Maid of Honor

by Stephanie Lilley

  Beeley stood at the door. "Yes?" the viscount prompted.

  “A person, my lord, at the servants' entrance. He insists you will see him."

  Cerestone exchanged looks with his friends. “A small man, weathered face?"

  Beeley nodded.

  “Then it is Carnaby. Send him up."

  Beeley sniffed but obeyed. Carnaby arrived, businesslike in a dark frock coat. He held his hat. “News, your lordship." The viscount invited him to continue. The small man told of the night's happenings thus far.

  "I set Jagger on 'im, the dimber damber cove. He's as canny as a hound that one, tried to lose 'im, but Jagger ain't no Jack Adams—'e 'as some guts in 'is brains."

  “A blessing for your friend. What did Jagger discover?"

  Carnaby frowned. “I was coming on to it, your lordship. Your Lord Savernake thinks 'e's lost us, you see, but we ain't rum-headed. We followed 'im to a certain party's address."

  "Who?”

  “A Mrs. Blackworth."

  “0ne of her notorious masques?”

  "Aye, your lordship. She runs a fine nanny 'ouse. Well, up comes your lady, no mistaking the yellow poll, and 'ops on up the steps with the lord. What a hubble-bubble followed that, and no mistake."

  Carnaby was then disposed to elaborate how he managed to ensconce himself inside the Blackworth house, how he watched as three infamous bullyboys took Mr. Percival Cheney away.

  "Dressed as bailiffs they was, but I rumbles 'em instanter—rum kates from the Rookery, born and bred. Off they goes with the young cub and off then goes the flash cuffin with your lady.”

  The viscount had been clenching and unclenching' his hands. “Lord Savernake took her away somewhere? Where?” he demanded softly.

  “Jagger went 'arum-scarum after 'em. I told 'im to send the widdle 'ere.”

  Cerestone nodded. "And where is the boy now?”

  "We 'as 'im, no mistake. Roasted the three devils in their feathers we did.”

  "Then bring Mr. Cheney here. I'll take care of him." He shook the small man's hand. “Thank you, Camaby, you've done remarkably well, considering your slippery quarry. You may send your bill to Tench.”

  The little man bowed and left.

  "Couldn't understand a damned thing," Henry complained. "Teach these fellows to speak the king's English.”

  His friend smiled. "It is the king's English, modified a bit. Some words are simply old, of Teutonic origin; some are remarkable adaptations of Latin."

  "Which explains your ability to gather his meaning," Buck said. "Where did you find such a gem?”

  “He is a cousin to Tench, although you could never imagine the two were related." Peter then frowned, moved off the desk, and began to pace the Turkish carpet. "He said that Lord Savernake has taken the Lady Alianora somewhere and that one of his cohorts will send word here."

  A nerve-wrenching half hour passed before they heard.

  "Another person to see you, my lord,” Beeley announced with obvious disapproval.

  The messenger was dirty and weary from a fast, hard ride.

  "Stopped by an inn,” he told them. "The Sun, a lamb's shake this side o' Holborn.”

  "I must go," Cerestone told his friends after the messenger left. He called Beeley and ordered his curricle put to.

  "Hold, dear boy, you shall not go alone.”

  The viscount looked at Buck. "This has been coming for some time, my friend. I owe Savernake."

  "Must go, dear boy. After all, Georgy! A man must avenge his love."

  Cerestone grinned. "Yes, of course. How remiss—”

  "Naturally, I shall not fight. I leave the fisticuffs to your capable hands."

  The viscount bowed.

  "Not leavin' me behind!" Henry insisted. "Good in close quarters.”

  "What of Lady Morfey—not that I should not be glad of your assistance," Cerestone added.

  "Free—she is, I am. No leading strings," he explained.

  "Not booted, saddled, or bridled,” Buck observed. "Quite civilized, really,” he added as if it were a surprise.

  Cerestone called Beeley once more and ordered the curricle back and the traveling carriage out. The three of them had just stepped to the door when they were stopped by Georgina's call. She stood on the stairway, dressed for a ball.

  "Buck, where are you going?” she asked. "We are to attend the Westbere ball tonight.”

