Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (22 page)

Watching her obliquely, Beatrice said a persuasive, "After
all, it's
not as though yours were a love match, dearest. Besides, since Strand
is—is incapacitated—" She stopped, her eyes brimming, and went off into
a small gale of mirth. "My clever Lisette! I thought I must burst with
laughter when Charity told me the way of it!"

Lisette's hand tightened on her fan. "Told you—what?"

"Of how you drove him off for the first week and then was so
fortunate as to have him trip over the dog! La, what a wretch you are!
The poor man must be seething with rage. And—frustration! Did you—did
you give the poor doggie a bone, love?" And again, she dissolved into
hilarity.

This was exactly what Lisette had feared. Charity, obviously
adoring
her brother, had certainly said nothing malicious, but Beatrice's
shrewd mind had very quickly put two and two together. She said
stiffly, "That is not true, Bea! I must ask that you do not repeat—"

"Not true? Of course it's true! Mama told me how bitterly you
wept when you were compelled to wed the creature, and—"

"Do I perhaps intrude, ladies?"

Strand's cool voice seemed to slice through Beatrice's words.
Lisette's eyes shot to the door. He stood on the threshold. His lips
were faintly smiling, but it was a rather grim smile and Lisette felt
her cheeks blaze.

Showing not the slightest trace of embarrassment, Beatrice,
said
blithely, "Oh, pray do come in, Strand. We are bored to death without a
gentleman."

He walked in his quick way to poke up the fire and enquire if
either
lady desired a screen for the draught, for the wind was blowing ever
more strongly. They both declined, however, and since each was busied
with more or less the same strain of thought, a brief silence fell.
Strand broke it, observing blandly, "It is rather chill this evening. I
doubt you needed your fan, my love."

"Very true," said Beatrice. "I quite thought it would rain
this morning."

"Did you?" said Strand.

"Yes, but it did not after all."

Strand's eyes, gleaming with mischief, darted to Lisette. She
felt a
surge of relief. He must not have heard! "Perhaps it will rain
tomorrow," she contributed demurely.

He broke into a laugh. "You always can top me, my sweet."

He sounded genuinely fond, and an odd sensation shivered
between Lisette's shoulder blades.

Beatrice looked wonderingly from one to the other, and Strand
said
politely, "Your pardon, Lady William. My wife was roasting me because
of my scintillating conversation."

"Oh," said Beatrice vaguely. "Well, we cannot all be
accomplished. I feel sure you must have
some
talent, Strand."

He grinned and admitted he was the dullest of men, but Lisette
said
defensively, "Save when a lady's life is in peril, do you mean? Words
would not have saved me this morning, Justin."

He looked down, a flush burning his cheeks.

Beatrice at once demanding to hear the story, Lisette told
her,
Strand inserting an occasional mumbled complaint that she made more of
the incident than was warranted.

"Good gracious!" Beatrice exclaimed when the tale was done.
"That
was positively heroical in you, Strand. I'll allow I am surprised, for
when we heard you had broke your arm on your honeymoon, so many thought
it a downright silly thing to have done."

Strand's eyes, lifting slowly to Beatrice, contained a
thoughtful
and unsmiling hauteur. It was an expression Lisette had seen before,
and she held her breath. Beatrice saw that glimpse of steel and, being
nobody's fool, said hurriedly, "How you could have accomplished such a
deed with but one hand defies imagination. I can scarce wait to tell
William!"

The balance of the evening passed quite pleasantly, and since
Beatrice announced her intention of leaving the following day, Lisette
could only pray that no more such difficult periods would have to be
endured—for a time at least.

It was a prayer destined not to be granted.

Battle was joined the day after Beatrice's departure.
Accustomed to
lounging in bed until nine o'clock, at which hour he was usually sure
of being variously implored, ordered, and sometimes actually threatened
by his sorely tried tutor, Norman paid no heed to the first two
attempts to rouse him, and was aghast to be ruthlessly awakened by the
simple expedient of having the bedding torn from him.

"Good God!" he cried, leaping up in shivering dismay. "Is the
house afire?"

