Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (14 page)

Beatrice uttered an outraged gasp. Lisette's eyes took on a
glassy hue. Charity lowered her lashes, her lips trembling against a
smile, and Leith coughed suspiciously, behind his hand.

The suave James Garvey strolled up at that moment, to claim
his dance, and numbly, Lisette tottered off beside him. Garvey found
her vexingly inattentive throughout the boulanger, even when, in one of
the few moments he could address her, he hissed a suggestion that she
should fly with him to the Border, that very night. "If only to save
yourself," he urged. Lisette scarcely heard this disgraceful proposal.
In her ears lingered one repellent word: "Lizzie"!

She was dancing a quadrille with Lord Owsley before she really
began to recover from such a shock and to plan her revenge. The wretch
must be punished, and since the next dance was the waltz he had applied
for long before the ball began, he would find her very hard to locate.
She might, in fact, not be found in time to dance at all! Smiling in
response to a singularly asinine remark of the adoring young Owsley,
her teeth were unusually apparent. Furthermore, she thought,
vindictively, does the wretch
ever
dare so
address me again, he will have a taste of the Van Lindsay temper he'll
not soon forget!

In point of fact, she had seldom been plagued by so
unfortunate an emotion as temperament, but she was still seething when
his lordship reluctantly restored her to her grandmother. Lady
Bayes-Copeland was talking with Charity Strand as though she'd known
her all her life, and Lisette at once turned aside, for she could not
look at Charity without being reminded of Rachel, and it was all she
could do to be civil to the girl.

"Come along, do!" called the old lady. "Never back and fill,
so! Here is your sister-to-be, eager to know you better!"

Willy-nilly, Lisette sat beside them. "You should be dancing,
instead of sitting here," she said, nobly turning her most bewitching
smile on the shy girl.

"Oh, no, Miss Van Lindsay. I fear I would only make a
spectacle of myself.''

"Good gracious! Do you disapprove of dancing, then?"

Charity blushed. "I—I do not remember how to dance."

Lisette stared at her. Every young lady knew how to dance, and
Charity was well past her schooldays. Surely they must have assemblies
somewhere
near Strand Hall? Or at least impromptu hops at parties, or in the
Church Hail?

"I am learning again now," said Charity with timid eagerness.
"But I still seem to lose my balance if—" She checked, seeing
consternation come into the beautiful face beside her. "Oh—you did not
know? I had supposed my brother would have told you. I was an invalid
for three years. My horse threw me when I was seventeen, and I have
only lately begun to walk again."

Horrified, Lisette was reminded of the scorn with which she
had watched that pathetic attempt at a curtsey. What a wretched girl
she was! "Oh, my dear," she said, her hand going out to the frail one
that came so gladly to meet it, "I am so very sorry. Three years! How
awful for you!"

"And for my sister. Rachel had such a frightful time, but I
expect Justin will have told you all about—" She paused, her eyes
opening very wide as Galen Hilby bowed before her and begged the honour
of taking her down to supper.

The old lady gave Charity a gentle push, and she came to her
feet and went shyly off with him.

"That was indeed kind," said Lady Bayes-Copeland. "I make no
doubt Hilby knows of their reputation. Were you really unaware of her
history, child?"

"Totally. Poor little thing, how frail she is. Grandmama, did
you
know?"

She was not destined to receive a reply, for Strand was
bearing down on them. She had quite forgotten her plot to evade him,
and, chagrined, viewed him with bleak eyes.

"I collect you've come to take her away from me," grumbled the
old lady.

"In point of fact," he said gravely, "I've come to beg your
granddaughter to hold me excused."

He
would
! The sly beast! "A more
alluring partner, sir?" she said, in a tone that sent the old lady's
glance flashing to her.

"If the lady will so honour me," he said, bowing low.

"G-Grandmama?" gasped Lisette. "She certainly cannot—"

"Speak for yourself, gal!" My lady held up one hand. Strand
took it and assisted her to her feet. "Here!" She thrust her cane at
Lisette and threw a saucy grin up at her gallant, murmuring as she
slipped her hand onto his arm, "It had best be a very slow waltz, lad."

