Maid of Honor

by Stephanie Lilley

  He laughed, a short bark of ironic laughter. "I was, unfortunately, teaching my cousin Miss Finsbury the fine art of tooling the ribbons. In the end, it is my fault."

  "Cerestone!" It was the earl. He stood by the curricle. "You are not fit to drive a dog cart!"

  Cerestone gently moved Alianora to the seat beside him. "Oh, certainly, my lord. I can drive a dog cart."

  "You have damaged the axle and upset my chestnuts. I demand compensation."

  The viscount's eyes flashed but he was all compliance, nodding as one of the bucks who had followed handed him the ribbons. "Send the repair bills to my man."

  Savernake was a little taken aback but, upon looking around at the crowd gathered, he decided to be gracious. Realizing now why the earl had grabbed her, Alianora regretted her action.

  "I am sorry, my lord," she said softly. "I—I didn't understand."

  He could not afford to be too incensed so Lord Savernake accepted her apology, although at the moment his leg smarted more than his pride.

  "I shall arrange for you to be taken home," he told her.

  "Never mind, Savernake, I'll take care of Lady Alianora," Cerestone told him, earning a glare.

  "Peter!" Cressida shrieked. "You cannot leave me here! I'm hurt! I'm in pain!"

  The viscount sighed inwardly. "Come into the curricle and I'll see you both home."

  "There is not room," Cressida objected. "You are so cruel. I hate you!"

  "Come with us, dear," called one of the dowagers in the barouche. They were finding this more exciting than a Gothic novel. Savernake escorted her to them and they made much of her, which mollified her to some extent.

  Lord Cerestone backed the grays up and with the help of the major and some others managed to disentangle all wheels. The curricle was, fortunately, only scraped and some repainting would hide the damage. The viscount signaled the grays with his recovered whip and deftly caught the thong. He looked at Alianora.

  "You are not afraid to ride with me?" he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

  "Well, mayhap, if you promise that we will meet no one else accidentally."

  "Trust me." He raised his eyebrows and she laughed, forgetting that she had just been in a carriage accident.

  Katie expressed alarm and Mrs. Bowman declared that "it didn't surprise her one bit" when told of the mishap. Alianora assured them she was unhurt, with only a minor tear in a flounce. The older woman, nevertheless, insisted that she go right upstairs and rest after a nice hot bath. Katie turned to look out the saloon window after the two left and said softly to herself, "So, Viscount Cerestone."

  That night Alianora was able to attend the opening of Almack's. Countess Lieven granted her permission to waltz, bringing a red-haired young man to her. Katie also danced, her brown eyes sparkling. As uncomfortable as she was with her less than graceful partner, Alianora felt the trip to London had been worth it to see Katie in good spirits once more.

  But as she sipped the orange-flavored orgeat and nibbled the small tea cakes, she felt strangely let down.

  It surprised her to discover that she looked everywhere for the man with the teasing green eyes—at Almack's, on Bond Street while shopping, in the park, at the booksellers, even when she was presented to the queen.

  She'd felt lonely and frightened in the Drawing Room, and realized that her mind fixed on the one person in London who made her feel safe, comfortable. She thought of Lord Cerestone even as the Prince Regent lingered over her hand, remarking on her porcelain complexion, pronouncing her to be the reincarnation of the fair maid of Kent, that worthy Joan, wife of Edward, the Black Prince, who had been considered fair in her youth. Those courtiers who stood nearby repeated the epithet to others until the entire room seemed to be hissing. Alianora rose from her curtsy and then stood, eyes downcast in an agony of embarrassment, her hands clenched together. She yearned for Grassmere.

  It was a relief to return to Katie's, but there she found her brother Percy anxiously awaiting her. He had obviously been pacing the drawing room, running fingers through his fine blond hair. His blue jacket was a little wrinkled and his cravat unevenly tied. He grasped Alianora's hands as she entered, taking a moment to admire her Drawing Room costume of large hoops and feathers.

  "Lord, Allie, is that the rig you must wear to make your curtsy?"

  She smiled although her head was now throbbing beneath piled, powdered hair. "It is as uncomfortable as it looks.”

