Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (10 page)

He leaned closer, demanding,
"What
other
considerations? Your father has been listening to idle gossip, perhaps?
My friends do not please him—is that the sum of it?''

Lisette made as if to stand but, infuriated, he so far forgot
himself as to catch her wrist and 'pull her back. "Perhaps I should
speak with—"

A brightly coloured ball bounced around the bend, closely
followed by a little boy in grass-stained nankeens. Lisette seized her
opportunity and stood as two nursemaids wheeled their small charges
along the path. She walked rapidly away, keeping her head slightly
averted, praying they might not recognize her.

Her hope was vain.

"Oho!" breathed one of the nursemaids, her plump features
wreathed in a grin. "If Miss hoity-toity Van Lindsay's
his
latest flirt, the cat's in with the chicks, and no mistaking!"

" 'Ere," said her friend, eagerly. "Oo was it, Ada? I know
'er, a'course. But oo was the genle'man?"

Ada imparted with relish, "That there 'gentleman,' me dear
Flo, was none other than James Garvey! Him as is a bosom bow of our
Florry Sell!"

"Our
oo
?" asked Flo, her brow furrowing.

"Ow, come on, Flo! You know who Florrey Sell is. Our Prince,
duck."

"Prince? Oh, you mean George?
Wot
did
you call 'im?"

"Florrey Sell! Lawks sake! Ain't you never heard that? It's
what they called him when he was young and fair."

Flo uttered a disparaging snort. "Fairly fat, if you ask me!"

"The point is that Garvey's thicker 'n thieves with him. And
you know what they say about the Regent!"

"No," breathed Flo, her eyes very wide. "Oo does?"

"Ow! Flo!"

Lisette
entered the house through the
areaway and asked Cook to send a light luncheon to the breakfast room.
She further astonished that lady by washing her hands at the kitchen
sink, for she had no wish to be seen by any member of the family until
her nerves were quieter. She took off her bonnet and shawl in the
breakfast room and ate her luncheon in solitude, her thoughts on the
shocking truths James Garvey had divulged. She tried not to dwell on
Strand's infamy. He was no gentleman, which she should have realized at
all events, and to expect him to behave like one must only court
disappointment and deepen her dislike of the man she was apparently
doomed to wed. Garvey had apologized for his anger, but once they were
in the phaeton, neither had spoken until they reached Portland Place.
Lisette had stolen an occasional glance at him and discovered a pale
face and frowning brow, the green eyes brooding. He had escorted her to
the door, shaken her hand and said his goodbyes very properly, but the
grimness had persisted, and she was left with a dread of what he meant
to do.

She had no intention of mentioning his declaration, but it was
evident that Judith had spoken of the earlier encounter, for when
Lisette started up the stairs, her father called her down again and
into his study, where he asked if she wished that he warn Garvey off.
Something in his daughter's wan expression alerting him, he demanded,
"What? Has he had the impertinence to address you?"

She pointed out, "You must remember, Papa, that at first you
were all that was amiable. We can scarce expect the poor man to
comprehend why our attitude has changed. He has been very kind, and—"

"Kind,
d'ye call it? To subject two
ladies to that disgraceful fiasco this morning? I call it damnably
rag-mannered. Little Judith was still frightened when she come home,
though Strand had done what he might to calm her. Had he not kept
himself in hand, Lord only knows where things might have led! I'll be
dashed if I don't begin to think well of that young fella!"

Relieved that his attention had strayed from the offending
Garvey, Lisette pleased her papa by informing him that Mr. Strand
intended to call, to take her driving.

"Then you will want to change your dress," he said,
accompanying her to the stairs. "And I fancy Judith is waiting to speak
with you. She is in the parlour. With Beatrice."

Lisette's pause was barely perceptible. Walking on, she
thought that this day showed little promise of improving. Beatrice
could be charming when she chose, however, and was evidently in good
spirits, because upon entering the parlour, Lisette found her sisters
laughing merrily together.

"Here you are at last!" exclaimed Beatrice, standing to give
her a peck on the cheek. "Such an age you have been! But Judith has
kept me entertained with her account of this wicked novel she has been
reading. What Mama would say I dare not guess, but I could not keep
from laughing when she told me of Sir Montague. She says his
description fairly matches Justin Strand—tall and bony, with evilly
glistening eyes. Is she not a naughty little puss so to mock him?"

