Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (6 page)

His wife's eyes were very wide. "A most splendid catch," she
said, with only a trace of hollowness.

"How regrettable that I have no intention of 'catching' him,"
averred Lisette, her cheeks flaming.

Norman murmured softly, "Just like a blasted butcher's shop!"

Fortunately, his withering comment did not carry past Lisette,
and she did not betray him. She was, in fact, completely in agreement
with him.

Like everything else about the Duke of Vaille, his
house was as close to perfection as was possible. This
edifice was located in Bond Street, not far from the home of his good
friend the Earl of Harland, and with its unusual red mansard roof,
white exterior, and wide red steps was a spectacular sight. Inside, it
was rather awesomely lovely, but the majestic proportions of the rooms
did not detract from a sense of warmth and welcome. Tonight, those
rooms were ablaze with colourful gowns, and music vied with the merry
talk and laughter of the guests. Camille, Marquis of Damon, his
betrothed, and his father were still receiving latecomers two hours
after the first guests had arrived, but even then the house was not
uncomfortably crowded, the Duke not holding with the popular notion
that a party was not a success unless the guests were so jammed in they
could scarcely move about.

The arrival of Lisette Van Lindsay, escorted by James Garvey,
created quite a stir. Lisette's new gown admirably became her, and the
small necklace of rubies and diamonds that she had borrowed from her
mother (and which she suspected were paste) complemented it charmingly.
Well aware of the admiring stares of the gentlemen, Garvey was also
amused to notice the glares of several mamas having less spectacular
daughters they hoped to fire off this season. He confided to his fair
partner that he squired the loveliest lady at the ball. Lisette smiled
and thanked him, but she was unimpressed by flattery. If anything, she
thought the guest of honour the loveliest woman in the room, for
Sophia, Lady Drayton, was a great beauty with her golden hair and long
violet eyes. Those same eyes were bright indeed tonight, and having
congratulated her handsome fiance, Lisette embraced Sophia, happy for
the joy of this good friend.

"Dearest," Sophia whispered in her ear, "would you keep an eye
on Amanda for me? I bullied her into coming, but I fear she means to
hide somewhere. It is all so ridiculous because—Oh, Admiral Peterson.
How kind of you to come."

Lisette had, perforce, to move along, not having had time to
apprise Sophia of the fact that she scarcely knew Amanda Hersh, and was
not at all sure she wished so uncomfortable a task as to befriend a
disgraced girl.

Once they had moved into the ballroom, however, she became
such a centre of attraction that Sophia's request quite slipped her
mind. The gentlemen crowded around, begging for a place on her dance
card. Jocelyn Vaughan stole it and at once it was whisked away. Even as
she started to demand it be returned, Captain Miles Cameron came up to
present Lord Bolster, his lordship so obviously petrified with shyness
that she put aside her vexation and was as gently kind as she knew how
to be. Her reward was an incoherent mumble and a look of gratitude
wherein she also thought to read such misery that her heart was
touched. She was still looking after Bolster worriedly when Vaughan
swept her a deep obeisance and proffered her dance card, completely
filled.

Half laughing, half annoyed, she protested, "No, really,
Vaughan! This will not do, gentlemen! I must have a new card."

"I fear they are not to be had, dear lady," chuckled James
Garvey, offering his arm. "And since my own name heads the list and a
waltz is about to begin, I claim my fair prize."

She slipped her hand onto his arm and walked with him onto the
floor. "Well you may laugh, sir,
your
name was
written in honestly. I likely do not even know half the gentlemen who
signed my card!" She started to raise it, but the music began and she
was whirled into the dance.

The next hour flew by. The happiness of the occasion was
contagious, and Vaille's wisdom in holding the guest list to no more
than two hundred and fifty resulted in the- room staying fairly cool
and allowed the dancers to move freely. The lilting music, the lovely
ladies, the charming and elegant gentlemen, and the gracious house all
combined to create a most enjoyable evening, and Lisette was almost
sorry when Galen Hilby appeared to lead her in to supper. As always,
this very eligible young bachelor was light-hearted and full of plans
for her amusement. They would have a boat party, he proclaimed. They
would go down the Thames to Richmond, where they would disembark at the
home of Lisette's dear grandmama, who would be delighted to serve them
all a five-course dinner to follow their picnic. The idea of her
sharp-tongued and reclusive grandparent making such an offer sent
Lisette into peals of laughter. Glancing up, she encountered from
across the room the gaze of two intent blue eyes, and her laughter
died. For a moment she returned Strand's gaze, then, her cheeks hot,
she moved too hastily, overturned her glass, and sent ratafia cascading
over the pink net. Mr. Hilby gave her his napkin. Chagrined, she
thanked him, but excused herself and went in search of a maid.