  He let go her hands and tried to appear hearty, but his eyes gave him away. "Must have cost a pretty pound."

  "Three hundred pretty pounds,” she told him.

  He looked at her, turned away, then swung back as if he could not make up his mind. "Allie, I must speak to you," he said finally in a voice that was a little hoarse.

  "Well, yes. Could it wait until I have changed?" she pleaded, having more than an idea what he had come about. She would go to her room and count out what pin money she had. No matter what his weaknesses, he was still her brother.

  And he was almost pathetically grateful when she laid a reticule full of guineas into his hands.

  "You know?" he asked, horrified that she could guess why he was here without him telling her. She nodded. "I have heard you and William arguing."

  He flung himself on a sofa, closing his eyes in pain. "I don't know what to do anymore. This is far from all I need, but where to go? William refuses to help. Father gave me some, but I told him it was for a pair of sweet-goers."

  "Oh, Percy," Alianora sighed.

  "I know. I know. I hate it myself, but my case is desperate. I may need to visit a cents-per-cents in order to honor my debts." He had to explain the slang to her and she was horrified.

  "I could ask for more allowance," she offered.

  Percy groaned. "I have already imposed enough on you. I must find my own way out of this. Somehow."

  "Perhaps I could sell—"

  "No! No!" he said, jumping to his feet. He shook the reticule. "This is enough. After all," he added ruefully, "you should enjoy your stay in town."

  "I'd much rather be at Grassmere."

  "No doubt," he agreed. He walked to her and took her hand. "Thank you, Allie. I'd best go now." He hesitated, a great war going on behind his eyes. "Allie, I must ask one more favor."

  "Of course," she said readily and he flinched.

  "Please, be obliging to Lord Savernake." He quickly kissed her cheek and left, to, avoid seeing her reaction.

  She looked after him with a worried frown.

  Within the hour she received a visit from Savernake himself, who came to see how well she had survived the accident. He bowed over her hand, looking natty in pale canary pantaloons and blue jacket.

  She took back her hand. "I have had no ill effects," she assured him. "Shall you wish refreshment, my lord?" She would be obliging, as Percy, had requested. But she would never marry Lord Savernake.

  "No, I shall not stay long."

  She nodded, remembering Katie's admonition that she must never receive men alone, but she believed this was a special case. She owed him a sincere apology for stabbing him with the pin. With a sigh she sat down, disposing the lavender jacquard muslin about her to discourage wrinkles—another one of the many, many pieces of advice Katie had given her.

  Lord Savernake watched her, sitting at ease on a striped confidante, admiring her striking looks and the graceful way she handled herself. More and more he liked the idea of marrying her and with her brother, Percy, now desperately in his debt, he just might succeed with this chit.

  "And—and you, my lord, have you recovered?" she asked, meaning more than the accident, of course.

  "I have some pain, but not unbearable, I think."

  "Oh." She laced her fingers together as if the act would impart strength. "I truly apologize," she said quickly.

  Savernake waved a hand, knowing just how much to milk another's guilt and when to finish it off.

  "If you are truly sorry, perhaps you'll accept another invi
tation to go driving with me. This time he smiled pleasantly—"we might see some of the sights of London. The menagerie at Exeter Exchange perhaps." The idea sent him into a paroxysm of boredom. He went on to enumerate the delights there, something to entice the slower mind. "There are monkeys, lions, and tigers, and even a hippopotamus." His voice faded a little as he saw her looking at him in her steady, unnerving way once again.

  Despite the earl's opinion, Alianora was not slow. She was beginning to understand a little of what was going forward here. Combining what Katie had told her of the earl and what Percy had just asked of her—"please, be obliging"—she suspected that Savernake was the one leading her brother into gambling. But her love was not blind; she knew Percy went along willingly. Then again, he was not happy about it. She remembered the pain in his eyes. Perhaps she could plead with the earl to leave him alone. They could not continue to speak here, however, so she agreed to go with him the following Monday and rose, signaling that the visit was at an end.

