Lisette (17 page)

“—But you should. You are absolutely
stunning.” Lisette reached her the books. “These are my favorites.
I hope will enjoy them. I’ve copies at the manor, so they are
yours.”

After Pamela took them, she dug in and handed
her a pretty box. “Chocolates, from France. My mother has such a
love of them that she had dozens of boxes smuggled in during the
war. And this…” She brought a wrapped item out. “This is a shawl my
father, the duke, sends you.”

Pamela managed, “I am overwhelmed. I don’t
know how to thank you…”

Lisette took her hands over the pile that was
growing. She looked into Pamela’s eyes again. “I haven’t many
friends—never could make them easily. I am a bit—well; I do not do
well with rules and strictures. However, the friends I make, I
cherish. We are loyal to each other and share our greatest secrets.
I have come here, to be your friend. I hope. While I know trust
must be earned, I promise you, I will never betray that friendship.
Do you believe me, Pamela?”

Elisha saw his sister nod slowly. He knew
that Lisette was now aware of their past—all of it. He could hardly
sit there and keep his wall of aloof control up.

Lisette was saying, “It will take patience
for you to be my friend. I will make you daft, no doubt.” She
grinned. “Do you walk in the gardens?”

“I...Not often.”

“We must. Will you walk with me, whilst I am
here?”

“I often get—fatigued.”

“Then we’ll rest often.” Lisette nodded and
then went back to pulling things from that bag. There was a music
box and two pamphlets that he suspected were of the suffrage bent.
She had, in the bottom, a robe of beautiful red roses, with gold
threads.

“Thank you.” Pamela touched it. Elisha was
heartened by the way her fingers touched the roses as she admired
the material. He had been resigned that she would forever hate her
womanhood, but it seemed like a female response to a lovely
feminine garment.

A maid came in and took the gifts into
Pamela’s chamber. Another woman, older, the housekeeper, served
them tea and pastry.

Elisha merely listened and drank, as Lisette
told his sister about her family and the manor. She talked of the
duchess’s pets, and her favorite horse—and he noticed as she
talked, she would often take his sister’s hand and pat or stroke
it. Yes, the Wimberly’s believed in touching, in making people feel
their love and sincerity.

He was watching Pamela too and seeing her
smile. He could almost read her mind while she observed Lisette.
There was animation, life, warmth, color and humor, in everything
Lisette said. Elisha knew that feeling, felt some of it himself
still—and all those months he had watched her from afar, been drawn
to her.

Time passed—three hours perhaps, before she
arose.

“The housekeeper will have your rooms ready,”
he told her.

She leaned down and kissed Pamela’s cheek.
Upon straightening, she said to him, “Thank you.”

He arched his brow. “You’re welcome.”

Softly, she asked, “Am I?”

“Yes.”

She beamed at him.

The housekeeper entered.

Lisette followed her out.

Elisha remembered to announce dinner would be
at eight. Moreover, to tell her, he would show her the estate house
before then.

It was quiet in his sister’s sitting room,
though they could hear Lisette chatting happily with the woman as
they went a bit down the hall.

Pamela was looking at him. Her smile was half
confused and half delight.

Elisha grinned fully, unable to help it. “She
doesn’t seem like the woman I would be suited to, does she?”

“You must be very happy—and feel wonderful
when you are around her.”

“I do.”

“I can see why. She even smells like flowers
and sun.”

He went over, took her frail hand in his, and
kissed it. “I need her so much, it frightens me. I have tried… not
to.”

When he released her hand, Pamela told him,
“She seems to need that too, people—around her, and those to care
for.”

“She knows, everything, Pamela. I did not
tell her, but I know how persistent she can be. Smith must
have—”

For a moment, Pamela put a hand to her chest.
Her joy vanished.

He said with conviction, “It doesn’t matter
to her. She knows it’s not your fault, and Lisette is genuine in
her offer of friendship.”

“How can she…want to be around me?”

From the doorway, Lisette said softly, “For
the same reason I enjoy being around your brother.” She entered the
room.

Elisha moved.

