Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (45 page)

"My heavens!" said Lisette, her amusement giving way to
consternation. "You never made Mrs. Rousell leave a confinement?"

Straddling a chair in the kitchen while he watched her prepare
a
breakfast tray for the invalid, he grinned. "I thought the same, but it
turned out it was only her daughter, objecting to having her locks cut
into a short style. Lord! And after all that misery, I arrived back
here, bedraggled, bruised, battered, half frozen, and exhausted,
bearing your beloved his vital draught, only to find you both cuddled
up as snug as—"

"Norman!" Lisette exclaimed, blushing. "What a thing to say!"

"What a thing to see," he countered, adding gruffly, "and

"What a thing to see," he countered, adding gruffly, "and
never have
I been more happy, I'll allow. But after my heroic efforts, to come and
find them all for naught, and the medicine no longer needed! Gad!"

Her cheeks hot, Lisette nonetheless met his eyes squarely. "It
is
needed. He is not out of danger, althought this
long sleep has worked wonders, I do believe."

"You
both
slept the clock around."

"Never look so smug, brother. You did, too, so Green tells me!"

He chuckled. "From sheer frustration, no doubt."

"There is no cause. Justin is much improved, but we—we almost
lost
him, Norman. We still could, though we've a better chance with the
medicine you brought. I will
never
be able to
tell you how grateful—"

"Oh, pooh! Nonsense!" He stood and made for the door. "Do you
mean
to talk such fustian I'm off. Cannot bear it. May I look in on Strand?"

"For a minute or two only, if you please. I so dread lest the
fever
come back. Green says it could. And until the doctor has come, I'll not
rest easy."

"Get away with you. What you mean is that you want to keep him
all to yourself! If ever I saw such a pair of lovebirds!"

"Horrid boy!" she said, but she laughed and her eyes were
sparkling
as he had never seen them sparkle, for his remark was not so far
removed from the truth. Lisette's burgeoning affection for Strand had
come to full flower during her desperate battle for his life. She knew
now that her heart was for all time given to the husband she had
married with such reluctance, and that knowledge lent her a glow and a
tenderness that immeasurably heightened her beauty.

She had looked in on Strand the moment she awoke and had been
elated
to find his fever broken and his eyes clear again. He had been too weak
to do more than lie and gaze at her, and she had quickly left Green
alone to care for him. How much did he remember, she wondered. Would he
speak now of his love for her? She knew beyond doubting that he loved
her just as she loved him, but it would be so wonderful to hear him say
it…

Green came busily into the kitchen. Their shared vigil of
terror had
brought them to a closeness that would last through many years to come,
and almost unconsciously the valet had slipped into the way of longtime
retainers, his demeanour towards Lisette never less than respectful,
yet containing the faintly proprietary tone that one might use to a
beloved child. "I'll take that, Mrs. Lisette," he said, deftly
appropriating the tray. "Just the gruel, eh? I'd thought I would bring
us some tea later. Not too strong, mind, but you and the master might
like to take a cup together, being as he's feeling so spry today."

Norman left the bedchamber as they entered. He said nothing,
but
threw an amused wink at his sister. When she walked in, she saw why.
Strand was propped up by several pillows. He had been shaved, and his
thick hair brushed into the careless style she had come to think very
becoming. He was drawn and pale, his eyes sunk in deep hollows, and he
lacked the strength to stretch out his hand to her as he tried to do,
but Lisette's blush was intensified by the awed look of worship in his
eyes.

Stifling a smile, Green drew up her chair and placed the tray
on the
table beside it. "Here's your lady come to give you a spot of
breakfast, sir," he said cheerily. "Do you see how much better our
invalid looks, ma'am?"

"He does, indeed." Lisette concentrated upon arranging a
napkin
across Strand's chest. He did look stronger. Perhaps, when Green was
gone, they would be able to talk a little.

The valet plumped up his master's pillows, hovered about for a
minute or two, then took himself off. Lisette began to wield the spoon,
guiding it carefully to her husband's lips, very aware of the fact that
his adoring eyes never for a moment left her face.

He behaved dutifully for a while, but at last sighed and shook
his head. She put down the bowl and lowered her lashes, waiting.