"And ungrateful!" Lisette flashed an angry glare at Judith.
"You forget, do you not, that Mr. Strand was so kind as to escort you
home this morning?"

"Well, I did not need his offices," declared Judith, her nose
in the air. "Lord Bolster and Brutus were sufficient of an escort. And
besides, not only is Mr. Strand socially beneath us, but he's not near
so handsome as Mr. Garvey."

Beatrice laughed, but Lisette exclaimed, "For shame! Whatever
else he may be"—and little did they know how low!—"he is a—a friend of
my father. And Grandmama thinks the world of him!"

"Scarcely a glowing recommendation." Beatrice sat on the sofa
again, and tittered, "Lud, girl, why do you rage at us? One might
almost think you were becoming fond of the creature."

"Then one would be most foolish! It is simply that I cannot
abide unkindness. Which reminds me, I had thought you were going back
to Somerset with William?"

"Oh, he went back." Beatrice shrugged. "But I decided to stay
in town for a while. I am invited to visit Dorothy Haines-Curtis. She
is upset because she was obliged to send Harry Redmond about his
business. The Redmonds are bankrupted, you know, so she is well rid of
him. And why my plans should be any of your bread and butter, I cannot
guess."

Lisette, who was fond of Sir William, fixed her with a cold
stare. "Can you not?"

Beatrice's eyes fell. She stood, exclaiming, "I declare, I
cannot be in this house above an hour without coming to cuffs with
someone! Nobody cares how
I
feel—nor what
my
life is like in that lonely old house… miles from any excitement!" With
tears coming into her dark eyes, she said on a sob, "Nobody even
tries
to understand!" And with a flounce of silks, she sped from the room.

Lisette turned to Judith. "I think it will be as well, dear,
if we forget what Beatrice just said. She likely does not mean it."

"Oh, yes, she does. She is bored. She doesn't like that house
in Somerset. And I doubt she likes William very much, either."
Abandoning the air of sophisticated languor she had copied from
Beatrice, Judith now bounced up, saying with ghoulish appreciation,
"Was that not a famous confrontation this morning? I was sure Mr.
Strand was going to take off his glove and cast it in Mr. Garvey's
teeth! How thrilling that would have been! I probably would have
fainted away."

Lisette said dryly, "So might Mr. Strand. I hear James Garvey
is a dead shot!"

Promptly at three o'clock Mr. Justin Strand was
announced and at once strode swiftly into the drawing room.
Lisette had been idly turning the pages of
Ladies Magazine
and looked up, startled, schooling her features into a smile that died
a'borning. In anticipation of a carriage ride, she had donned a
high-necked gown of cream silk, the bodice overlaid with ecru lace, and
had selected a fine straw bonnet with a high poke trimmed in the same
shade of lace. Mr. Strand, however, was dressed very formally in an
impressive dark brown velvet jacket, fawn knee breeches, and a
magnificent cravat in which a great topaz gleamed. Not a little
dismayed, she rose as he marched across the room to halt before her.

"Good afternoon," she faltered, holding out her hand. "I must
thank you, Mr. Strand, for your—your understanding this morning. And
for escorting my sister home. Perhaps I should call my mother. I'd not
realized you meant to come up, and—''

His clasp was firm, brief, and icy cold. "And it is improper
to be alone with me," he said in his brusque way. "I know. That is why
I asked the footman not to announce me until I was up here. There is
something I must discuss with Mr. Van Lindsay. I am told he is at home,
but first, I must know. Miss Lisette—have you taken me in aversion?"

With the moment of truth upon her, she stared at him in blank
shock. He was a little pale, and the thick light hair with its tendency
to turn upwards at the ends was rumpled as though he had run a nervous
hand through it. Those intense eyes seemed to burn through her defences
so that she lowered her own and lied, "Why, no. But—but, I know you so
slightly, sir. It is very—er, soon to—to—"

"You know my background; my family," he interpolated gruffly.
"Tell me without frills if you please, ma'am. Would an offer from me
be—repulsive to you?''

