  After stopping and speaking to a number of acquaintances who were all invited to admire Cressida's new plum silk habit, the viscount found a stretch of Rotten Row relatively free of traffic. Once more, with an exasperated patience, he threaded the reins through her fingers.

  "I believe I have it now, Peter," she assured him, letting her hand linger within his. Her look was one of innocence.

  "Yes, even Georgina could tool the reins after three lessons," he told her with a level glance.

  She was immediately all enthusiasm, knowing that she could push him no further. A spark of anger lit her blue eyes quite briefly, but the bonnet hid it.

  "Do not," he reminded her, "allow the ribbons to fall. Keep them taut or the horses"—he indicated the dancing grays—"will run away with you."

  She nodded seriously, closing her parasol and laying it at her feet. Numerous plum and black plumes tickled the viscount's nose and he struggled not to sneeze. He hardly noticed when Cressida set the grays deftly in motion.

  He survived the struggle, puffing at the feathers whenever they struck his face. It pleased him to see that Cressida was trying harder, his goal having succeeded. She even managed to drive and speak at the same time.

  "Georgina will be quite amazed," she observed. "I must invite her to go driving quite soon, that is, when she has recovered from her come-out. I am quite looking forward to the ball and have ordered a gown that is sans pereil. Why, you shall not know me at all I shall sparkle so! Not, of course, that I wish to put poor Georgy in the shade, but then it will be her ball so I daresay no one will notice me. Oh, there is Mary Brumleigh! Oh, Mary!" she called with a wave, swinging the hand with the ribbons to the right. The grays objected to this sharp pull, snorted, danced to the side of the carriageway. Pedestrians scattered quickly. Cerestone took her hand, warned her sharply to move her fingers not her whole arm when signaling the horses, and then brought the curricle back into line. Cressida, with ready tears on the tips of her lashes, promised most adamantly that she would do everything the viscount told her. He gave in, consoling himself with the thought that he would only be subject to this trauma a few more times before declaring her "trained" and setting her loose. Naturally, he would not be in the vicinity when she demonstrated her newfound skill to the beau monde.

  "How few people there are abroad! I am all impatience to drive at the fashionable hour." She looked up at her cousin, tears forgotten, a coquettish smile on her face. "Peter."

  He knew that wheedling tone and glanced at her in a sort of horror.

  "You know, Peter, I will be needing a carriage of my own to drive," she told him. "And horses, of course. I should like to cut a dash myself and need someone to help me." When he did not answer, she pouted. "Please, Peter, please will you order a phaeton for me? I will tell you what would please me. Peter!" A tiny frown creased her forehead.

  Cerestone, however, had spied Lord Savernake's ridiculously high sporting phaeton ahead of them. The woman beside the earl, her features in profile, he recognized immediately. Alianora Wynyate! He had heard from Fanny that she was here in London but had not encountered her anywhere. One could say he was studiously avoiding her if one were truthful, but one rarely is. He forgot Cressida completely.

  But Cressida, intensely sharp and jealous where other women were concerned, was not about to allow his attention to wander. Who was this rival? The viscount had whispered some odd name, but she did not catch it. She spoke to him. He did not respond. Well, she decided she would show him. With a smug smile, she dropped the reins.

  The grays, always working right up to their bits, took immediate advantage of this freedom and increased their speed.

  Cerestone began to realize that something was amiss when the curricle lurched to one side, narrowly missing a barouche. The dowagers in the barouche screamed in unison and one pounded on one of the grays with her parasol, thus encouraging them into a gallop. Cressida shrieked and clutched at the viscount, her plumes completely obscuring his vision. He
tried to put her from him but she clung like a limpet and over the dashboard went the reins, disappearing beneath pounding hooves.

  The curricle bounced and jounced and lurched. Someone shouted "Runaway!" and the cry took up all along the circle. A rather rotund major yelled "Tally-ho!" as they passed and spurred his surprised mount into action. Several young bucks thought it quite a lark and joined in the chase.

  Cressida panicked and screamed in Cerestone's ear. He tried desperately to shake her loose so that he might jump onto the off-side horse but she was beyond reason. She had dropped the whip so he had nothing with which to control the cattle. By the time he yanked out the blinding plumes, he saw that it was too late to do anything. The grays had swung left and were heading for Lord Savernake's phaeton. All he could do now was hang on to Cressida and the curricle.

  Lord Savernake, still speaking easily to Alianora, just managed to catch a glimpse of the swiftly approaching vehicle. Recognizing danger, he gripped her tightly about the waist and snapped the ribbons. The chestnuts responded by galloping.

  Assuming the earl was becoming amorous, Alianora put her plan into action. She pulled out a pin and stabbed his thigh.

  The earl released her with a howl. It was then that the curricle hit.

  Fortunately, the grays had swerved so that only the wheels were entangled. But the force was such that Alianora lost her grip on the panel and tumbled out and down into the curricle, landing rather nicely in the viscount's lap. The advent of Alianora into the curricle tipped it alarmingly, however, and pitched Cressida out into the dirt where she landed on her derriere. Unhurt, she immediately stood and shrieked at her cousin, conveniently forgetting that it was she who was at fault.

  Lord Cerestone looked at Alianora, his eyes full of concern. "Are you all right, my lady?"

  She looked at him and smiled. "A little bruised, perhaps," she said. "It was quite a surprise."

  "I had hoped to meet again but not so—precipitously."

  "Do you drive this badly?" she asked, beginning to think about exactly where she was and becoming a little uncomfortable.