  All thoughts of Lord Savernake and Percy fled when she discovered her small friend, Fanny Everhurst, was ill. Alianora had missed her in the park for the past several days and had wondered how she was. Lord Cerestone's note that morning told her all she needed to know—that Fanny wished to see her.

  Katie could not like the idea of Alianora visiting Lord Cerestone's home, but because it was young Miss Everhurst who had actually requested the visit, and if Alianora took a maid with her . . . And, remembering William's desire that she look about for a husband for Alianora, Katie thought this friendship with Lord Cerestone's sister might lead Alianora to like the brother.

  Alianora took little time to dress, waving the maid away, simply pulling on a light sprigged muslin and topping it with a nile green spencer. The thought of seeing Lord Cerestone once again caused her a little difficulty in breathing and, perhaps, she spent a little extra time carefully tucking in loose strands that had escaped—from her crown of pale gold braids, but then she turned to what she needed to take with her.

  Under her bed lay a chest filled with bagged spices and herbs. She dragged it out and lifted the decorated lid and was immediately surrounded by sweet fragrance. Taking a small pillowcase, she emptied into it pouches of sweet woodruff, rosemary leaves, and lemon verbena, something to help induce restful nights. She picked up her psaltery, knowing that Fanny would ask for it. She left in the barouche, stopping the coachman briefly so that she might buy some daisies from a flower girl, then continuing on.

  There was no sign of Lord Cerestone at Hurst House and Alianora felt a small pang of disappointment. She smiled, however, as she entered Fanny's chamber. Everywhere there were daisies, on the bed hangings, the coverlet, the crewel-embroidered chair by the window, the drapes. Fanny had said once that she loved daisies more than any flower. On a side table sat a blue vase filled with purple and pink windflowers. Sunlight fell across a bright gold carpet, picking out the tiny green and blue designs, and lit up the Bath chair sitting in a corner.

  "Alianora!" Fanny greeted, propped up on pillows, wispy chestnut curls framing a thin face.

  After greeting Miss Tavisser, who said she would leave the two alone for a short while, Alianora kissed Fanny's cheek then sat on the bed.

  "Daisies for you," Alianora told her. "Shall I put t hem in the vase over here?"

  Fanny nodded, thanking her most properly. Alianora finished arranging the flowers and then brought out the scented pillow. Taking it with both hands, Fanny held it to her nose and breathed deeply, her bright eyes looking over the edge of the linen.

  "This," Alianora told her, "you must place under your big pillow and you'll have very pleasant dreams." She sat on the bed again. "I have missed you in the park. Lady Black sends her love."

  "I've been sick again," Fanny said, with a touch of self-disgust, as if she were at fault.

  "Sometimes it is difficult to recover," Alianora told her.

  Fanny's eyes strayed to the door as she lowered the pillow. "Peter comes and stays with me so it is truly not so bad. You have your psaltery?" she asked eagerly.

  "Why, I believe I did bring it with me," Alianora said in surprise. She picked up the instrument, laid it across her knees, and unwrapped the purple velvet cocoon. She brushed her fingers across the strings.

  Fanny's eyes were wide. She reached for it then pulled back her hands with a sheepish look.

  "Do you remember the way to pluck the strings?" Alianora asked, referring to the times they had worked with the instrument in the park.

  Fanny nodded vigorously and she was able to pluck out an entire song before her fingers began to stumble and she yawned.

  Alianora smiled sympathetically. "I should be leaving, my sweet burde, so you may rest."

  "No, please, not yet," Fanny begged. "Sing for me. "

  "Well," Alianora hesitated, glancing toward the door. Miss Tavisser had not returned. "If you promise to close your eyes."

  Fanny agreed, pulling her dolls to her chest and hugging them. She closed her eyes obediently.

  Alianora looked at the thin, waiflike face and felt she could almost cry. It didn't surprise her that Lord Cerestone would forgo all entertainments in order to stay with his sister. She only wished she could do more. Plucking a few introductory chords, she began to sing a ballad about three ravens.

  Chapter Seven

  Lord Cerestone yawned over his Morning Post in the library. When Alianora began to sing, he looked up then leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the strain of the past few days recede a little as he listened. He couldn't hear the words of the ballad, but that clear, soft voice soothed him.

