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Authors: Linore Rose Burkard
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Coach and Four:
Allisandra’s Tale
A Romantic Intrigue from the Days of Charles II
Linore Rose Burkard
Lilliput Press
Short Fiction
NY. OH.
Coach and Four: Allisandra’s Tale
Copyright © 2011 by Linore Rose Burkard
ISBN-13: 978-0-9792154-1-4
Published by Lilliput Press, Cincinnati, OH
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording or otherwise—without written permission from the author or publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.
Cover Design by Roseanna White
Printed in the United States of America
A well-appointed aristocratic coach rumbled to a stop in front of the stately family seat of the Duchess of Langley. The night was cheerless with no moon to speak of, stars hidden in the gloom, and the air bitingly cold.
Her Grace, a woman of a matronly age but without children, hurried to emerge from the vehicle the moment the steps were down. She stopped and turned at the door, however, and said to the young Allisandra FitzJames behind her, “No, not you, my dear.” She held out an arm and forced Allisandra to a stop, and then left the coach, shutting the door behind her.
Allisandra concluded that a game was afoot, and a small thrill went up her spine. She adored the duchess and Langley, but it wasn’t a house known for its amusements. No wonder her friend had dragged her out on such an ungodly night. She had prepared a game—or, at the least a surprise of some kind!
Through the window, the duchess added, “Stay put, sweet, I have need to call upon your trust in me as your friend.” Her face wrinkled in concern, and she looked out into the darkness as though searching for something.
Or someone.
Allisandra smiled. “Elizabeth, I prithee, what game is this?” But the duchess held up a gloved hand.
“All will be made plain, I avow, sweet child.” She resumed her preoccupied expression, looking about anxiously. To Allisandra's puzzled face, the duchess added, “'Tis for the best. For your safety ! You are like my own daughter!”
“My dear Elizabeth!” Allisandra’s amusement vanished. Filled with a vague alarm, she flung herself at the door. Whatever Elizabeth was up to, she did not care for it. She wouldn’t abide it for a moment longer.
The door, however, was shut securely, and now Allisandra could see there was a footman keeping it shut from the outside. With dismay, she froze for a moment in confusion. What could be happening? Her thoughts began running together, trying to make sense of Elizabeth’s actions. But no explanation presented itself. Could it be it truly was mere sport, a game?
“Elizabeth!” She would demand an explanation; but the duchess was not in sight, and Allisandra’s fear mushroomed. She felt her breath growing short, and knew it wasn’t a result merely from the cold. She tried to shake off an ominous sense of foreboding—but suddenly nothing felt right. No danger seemed apparent or came to mind—she was, after all, the King’s Ward, and Elizabeth loved her—but what was happening? What had the duchess said? That it was for her safety? What was for her safety? She replayed the events which had led to this moment, vainly searching for clues…
Lady Allisandra and the Duchess had been getting on famously, as they always did. Allisandra had come from Whitehall to stay at Langley by order of the King, but this was an order she welcomed. She was a Woman of the Bedchamber to the Queen , second only to Lady Castlemaine, but there was little joy in the post. Court life, moreover, was filled with intrigues and suspicions, and she was weary of it. Weary of deflecting amorous advances from
Allisandra’s Tale
A Romantic Intrigue from the Days of Charles II
Linore Rose Burkard
Lilliput Press
Short Fiction
NY. OH.
Coach and Four: Allisandra’s Tale
Copyright © 2011 by Linore Rose Burkard
ISBN-13: 978-0-9792154-1-4
Published by Lilliput Press, Cincinnati, OH
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording or otherwise—without written permission from the author or publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.
Cover Design by Roseanna White
Printed in the United States of America
A well-appointed aristocratic coach rumbled to a stop in front of the stately family seat of the Duchess of Langley. The night was cheerless with no moon to speak of, stars hidden in the gloom, and the air bitingly cold.
Her Grace, a woman of a matronly age but without children, hurried to emerge from the vehicle the moment the steps were down. She stopped and turned at the door, however, and said to the young Allisandra FitzJames behind her, “No, not you, my dear.” She held out an arm and forced Allisandra to a stop, and then left the coach, shutting the door behind her.
Allisandra concluded that a game was afoot, and a small thrill went up her spine. She adored the duchess and Langley, but it wasn’t a house known for its amusements. No wonder her friend had dragged her out on such an ungodly night. She had prepared a game—or, at the least a surprise of some kind!
Through the window, the duchess added, “Stay put, sweet, I have need to call upon your trust in me as your friend.” Her face wrinkled in concern, and she looked out into the darkness as though searching for something.
Or someone.
Allisandra smiled. “Elizabeth, I prithee, what game is this?” But the duchess held up a gloved hand.
“All will be made plain, I avow, sweet child.” She resumed her preoccupied expression, looking about anxiously. To Allisandra's puzzled face, the duchess added, “'Tis for the best. For your safety ! You are like my own daughter!”
“My dear Elizabeth!” Allisandra’s amusement vanished. Filled with a vague alarm, she flung herself at the door. Whatever Elizabeth was up to, she did not care for it. She wouldn’t abide it for a moment longer.
The door, however, was shut securely, and now Allisandra could see there was a footman keeping it shut from the outside. With dismay, she froze for a moment in confusion. What could be happening? Her thoughts began running together, trying to make sense of Elizabeth’s actions. But no explanation presented itself. Could it be it truly was mere sport, a game?
“Elizabeth!” She would demand an explanation; but the duchess was not in sight, and Allisandra’s fear mushroomed. She felt her breath growing short, and knew it wasn’t a result merely from the cold. She tried to shake off an ominous sense of foreboding—but suddenly nothing felt right. No danger seemed apparent or came to mind—she was, after all, the King’s Ward, and Elizabeth loved her—but what was happening? What had the duchess said? That it was for her safety? What was for her safety? She replayed the events which had led to this moment, vainly searching for clues…
Lady Allisandra and the Duchess had been getting on famously, as they always did. Allisandra had come from Whitehall to stay at Langley by order of the King, but this was an order she welcomed. She was a Woman of the Bedchamber to the Queen , second only to Lady Castlemaine, but there was little joy in the post. Court life, moreover, was filled with intrigues and suspicions, and she was weary of it. Weary of deflecting amorous advances from
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