"Lisette," Strand murmured.

"Yes, Justin?"

"I—I—want—I wish—I mean—er—what became of Garvey?"

With only a trace of wistfulness, she thought, So much for
romance…
Then, seeing his hand lift very slightly but fall back onto the
coverlet, she took it up in her own vital clasp, and smiled, "Gone, I'm
afraid, love." The thin fingers tightened a little at the term of
endearment, and his eyes were saying everything his lips apparently
could not speak. She forced herself to be sensible and said, "Constable
Short was no match for the likes of James Garvey, and when he went to
the gaol yesterday morning, he found his prisoner flown. Even so,
Garvey will have to leave England, I am assured. Grandmama has vowed to
set about the word of his infamy, and I doubt he'll ever dare show his
face to the
ton
again."

"Good," said Strand.

Lisette restored his hand to the coverlet, but when she made
to draw
back, he clung to her fingers. With her heart beginning to beat faster,
she looked down and again waited. He was still very ill, of course,
but… "Justin," she prompted in a shy little voice, "is—is there, that
is, do you remember—anything?"

He made no answer. Looking up at length, she sighed. He had
fallen
asleep once more. Shaking her head, she gently disengaged her hand and
bent to kiss him lightly on the brow. "Odious, odious man!" she
murmured.

Strand smiled contentedly.

So
long as Strand was within a stone's
throw of death's
door, weak as a kitten, and still racked by the effects of the fever
and the head injury, his behaviour was exemplary. He never complained,
always obeyed those who cared for him, and when he occasionally spoke,
it was to utter such faint words of appreciation for their tender
solicitude as touched their hearts. Within a very few days, however, he
was on the mend and, like most energetic individuals, proved a dreadful
patient. He demanded from Norman a complete inventory of the damage
resulting from the storm, and then fretted and fumed because he was not
allowed to get up and at least supervise the necessary repairs. He
insisted that Best ride to the Hall as soon as the roads were passable
and send a groom to Bolster's lodgings in Town, or to Three Fields, to
determine his lordship's present state of health. He became exceedingly
irate over his diet, terming it pap, or slops, and eventually
threatening to hurl at Green's head the next bowl of broth that was
presented him. Green, nobody's fool, had noted that with one person his
master was meek to the point of slavishness, and mercilessly using that
weapon, the valet murmured that he would speak to Mrs. Lisette in the
matter, though it was by her orders that the food was prepared.

"Oh, never mind," Strand grumbled, accepting the despised
offering.
"And that's another thing—I want some help brought here. Send down a
couple of housemaids from the Hall, and the cook. The roads must be
safe by this time and there's no reason why Rene cannot man the stove
instead of you and Denise doing all the work. My poor wife must be damn
near exhausted, fetching and carrying for me!"

Aware of the fiery Rene's opinion of the tiny kitchen that had
been
installed at Silverings after the fire, Green glibly resorted to his
infallible remedy and murmured that he would talk to Mrs. Lisette.

"You will do as I say!" snapped Strand irately. "My wife has
enough to concern herself with and— Where is she, by the way?"

"She is with Dr. Bellows. He just arrived, sir."

Strand groaned. "That old fidget? He'll be reading her a tine
Jeremiad, poor girl." His eyes softened. He sighed, "I wonder she puts
up with me, Oliver."

"I—ah—venture to think madam does not find that task— er—
entirely
reprehensible," murmured Green, his eyes twinkling.

"Do you, by God!" flashed Strand. "You impertinent scoundrel!
Wait
till I'm up out of this blasted bed! I'll show you what's
reprehensible!"

"He must not
get up yet," decreed Dr.
Bellows, accepting a
refilling of his glass and knowing he should leave this beautiful lady
and get to his patient. He ran a tidying hand over his thinning sandy
hair and crossed his short legs as he observed that malaria did not
thrive in England's cold climate. "Does Strand only give his system
time to repair and recover from its effects, he may well go thirty or
forty years without another attack. I've known such cases. But I know
your husband also. A walking volcano, ma'am! Always must be up and
doing. It would surprise me did his man not have to tie him to the bed
to keep him from wearing himself out before he's had a chance to
recuperate."

