Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (17 page)

"Has my sister returned to Somerset, ma'am?" asked Lisette.

"No, she ain't!" barked my lady, with another rap of her cane
upon
the carpet. "She enjoys her freedom with the Haines-Curtis gal, who I
doubt is any better than she should be, and given entirely too much
credit for being responsible, which she ain't! Dwyer should take a
stick to his wife! And not wait too long about it, neither!"

The old lady remained for three days, and although she was
unimpressed with Strand Hall, the staff pleased her, and for one
occupant she developed a passionate fondness. Brutus, who fawned upon
her slavishly, was, she proclaimed, a splendid guard, a magnificent
specimen, and a credit to his breed. Nobody's fool, he seldom left her
side, even slithering into the forbidden dining room to accept tit-bits
from my lady's hand whilst he hid under the table, and in general
taking shameful advantage of the situation. When Lady Bayes-Copeland
left, he was devastated and moaned for a full five minutes before
discerning a visiting cat that must be chased from the premises.

The bulldog had, by this time, formed the habit of sleeping
beside
Lisette's bed. He snored, which was annoying, and his snores were
broken by snufflings that were at times followed by a long silent
pause. When Lisette first experienced this phenomenon, she jumped up in
bed, convinced he had died, only to be shattered by a cacophonous
explosion of snorts, snuffles, and grunts before the snoring rhythm was
restored. Each time she was awoken by such a performance, she gritted
her teeth and vowed never again to endure such a night. After several
weakenings, she was driven to insist that Brutus sleep outside her
door, but this was worse, for not only did he whine and tear at the
panel but soon demonstrated that he was a dog of many parts. Lying
sleepless and fuming, Lisette heard a new sound and correctly deduced
he had seized the handle between his jaws and was wrenching at it.
He'll catch cold at that! she thought, contemptuously. Brutus, however,
did not catch cold; whether by accident or skill, the door suddenly
opened. He raced in, leapt onto the bed, and bounced about in triumph
until Lisette abandoned her enraged commands and broke her candle over
his muzzle. He licked her face to show her that he held no grudge, then
abandoned the bed, to settle down smugly beside it. The snoring began
within seconds, but gradually Lisette became accustomed to the uproar
and was able to sleep through it all.

On the morning after her grandmother's departure Tristram
Leith and
his wife paid a call. Despite her efforts, the sight of Leith's tall,
athletic figure and handsome countenance made Lisette's heart contract.
She was invited by Rachel to return with them to Cloudhills, but the
prospect of being so close to Tristram—of seeing their happiness—was
not to be borne, and with grace but firmness she declined, saying that
she was sure her husband would return momentarily. She did not miss the
swift, meaningful glance that passed between the two. From the moment
of their arrival she had noted that Tristram seemed a trifle grim, and
now the worry in Rachel's blue eyes, so like her brother's, was
pronounced. Lisette guessed that they were pitying her, and her sense
of ill usage was intensified. She stood on the front steps for a long
time after they left, her wistful gaze following the carriage until it
was lost to her sight, envying them the devotion that had manifested
itself in so many small ways, and longing to be the fortunate lady now
being happily carried off to Cloudhills. A large head was thrust under
her hand; a snuffling bark dispersed her useless dreams. She petted
Brutus gratefully, then sent a lackey to request that Yasmin be
saddled, and went inside to change into her habit.

She enjoyed a long ride, Best guiding her to the Home Farm,
which
was a very pretty and orderly establishment, presided over by a
cheerful, ruddy-faced farmer and his shy wife, who bobbed a curtsey
each time she addressed the bride. Lisette, who had immediately won her
admiration, now captured her heart by asking that each of the children
be presented to her. She dutifully admired them all, kissed the baby,
and left, thinking with a pang of her own brothers and sisters.

The house seemed awesomely quiet when she walked into the
foyer.
Upstairs there was no sign of Denise in either the parlour or her
bedchamber. Walking to the bell pull beside the bed, Lisette's
upstretched hand checked. A great white rose lay on her pillow,
dewdrops still gleaming on the petals. Staring at it, her heart jolted.
She frowned and did not pick up the bloom, but crossed to the dressing
table where she sat down and started to tidy her hair. He was back! And
he was watching her, she knew. She affected ignorance until her
trembling eased, then glanced around, her brows arched enquiringly.

