D. A. Houdek

Deb Houdek Rule

Web designer - Science Fiction author - Civil War historian - Genealogy researcher

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Of All the Western Stars

by Deb Houdek Rule

Chapter 10

"Lisette! Lisette! Oh, my dear girl," the excited voice greeted her even before the coachman halted the carriage on the neatly graveled drive before the vast estate.

"Aunt Agnes!" Lisette waved eagerly to the imposing figure sweeping down the stairs. Her father’s sister was in every visible way the antithesis of him. Where he was quiet and thoughtful, given to subdued, unadorned clothes, though always of the latest cut, Thomas Weston’s elder sister generally looked like a cardinal adorned for Christmas Mass and filled any room she was in with her boisterous personality, overwhelming tamer souls with her forceful remarks.

Agnes and Thomas shared one thing, a love of learning inherited from their father. "Whatever you may lack," he often said, "with knowledge it can be acquired." Knowledge was the most powerful weapon, the most useful of tools. Lisette adored Agnes’ library. Five times the size of her own family’s, it often contained books either forbidden or frowned upon for their seditious content. An unspoken understanding existed between Agnes and Lisette that nothing she read there would be mentioned save when she was alone with her father and certain no one could overhear.

Married four times, the first when she was only fourteen when her vivacious spirit and youthful beauty seduced an elderly nobleman, Agnes climbed the ranks of the peerage from a lowly baron to a viscount, an earl, and finally, with her last husband, to a duke. Though the Duke’s son by a previous marriage now held the title, Agnes could still lay claim to the title of Dowager Duchess, and still held the lands and revenues, to the unending annoyance of her stepchildren.

Lisette leaped down from the carriage as soon as it jerked to a halt, running into the welcoming arms of her aunt. Kissing both of Lisette’s cheeks with her painted, red lips, Agnes squeezed the girl tightly. Jewels worth a king’s ransom poked Lisette in her aunt’s embrace. She wore more wealth on this ordinary day in May than even most of the well-off would see in their lifetimes. Her dress of deep blue velvet, by law limited only to the nobility as was the fur edging the sleeves, was studded all over with pearls and her underskirt was of genuine cloth of gold. Lisette felt plain indeed in her simple gown of white beside lavish Duchess Agnes.

But Agnes must have seen her differently, for she held her niece at arm’s length, studying her appraisingly. "How wonderful you look, sweet Lisette. I’d trade all I have for just a few days with your fresh youth and beauty."

"It’s so good to see you, Aunt Agnes," Lisette exclaimed. As the footman set down one of her trunks, Lisette remembered her escorts. "Oh! Your pardon, milord," she said to Lord Stafford. "This is my aunt, the Duchess Agnes Hungerford." She turned to her aunt. "This is my future father-in-law, Geraint’s father, Lord Henry Stafford, Earl of Wiltshire."

Agnes extended her bejeweled hand to Lord Stafford, who bowed low over it, brushing his lips against it. He stretched the moment longer than necessary, pausing to examine the rings on each of Agnes’ fingers. "Fine jewels," he commented dryly. "My lady wife had a ring much like this one."

"Perhaps it’s the same ring," Agnes said. "I purchased it only recently from a traveler. Goodness, the ring wasn’t stolen from you, was it?" she asked with sudden concern.

"No," he answered shortly. "Not stolen."

Lisette blinked, wondering at Lady Cicely’s missing ring. Lady Stafford wore no jewelry during the time she had been with her save for a few simple neck chains. Lisette had taken it as a matter of the older woman’s tastes. Now she wasn’t sure.

"Do, please, come in, Lord Stafford," Agnes said, "you and your company. And send the servants around to the kitchen. My staff will tend to them and your horses. You must stay for a few days."

"Thank you, lady, no. I’m in a hurry to get to the Court at Greenwich. I shall be pleased to enjoy your hospitality tonight, but, I’m afraid, tomorrow we must be off."

Agnes smiled broadly beneath her massive, pearl-encrusted gable hood. "Then we shall have to fill this one evening with the festiveness of several days." She laughed and Lisette had to chuckle. Agnes’ laugh was infectious. Even the rigid features of Lord Stafford cracked into a grin.