Sitting opposite the small physician in the sunlit parlour,
with
Norman perched on the arm of the sofa beside her, Lisette said
worriedly, "We shall contrive to keep him quiet, doctor. But he was so
terribly ill. I never saw such a violence of fever and delirium, and I
have often helped Nurse when one of the family was sick. If it should
recur, Dr. Bellows… it—it will not…" She bit her lip, watching the
doctor with an anxiety he thought enchanting, and that brought to mind
the remarks of certain of his learned acquaintances, to the effect that
the Strand marriage was solely one of convenience. When next he
encountered those individuals, he would advise them with considerable
vehemence that if Justin Strand had entered into a
mariage
de convenance
he wished
he
might have undertaken such a liaison! Meanwhile, he said kindly, "Will
not carry him off? I pray not, dear lady. Your husband's problem—and it
is a major one—is that he refuses to follow an ancient and wise Chinese
maxim, 'Exercise moderation in all things.' You would be amazed at how
nicely it works. Strand, however, has a boundless enthusiasm, a
passionate interest in his people and estates, a driving need to be
always changing something for the better. Admirable traits, but unless
harnessed to a common-sense understanding of human frailty, well
calculated to wear down health to the point—" He pursed his lips.
"Strand, ma'am, has no patience with the simple needs of the body. He
eats if the notion strikes him; he rises at dawn and works till all
hours; he forces his physical form to keep pace with his plans and
ambitions, and—" he shrugged and spread his stubby hands
expressively—"it simply cannot be done."

"I see," said Lisette, her brows knit. "But if he
did
live
at a—a somewhat less hectic pace? If he were—er—persuaded to be more
moderate in his pursuits, could I then hope not to be an early widow?"

The doctor stood, took up her hand, and saluted it reverently.
"My
dear, with you at the helm, I predict Justin Strand will live to a ripe
old age!"

Walking
with her sister-in-law into the
small saloon at
Strand Hall, Rachel Leith's lovely face reflected stark astonishment.
She sat in the Sheraton chair next to the green brocade sofa and said
in aghast tones, "Justin has left you again? I cannot credit it! I
thought he must be ripe for Bedlam when I learned he had believed such
evil of poor Bolster, but—''

"You must not forget that Strand was desperately ill at that
time," Lisette defended reproachfully.

Encouraged by this unexpected reaction, Rachel said, "Yes. And
you
saved his life, for which I shall never be able to thank you enough."
She reached out to squeeze Lisette's hand affectionately. "Charity
stays with Amanda now, and is having such a lovely time helping her
choose her bride clothes. As for

Bolster, he is in transports. I do not believe the dear man
has come down to earth for weeks. Have you seen his idiocy?"

Lisette smiled and nodded. "He came to see us soon after we
returned
here. Strand was delighted, but was at first so humbly apologetic for
having doubted his dearest friend that poor Jeremy was fairly appalled."

"It was an appalling business." A frown touching her eyes,
Rachel lapsed into thoughtful silence.

"Yet—could have been so much worse." Lisette hesitated, then
said,
"Rachel, who is Claude Sanguinet?" Her sister-in-law's startled face
turned to her, and she added, "Oh, I know he is a Frenchman of great
wealth, to whom you were once betrothed, but that is all I know. How is
he so powerful?"

All mirth was gone now from Rachel's face. She said in an odd
voice, "He is
horrifyingly
powerful. You know
that Tristram helped me get away from that terrible… magnificent
chateau near Dinan?"

"I know very little. But Justin once said you had been told
not to
speak of it. I saw Monsieur Sanguinet once. He did not look very
terrible."

"No." Rachel's hands gripped tightly and her wide eyes were
fixed on
events that only she could see. "But he is," she half whispered. "He is
a savage. A cruel madman. He befriended me at a time when we were in
most desperate straits. I did not know… what he was really like. Few
people do. But I am afraid. Someday—" She shivered and bowed her head.
"I must not say more, but, as for me, if it had not been for Tristram…"

Dismayed, Lisette stammered, "Oh, my! I am terribly sorry. I
had no idea it was so bad. I have upset you."