"It will be, do you not look alive!" Strand, fully clad in his
riding clothes, added, "I don't care to be kept waiting, young fella."

Staring at him with slack jaw, Norman gasped, "K-kept waiting?
But—but it ain't even hardly
light!"

"Lord! What wretched grammar! Come now, you'll find this is
the best
possible time to ride. Puts an edge on your appetite. I've a fine
stallion saddled for you—a bit wild, but I think you can manage him."

Whether the challenge was the inducement, or whether Norman
had
taken due note of the set to Strand's chin, Lisette had no way of
knowing, but not very many minutes after her husband had tossed her
into the saddle, she was amazed to see her brother coming reluctantly
to join them, his cravat a disaster, his hair uncombed, and a surly
look in his dark eyes. Once mounted and out of the yard, he had all he
could do to control the spirited animal Strand had chosen for him. The
cold, bracing air and vigorous exercise had their effect, and it soon
became apparent that the boy was thoroughly enjoying himself. Lisette
was not surprised by the pace Strand set. Norman was. Despite his
laziness he was a spirited youth and, concealing his unease, at once
set to work to outdo his brother-in-law. Strand led them at thundering
speed across a wide hilltop, and reined up at the start of the downward
slope. It was a cool morning, the wind hurrying a flock of clouds
across the pearly sky. The birds were already twittering busily, and
the sun began to come up, gilding the clouds with gold that blushed
slowly to a deep pink. Behind the neatly fenced meadows spread the
darker bands of woodland, and beyond, smoke rose into the air, soon to
be whipped about by the wind. Strand leaned on the pommel, looking out
at the verdant panorama, and Lisette murmured, "How very lovely it is."

"Lovelier if you ain't starved and half froze!" grumbled
Norman, and spurred his mount down the hill.

Strand grinned and followed.

Lisette asked, "Isn't that the Home Farm?"

"It is. And I've no doubt but that your brother saw the smoke
and envisioned breakfast."

"Oh dear! Will they mind?"

"I suspect they'll be delighted." He added an amused, "But
Norman may find the tariff rather high for his pocket."

An hour later, comfortably replete, Norman's round face
reflected
stark horror as he gazed from Strand's bland smile to Mr. Johnson's
retreating form. "Help him… rebuild the chicken house?" he gasped,
incredulous. "Why the devil should I do so? You own this place, do you
not, sir?"

"Oh, yes." Strand nodded cheerfully. "But Johnson manages it
for me,
and I'd not dream of imposing on his hospitality without offering
something in return."

Lisette concentrated upon her last piece of muffin and avoided
her brother's imploring gaze.

Norman said with growing indignation, "Then toss the fellow a
few coins and he'll likely think you most generous."

"Good God! Are you serious? Johnson would be most offended.

One don't offer to
pay
for hospitality
in these parts. Come along now, we'd best get to it!"

Staring up at him, Norman stammered, "We? Are—are
you
going to work, Strand?"

"But of course. I also enjoyed a hearty breakfast—did you not
notice? Enough food to last me a week! Up with you!"

Slanting a half-worried, half-amused glance at her brother,
Lisette
was rather taken aback to note his mulish expression. However spoiled
he might be, he was usually a good sport and the first to admit defeat
was he bested. As he clambered reluctantly to his feet, however, it was
apparent that he had taken Strand in dislike, a circumstance that made
her heart sink.

Any
suspicion Judith and Norman may have
entertained that
they had come into the country to eat and sleep was soon put to flight.
In the days that followed, the indefatigable Strand kept them so busy
that they seemed scarcely to have a moment's peace. He soon teased
Judith into getting up and accompanying them on their early rides, a
pursuit she abhorred and yet for some reason seldom missed. After
breakfast, there would be a walk they must experience, or a visit to
the village or some local beauty spot, with Brutus an occasional
escort. Mealtimes constituted a source of despair to both Norman and
Judith, for Strand ate sparingly, and even Lisette, who had a small
appetite, was at times appalled by the meagre fare offered at table. If
luncheon was served at all, it usually consisted solely of fruits,
while dinners seldom amounted to more than one course of fish or cold
meat with vegetables, and these in very short supply. Not only
exhausted but half starved, Norman eyed Strand with ever-increasing
hostility, while Judith complained bitterly that she'd not had a decent
meal since she came, and would soon be reduced to picking berries to
stay alive.