  Buck raised his glass. "By Jove, Georgy, you are uncommon pretty tonight.”

  She smiled and blushed and lifted her chin. Peter looked up, amazed at how love had softened and brightened her long, sallow features.

  "Why don't you remain behind, Buck?" Cerestone offered.

  Buck frowned, an extreme expression for such a fashionable face.

  "No," he said seriously. "Honor at stake."

  Georgina was at his side. "Buck, you cannot leave me without your escort."

  "Sorry, dear love. Must go. Must attend your brother."

  Georgina pouted but made no scene. The viscount's eyes widened even more. He clapped Buck on the shoulder. Buck automatically dusted it.

  "Amazing," he observed. "Let us go."

  "Till tomorrow, my love." Buck bowed over her gloved hand. Henry snorted at the chivalric display. And they were out the door followed by Georgina's indignant "Well!"

  * * *

  Alianora groaned. Her head hurt, throbbed behind the right ear. She touched it carefully, finding a lump.

  She lay in a bed in a room in an inn. She barely remembered the coach ride here or being carried up the stairs to this room, having gone in and out of consciousness. Lord Savernake, where was he? She sat up, moved carefully to the end of the bed. Her loose hair was all atangle; her gown twisted about her. The domino was gone. Her feet were bare. She wiggled her toes. Could she escape barefoot? Certainly, if she must!

  A brief wish for Lord Cerestone caused her to close her eyes for a moment and lean her cheek against the bedpost. It would be wondrous if he might appear and rescue her once more, but Lord Cerestone was home at Woodhurst. She must save herself.

  She climbed from the bed, lurched to the door, and had the brass knob in her hand when it turned of its own accord. The door swung open and in the one-candle light she saw Lord Savernake looming like a nightmarish death hawk. He caught her as she lost her balance and pulled her against him.

  "How pleasant to see you up and about, my dear love," he said.

  "Do not touch me," she warned, throwing back her head so that she might glare at him but succeeding only in looking quite provocative.

  "So, the knock on the head did nothing for your temperament." He smiled, his eyes hooded. "We'll have supper now. I would not wish you to faint at our wedding."

  "How considerate."

  She went below with him, her mind working furiously. She would eat to keep up her strength then would escape somehow before the "wedding." Perhaps when she returned to her room. There was a window there. And if she could not escape that way, did she not have the right to say no when the minister asked if she "took this man?"

  A headache threatened as they sat down to table. Outside the private parlor she'd noted a large man guarding the door. There was one in the stable with the horses too, she remembered. She would have to avoid them all somehow.

  It was not an easy meal. Lord Savernake stared at her with his dark fathomless eyes and chuckled ominously every once in a while. She sipped a little from her wineglass, hoping it was not drugged, and ate from several dishes before her.

  "I am relieved to see that you are somewhat relaxed. Wine does wonders for the savage breast," he commented.

  She eyed him. "You have not drugged it?"

  He laughed at that. "I wish a bride who is awake and able to appreciate my skill."

  One could not doubt what he meant.

  "You are rather suspicious of me of late," he observed. "I am not such a terrible fellow. I have my vices, but there you are; everyone has something they love to excess."

  She
rather thought him beyond the normal excess, but then she had no real experience in excesses. They both looked up as a carriage arrived in the inn yard, equipage jangling. An ostler yelled.

  "Ah, that must be the minister," said Savernake with satisfaction.

  Ah, but it was not.

  Chapter Twelve

  The door to the parlor swung open.

  "Mr. Darby, come in!"

  "Why, I thank you, Savernake!"

  Savernake growled and stood, his chair falling back. Alianora rose with a cry of delight. It was not the minister. It was the viscount.

  "Peter!"

  Lord Cerestone bowed in the doorway, holding out his hand to her. She would have gone to him, but Savernake, quick as a flicker of lightning, grabbed her.

  "You will be remaining here, my dear girl," he told her.

  "I beg to differ," the viscount challenged, his green eyes glittering.

  Savernake's eyes were hooded. "By the by, where are my men?"

  "My friends have them trussed up in the stable by now, I should think. If you would unhand the lady—"

  "I think not."