"You have a convincing manner, milady," he said. "For my men and I, we accept."

"You must call me ‘Agnes,’ coz, for soon we will be kin."

"To my great pleasure. And you must call me Henry," he said.

Agnes clapped her hands and servants in matching livery of fine quality, briskly moved to help the Stafford servants with the horses, leading them away toward the stables. "The best oats for them," Agnes called out, "And don’t be sparing with it either."

More servants bustled out to take in the trunks and bags. Agnes put her arm around Lisette’s waist and led her up the broad stone steps into the house. "Come the both of you," she said, gesturing with her other hand to bid Henry Stafford to join them. "Tell me all about this young man who will be making a blushing bride of my sweet niece. His name is Geraint, is it not?"

"Yes," Henry Stafford answered, "My only child. A fine lad, quiet and studious, but a fine horseman as well. I have good hopes for his advancement and all he may bring to our family and name." Lisette was intrigued by the gleam in Geraint’s father’s eyes, a look of — was it pride? — she’d not seen before. As she measured his words, she considered that it may not be pride so much as avarice that radiated from Lord Stafford as he peered, seeming to count the price of every red brick, upward at yet another example of her own family’s successes.

Built only in the last twenty years, Agnes’ home was done in the latest style of country estates. It was nearly a palace, constructed not for defense as had Stafford Castle been, but for comfort. The inner walls were paneled with exotic, foreign woods oiled to a sheen. There was no Great Hall, that given up for a large vestibule near the entry beyond which extended a huge living room, a drawto chamber for private talks and a parlor for dining and conversation, all with many windows to make it quite light and airy. The floors were tiled, covered in some rooms with carpets.

An endless bustle of servants brought silver goblets of wine and spiced ale, followed in short order by trays of tidbits, sweet meats and pastries. Several of Lord Stafford’s retinue excused themselves, having Agnes’ permission to avail themselves of the tennis court in the garden.

Leading Henry Stafford and Lisette into the drawto chamber, Agnes instructed her servants to see to the comfort of the Stafford servants, and gave a few instructions on the supper preparations before closing the doors to give them privacy.

"And what say you of your Geraint?" Agnes settled into a straight chair with an embroidered silk cushion.

Sipping her ale, Lisette answered cautiously in a shy murmur. "He is most kind to me, ever mindful and solicitous of my well being."

Henry nodded at her words, saying to Lisette’s aunt, "And a goodly young lady this is. I am pleased to call her ‘daughter’. She will be a good wife to my son, chaste and obedient."

Agnes shot a glance toward Lisette who dared not meet it. Lisette concentrated on the needlework of the pillow Agnes held and struggled to banish thoughts of last night, but the picture on the pillow was of a maiden in a glade, calling her dreams to mind again.

"You say you are going to the Court," Agnes said to Henry. "I was there not three weeks past, and in London on business."

Lisette relaxed as the conversation turned away from her. She sat quietly, feeling somewhat drowsy after her nearly sleepless night, listening to her aunt and Henry Stafford exchange gossip and news. The King was said to be writing a response to the ravings of that heretical German monk, Martin Luther. Rumors had it that, once again, the poor Queen was pregnant. They shook their head sadly. She’d miscarried again only last fall. At least the Princess Mary was still alive and well at two years old. Their voices dropped to a whisper as they spoke of the King’s dalliance with Bessie Blount. The Holy Roman Emperor, Maximillian of the Hapsburgs, was near to death and at that point in the discussion, Lord Stafford brought up the subject of his injured houseguest, relaying his theory about Ashur’s origins. Trying hard to appear demure and uninterested, Lisette listened intently as they discussed Ashur.

"Interesting, interesting," Agnes said. "Sounds like an intriguing fellow, young, vital and mysterious… all things I like in a man," she chuckled. "I wonder if he’d be interested in an aging Dowager Duchess. How’s his codpiece stuffed?" she asked with a naughty wink.