Despite these miseries, the days seemed to fly past. They rose
early
and went early and tired to bed. Their evenings were spent in playing
cards or spillikins or Fish, reading aloud to one another as the fancy
seized them, or the men playing dominoes while the girls sewed. Guests
were few and far between, which, so Norman grumbled to Judith, was
scarce to be wondered at, "for they could get better food in the
workhouse!"

Lisette was happier than she had been for weeks,
partly because of
the presence of her brother and sister, and partly because of an
entirely unexpected development that brought a new joy into her life.
They were playing croquet one warm afternoon when she inadvertently
stepped on the hem of her dress. Hurrying into the house to change, she
glanced out of her bedroom window and was aghast to see James Garvey
riding nonchalantly up the drivepath. Frightened, she ran downstairs,
hoping to reach the door first, but Mrs. Hayward already stood there.
Dreading that Justin might come back into the house, Lisette crept to
where she might hear, without being seen. Mrs. Hayward's voice was very
low, but it was clear she was affronted. "I will do no such thing,
sir!" she said angrily. "If you've a message for Mrs. Strand, I'll be
glad to give it her, but as I told you, she is not at home." Garvey
murmured something and laughed in his easy, good-humoured way, and
Lisette saw the housekeeper's back stiffen. In a voice of ice, Mrs.
Hayward said, "I would have hoped that a gentleman might have known
better than to make such an offer, Mr. Garvey. Good day to you, sir!"
And the door slammed.

Briefly, Lisette was tempted to intercede for him. That he had
journeyed all this way to see her was indicative of a lasting
affection, for which she was grateful. But the certain knowledge that
Strand would be enraged, the awareness of the deep dislike already
existing between the two men, and a fear of provoking what might very
well lead to tragedy dissuaded her. It was not until they came inside
to change for dinner that she found the note upon her pillow, with her
name inscribed in a beautiful copperplate hand on the folded sheet. So
James
had
left a message! Opening it, she read:

I recall when first I saw you,
that the rain was pouring down.
It was night and I
was driving
all alone through London Town.
A chaise splashed up
beside me
and I saw your laughing face
With the lamplight
softly shining
on your loveliness and grace.
At once I knew
my every hope was you.

I remember the enchantment
when at last I learned your name.
All my world was
bright and glowing
never afterwards the same.
Every dream was built
around you
everything I owned I'd give
To with happiness
surround you
for as long as I may live.
Because, I knew
all joy in life was you.

I am warned you love another
and that I can never see
In your eyes a glow of
caring
or of tenderness for me.
But perhaps I yet can serve
you,
win a kindly word—a smile
And
my poor heart keep from breaking
if I dare to hope the while, that
Someday you
may start to love me, too.

Long before she reached the end of that poem, Lisette's eyes
were
blurred with tears. She pressed the so carefully written words to her
bosom, her heart full. Here was devotion, indeed. How sweet of poor
James to pen such beautiful words; how dear to be offered such humble
love and devotion. She read it many times before she retired that
night, and many times in the days that followed. Longing to write to
express her gratitude, she could not do so. She was married, past
redemption indeed, to a man with not a shred of romance in his soul,
and although her own happiness was immeasurably increased because of
Garvey's tenderness, to let him know that could only add to his grief.
And so she did not respond, but carried the cherished poem carefully
folded and wrapped in a perfumed handkerchief, in her bosom.

The antagonism between Strand and Norman reached its peak in a
way
she would never have expected. It occurred on a morning when she went
yawning down the stairs for their morning ride and found her husband,
as usual, booted and spurred, in the stables, laughing up at Judith,
who was already mounted and looking down at him in an astonishment that
changed to a squeak of delight.

"You never did! Oh, you wicked, wicked man!" she cried,
leaning suddenly to ruffle up his light, crisp hair.