Lisette reached up to cup his sister’s face.
“I am sorry for what happened to you. I am sorry for your pain and
suffering. I cannot begin to know what you feel. But I promise you
this—if you find me worthy of your friendship, I will cherish it, I
will count myself the luckiest woman in the world, to have won your
trust.”

When Pamela began to weep, Lisette asked
Elisha, “Will you leave us, for a bit.”

He nodded and left while she was leading
Pamela back to the bedroom.

Below, Elisha spoke to his staff, informing
them of the lady being the daughter of a duke, and working out a
schedule with the housekeeper and cook—thankfully knowing what her
favorite dishes were, and something of Lisette’s routine.

He went to the stable next, and talked to
Samuel, before speaking to the grooms. He had food and ale brought
for the Wimberly coachman, and after Samuel had eaten, they stepped
out, into the coach yard.

“She’s here with the duke and duchess’s
blessing,” the coachman told him, now divested of all save shirt,
trousers and boots. His iron gray hair was back with a thong. “His
Grace bade me stay as long as she wished.”

Seeing the searching in the man’s eyes,
Elisha murmured, “How long have you been with the family?”

“Nigh on fifteen years.” The man grinned.

That relayed well enough that he was used to
the unconventional ways of the Wimberly.

“There are apartments above the stable you
can make use of. Let my man, James, know of anything you need.”

Samuel nodded.

When he left him, sometime later, Elisha
could not resist going by his sister’s apartments before proceeding
to his own, to change for dinner. He went to the sitting room,
seeing through the doorway that they were seated on the side of
Pamela’s bed. Pamela was weeping still—something he had not heard
her do—. She was in Lisette’s arms. Lisette was stroking her hair
and murmuring to her.

Elisha turned and went to his rooms. He sat
with his head in his hands while his bath was prepared. He had to
deal with her knowing of his past. It coiled his guts into knots.
He sat back, dragging his hands down until they fell heavily onto
his thighs. Looking up at the ornate ceiling, he could torment
himself with imaging what it was like—hearing Smith tell it. Even
they did not discuss that between them, those years, and vulnerable
moments. Elisha’s skin heated on and off with some of that old male
shame that came with sanity, manhood, freedom—and looking back.

She should have a disgust of him.

“Your bath is ready.”

“Thank you.” He watched the footman pass by
and arose to strip and then pad to the bathing chamber.

His mother’s chamber was cleared. She’d had
little of herself in it but the wheeled chair. It had been a
difficult task—despite whatever mercy her release from life gave to
her. The emotions connected to her would always be mixed for
Elisha. The chair was in the attic. The room bare. The memories and
sadness…he was dealing with.

Elisha bathed while he attempted still to
come to terms with Lisette knowing and her being here—after
knowing. But some discomfort still clung to him, even after he
dressed later, in black trousers, white silk shirt and boots.

They met in the dining room.

“She’s sleeping,” Lisette told him as he held
the chair for her to sit.

He took his place at a dining table that was
too long and large, seldom used. After the servants filled their
plates and poured wine, departed, he drank half the glass and met
her gaze, asking? “You have questions?”

“No. Not like you think.” She looked down and
cut into her meat, then before spearing it offered. “If you meant
what you said and I’m welcome here. I asked only for your
trust.”

“Lisette...” Elisha began, but sighed and put
down the glass, sitting back and merely looking at her.

She chewed and wiped her mouth, then sat back
too. Hands in her lap, her eyes went over his face before meeting
his gaze. “I’ve told Smith to join us.” She relayed what she had
said to him, regarding his name and writing, then requested, “Give
me a few days to focus on Pamela. She needs someone to talk to. She
has held this in for years. I don’t doubt she loves you above
anything—but it’s sometimes difficult for a woman to admit or relay
things to a man, the way she can another female.”

He swallowed.

Lisette offered quietly, “I told you that I
cared for you. I do not think you believed me. Though I understand
why, I was still very hurt when you turned away from me before
leaving that day. I know how difficult and complex it all is now,
but I’m still capable of having my feelings wounded—particularly
since we’d been so intimate.”