"Not so well as mine," Henry answered with a teasing leer. Henry and Agnes both roared with laughter. Lisette’s cheeks turned pink.

Lisette believed that the feast that evening could not have been matched by the grandest houses in Europe. She gasped when she saw the table set with glass goblets all the way from Venice, plates of silver, and candlesticks of gold.

The meal, itself, was extraordinary. The centerpiece was a whole, roasted swan, cooked to perfection and then served with the feathers painstakingly replaced to give the illusion that it still lived, save for the wondrous aroma rising from it. As well, there was a creamy eel dish, a favorite of King Henry. Roasted pork, beef and mutton with all manner of elaborately prepared vegetables filled the table. There were jellied fruits, ices, breads of all sorts… Lisette couldn’t even count the dishes, though she did notice Lord Stafford’s appraising eye examining each item.

While the company enthusiastically ate, musicians played from a gallery above them. The soft strains of the flute, tambour and lute twined with the conversation, which Agnes directed with practiced ease to light subjects, claiming that talk of politics and business interfered with digestion. Her betrothed’s father was clearly impressed and Lisette was glad at the fine impression this member of her family made. It showed, she thought, that even though they were not born to the nobility, the Westons could be well at ease in those lofty circles. She wished she could show this to Ashur, to see if he was impressed or indifferent to the splendor. Visualizing him seated at her side, she imagined his dark, too-long hair curling down his back. His doublet would be of thick satin… hmmm, in what color would he look his best? Ah, yes. A dark forest green to match the gown she, herself, would wear. Below the edges of the doublet would peek the sleeves of his shirt, the gold threads glittering in the candlelight. The secret of the message mingled into the threads would bring a smile that they would share, a lover’s glance filled with understanding and promise of the caresses they would share later…

"Are you all right, dear?" Aunt Agnes was asking.

Lisette shook herself. Goodness, had she fallen asleep? She must be blushing terribly? Surely everyone must know what she was thinking. But the conversation continued flowing unimpeded around her. "I’m fine," she murmured. "Just tired."

After the remains of the meal were cleared away by the swarm of attentive servants, two of the young men entertained them with songs. There were not enough present for dancing. Lisette stifled yawns. The night threatened to be as late as the last several when Lord Stafford stood and called a halt to the evening. Thanking Agnes graciously, he explained that they had to make an early start.

Gratefully, Lisette followed Agnes and a maid up to a bedchamber prepared for her. A fat candle of real beeswax was left lit, the hours of the night marked upon its side. It was scented with lavender. Lisette sniffed its delicate fragrance appreciatively. The maid, a strapping girl in a neat cotton dress and starched white apron and cap, plumped the pillows and turned back the bed cover. Bobbing a curtsy she wished them both a good night and left.

With a warm, inquisitive smile on her face, Agnes took her niece’s hands and looked her in the eyes. "So, child… tell me what’s troubling you? I’ve seen the distraction in your eyes all evening long."

Lisette looked into her aunt’s concerned eyes and suddenly burst into tears. Surprised at herself, Lisette couldn’t stop the sobs once they’d begun. Agnes took her in her arms like a child, patting her and whispering soothing words. Finally, Lisette sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Forcing a shaky smile, Lisette said, "There always were things I could talk to you about that I could to no other, not even my own mother. But… may we speak on the morrow? The day has been very long and I fear I’m not myself."

Looking long and searchingly into Lisette’s face, Agnes said, "Of course. We have as long as you like." Agnes hugged her tightly and left.

Sinking into the thick, down mattress, Lisette sighed softly, the tension draining slowly out of her body. She rolled over onto her side, toying with the finely woven sheet and coverlet, watched the shadows from the candle dance on the walls. How had her tranquil life become such a whirl of confusion, she inwardly cried. And what was yet to come?

Drowsily, the soft bed and dancing flame lulling her toward sleep, she contemplated all that had occurred since May Day night. Always, always, her thoughts came back to glittering, dark eyes in a face framed by long, black hair… to Ashur. What was he doing now? Did he think of her? Would she ever see him again? "Oh, Ashur…" Lisette drifted into sleep with his name soft on her lips.