Maid of Honor

by Stephanie Lilley

  "Sweet burde,” her father said, interrupting her thoughts. He gestured toward all the culinary wizardry before them. "I warrant you'll not see such wonders at court."

  She looked up at him and smiled. "No, Father. Nothing half so wonderful." They had explained the London Season to him by telling him she was called to court to be one of the queen's maids of honor. There was some confusion as to which queen he believed to be in London, so only the title was used and he seemed well satisfied.

  He then signaled for the chamberlain to announce the appearance of the final subtlety, which meant that all must turn over their plates and sing for their dessert by improvising a tune to the words baked onto the china. The musicians were mercifully silent, but the singing, as could be expected, resulted in a terrible cacophony. Alia hunched her shoulders, feeling the weight of the braids wound round her head. Her mother appeared behind her, moving from the other side of her father.

  "Are you quite all right, Alia?" she whispered, seeing her daughter's normally creamy complexion pale.

  Alia admitted to an aching head but was determined to remain. "Thank you for asking, Mama. I'll go straight to bed after I sing."

  Lady Wynyate nodded, causing her thin, beaten-gold coronet to shift dangerously on her smooth brown hair. She smiled, adjusted the crown, and moved back to her elaborately carved chair.

  Acrobats in red, green, and yellow jackets and tights leapt, somersaulted, and danced before them. Four footmen then entered staggering under the weight of a huge pastry, weaving to the left, to the right, always as if they were about to drop the dessert. The agitated steward directed them, until the pastry was set in one piece before the earl's table.

  Well, almost one piece. It was a knight on a rearing horse facing a vicious-looking monster. The knight's lance was bent in the middle, hastily repaired with a thick slab of uncooked dough. The monster—it was not quite possible to discern exactly what species it represented—also reared with a large, fang-filled maw gaping menacingly, the lower jaw swinging by one hinge. As the crowd watched, a foreleg of the magnificent, muscled warhorse broke off and fell into the blades of pastry grass.

  "Fortunes of war," drawled Lord Savernake and everyone laughed.

  At the cry of ''Whack off its head," the footmen gathered protectively before it. The monster's jaw finally fell with a crash and the banquet guests shouted in appreciative gusto. Lord Wynyate nodded and his chamberlain announced that it could now be eaten.

  The guests jumped over the Tencher boards and over each other to reach the concoction. Somewhere, hidden within, was a large gold ring, and everyone wanted that ring, which was supposed, according to tradition, to bring good luck throughout the year. At last, Mrs. Siphoner emerged dancing from the wreckage and holding the ring up high.

  Finally servants cleared the mess. Alianora then presented a diamond brooch to the winner of the tourney, a Mr. Winton Dumphreys, a wealthy merchant with dreams of knighthood. He bowed over her hand then returned to his table. He had only just reached his bench when the servants began dismantling the trestle tables and carrying them away. The musicians came to life again, joined by tabors, pipes, and several more sackbuts, all adding more discord than concord but after so much mead had been consumed, no one really cared. They played several distantly recognizable measures of the basse danse, a French processional dance, and Lord Savernake was immediately before her, eyes alight and hand held out to lead her around the table.

  Alianora joined him at the head of a line, facing the dais. They performed the reverence, facing each other but not directly. Savernake held her left hand shoulder high. He very gently rubbed his thumb over her palm.

  "We have had too few opportunities to speak, my lady," he said, his voice as smooth as clotted cream.

  "It is a pity, my lord," she said, arching her palm away from the offending thumb. "Why at the events, I quite often find myself so busy that it is impossible not to offend someone. I trust that you have not found my father's hospitality less than generous."

  "No, it is, more than generous. It is the daughter's hospitality that has been lacking."

  "Lacking, my lord?" she asked, raising her delicate eyebrows. The eyes beneath were cold.

  "Missing. I would wish to see more of you, Lady Alianora," he said, drawing out her name as if it were a fishing line and she the fish. "I know that you prefer to ride early in the morning. Perhaps I could join you tomorrow."