From under her lashes she saw that his jaw had set, and that a
little nerve pulsed in his cheek. His hands, too, were clenching and
unclenching, and she noted absently what long, thin, sensitive fingers
he had. Could it be possible that he did care for her a little? What
stuff! If he cared for anything, it was that he not be made to look
ridiculous by suffering a rejection after his braggadocio! Recovering
her poise, but her heart recoiling from this duplicity, she lifted her
eyes to his. "For a lady to receive an offer of marriage can only be a
great compliment, sir."

For an instant, something that might almost have been regret
came into his expression, and was as quickly gone. "I see." He nodded,
and stepped back. "Will you be so good as to excuse me, then?"

Lisette murmured, "Of course," and watched him stalk from the
room. She sat down again, tears blinding her. What a perfectly horrid
proposal of marriage. The antithesis of everything she had ever dreamt
of. How stiff and cold he was. How totally lacking even a touch of
romance. The odious creature had not so much as kissed her hand. After
they were wed, she would likely freeze to death! And then, she thought
miserably, everyone would be sorry.

The object of her thoughts paced along the hall, slowed, and
stopped at the top of the stairs. With one hand resting on the
banister, he stared blankly at the lower hallway. She didn't want him,
that was very clear. But she would not refuse him. His brows drew
together. Perhaps, if he waited… But he dared not wait. Garvey would
not wait, and Garvey could upset the whole applecart! He squared his
shoulders, ran an impatient hand through his hair, and hurried lightly
down the stairs.

He had visited this house sufficiently often to find his way
to the study but when he reached the door, he again paused. He could
hear Van Lindsay talking very loudly inside, and Mrs. Van

Lindsay's voice raised in complaint. His knock received no
answer and, looking about for a servant to announce him properly, he
saw no sign of life. He opened the door, then stopped, blinking in
astonishment.

The butler, footman, and two maids sat at one side of the
room, watching their employer, who strode up and down, several sheets
of paper close-covered with writing in one hand, and the other arm
waving as he roared out a speech. Mrs. Van Lindsay, elegant in a gown
of dark blue sarsenet braided with white at flounce and throat, ran
along beside him, exhorting, pleading, demanding, all to no avail.

A slow grin curved Strand's mouth, and he watched, delightedly
.

"…the fields are being gobbled up!" thundered Van Lindsay.

"You will trample a hole clear through, do you not sit down,
sir!" moaned Mrs. Van Lindsay, trotting just as destructively at his
side.

"They do not farm! They buy up the land only for their own
aggrandizement, and seldom set foot on it!"

"Your feet will touch the boards soon enough, do you not stop
this horrid pacing!"

"Thousands
have lost their place! Our
valiant fighting men have been disbanded with neither thanks nor
reward! The taxes are eating us up! And these reckless fools build
their palaces, and—''

"Sit down! Will you not sit down, Mr. Van Lindsay? I beg!
There are bare strands now! Another few strides, you will be through to
the backing!"

The bedevilled orator halted. "By gad, madam! Can you think of
nothing but your confounded floor coverings? I am striving to—" Here,
chancing to encounter the amused glance of his guest, Humphrey gave a
gasp. "Mr. Strand!" he cried with uncertain joviality. "Er—that will be
all, you people."

Hiding covert grins, the servants fled. Mrs. Van Lindsay
looked briefly ready to swoon, but recovered to extend her hand in a
queenly gesture and assure Mr. Strand he was most welcome, although she
would wish someone had been available to receive him.

Inwardly delighted that the lapse in protocol had enabled him
to witness such a scene, Strand replied, "I am encouraged to feel
sufficiently at home that I came on, ma'am. I trust I have not
offended."

"No, no!" She granted him a rather toothy smile. "Never that,
Mr. Strand. You are—always welcome. You have come to call for my
daughter, I believe?"

"No, ma'am. I have come for a word with your husband. If I do
not intrude at a difficult moment?''

"Never!" Van Lindsay beamed, all but throwing his speech
aside. "My dear, you will be so kind as to require that Powers bring a
bottle of the 'seventy-four Madeira. Now, my dear Strand, sit down and
be comfortable. Tell me—what may I do for you?"

"Do
not cry! Oh,
please
do not cry!" wailed Judith, fluttering about her sister with damp rag
in hand and tears of sympathy filling her own eyes. "My poor darling!
How could they be so
heartless?
Sold! Like sweet
Fiona! I vow it is
inhuman!"
She stood straight
and flung up the rag in her distress, proclaiming, "We should
protest!
We must strike a blow for—"