Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (5 page)

Mr. Humphrey said slowly, "I've no doubt she would, my dear."

Lisette's
new ball gown was as far from
"wearing the willow" as one could imagine. A cloud of net of the palest
pink over deeper pink tulle, with tiny spangles here and there, it
arrived the day before the ball that the Duke of Vaille held to honour
the betrothal of his only son, the Marquis of Damon, to that lovely
young widow, Lady Sophia Drayton. Lisette returned from walking with
two of her cousins to find the large box on her bed, and Judith all
agog to see it opened. The gown looked even lovelier than Lisette had
remembered, and she was holding it up against her when an unusually
firm scratching came at the door. In answer to her call, her brother
burst in, impelled by the enthusiasm of an ugly and vaguely familiar
dog.

"Did you hear him scratch at your door?" Norman laughed,
clinging to the leash. " 'Pon my word, but he's the very cleverest
brute."

"Brutus!" gasped Lisette, remembering.

Her utterance of the name was heard, and the response was as
fervent as it was immediate. With a bark that shook the windows, Brutus
hurled himself at the lady who had thus invited him. Lisette gave a
shriek as two large paws were planted upon the dainty and pristine
fabric of her new gown. Brutus very obviously did not count this a
rebuff, for he continued to jump and bark, while Lisette shrieked and
Judith berated and Norman shouted with laughter.

"Get him away! Get him away!" cried Lisette, dodging
frantically.

Judith shrilled, "Horrid dog!" but ran behind the chair when
Brutus turned eager eyes her way.

"He is not a horrid dog!" Norman protested. "I met Lord
Bolster outside and he was kind enough to let me bring his puppy up to
show you. I might have known you'd—"

"What in the name of creation is happening?" roared Mr. Van
Lindsay, appearing in the doorway.

"It is my new ball gown, Papa," Lisette wailed, inspecting her
sullied net with anxious eyes. "Norman brought that hideous creature
upstairs—"

"And he jumped all over poor Lisette and chased me behind this
chair," put in Judith indignantly, if not altogether accurately.

"Well, get the dirty hound out!" ordered the master of the
house, advancing purposefully.

Brutus trundled a few interested paces towards him, and the
master of the house retreated precipitately.

"Come on, poor fellow," said Norman, tugging on the leash.

Brutus began to growl at Mr. Van Lindsay, and took a few more
paces towards him.

"Go away!" screamed Judith, taking one of Mr. Garvey's roses
from a vase and waving it threateningly.

Brutus emitted a piercing yowl and shot under the bed, the
leash whipping through Norman's hand.

"Now see what you've done!" Norman knelt by the bed, and
called a cajoling, "Come out, poor frightened puppy."

"Puppy?" snorted Mr. Van Lindsay. "The brute's a behemoth,
rather! Remove him, sir! At once!"

Norman proving singularly unwilling to reach under the bed and
drag Brutus out by a paw, this adjuration was not immediately complied
with, as a result of which Mr. Van Lindsay's temper worsened and his
son was treated to some decidedly cutting remarks.

Not until Norman sacrificed a piece of toffee was the dog at
last lured forth. Norman grudgingly voiced the apology his sire
demanded but, on his way out, dimmed the effect by muttering, "Women!
He didn't hurt your silly dress!"

Fortunately this appeared to be true. Lisette could find no
rents, and the few snags were easily corrected. By this time, however,
the afternoon was far spent and it was necessary to change for dinner.
Their guests came early and stayed late, and it was not until the
following morning that Lisette was able to try on the gown. With loving
hands she took it from its protective covering, held it up, and uttered
a shriek of horror. The gauze was torn and ripped; large, muddy
pawprints defaced it, and several sections looked to have been well
chewed. For a moment, recalling the frightful expense of that gown,
Lisette was actually dizzied. With a choking sob she laid the victim on
her bed, and only then saw that the damaged gauze was of a slightly
different hue. Puzzled, she investigated. Several recent additions had
been clumsily pinned onto her lovely (and mercifully unsullied) gown.
Her first reaction was one of soaring relief, but a muffled chortle
from the door brought her swinging around in time to see Norman's
grinning face jerk from sight. Rage boiled through her. The
monster!
What a fright he had given her—her heart was still hammering!