Strand leaned in the open door to the balcony, arms folded,
regarding her with grave speculation. That he had been indulging in
some very riotous living was evidenced by the pallor beneath his tan
and the shadows under his eyes. How often had she seen that same look
on Timothy's face during the Long Vacation, when he'd spent the night
in that peculiar pastime the young Bucks and Corinthians called Boxing
the Watch; or when he'd come home at dawn after a night of play
(usually disastrous) at Watier's or White's. Resuming her task, she
battled the urge to stroll over to her husband and claw his wretched
face. Instead, "Good morning, Strand," she said politely.

His head lowered a little. Glancing up at her from under his
brows, he murmured, "You are very angry. And rightfully so. But—"

"No, why ever should I be? You are perfectly at liberty to
come and
go as you choose. With whom you choose. Truly, I have had a lovely
time."

He watched as she dusted a hare's-foot across her dainty nose,
and
said in a reluctant, halting fashion, "You are entitled to an
explanation, and—"

"Oh, pray do not fret over so insignificant a thing. I thought
it
most considerate in you to give me a time to settle down. In fact—" she
opened her jewel box and peered inside, saying carelessly, "I had
thought you might not return for several weeks. Would you mind if—"

The door smashed open. Brutus flung himself across the room.
Caught by surprise, Strand was sent hurtling back onto the balcony.

For a very brief instant Lisette's heart leapt into her mouth.
Then
she heard the muffled explosion of swearing and, amused, hastened to
survey the victim and the prancing delirium of his pet.

"Blast your ears!" Strand roared, fighting off the ecstatic
dog. "Down, sir! Down, I say! No—not
on
me, curse
you!"

Succeeding at last in extricating himself, he clambered to his
feet,
glared at his bride's smile, and demanded, "What in the devil is
he
doing here?"

"He was a gift," Lisette said sweetly, bending the truth a
little.
"Lord Bolster came and was—a trifle shocked, I suspect. To find me here
all alone, you know." Glancing obliquely at Strand, she saw his lips
tighten, and added, "He thought Brutus might protect me." She raised
limpid eyes to her husband and purred, "So thoughtful."

"And quite unnecessary. You are safe here. I will return
Brutus this afternoon."

"It is kind in you to offer. But if you do not object, Strand,
I
shall keep him. I doubt it is as safe here as you may think. And
besides, when you are away on your—er—affairs, he will be company for
me."

Frowning into that angelic face, Strand's fists clenched. "I
do
object. He goes back. This afternoon. Do you feel the need of a dog,
ma'am, I'll buy you one."

"But, sir, one cannot
buy
love. Or
loyalty."

The barbs went home. Strand thought, She marshals a strong
counter-attack, and he bowed, saying nothing.

Lisette shrugged and turned away. "However, if you must— you
must. Now, will you please pardon me whilst I change for luncheon?"

He walked over to the door, and was about to open it when she
called
gently, "Shall you be home for dinner, sir? I only ask because the
Vicar and the Misses Hepplethwaite are to dine here and play some whist
afterwards, and I possibly should warn them you will join us."

The prospect was not enthralling. "I doubt I shall be home,"
he said, opening the door. "It's a long ride to Three Fields."

And a pointless one! she thought jubilantly.

Lisette underestimated her husband. Although he did not mean
to
share the early evening's entertainment, Justin Strand had not the
slightest intention of spending another night away from his bride. His
return to his ancestral estate was not a propitious one, however.
Before he was halfway home, it was raining hard. Brutus was afraid of
storms, and when a sudden flash of lightning was followed by a great
boom of thunder, he sprang onto the seat beside Strand and did his
destructive best to dig his way underneath him. Strand was cold,
furiously angry, and very tired. He allowed the edge of his rage to
break over the burrowing dog, but was interrupted when the powerful
animal's claws gouged his thigh. Instinctively jerking away, Strand
lost ground and found himself unable to lower his knee save over
Brutus. Snarling curses, he moved to the other side of the carriage. It
was hopeless. The dog hurtled at him. Without the aid of two strong men
it was doubtful the brute could be ejected from the carriage, and
Strand had no intention of either sitting on Brutus or allowing the
animal to sit on him. He draped a corner of his cloak over the
shivering monster and favoured him with a succinct evaluation of his
ancestors.

"I am sure you are aware, you miserable excuse for a watchdog,
that
I was thoroughly gulled today," he observed grimly. "My lady wife did
not see fit to explain that she had promised to care for your revolting
self while Bolster is away. She was certainly aware I'd not have the
gall to dump such a plague on his lordship's servants. I have driven in
excess of forty miles, Sir Shivershakes, to no purpose. But there will
be an accounting! I promise you!"

