Passion's Tapestry

The feel of genuine silk never failed to intrigue Lady Estella of Glasbury. Even so, she never regarded this delicate fabric as a symbol of wealth or grandeur. In her eyes, a yard of silk equaled an artistic canvas; an elegant outlet for her creative energies.

 The daughter of an English nobleman, one who ruled a vast rural province on behalf of Queen Elizabeth I, Estella was expected to view silk as an accessory; a material for day dresses, ball gowns, and purses. Yet from the first time she sat at the edge of her mother’s spinning wheel, watching in awe as she made wonderful things from fabrics of gold and lavender, silk took on a whole new, beautiful purpose for her.

 Soon she learned the basics of weaving and spent much of her time ensconced in the family sitting room, creating tapestries depicting the people and places that formed her world. Whether her subject was a jester or bard who performed at her father’s feasts, or a fine young stallion that inhabited his stables, she loved to capture the beauty of everyday images in her tapestries; which, much to the chagrin of her family, she sometimes displayed at the marketplace and gave freely to village children.

 These grateful imps often greeted her gifts with broad declarations of her kindness and beauty. Although she accepted these words with a gracious smile, Estella knew she was far from beautiful. And while her two sisters married noblemen from neighboring provinces and lived in lavish castles, this 28-year-old maintained her residence at her father’s estate; leading a quiet life centered on community service and artistic projects.

 Quiet, for the most part at least.

 “Estella!”

 Estella jumped as she noted the sudden presence of Guin, her longtime lady’s maid, beside her spinning wheel. “Good morning to you, dear lady,” she smiled kindly.

 “Morning? Harrumph.” The maid snorted, hands clutched tightly in the smooth folds of her long black dress. “‘Tis afternoon, and ye must prepare for the feast of this eve.”

 Estella rolled her eyes heavenward. “And what aged, rancid-breathed earl will be presented me this eve?” She sighed. “Shall I dance a reel with a man who can barely walk, let alone pirouette?”