  "I think so."

  Lord Cerestone looked at Alianora as if to ascertain something. "You do not wish to marry this man, my lady?"

  "I wish him at the devil," she said with spirit.

  Savernake looked surprised. Cerestone took a step closer.

  "I will ask again, do you love him?" he asked softly.

  She lifted her chin. "I do not. I never did. I know now that he is the arbitor of all my brother's woes."

  The viscount relaxed. "There is worse. He has spent all the money you so generously handed him on himself—not on your brother's debts."

  Alianora turned to look at her captor. "Is that the truth, my lord?"

  He shrugged. "I said that one must appear profitable in order to allay the fears of creditors."

  "And, rather than settling one's debts, one runs up more," Cerestone added.

  " 'Tis the way of the world," Savernake drawled.

  Alianora gasped. "How dare you play so carelessly with others' lives!" She slapped him.

  He staggered back, his face dark with anger, his hold loosening. She escaped to Lord Cerestone's arms.

  "Your brother is safe," he said. "He has been taken to Hurst House."

  "Thank you!" she whispered, tears in her eyes.

  "I imagine then that we never did actually lose your men tonight?" Savernake observed.

  The viscount smiled. "No, as a matter of fact. The men I hire are far more efficient than the Rookery-bait you find to serve you."

  "I do not lose, Cerestone," Savernake warned.

  "You have this time. And on several other occasions, now that I think on it." He spoke, of course, of his sister, and several other heiresses Savernake had pursued unsuccessfully.

  "I will not lose this time," Savernake amended smoothly.

  Cerestone, who had turned to leave, looked back into the barrel of an ivory-handled Manton. Immediately he thrust Alianora behind him.

  "I have heard the duns were at your door," he said. “I see that the rumors were correct."

  "Give Lady Alianora to me and no one shall be hurt."

  "You have surely lost your mind, Savernake. Should you shoot, you shall not escape."

  "I would be rid of you. You are an amazingly persistent obstacle to my happiness." There was a wild light in his dark eyes as if he had passed the bounds of reason.

  "Let us be reasonable men," Cerestone offered. "Look at the facts. I do not intend to let you take Lady Alianora. You do not intend to leave without her. We are obviously at a standstill. I, therefore, propose an alternative."

  The barrel of the pistol wavered a little and the fanatical light faded.

  "And that is?"

  "What is closest to your heart—the only thing you will ever truly love: a wager."

  His eyes narrowed. "What manner of wager?"

  "Any you choose except pistols, for I have none and in any case could not hit the side of a horse at five paces. Why not the turn of a card? The highest card wins the lady. No doubt you have just the thing by you."

  "It would be a crime to miss any opportunity for a wager." Savernake laid the pistol on the table and drew out a pack of cards from an inner pocket.

  The viscount gently squeezed Alianora's arm. "Since it is the Lady Alianora we are wagering for, why not allow her to shuffle the cards and draw for each of us?"

  "My lady," Savernake said as he laid the cards on the table.

  She seemed to reach for them but grabbed the pistol instead, backing away, barrel pointed at her kidnapper.

  Savernake turned instantly into a coaxing charmer. "Come, my lady, you are endangering yourself with that pistol. Let me take care of it for you. I promise we shall work things out amicably. You know you will not shoot me."

  He surprised her by lunging suddenly, but Cerestone was ready for him. He intercepted the lunge and down they both went, rolling over and over. They knocked into chairs, they knocked into the table as each struggled for supremacy.

  Alianora watched in horror for a moment then began to insist that they stop immediately. She waved the pistol, but both men, now on their feet, ignored her. They twisted and turned about so swiftly that she could get no clear aim at Savernake. Finally, she gave up, knowing that he had been right: She could not shoot him, even if he deserved it.

  A better choice would be to find Buck and Henry. Lord Cerestone had said they were in the stable. She ran out of the inn, barefooted, into the night calling for the viscount's friends to attend him immediately if they wished him to survive. She knew Savernake's reputation and was afraid. An ostler told her the two men were inside the inn.

