The White Lord of Wellesbourne by Kathryn Le Veque Page A

Wellesbourne, Henry will land in England and meet
with potentially less resistance.”
    “My men will create a diversion.”
    “Precisely. And they must hold
that diversion until Henry arrives.”
    “When will we know?”
    “I would expect word to arrive
within the next week. It is nearly June; Henry has been gathering strength for
some time now. He plans to be on the throne by September.”
    Howard’s cup was empty. He rose
from his chair and collected the fine cut glass decanter that had been imported
all the way from the Holy Land.  The blood-red liquid swirled as he poured
himself another measure and then a cup for La Londe.  He offered the man the
chalice.
    “A toast,” he said. “To plans
well received and well executed.”
    La Londe lifted his cup. “To a
prize worth having.”
    Howard drank deeply.  He’d made a
deal with the Devil and was very well aware of it.
     
     
    ***
     
    The kirtle was a pale yellow and
the sleeveless surcoat a deeper, richer gold. Unlike most women of fashion who
wore a plackart from shoulder to chest as a sort of bib, Alixandrea’s breasts
were too full for such a thing so she had taken to wearing a whale bone corset
instead. It wasn’t unheard of in courtly fashion and supported her far more
adequately. The problem was that Jezebel laced her into the thing as if she was
tying up a pig to the spit. The more Alixandrea grunted, the harder Jezebel
pulled until she was satisfied that the stays were correct and the lacings in
the rear were property tied and left to trail.  As a whole, Alixandrea already
presented a lovely picture.
    But there was more.  Jezebel
rolled fresh hose up each leg made of kersey, which was a lamb’s wool blend,
and fastened them with yellow ribbon.  Then the slippers went on, made from
damask and finely embroidered. Finally, it was time to tackle the hair, which
the little maid did so quite ably.
    She had become adept had the art
of her mistresses hair and in little time, Alixandrea had a single thick braid
draped over one shoulder into which a dozen yellow ribbons had been interwoven.
Two golden hairpins in the shape of butterflies were placed strategically on
her head, and the ends of the long kirtle sleeves were fixed with decorative
weights to keep them properly draped. She wore no jewelry this night; she did
not need any.  By the time Jezebel was finished with her mistress, she was
indeed a presentable sight.
    Alixandrea stood there for a
moment, gazing at herself in the polished bronze hand mirror that she had
brought with her. Golden-brown eyes gazed back and thick lashes tickled her
brow every time she blinked. Jezebel bustled around her, picking up the robe
from her earlier bath. She noticed her lady’s distant expression.
    “What is it, m’lady?” she asked.
“Are ye not happy with yer presentation?”
    Alixandrea shook her head and lay
the mirror down. Beside her, on a small table that one of Lady Caroline’s
servants had brought in, sat a small alabaster pot of a mixture of beeswax and
oil. Alixandrea was forever nibbling on her lips, a bad habit she had acquired;
consequently, they were always cracked and bleeding. She smoothed the ointment
on her lips to soothe them.
    “I am,” she sighed. “’Tis simply
that this day... well, it has been exhausting. It certainly did not go the way
I had planned. And now I must face the entire castle as Matthew’s betrothed. I
suppose I am just a bit apprehensive.”
    “But why?” Jezebel stood next to
her, her arms full of clothes. “Ye’re as lovely as an angel, m’lady. Can ye not
see that Sir Matthew thinks so, too?”
    Alixandrea looked at her. “He
does?”
    “Aye. He cannot take his eyes
from ye.”
    “He can’t?”
    “Nay.”
    Alixandrea looked back at
herself. She fussed with the little tendrils of hair that curled around her
face, inspecting her features, wondering what he apparently found so
fascinating.   Jezebel went to put the laundry away and collected a small