"I shall likely have my work cut out to keep up with you," he
answered, and summoned the nearest footman. He sent the man off to the
leader of the orchestra, and a few seconds later a fanfare preceded the
introduction to a waltz. My lady Bayes-Copeland groped for her train,
and one mittened hand lifted to Strand's shoulder. "Come on then, you
young devil," she breathed.

He said belatedly, "I should perhaps have warned you that I am
not a very good dancer."

"All you have to do," she said reassuringly, "is to take it
slowly. And hold me up."

So he did. The orchestra played at a measured tempo that at
first baffled other dancers. The Duke of Vaille, seeing Strand and his
partner, at once left the floor and others followed, moving back to
join the gathering onlookers until only a thin young man and very old
and regal lady, who had not been known to dance for years, waltzed
before them all.

A lump came into Lisette's throat. How tiny was the dear
little soul, but with what proud grace she moved. Strand held her as
though she were fashioned of finest porcelain, but he was smiling and
talking to her, and once she laughed merrily.

They circled the floor once and then slowed, and the maestro
at once ordered a final majestic chord. Amid a storm of applause,
Strand made his bow, then steadied his partner as she rose from a
rather wobbly curtsey. Fanning herself and vowing breathlessly she'd
not enjoyed herself so much in an age, and why people should get into
such a taking she could not comprehend, Lady Bayes-Copeland was
escorted in triumph to a sofa, where Mr. Van Lindsay awaited her,
holding a glass of wine.

Once more the orchestra played the introduction to the waltz.
Strand glanced to Lisette. She moved smilingly towards him. Her
unwanted fiance' had brought happy stars to the old lady's eyes; almost
she could feel a fondness for him.

"La!" Beatrice sniggered. "But how monstrous clever he is. He
has won his Lizzie back again!"

Life
at the imposing house on Portland
Place took on the aspects of a miniature Bedlam. Wedding gifts began to
arrive, and notes of thanks must be written; the flowers selected for
the bouquets were suddenly unobtainable due to the cold weather, and
others had, at the last minute, to be ordered; Lisette's jewelled
slippers were found to be a size too large, and another last-minute
substitution was necessitated; the flower girl fell ill with measles,
and her frock did not fit the child who happily took her place. And on
top of all the countless and inevitable frustrations that have ever
bedevilled brides and their families, Timothy Van Lindsay had not come
home. He arrived only two days before the wedding, a typical Captain of
the famous Light Bobs; sturdily built, with broad shoulders, muscular
legs, the dark colouring that characterized his house, and calm eyes
that, like those of his friend Harry Redmond, were inclined to narrow
as though still countering glare of the Spanish sun.

Norman spotted his hackney from the drawing room windows, and
his shouts of excitement roused the house and sent the occupants
running out onto the front steps to welcome their soldier home. Several
neighbours also hastened to join the celebrants, and it was quite some
time before the joyous tumult quieted to the point where Timothy was
able to steal upstairs and lounge comfortably in the chair in Lisette's
bedchamber, as he'd been wont to do whenever he was at home.

He pulled a cheroot from his case and held it up enquiringly.
Receiving her permission, he lighted it, leaned back luxuriously, and
invited, "Come along, child. Tell old Tim the whole story. Why Strand?"

Perversely, for she had longed for this moment, she countered,
"Why not?"

"You ain't exactly deep in love. A little bird told me you was
only recently being courted by James Garvey. Was Strand aware?"

She gave a minuscule shrug. "Much he cares! Do you know him,
dear?"

"Very slightly. He was at Harrow a year behind me. He seemed a
decent enough sort, in spite of—'' He paused, contemplating the glowing
end of his cheroot. "He's the last type I'd have thought you would
choose. And if you do not love him—"

"Love him!" she interposed. "He is the most odious, managing,
braggadocio individual I ever met!"

"Good God!" he expostulated with a grin. "You
really
don't love him! Must I go and convince him to withdraw his offer?"

She sighed, her shoulders slumping forlornly. "Heaven forbid."

"I see. No, I do not see. Best tell me."

So she did. It took some time and, before she was halfway
through, she had made herself feel victimized to the point that she was
fighting tears.