It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to lose
her temper, but this was too much! She snatched up the nearest thing to
hand, which chanced to be her new parasol, and ran in hot pursuit.

Norman was leaning against the stair railing, laughing his
triumph, but he straightened when he saw retribution at hand and tore
down the stairs, Lisette close on his heels. He reached the ground
floor a very short distance ahead and, turning to the right and the
rear of the house, barely avoided two gentlemen leaving the study.
Lisette, parasol upraised, was able to stop at the very last instant,
halting all but under the chin of a tall, slender man clad in the
height of quiet elegance, who regarded her with one mobile brow
lifting. Staring into that bronzed face, Lisette thought that the skin
seemed almost stretched over the high cheekbones, and that he was
younger than she had supposed—somewhere in the neighbourhood of thirty.
Her appraisal brought a smile creeping into the extremely blue eyes,
but it did not touch his mouth.

"Lisette," said Mr. Van Lindsay, palpably annoyed, "I must
make you known to Mr. Justin Strand. Mr. Strand—my second daughter.''

Strand's bow was brief and remarkable for a lack of
embellishment. Renowned for her serene grace, Lisette realized with a
considerable shock that the parasol was still flung up over her head.
For a horrified instant she could not decide what to do with it, and
her arm wavered. The smile in Mr. Strand's eyes spread to a quiver
beside his mouth. Scarlet with embarrassment, Lisette thrust the
parasol behind her and favoured him with a dignified curtsey. The most
graceful curtsey in the world, however, can only suffer when the
derriere
of the lady executing it suddenly comes into violent contact with the
handle of a parasol. Lisette, in fact, was thrown so off balance that
it was necessary for Strand to steady her,

"Lord's sake, girl!" expostulated Mr. Van Lindsay. "What are
you about?"

Wishing the floor might open and swallow her, Lisette mumbled,
"I—er—Norman—that is to say—Brutus—"

"Yes. Precisely why I came," said Strand, coming to her
rescue. "I heard my dog had caused you some inconvenience, Miss Van
Lindsay. My apologies. May I hope to make amends in some fashion?"

He had a brisk but pleasant voice. And he was Rachel Strand's
brother. Recovering herself, Lisette said a cool, "
Your
dog, sir? I understood he was the property of Lord Bolster."

She had made an excellent recovery, thought Strand. How
charmingly the thick dark hair waved about her face, and those great
eyes were like dusky pansies… as he had heard. But her back was very
straight now, and those same dusky eyes were tinged with ice.
"I—ah—bestowed him upon Bolster," he explained. "So I feel responsible."

Lisette was in no mood to return that quirkish smile. Of all
the people in this world, Justin Strand was the last to whom she would
have wished to show a foolish front. Whatever must he have thought to
see a lady of her station in life racing down the stairs, brandishing
her parasol like some hobbledehoy? And as though that were not bad
enough, she had all but thrown herself at his feet! Small wonder he
smiled. One scarce could blame him did he laugh aloud! "I certainly do
not hold you responsible, sir," she replied. "And I believe I have to
thank you for some very pretty flowers."

"Have you?"

The twinkle in his eyes was even more pronounced and,
disconcerted, she stared at him.

"I am flattered you remember who sent 'em," he went on with a
shrug she could only find deliberately provoking. "I suspect you are
fairly deluged with floral offerings, Miss Van Lindsay."

Lisette managed a smile, excused herself, and walked on in the
manner of a queen moving towards her coronation. She knew that Papa was
vexed with her and wondered why he should give this man house room, let
alone expect her to be civil to the creature.

Wandering into the breakfast room, she came upon her erstwhile
prey choosing from some fruit on the sideboard. He threw up one arm and
begged for mercy. "I did not harm your gown, I swear. And I'd not
intended to land you in the suds again—did Papa come the ugly?"

"Not with me. But I cannot guarantee he will not have a few
words to say to you!"

"Oh, well. It was worth it. Truly, Lisette, the expression on
your face when you fell off your parasol was priceless."

Strand had doubtless thought the same! "At least," she
snapped, "no one has yet wished to pay to view it. Do you continue to
gobble up every piece of food in sight, they will offer a pretty sum to
see you at Astley's Amphitheatre!" The instant they were spoken, she
would have given a good deal to have retracted those unkind words. The
grin died from Norman's face. He flushed, and in silence replaced the
apple, bowed with surprising dignity, and left her alone. She thought
with a trace of shock, He's growing up! and felt confused and unhappy.

