Maid of Honor

by Stephanie Lilley

  "He changed for the better at school. I believe Buck and Henry helped him in that. The three of them could conjure up the most amazingly wicked pranks. I was quite envious, wishing that I might go to school with them and have such fun too." She sighed. "But after finishing school, he once more buried himself at Woodhurst amidst a great mound of dusty old books. To live and die there in the library, I believe."

  Alianora was forced to set her cup and saucer back on the tray; her hands trembled alarmingly.

  "Fortunately, Lady Cerestone insisted that he come to London this Season. She was determined that he find a wife and my aunt can be remarkably tenacious." Jane smiled. "Not that Cressida has not tried to attach him, but they would never suit. She would drive him insane inside a week. Although I love her dearly, she has the temper of a viper. And Peter does like his quiet." She sat looking at Alianora who was very still.

  "He does love you," she continued and Alianora looked up.

  "I know that," she said softly.

  "Something has happened between you. I know it is interfering in the worst way, but I cannot bear to see him so unhappy—nor you, for I would count you a friend."

  Alianora looked away and did not see Jane glance over her head to the doorway or her frantic looks which smoothed into a sympathetic smile when Alianora turned back to her.

  "I thank you for your concern, Jane," she said. "But there is nothing anyone can do, not even I. Believe me when I tell you that I, too, wish only happiness for Peter." She glanced at the clock on the mantel and rose. "I must be going."

  Jane rose also, glancing at the door. "Please, Alianora, stay a moment."

  "Let her leave if she so chooses," said a familiar voice.

  Alianora turned to see Lord Cerestone. He bowed coldly. Jane looked from one to the other anxiously.

  “I thought if you two could meet in a comfortable place and speak, a happy solution might result," she explained.

  "If by happy solution you mean marriage then you shall be disappointed, my dear cousin." How stiff and formal he was!

  "Surely, you may work out your problems. No one can doubt you love one another."

  "One may doubt a great deal," he told her.

  "Wh—what do you mean?"

  "Why, that the Lady Alianora has already agreed to wed another. Richard Brendall to be precise."

  "Oh." Jane looked terribly stricken. "Oh, I am so sorry!" She looked at Alianora. "Please forgive me. I—I—oh!" With tears welling in her eyes, she stumbled from the room.

  Alianora went to follow her, but the viscount barred her way.

  "I must go," she insisted.

  "Wait. Please. Perhaps it is time we spoke sensibly to one another."

  Alianora clutched her reticule. "I cannot think what we might say."

  "I can think of many things." He stepped closer. "Friends may speak to one another at any time, on any subject. Friends trust one another."

  Words failed her. She could not move.

  "Alianora." He said her name as if it were music. "I admit my feelings have not changed. I reacted rather badly at Georgina's ball and I wish to apologize. It was difficult to see you in the clutches of that villain. I should have realized that you would never willingly consent to be his wife."

  Her eyes flew to his. Had he guessed? Did he know? "Only give me the right and I shall protect you," he begged.

  "I cannot."

  He was so close now that she could smell the light scent of his cologne.

  "Then tell me that you love him, that you desire his touch above all others, that you would beg him to do this—" He began to kiss her neck, moving gently but relentlessly to her ear, her cheek. "And this," he whispered huskily, moving on to her lips, his arms circling her.

  She held back as long as she could, which might have been a full quarter minute at most. Her arms crept up his chest and around his neck, entangling her fingers in his hair. How soft his lips felt, slow and passionate. How different, how very different from Savernake! When Lord Cerestone desired that she open her lips she did so without thinking. She felt dizzy and light-headed, as if her feet no longer touched ground. Overwhelmed by her feelings, she had no idea how many times she sighed his name or that she spoke of love at all. It was therefore a rude awakening when the viscount let her go. He straightened, gently pulling her arms from about his neck. His eyes were like smoldering emeralds.

  "Is it like that with Savernake, Alianora? Do you whisper words of love in his ear?" he demanded.