  "You could. I exercise my hawk at that time," she told him. "It is quite early, in fact, when Stephen and I see to the birds." Stephen was her falconer.

  "How exciting," he said with forced enthusiasm. "But to see you in the field, your beautiful hair in the sunlight, I should sacrifice all sleep."

  They concentrated for a moment on the heel movements of the dance, heels out, then toe to toe, rise up, back down. The scent of sage and sweet woodruff rose up from the floor. Her father liked this man so she endeavored to be civil even while she longed to give him a final set-down. He presumed too much upon her goodwill.

  "And I would be honored if you would allow me to guide you about London when you arrive," he offered with what he considered a very friendly smile. To Alianora he looked more like a mastiff with its lips raised to protect a bone.

  "I believe I shall be with my sister-in-law," she said, disguising her annoyance. She swayed outward then inward in a step called the branle, gracefully inclining her head. "I truly do not know our plans, my lord. It is difficult to commit myself at this juncture."

  "London can be overwhelming on the first visit, especially to someone raised in the country."

  "Yes, I imagine it might be but I shall not go unprotected."

  "I have the entrée to many drawing rooms and it would be my pleasure to introduce you about." They turned about each other.

  "You are more than generous, my lord."

  And more than frustrated, he conceded as they made their final reverence, called a congé, and saluted the earl and countess. He led her to her chair then joined her brother Perceval on a bench. Some of the townspeople gathered together in a circle dance as the music started up once more.

  "Your sister grows increasingly unfriendly, Percy," Lord Savernake commented, accepting a goblet from a passing page. He downed the contents. A footman leapt to refill it.

  Percy, scowling as he grabbed the bottle of mead from the footman and drank directly from it, turned to look at his bench mate, fingers of pale hair very like his sister's falling into his eyes.

  "She's not much for company, never has been," he said. "I don't blame her with this crowd."

  Savernake looked surprised. "Are you not enjoying yourself? Perhaps not since you lost the final joust. I think it quaint, certainly eccentric. Not something I'd choose to do again, however."

  "Crazy old geezer, makes everybody play a part whether they choose to or not."

  "I found it amusing to play knight for a day. Surprised myself. I was quite good." He smiled to himself. "I believe your sister appreciated it."

  "She likes anything that pleases m'father," Percy said, lolling back against the wall, cradling the bottle in his lap.

  "That is how I will win her over, I believe," Savernake mused.

  Percy sat forward, waving an unsteady finger. "Now, wait a minute. Nothing havey-cavey. Promised I'd introduce you—"

  "Yes, indeed, and half your debts are forgotten as I promised."

  "Didn't say I'd help you force her into anything. After all, my sister."

  "I didn't say I'd force her into anything, my friend."

  "No kidnapping." The finger insisted. Savernake shook his head, but Percy repeated, "No elopement."

  "Ah, only if she specifically requests it, which she just might do." Savernake laughed softly. He looked at Alianora, sitting quite at ease beside her father behind the gilt rosebush. "She is unusually beautiful, a porcelain goddess," he continued. "Striking. That pale hair, her delicate features. She will be the rage of London whether she wishes it or not. Quite a nov
elty."

  "She won't like it."

  "No, indeed. But she does sing beautifully. That will console me of an evening, particularly after a run of bad luck." He narrowed his eyes. "She will find London a frightening place after living here all her life and I will simply be there to comfort her."

  "Just so she wants you to do that," her brother said vehemently.

  "Just so." Savernake looked at him. "Relax, dear brother—in arms, that is. Your sister will be safe with me."

  Percy rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "I'll pay you back, Savernake, no matter how long it takes. Don't need m'sister as payment."

  "I have been unusually generous in waiting this long," his companion told him. "And you continue to run up debts so I must take my payment where I can.

  "It's a curse," Percy groaned.