  His mind roamed freely over the past weeks in town, lamenting the terrible upset to his routine, not that one would find him admitting he was such a creature of habit: the neglected books, neglected manuscript, the lack of time for contemplation. He cringed at the thought of the interminable evenings spent squiring Georgina and the Finsbury sisters to various balls, breakfasts, to Vauxhall, to the Haymarket; the time spent escorting his stepmama on her infrequent outings. And his friends! He'd seen them only occasionally, one crisis after another causing him to send his excuses.

  Not that he begrudged the time spent with Fanny or even with Georgina nor did he regret having met Lady Alianora, though it was she who had overset the comfortable tone of his life most of all.

  He'd never been given to dreaming, rather his life had been devoted to reason and facts. Now he suddenly found himself reading the same page twenty times while his mind was far away. And of what did he dream? Of a maid with golden hair, laughing in the sunlight as her hawk returned to her hand, singing old ballads in the candlelight, dancing in ancient costume with such grace . . .

  "Peter!"

  He came awake abruptly. Cressida Finsbury stood before him, her brown ringlets topped by a fetching little feathery bonnet. The blue eyes beneath the brim were annoyed. Beside her stood Georgina dressed in a simple russet walking dress with double frills at her wrists and throat. He had to admit that his sister did have style and seemed positively conservative next to Cressida's flashy volatility. He frowned, presenting a severe expression to the girls, but neither quaked. The viscount looked at Georgina wondering if, perhaps, he'd been a touch unreasonable with her in the past.

  "Good morning, Cressida, Georgina," he growled, reluctant to let go his reverie. He noticed that the singing had stopped. Hector, who had been lying at his feet under the table happily accepting bits of muffin, raised his head and woofed once.

  Cressida cringed but held her ground. She knew she was in Lord Cerestone's black books, at least ever since her display of temper in the park, which had been ill-thought out but, of course, she allowed, there had been unusual circumstances so she wasn't entirely at fault and he should understand that. And he had been so tied down with the sick Fanny that there'd been no occasion for them to further their relationship. She took that opportunity now—it was knocking—and tried the sympathetic approach.

  "Peter," she said w
ith a sad smile. "You do look tired."

  "I am."

  "I've truly missed our lessons; however, I am happy to wait until Fanny is recovered."

  "Generous of you," he observed shortly. Well, she thought so, especially in light of his rudeness. He was not responding to that particular approach so she switched to arousing his jealousy.

  "Lord Savernake, you know, has offered to continue the lessons himself." She watched for his reaction.

  He merely cocked a dark eyebrow. "How generous of him."

  She pushed it a little further even though Georgina tugged at the sleeve of her pelisse.

  "He has been so kind as to say he would help me design a carriage—one to suit my particular coloring."

  The viscount looked at her. "Do not place too much value on his attentions. He is well known for his profligacy."

  This was more like it! She smiled and the result was bedazzling. Peter, however, would not be dazzled.

  "Georgina, do not linger over your shopping. Fanny will need the powders from the apothecary this afternoon."

  "I know that, Peter," Georgina told him indignantly. "I have been ministering to Fanny as well as you and entertaining Mama at any time this past week."

  He smiled apologetically. "Yes, you have, and I appreciate your help."

  She nodded. They were interrupted by Alianora who appeared in the doorway of the library. "Lord Cerestone," she said with a slight smile. "Miss Tavisser said you wished to see me.”

  "Yes." He put his paper aside and came to her. He looked at Georgina and Cressida, amazed at how he seemed to forget the world about him when Alianora was near. He at least had the presence of mind to introduce the three of them.

  If Cressida had been Hector's counterpart one might have observed the hackles bristling; as it was, she looked Alianora over with a slight lift of her eyebrows. Georgina, sensing her friend's hostility, tempered her own greeting, although she had no reason to dislike Lady Alianora and could only appreciate her help with Fanny. Alianora stared placidly at them all, amused at Cressida Finsbury and struggling, at the same time, to still the rapid beating of her heart in Cerestone's presence.