  Her cheeks burned. She'd never felt so—so abandoned before. And it had been wonderful! Her pulse raced, her entire body was covered in gooseflesh. What a horrible time to discover that such a feeling could exist!

  "I had not thought you so cruel," she said hoarsely.

  He bowed. "All's fair."

  "I could hate you for that."

  "But you love me."

  She did remember whispering that as he kissed, her. "But I am honor bound," she said, closing he eyes.

  He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. “Ah, now, we come closer to the truth. Tell me what he has done! Tell me, Alianora!"

  She couldn't. He might then challenge Lord Savernake to a duel and be killed. She had rather have him alive.

  "It is a family matter," she managed to choke out. "None of your concern. Peter, please."

  " 'Peter, please' what?"

  "Please let go my arm."

  He did so and waited, breathing deeply, more affected than he cared to admit by her touch, by the tears glistening in her blue eyes.

  "Why are you so stubborn?" he asked at last. He took her chin in his hand. "You will not turn Savernake off?"

  "No."

  He winced as if she had struck him and his hand fell away. "Then it would seem I must return to courtly love. I will admire my lady from afar, make silly vows in her honor, and," he added softly, running his fingers over her hollowed cheek, "watch her die of unhappiness."

  She knew that there were others in this world who had made greater sacrifices than she, giving their lives for their nation, their families, their homes. So many had died to see the French emperor ensconced at last on an island in the South Atlantic. What she was about to do in marrying Lord Savernake was little enough in comparison, but, oh, how it destroyed her life! She had only the satisfaction that two men she did love would be safe and her father would not suffer a scandal. For, as Katie had already told her, one did not wish to be the object of gossip!

  Lord Savernake—she could not think of him as "Richard"; it was too intimate—had informed her that the announcement of their engagement would appear within a week. She couldn't tell Katie. She couldn't tell William.

  Alianora walked in the garden imagining Katie's reaction should she tell her.

  "No! You have surely lost your mind!" Katie would cry in horror. "William will not allow it."

  William was always to be called upon when Alianora showed her stubbornness. "You cannot have agreed to marry such a man. He is a fortune hunter. He will only make you unhappy."

  Alianora had no doubt of that.

  She would then nod as if there were to be no more discussion. "Wait until William comes. He will straighten things out. Truly, Alia, you have been acting so oddly lately."

  And so on, and so forth.

  Alianora shook her head. Confiding in Katie would accomplish nothing. Katie would feel worse than she already did and Alianora would feel worse for having overset her. She paced the garden path, her slippered toes digging into the crushed oyster shells, muttering to herself. It would surely cause Katie enough pain when she heard of Alianora's marriage.

  "I have given my word," she told the clump of jonquils. "I must marry him."

  To that Katie would answer, "Words and promises mean nothing to a scoundrel like Savernake. You must simply tell him you will not marry him."

  "Unless he proves he is dishonorable, I must keep my word."

  Here Katie would frown a little, her voice full of concern. "I had rather thou
ght you favored Lord Cerestone."

  "I do," Alianora whispered to the yew hedge as she trailed her fingers over the clipped edge. That did not, however, mean she was free to ignore honor, her given word. One might even say it came down to a choice between Percy, her brother, and Peter . . .

  It grew chilly as the sun slipped behind the houses leaving a red glow behind. She rubbed her arms, staring at the sky, thinking of all the sunsets she'd watched at Grassmere. There the sky was broad, all its day and evening colors reflected in the river. There it was so quiet, only bird calls and frogs broke the silence. Here there was noise all the time, making it difficult to think, to make decisions. Nevertheless, she walked back to the house, at last, unhappily certain that she had made the right choice.

  Chapter Ten

  Mr. George Raggett, sharp-eyed proprietor of White's, looked over the trio of gentlemen just settling into the reading room. He had made much of his fortune by personally sweeping the floors each night discovering not a few forgotten counters. The trio were good ton, and certainly enhanced the establishment, but they were such poor players. One might starve awaiting their move to the card room. He greeted them, signaled a footman to them, knowing their propensity for claret, then passed on, nodding to those seated about the room. He brightened at the advent of a true gambler just now handing his gloves and hat to another footman. One could not mistake the fine head of dark hair, the glittering eyes of the hunter. He smiled and greeted Lord Savernake.