  "You grow redundant, my friend, and that is boring. You enjoy the play as much as any man."

  Percy mumbled something incoherent. Savernake looked away, an expression of utter ennui on his face. He started to say something then frowned as he noticed another partner soliciting Alianora for a dance. Peter Everhurst. They'd once had a brief, nasty encounter over the viscount's sister, but Savernake, being reasonable and never one to come to blows, had backed away, letting a sneer be his final response. He had no trouble attracting heiresses, merely keeping them, and he expected that one day his luck would change. No gambler ever lost all the time. Except, perhaps, Perceval. He watched the viscount and Alianora thinking he had better move quickly to protect his interest there. It was entirely too bad that Cerestone's coach had broken down just across the Medway.

  The musicians played the introduction to the final dance, an estampie. Alianora had just taken another sip of cider when over the rim of her mazer she saw someone approaching the dais. She almost dropped her cup; her headache fled.

  He stood before her in a knee-length belted tunic, the two front panels of contrasting colors: one of red brocade, the other of black and white horizontally striped linen. Lord Cerestone waited patiently. By all rights, if she chose to dance, it should be with Lord Savernake once again, he being of higher rank, but her father had the power to dispense with that rule.

  Lord Savernake did start to his feet but plopped down again when Lord Wynyate waved his permission to the viscount. Savernake grumbled then scowled as Percy laughed until he hiccuped.

  Alianora took his hand, letting Lord Cerestone lead her to the center of the long room. His hand felt warm and comforting without the overly familiar thumb movements and squeezings of Lord Savernake. Lord Cerestone executed the small steps of the dance with only a few errors, creating new steps when he faltered.

  "I have practiced this dance most diligently since teatime," he told her ruefully.

  She smiled. "You have it almost perfectly, my lord."

  Candlelight picked out the sparkle in his green eyes, the sheen of his dark hair, the softened expression as he gazed down at her. His mouth quirked as he saw the hint of mischief in her eyes.

  "Yes, perhaps more stamping then estampie," he admitted.

  "You've made quite an impression—" she began to say then bit her lip. Perhaps he would not appreciate her sense of humor.

  “—on your toes," he finished for her and she joined him in laughter. "I am terribly rusty having spent my life between the pages of a book."

  "It must be a book of large proportions."

  He looked delighted rather than offended by her humor. "A tome of great caliber."

  "Ah, then, you are a canon."

  He laughed. "I serve as a rule."

  “The Golden Rule, I may hope."

  "Perhaps a bit tarnished. I shall polish all my skills in London during the Season."

  "You travel to London?" she asked softly.

  "As soon as our carriage is repaired."

  "We, too, shall be leaving for London, in three days' time."

  "How nice," he observed with a smile. “Perhaps we shall see one another again.”

  She hoped so then wondered at herself. She had never before felt so breathless around a man. Ordinarily, the knights swarming about her during the tourney completely put her off. She resented the intrusion on her privacy. Lord Cerestone, however, teased rather than flattered and held her hand as if it were a delicate flower. He did not treat her as if she were a creature to be charmed into obeyance but as a companion in the dance, equal to his moves.

  Cerestone returned to his friends in a thoughtful mood as the music changed, signaling that it was time for another couple to dance. Henry struggled to see him through his red-mead haze.

  "Smitten," he decided.

  Buck raised a gold-handled quizzing glass shaped like a whistle, which indeed it was, and studied the viscount.

  “I believe you may be correct, dear boy. This is not auspicious."

  " 'Spicious," Henry agreed.

  Cerestone looked at one and then the other. "I find her attractive, yes, but it does not go beyond that."

  "Top over tail," Henry warned.

  "Ridiculous," the viscount said absently as he watched what was happening on the dais.

  The earl, Alianora's father, spoke to his chamberlain. The chamberlain walked to the front of the dais and the loud music finally faded. He announced the next—and last—entertainment, which was to be Lady Alianora.