“I’m sorry. You know it wasn’t you.”

She nodded. “I know. I am just speaking
bluntly, Elisha. You are a man, stronger than anyone I know. I
wanted you to send me some small word. I wanted you—to reach out to
me…”

“Lisette.” His eyes closed a moment.

She offered when they opened again, on her,
“Whilst I am here, will you try, Elisha, to talk to me? Because as
bold as I am, as brash as I seem, and as strong as you think I am,
I still need to know that you trust me enough to be yourself with
me. I have to know what you feel—if anything. I have taken a great
risk. Not the scandal, I care nothing if talk comes from my being
here. You know what I mean.”

He nodded, his gaze scanning her face.

They ate then, not talking much, and not
consuming much either. Afterwards, he walked with her through the
lower floors, though his tour was as strained as the tension
between them. She was tired. He was also; from the many nights he
had lost sleep after deciding to never see her again.

They were at the bottom of the stair, she
heading up them, he to his study—when he said, “I didn’t want to
bring you into these shadows. The wounds are healed somewhat, but
the pain goes beyond that. It gets in your head at times, and you
have to fight your way back to the present—to the reality that it
is over. Particularly for me, because for a time, before he shot
himself, I knew what that power over someone felt like. Rage, cold,
sick—it flowed through me. I lived and breathed it, and I could
have…” He looked down at his fisted hand, slowly uncurling his
fingers. “I could have so easily shot him myself. I did, in
essence.”

She reached and touched his cheek. “Just
hearing it, and I am sure it was not the full day by day, hour by
hour, reality. I felt rage and hate and pain so strongly that I
could taste it.” Her fingers stroked his skin. “I know you at your
vulnerable moments. You are nothing like him. You touch me and make
love to me with such intense emotion; I feel how you want me and
how you see me.”

She smiled slightly. “You may present
yourself as cold, but you bring the darkest fires to your
passion—and you took me to the most exquisite heaven with
them.”

He took her hand, moving it at the same time
he kissed her. The kiss, the emotions, wanted to be unleashed. Yet
she pulled back before it could. Her eyes and expression showed how
it aroused her and he drew satisfaction from it even though she
whispered goodnight and left him there.

Elisha found his own chambers. He lay in the
dark sensing her in his house, near, but not near enough. If he
woke and today was a dream…

* * * *

Lisette was up early the next morning, and
after breakfast asked the housekeeper if Pamela was awake?

“Yes, my lady.”

She went to see her, finding her dressed too
warm, but supposing she felt a chill being so thin. “Will you walk
with me?”

“Yes.” Pamela took her hand.

On the way down the stairs, Lisette subtly
allowed Pamela to lean on her, and though her heart shook at how
frail the woman actually was, she was determined to at least try to
get her outside.

That accomplished after slow progress, she
sat with her on the garden bench, and for a while talked softly of
different flowers and herbs, speaking about animals,
butterflies-anything—to call her attention to the life around
her.

“I would scarcely be able to read if not for
Elisha,” Pamela told her while holding a bloom that Lisette picked.
“I was not allowed to attend the girls academy and no governess was
hired for me.”

“He taught you, Elisha?”

“Yes. He always brought me books.” She looked
at Lisette. “Not novels as you have, though.”

“Ah, you’ll love them.” Lisette promised.

At noon, the maid brought out a cart with
fruits, cheeses, and sweets and they ate and talked more—Lisette
watching how little Pamela ate. She hoped the woman would gradually
build up an appetite.

They went in early evening. Pamela napped
while Lisette toured the rest of the house with Elisha. His
mother’s chambers were completely empty, not even having
drapes.

“You should rid yourself of your townhouse
and buy another.” She leaned inside his sitting room, seeing that
it was comfortable, masculine—too tempted by the high bed she could
see through the archway. She understood why it was so elaborate—and
it was, with plush pillows and velvet and silk comforter.

“It has been in our family for—”

She looked at him dryly. “Get rid of it.
Father will help you find another.”