She was returning to the ballroom ten minutes later, the
stains removed, when she saw a lackey carrying a tray to a secluded
ante-room. Sophia's request was brought to mind and, dismayed that it
had been neglected, Lisette waited until the man left, then entered the
room. Sure enough, a forlorn red-haired girl huddled at one end of a
sofa, reaching for a macaroon.

"Good evening, Miss Hersh," said Lisette, at her most friendly.

Amanda Hersh jumped, the macaroon shot into the air, and she
all but flipped the plate over as she turned a startled face towards
the newcomer. It was a wan face, the freckles that dusted the bridge of
the small upturned nose being very noticeable against the white skin,
and the big blue eyes rather pink-rimmed. "Oh!" gasped Miss Hersh. "I
thought you were my godmama!" And then floundered, "Not that I mean you
sound that old—I didn't I meant to—"

Lisette gave a ripple of laughter and sat beside her. "May I
join you? We have had little opportunity to chat, and I know Sophia
Drayton holds you in very high regard."

"Yes," sighed Miss Hersh, her eyes wistful. "Sophia is all
kindness but I have heard your family is—I mean—'' She blinked and said
unsteadily, "I should not be here you know for we—I am quite disgraced
and you perhaps would not wish to be seen—"

Her heart won, Lisette touched the trembling little hand.
"Why, I am perfectly sure you have done nothing even remotely dreadful."

"No," gulped Miss Hersh, her eyes filling with tears, "b-but
my wretched brother did and—and J-Jeremy was almost killed as if it
wasn't bad enough I'd drawn the wrong molar, I used a piece of string
and the doorknob and it was dreadful I assure you and oh I wish Sophia
had not been so consistent that I come although she means well of
course but it makes it quite—quite decrepit for… for me!" She sank her
face into her hands and sobbed.

Her ready sense of humour battling with her sympathy, Lisette
took the weeping girl into her arms. "Poor Amanda. May I call you
Amanda? Is it not dreadful to be heartbroken? I understand exactly how
you feel."

Amanda raised her head from Lisette's damp shoulder and
blinked at her. "You—do?" she said. "But—you are so very high—er—I
mean—"

"High in the instep?" Lisette suggested, laughing. "Oh, never
say so."

"I meant—highly born." Amanda accepted the handkerchief
offered and attempted to dry her eyes with that tiny wisp of lace and
fine cambric. "I cannot concede how you could know h-how I feel." And
noting the curiosity touching the great dark eyes that watched her so
sympathetically, she sighed. "Oh dear I must have said the wrong word
again I always do it I try not to but somehow things get muddled up and
Lucian my cousin Lucian St. Clair he's Jeremy's best friend next to
Strand and Harry Redmond, Lucian is always quizzing me about it only I
don't mind because he is the very dearest boy do not you think?"

The ingenuous gaze was lifted trustingly to hers. Astounded
that so much had been said in one breath, Lisette smiled. "I know Lord
St. Clair very slightly, but it would seem you've a most interesting
story and I should so love to hear it. Would you call on me soon?"

"How very kind you are but—" The eager face became woeful
again. "I doubt your mama would—"

"I have found you, I see."

Amanda gave a gasp, and Lisette turned, a horrible suspicion
that she knew that brisk masculine voice confirmed when she saw who
stood in the doorway. Justin Strand's ball clothes were very well cut
and flattered him, she thought. The jacket was superb and the knee
breeches revealed lean but surprisingly shapely legs. There was a
suggestion of carelessness about the cravat, and his fair hair was neat
but had certainly not been coaxed into one of the more modish styles.
Yet Judith had spoken truly, and if he were only less gaunt he might be
fairly attractive. A sense of repressed energy radiated from him, or
perhaps that thin face made him look more intense than most men.
Assuredly, he had his share of effrontery, for he had doubtless sought
her out so as to beg her for a dance. Well, Mr. Justin Strand was in a
fair way to being disappointed, for her card was quite full, as she
would show him, did he dispute the matter! Why he should presume that
she would condescend to dance with one of
his
revolting clan, was—

"I have come to beg you will dance the quadrille with me," he
said predictably, coming into the room, a smile crinkling the corners
of his eyes.