  Lord Cerestone, meanwhile, stared at the wine glass on the dark mahogany table beside him as Buck went over and over, blow for blow, their morning practice at Gentleman Jackson's saloon.

  "My dear Parkington, you could not credit how skillful a blow our friend Cerestone can still land."

  " 'Course I could," said that worthy, rubbing his jaw. "Was there. Was my jaw."

  "Of course you were there, but you are not the most observant creature," Buck observed, finishing his first bottle. He nodded as a footman offered to bring another.

  Henry thought this totally inane and merely snorted in response.

  "Cerestone might be too much among the pages of history, but he is amazingly capable of milling down anyone he chooses, I believe," Buck looked at the viscount who seemed lost in thought and lifted his quizzing glass, a marvelous piece of work of hornbeam carved into a descending spiral with another glass at the end, a reversible glass or spectacles if one's eyes were quite widely set apart. "I say, Cerestone, your left boot has managed to catch fire."

  Cerestone looked up. "What? Oh, sorry, gathering wool, I suppose."

  "You might have supplied an entire manufactory by now and here I was touting you to the skies."

  The viscount smiled. "A tragedy to miss one of your touts, Buck."

  "Being a dead bore," Henry said.

  "Better than a live one." Buck leveled his glass at his friend. He moved it back to Cerestone. "I wish I might also wish you happy, dear fellow."

  "I am happy that you and my sister have hit it off so well."

  Buck permitted himself to smile, his gray eyes growing less vague. "Who'd have thought it? Georgy has grown into the most remarkable girl."

  Henry roused himself with a rumble. "Might as well announce—plan to pick up the handkerchief m'self."

  Cerestone and Buck stared at him, then the viscount said, "Lady Morfey." Henry nodded. "Must be a love match."

  "A love of horses match, I believe," Buck countered. "Well, who'd have thought that?" Cerestone shook his head.

  "Indeed, dear boy, we came along to protect you from just such a circumstance and here are two of us to be wed. We really must see to you."

  Henry agreed, joining Buck with a second bottle of his own. Lord Cerestone laughed a little. "How ironic."

  "Kidnap," suggested Henry.

  "Too barbaric, dear boy. We are not Vandals."

  The viscount sighed. "Kidnapping is not the answer. The lady has given her word and will stand by it no matter the consequences. What I need do is discover what brought her to that point."

  "Too fine a lady to agree out of hand," Buck observed.

  "Exactly." Lord Cerestone frowned as he noticed Lord Savernake entering. “Here is my Nemesis now."

  "Cerestone," greeted Savernake with the barest of superior nods.

  Cerestone looked him over, noting the sparkling, diamond pin in his cravat, the several diamond and sapphire rings, the large, chased-silver buttons inlaid with sapphire chips.

  "Savernake, you are a flashing cove today," the viscount observed, sipping from his wineglass.

  Savernake looked at his fingers modestly and touched his cravat. "You refer to my acquired wealth. Why, yes, I do believe I shall live comfortably and well from now on."

  Cerestone rose slowly, putting his glass aside. "She is not yours yet," he said softly.

  Savernake laughed. Heads turned. Several newspapers rattled and hushing noises sounded like hissing pipes. "How charming! Do you propose to challenge me, Cerestone?"

  "I would not wish her name linked with yours."

  "It already is, I'm afraid. You really should back off like a good fellow. You have lost. At least have the grace to bow out when you are soundly defeated."

  Cerestone relaxed his fists and began to smile. "One should play one's cards closer to the chest, Savernake."

  "What mean you by that?"

  "You have handed me the game."

  The dark eyes narrowed, but the manner was studiously languid. "You merely bluff, my dear fellow."

  "The game is not over until one player withdraws," the viscount said, a happy gleam in his green eyes. "And I will never withdraw."

  "How fatiguing. You are a fool."