Brutus quailed, whining heartrendingly, then sat up, eyeing
his
master in so frantic a way that Strand feared a resumption of the
earlier chaos. He at once moderated his tone and at last was permitted
the luxury of sitting peacefully, listening to the rain between
Brutus's resounding snores.

It was half-past twelve when the carriage splashed into the
stableyard, and the house was dark. He would light it, Strand thought
mercilessly. Had it not been for his implacable resolve to spend the
night with his bride and also to demand an accounting of her savage
duplicity, he would have racked up for the night at the first tavern
he'd come to and allowed Brutus to quake under the hay in the stables.
Without an instant spent repining the disturbed slumbers of the
inhabitants, he instructed his coachman to blow up a hail on his yard
of tin. As a result, by the time he was climbing down the steps lights
were already appearing in the windows of the long house beside the
stables where the grooms and outside servants dwelt.

Best came staggering into the barn, dragging a coat over his
nightshirt. "Welcome—" he began, then stopped, one glance at Strand's
face freezing the words on his lips.

"Get that hound of Satan out of the carriage!" snarled Strand.

Fisher, hurrying from the side door of the Hall, holding up an
umbrella, said a concerned, "Good heavens, sir! You must be tired out!"

"Ain't no dog in here, sir," called Best, puzzled.

"We may hope he is well on his way back to Three Fields!"
Strand said acidly.

Twenty minutes later, his hair brushed, his new red velvet
robe tied
over his nightshirt, and vengeance in his heart, he marched across his
bedchamber and flung wide the connecting door to his bride's suite. The
parlour was empty and dark. Pacing across it, he threw open Lisette's
door. There was no light save for the flames still flickering in the
fireplace, but by that faint glow he saw Lisette leap up in bed. She
wore a filmy nightgown of some indeterminate pale colour, her cap was
lopsided, and her eyes huge with fright. Retribution, he thought
ragefully, was upon her. "Good morning, ma'am," he gritted. "I came
home after all, you see."

He took three long strides towards the bed and the white-faced
girl who trembled there.

Brutus had not essayed the long journey back to Three Fields,
for he
was decidedly a creature of habit. He was, besides, just dozing off,
and did not hear the man's approach until Strand was almost on him,
whereupon he sprang up hurriedly.

The result was unfortunate.

"Nothing
to worry about, dear lady," Dr.
Bellows uttered
reassuringly, as he closed the door upon his recalcitrant patient and
accompanied the bride (whom he privately thought to be exquisite) along
the hall.

He has arrived in direct violation of Strand's orders and,
walking
into the book room where his patient was stubbornly attempting to read
the morning paper, had announced a jovial, "Well, here's old
Bellows-to-mend again, Justin. What now have you been up to, dear boy?''

Strand had groaned and covered his eyes with his left hand,
whereupon Dr. Bellows had pounced upon the right and grasped it,
drawing a shout from his patient and an instinctive flinch from
Lisette. "Hmmm," he said mildly. "Something broken in here, I think.
D'you have any idea how many bones there are in the human hand, Justin?
No, of course you don't, for I keep forgetting you've a head of solid
wood."

Surprised, Lisette had darted a glance at him, to find his
face
suddenly angry. She had been more surprised to see her husband colour
hotly, drop his eyes, and endure in silence a careful but undoubtedly
unpleasant examination.

When he had gone crashing down in the darkened room, Lisette,
for
one panicked moment, had fancied herself an early widow. He had soon
sprung to his feet, however, and snarling hideous threats had raced
into the hall after the fleeing Brutus. Fearing for the dog's survival,
Lisette had followed, only to find Strand leaning against the wall,
clutching his arm and looking white and exhausted. "Well, and is your
revenge adequate, ma'am?" he'd asked unevenly. His fall was, she knew,
only a trifling matter compared to the indignity she had been made to
suffer. Nonetheless, she was not an unkind girl, and to see his eyes
narrowed with pain had so wrought upon her that she had required Fisher
to send a groom galloping at once for the family doctor. Strand had
protested vigorously, but Fisher, being both fond of his employer and
delighted by the bride, had not heeded him. Not a little frightened by
both the accident and her husband's wrath, Lisette decided to play the
part of the dutiful wife, which role she had since nobly maintained.