  She found them in the taproom deep in their own tankards of home brewed. Having executed their part of the plan successfully, they celebrated. Both were alarmed, however, to see Alianora fly into the room all muddied, disheveled, and wildly waving a pistol.

  "Save him,” she cried.

  "Save whom?" Buck asked, rising, his two-ring," glass to his eye. "My dear lady, perhaps you had better sit down. You seem quite overwrought." The glass focused on the pistol.

  "Please, I fear that Peter will be killed!"

  There was a loud crash from the parlor.

  "You must go!" she begged. Buck looked amused. "No need to be afraid. Our friend Cerestone is quite renowned for his skills as a fighter."

  The pistol dropped. "He is?"

  "Oh yes, dear girl." Buck guided her to a bench despite the glowering glances of a few patrons who did not approve of women in the taproom. When Buck offered tankards for all, however, the sullen atmosphere lifted, became quite jovial. The good boniface was informed that all damage would be paid for and he joined in the mirth.

  Alianora, feeling not a little stunned and weary, laid the pistol on the table. She looked at Buck as if he were mad.

  "Do you not care if Peter is killed?" she demanded.

  "Indeed, care a lot," Henry chimed in. "Thing is, we're not to interfere. His words. Do our part then wait."

  "It all began when we were boys," Buck began, settling into his story. "Cerestone read this tome on Greco-Roman wrestling. Ah, well, then nothing would do but he must tryout this hold and that one until he simply couldn't be beaten. Marvelous to wager—"

  Cerestone and Savernake suddenly reeled into the taproom, fell across a table near the door, scattering tankards, pewter plates of food, and patrons.

  Alianora rose. "Oh, no!"

  Buck and Henry quickly took advantage of the situation, laying wagers right and left, even trying to bring Alianora in on it, but she refused. She could not bring herself to enjoy this pugilistic display. She did watch, however, as Lord Cerestone whipped Savernake around, got a hold on his neck and slowly choked him.

  "No!" she cried and the viscount let go. Savernake wilted slowly. No one moved to catch him.

  Buck was the first to congratulate him. "Bravo! Good match, dear boy." He inspecte
d the limp form on the less than pristine floor.

  "He has some skill," Cerestone allowed, looking quite disheveled but happily triumphant. He joined them. "You need not have worried, Alianora," he told her. "I know the precise moment to release my opponent."

  "I—I was worried," she said softly.

  He smiled, a light of great tenderness in his eyes.

  Taking her hand he brought it to his lips. "You are free to return home now."

  "Yes, I am free." She looked at him.

  Buck and Henry happily collected their winnings from those who had foolishly backed the wrong man, then generously offered to pay the damage for such excellent entertainment. Everyone had another round of pints.

  "Really should do something about the mess, dear boy," Buck observed finally, noting that Savernake was still peacefully asleep at their feet.

  A light of challenge lit the viscount's eye. "I have wrestled with the problem."

  "He went down in history," supplied Buck.

  Cerestone held up his tankard. "Shall we now carry him out on arrack?"

  "No. A small beer," Henry answered, raising his tankard.

  "Oh," the viscount said, looking at him in surprise.

  "Oh," said Buck, swiveling the glass to his friend.

  "Oh!" cried Alianora, who then reached into her reticule. She held up the Roman coin. "Here, Henry. I believe this should be yours now."

  The others laughed and toasted their friend. Henry accepted it with a proud bow. The patrons grunted at the strange behavior of the Quality and Savernake groaned.

  "A most proper response," the viscount observed, pushing at Savernake with his foot. He then stood, paid their bill, including damages and Buck's generous rounds of drinks, and bowed to Alianora.

  "Home, my lady. Your carriage awaits."

  The return trip was quick and uneventful. Lord Cerestone bowed her into Katie's house no later than if she had been attending balls all evening. After all that had happened, she doubted sleep would come but stayed awake no longer than it took to lay her head on the pillow.

  Percy arrived the next morning quite contrite, confessed all his gambling sins to William without mentioning anything of Savernake and Alianora. Alianora listened at the door and sighed in relief. William was still unusually jovial and, with only a few stern words, said he would pay the outstanding vowels.