When she was sure the hall was clear, she hurried upstairs and
was arraying herself in a gown that Papa favoured when a quiet scratch
on the door announced the arrival of Norman and Judith. They both
looked solemn, and the fact that they were side by side with no
appearance of animosity told its own story. Lisette ushered them
inside, allowing her hand to rest an extra minute on her brother's
shoulder, and asked, "What's wrong?"

He saw the rather anxious smile in her eyes and grinned his
forgiveness.

"Beatrice," he said succinctly.

"And poor Sir William," nodded Judith.

"Come for the Damon ball," Norman finished.

"Oh, dear," sighed Lisette.

Lady
Beatrice Dwyer was, at four and
twenty, a younger but slightly more waspish version of her mother. In a
little less than three years, she had succeeded in so cowing her gentle
husband that, when in her presence, he seldom spoke without first
looking anxiously for her approval. Beatrice had her share of the
Bayes-Copeland good looks, and it was those looks that had snared Sir
William. He had neither an athletic build nor a handsome countenance to
recommend him, being short and rather stocky, his colouring florid and
his hair of an undistinguished brown. He was (besides being the
possessor of a fine old name, a baronetcy, and a comfortable estate in
Somerset) a kind-hearted soul whose interest in his fellow man had won
him far more friends than he knew. He idolized his wife, humbly
marvelling that he'd been able to win so pretty a prize, not realizing
that more worldly-wise gentlemen had taken heed of Beatrice's tendency
to shrewishness, and turned their attentions otherwhere.

At the luncheon table that day, Sir William was a little more
spirited than usual. Lisette always went out of her way to be kind to
him, being very aware of the burden under which he laboured. Taking
their cue from her, Judith and Norman, who were both now allowed to
join the family for luncheon, treated him with a deference he found
gratifying. Beatrice was rattling on as usual, allowing him little
chance to contribute to the conversation, but when Lisette found an
opening and asked if he had been able to get in any hunting after the
Christmas holidays, he answered joyfully that he had, by Jove! "Was
invited to ride with the Melton men. Bought m'self a dashed fine
hunter. Splendid beast. Sixteen hands, good shoulders, and a fine
barrel. If I say so m'self—"

"Oh, pray do not, William," Beatrice interpolated with a tight
smile. "The family don't want to hear all that hunting talk.

Now, Lisette, tell me what is all this we hear of your having
been in queer stirrups? You look well enough to me. I hope you don't
mean to become one of these sickly women, always ailing. It's high time
you was wed. She needs a husband, Mama. She is getting to be a positive
old maid, which will never do. We all expect you to at least
try
to make as good a match as did I, dear one."

Judith looked daggers and opened her mouth for an impassioned
defence, only to gasp as Norman's shoe connected hard with her shin,
and a warning frown was levelled at her across the table.

"Lisette is much better now," said Mrs. Van Lindsay. "And is,
in fact, being courted by several gentlemen."

"Well, I hope one amongst 'em has two groats to rub together.
I vow I could have wept when I heard Colonel Leith was snapped up by
that Strand woman! I was sure you'd catch him, Lisette—though you must
have been his second choice at best, for everyone knows he was mad for
Euphemia Buchanan. Lord knows why;
she's
nothing
for looks, heaven only knows."

Lisette kept her eyes on her plate and was silent. Norman and
Judith looked at each other in a mutual fuming. Mr. Van Lindsay coughed
and said grandly, "I'd allow your sister's admirers to be a fairly
well-breeched lot. Young Hilby will never be able to spend the half of
his fortune; Vaughan is wealthy in his own right, to say nothing of
what Moulton will leave him; and Garvey—" He exchanged a meaningful
glance with his wife. Few people knew of Mr. Garvey's financial
dilemma, and his prestige was such that Lisette's reputation could only
be enhanced by his attentions. "Garvey," he finished, "is fairly crazy
for her."

"Garvey?" put in Sir William.
"James
Garvey? Jove! He's an out and outer if ever there was one! And as well
breeched as he can stare! What d'you say to that, milady!"