Her brother listened without interruption, then muttered,
"Egad! I'd no idea my father was in so deep. I wish I could help. I
must say I think it jolly noble of you to sacrifice yourself. Only…" he
hesitated.

"Only—what?" Lisette sniffed, blowing her nose.

"Only, you know, I cannot help thinking that—er—that Strand is
being sacrificed, too."

Raging, she whirled on him. "Oh! He is getting what he paid
for! Our unblemished name to restore his own shamed one. Which is all
he wants. And how typical that you would care more for a—a stranger
than your own sister, just because he is a
man!"
Timothy blinked his surprise at this vehement outburst, but Lisette
rushed on, "Does it mean
nothing
to you that he
cares not a button for me? And that Rachel Leith is his sister?"

"Which brings us to another point," said Timothy, dryly. His
tone of voice was not unfamiliar to his men, but Lisette had never
heard it before. Deflated, she watched him in sudden apprehension.
"Where does Leith fit into all this?" he asked.

A dozen evasive answers sprang to mind, but there was a deep
affection between them; too deep for her to attempt to pull the wool
over his eyes. She turned away and, gazing out at the city, said
quietly, "He will become my brother-in-law, of course. Is that not
delicious, Tim?"

He was briefly silent, then stood to rest a large hand
comfortingly on her shoulder. "I'll have a word with Papa and with
Strand. We will get you out of this, somehow."

"No." She nestled her cheek against his hand. "It's no good,
do you not see? And at all events, Leith is married now. Happily, I
gather."

The Captain scowled and returned to his chair, wondering why
people always loved the wrong people. Leith must have been blind not to
return the affection of this beautiful girl. Lisette might be a little
high in the instep, but she'd a heart of gold for all that and,
properly handled, would make some lucky man a splendid wife. "I like
Leith," he grunted. "But, by God, if I thought…"

"Do not. He never by the slightest inference suggested a
betrothal. If I was so foolish as to—to attach more importance to our
friendship than he intended, I have no one to blame but myself. It just
seems a singularly bitter twist of fate that I must now acknowledge his
wife as… as my sister-in-law." She saw sympathy come into his eyes and
added, "Never mind. Grand-mama said I may yet find my own true
love—quite apart from my marriage. As Emily Cowper has done. Now why do
you glower, sir? This is 1816, after all."

"True," nodded Van Lindsay. "But, do you know, little sister,
were I in your shoes, I do not think I'd try that game on Justin
Strand."

A shout went up from the crowd when the carriage
came in sight, and a louder shout arose when the bride
stepped out. Lisette had chosen a gown as romantic as her wedding was
not. Copied from the one in which her grandmother had said her vows,
the high-necked bodice of white lace rose demurely over a low-cut silk
under-dress. The waist was tiny, and below it the skirts billowed out
over moderate hoops in a cloud of silk and lace, caught up here and
there by clusters of seed pearls. Her veil was also her grandmother's,
descending to a twelve-foot train that her attendants lovingly guarded
from contact with the wet flagway. She looked like a fairy princess,
and the crowd cheered her dark beauty with enthusiasm.

Forcing her stiff lips into a smile, Lisette clutched
Timothy's hand. The veil between her and the world on this rainy
morning that should have been the happiest day of her life seemed to
heighten a sense of misty unreality. This was not the culmination of
her dreams, surely? She was not really marrying a man rich, but
infuriating, alternately kind and brutally brusque, of inferior birth,
and certainly not in the least in love with her. She could, she
supposed wearily, become accustomed to his driving energy; to that
eager look as if he expected always that something of import was about
to happen; to the thin face and restless, nervous hands. If only he
would show a little tenderness. If only once he had told her how
beautiful she was, or expressed some affection for her. James Garvey
had spoken, often and fluently, of his undying devotion. "Until death,
my vision of perfection," he'd said yearningly. But, aside from that
one half-heard suggestion at the betrothal ball, he had proven to be as
loath to take action as he was eager to speak. Certainly not galloping
to her window some night and riding triumphantly away with her across
his saddle bow. Foolish thoughts. And she would not marry James Garvey
today; nor would she marry the darkly handsome Tristram Leith, as she
had done in so many happy dreams. For this was not a dream. This was
grey reality.