  She unwrapped the psaltery from its velvet cocoon, set it on her lap, and began tuning the strings. Her headache was gone. That brief interlude with Lord Cerestone had lifted her out of this oppressive atmosphere. The psaltery was a small instrument, no more than a foot high, with a shallow sound box made of boxwood. The heat of the banquet hall had already altered the pitch of some of the strings, so she worked with them a moment. The crowd quieted down, anticipating the annual treat that would mark the end of another St. George's Day.

  Once lost in the glory of the ballad, she forgot the listening ears. She sang about an elfin knight captured by fairies, returned to human life by the fierce love of his bride. Her voice touched each note like a carillon of crystal bells. The story became as real as their tournament and Mrs. Siphoner led the happy sobbing at the end.

  Alianora, her eyes glowing, looked up to see Lord Cerestone looking back. Their eyes met and the world about them seemed to vanish.

  Lord Savernake was not happy to see this. He wished for a giant cheval glass so that Cerestone's gaze might fall back on itself and turn him to stone.

  Chapter Three

  "Well, it's time I was off," William Cheney announced as he strode into the morning room. He was already dressed in a three-caped greatcoat with a flat-crowned hat, and he carried a leather crop.

  The countess looked up from her coffee and plate of muffins. Even at this early hour she was cool and elegant, chestnut hair smoothly drawn back into a knot.

  "We have been waiting," she said, nodding toward Katie who stood at the french windows clutching the pale blue brocade curtains. The early morning fog had lifted and the sun shone in pale mote-filled streams on her sad face, her lilac morning gown, and across the parquet floor. She swallowed then took a deep breath.

  "I wish that you did not have to leave," she said, turning around, her voice a little shaky.

  "I should be in Yorkshire no more than two months, I believe," he told her, joining her by the window and taking her hand. "You'll be quite distracted in London. You'll have your cousin Sarah for company, and you'll be doing me a great favor by bringing Alia out of the past, perhaps discovering a husband for her along the way."

  Her smile was firm now. "Yes, I shall enjoy that. I always did love to attend parties."

  "That's my girl," he said. "And perhaps, an entire new wardrobe to cheer you up."

  "Well, perhaps," she said, looking into his hazel eyes.

  William, so different in appearance from his younger siblings, Alianora and Percy, that they playfully accused him of being a changling, was dark where they were fair, was stocky where they were slender, was studious and practical where they were—well,
Alianora was unworldly, Percy impatient with either world. Kissing his wife's hand, he led her back to the small breakfast table and she sat down.

  "You will be all right while I am gone?" he asked his mother.

  "Yes, I believe so," Lady Wynyate answered, setting down the delicate china cup. "Should your father wander off, as he does more frequently now, I'll have Segrave gather a party to look for him."

  She smiled, her smooth skin showing only a hint of age about the eyes. "We shall manage in one way or another until you return, my dear. I do hope you are able to enjoy your time away. We shall all miss you, of course."

  "You may send word through Brunson if I am needed."

  "I am more particularly worried about Percy," she said.

  "The painting of the statuary was a mere lark, Mama. Being sent down from Oxford is quite a distinction among his set."

  "You were never sent down," Katie pointed out.

  "No, but then I was a stick."

  "William!" His mother laughed. "There is nothing wrong with being a 'stick.' "

  "I particularly love sticks," Katie added.

  The bracket clock on the mantel began chiming and everyone fell silent until it had counted to ten.

  Lady Wynyate raised worried eyes to her elder son. "I do wonder about the company Percy keeps."

  William could not tell her the true nature of Lord Savernake so he said only, "Lord Savernake is not perhaps the best ton, but he is accepted everywhere."

  "Well, if you do not think he is leading Percy astray then I shall not worry so much."

  William did think the dissolute earl was leading Percy astray and planned to separate the two when he returned. Nothing too terrible could happen in two months, he believed. Percy had only a minimal allowance to gamble away. He glanced toward the windows and saw Alianora and the earl returning from their morning ride.