  "Better a fool than a dilettante."

  "I take exception to that."

  "Good."

  "But I shall allow it to pass. You see, the winner is magnanimous."

  Cerestone's smile was awful. "Look to your hand, Savernake. I have you now." Obviously Savernake had extorted money from Lady Alianora—money, gambling, Savernake, Percy, Alianora's brother . . . Yes! Now he understood the hold Savernake had over Alianora. Marry me or I'll see your brother jailed for debt. Savernake, a true Captain Sharp, must hold all Percy's vowels.

  They stared at one another for a long moment until Mr. Raggett begged them to desist. Never mind that the exchange had already generated a dozen wagers being even now recorded in the betting book; he could not allow it to descend into a brawl and so led Lord Savernake to the card room insisting that the play was especially skillful and deep this evening. Cerestone sat down. His friends leaned forward. They agreed with his conclusions and together the three of them worked on a plan to save the Lady Alianora. Cerestone remembered that Tench had a shady cousin, Carnaby, part-time Bow Street Runner . . .

  Dear Katie. Despite her occasional weak spells, she dragged Alianora to routs and balls, determined to introduce her to the entire tribe of eligible bachelors. Alianora went through the motions, dancing, conversing, surprised to find herself the object of compliments and friendly overtures. Perhaps she should not judge the modern world on one incident or one person. All this new attention did not, however, lessen her pain or make it bearable.

  She saw Lord Cerestone often when he escorted his sister and the Finsburys to various entertainments, but he did not come near her. Lord Savernake seemed to have disappeared, for which she was grateful. He would be arranging for her brother's safety.

  She became quite absentminded, missing whole conversations, rarely noticing who solicited her hand for a dance. That is, until Lord Cerestone suddenly drew her up from her reverie and into a waltz. She turned to flee, but he merely tightened his hold.

  "Running from me would be cowardly, my lady," he said with no smile.

  She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. There was no softness in them. "Then I shall face you," she said.

  "Yes. I begin to think you too brave, however. Facing all the dragons by yourself can be fatal."

  "You ar
e the only dragon I am fighting. You are the one, who insists on telling me what I must do. I decide what I shall do," she told him.

  Lord Cerestone was silent, realizing he'd heard almost the same words from his sister. And his impulse was the same as then—he wanted to say, "You are too naiive," but let the words go unspoken this time. This was an intelligent, caring young woman in his arms, one who would give what she had for others, but when it came to herself she lost all perspective. Someone had to help her. He would interfere just this one last time and then back away forever if that was what she wished.

  "You may still call me Peter," he said softly, swinging her to avoid a couple who seemed oblivious of other dancers.

  "If I choose," she insisted.

  "If you choose, certainly," he allowed, thinking that he was making a tremendous concession and that he really didn't mind. But then he thought of this beautiful, loving creature in Savernake's hands and he grew angry, and asked, "When shall you wed Lord Savernake?"

  She stumbled. He pulled her closer. She stiffened as he whirled her through the french doors and out onto a dark terrace, trapping her against the stone balustrade.

  "When?" he demanded. She shook her head, pushed at him. "Please, my lord, someone will see us. I must return."

  He was immovable. "You will not marry Savernake." He couldn't control his temper any longer. Placid Peter he was not.

  "I must," Alianora said. "You do not understand."

  "Yes, I do. You think far too much of others—Fanny, your brother, your sister-in-law, your father, your hawks. When will you consider yourself?" His voice grew hoarse.

  "I do consider myself. I am not happy unless those about me are happy."

  It would make his plan so much easier if she would give him a time, a place. Savernake would never marry her openly, knowing her elder brother would object. "Does it mean nothing then that you are making me unhappy?"

  "It means—it means too much, I think," she stammered. "Please, stop. You are torturing me."

  He let his arms drop. "It is not I who am destroying you. I only wished to love you. Here is proof.” He picked up her hand, placed something cold and, hard in the palm, then closed her fingers over it. "Part of a promise that you shall not wed that libertine, an item retrieved from a pawn shop."