Lisette drew herself up, her brows arching quellingly. She
began to lift her dance card, the better to emphasize her refusal.

"Good evening, Miss Van Lindsay," he said pleasantly, and
walked past her, offering his arm to Amanda. "I do not mean to take no
for an answer, Mandy."

Amanda voiced an inarticulate hodgepodge of protest. Strand
bent, took both her hands, and pulled her to her feet. "Foolish child.
Come now, or they will begin." And with a sideways grin at Lisette, he
swept his reluctant partner from the room.

Lisette stared after them. "Well!" she said in a sort of gasp,
and taking up a macaroon, sank her teeth into it with unnecessary
ferocity.

When
Lisette returned to the ballroom, an
indignant Jocelyn Vaughan hurried to her and complained that the
quadrille was almost over.

"And what has that to say to anything, young man?" demanded a
querulous voice beside them.

Vaughan jumped, bowed deeply, and lifting the wrinkled hand of
the old lady who viewed them with fierce dark eyes, kissed it.

"Had I known you were here, dear ma'am," he flirted, "I'd have
spent the entire time at your side."

"I don't believe a word of it," snorted Lady Bayes-Copeland,
not unkindly, rapping him with her fan. "Now, be off with you, Vaughan.
I'd have words with my lady Toast, here!"

Still battling astonishment that her grandmama should have
made one of her rare excursions into Society, Lisette was commanded to
give her arm. She obeyed at once and, with the frail hand leaning on
her quite heavily, led her ladyship to the side. No sooner had they
found an empty sofa and sat down, than Camille Damon was before them,
professing himself quite overwhelmed by the honour done them. "What may
I bring you, ma'am?" he asked with a smile in his turquoise eyes. "A
glass of ratafia… or negus… or…?"

"Rum, you wicked devil!" said my lady. "Nor tease an old woman
when you've so lovely a girl of your own."

Damon bent over her. "God grant, ma'am, both I and my lady
carry our years as well as do you!" And again, her hand was kissed.

"How many times tonight, Grandmama?" enquired Lisette, as he
limped away.

"Well now, let me see… There was Vaille—lud, but you should
have seen
him
in his youth! What a wild, wicked,
handsome fellow! Camille has much of him, but not all—not all. And
Ridgely, such a sweet, good soul. And Bolster, who has left, looking so
sad, poor boy. And St. Clair, and Strand, and Vaughan, and—and what
a'God's name is your sister about?"

"Judith?" asked Lisette, startled for more reasons than one.

"Beatrice. Has she run mad, the minx? I came upon her in an
alcove with James Garvey! A good tongue-lashing I gave 'em both, I can
tell you! I'm told you came with him. Why?"

Garvey and Beatrice? Taken aback, Lisette stammered, "Why—he
asked me, ma'am. And why not? He is good
ton
, and
from a fine old house."

"In my day, girl," her ladyship snarled, rapping her cane on
the polished floor, "in my day, a woman could smell out a rake were he
dustman or duke! Faith—
now
why must you blush and
simper and peer around as though I'd filched the crown jewels? Because
I said 'rake'? It's a prudish lot ye are these days and no denying!
Now, what's to do with Beatrice and that milquetoast she's wed? Do they
not deal well?"

"I think-—that is to say… well, Beatrice is—is of a certain
temperament, and William is—''

"Is a sorry fool. But a better man than she warrants, withal!
'Twould be like Madame Airy Contrary to cast aside the gold for the
dross! And are you over your Leith megrims? It's time and past that you
were looking elsewhere. Now why is your mouth at half-cock, miss? D'ye
all think me blind?" She gave a cackle of mirth. "Will ye look at the
scarlet cheeks! You shall raise the temperature in this room, I don't
doubt!" She accepted the glass the Marquis returned to proffer, and
bestowed a smile on that young man that gave one an inkling of what she
must have been in her youth. "Thankee, Damon. And glad I am to see you
limping so noticeably. You're not wearing that ridiculous boot you was
used to fool us all with, eh?"