Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (11 page)

"What the deuce?" chortled Norman, stepping into the room.
"Practising dramatics, Judith? Do you play the hero, or the abigail?"

"Odious wretch!" his sister snarled, throwing the rag at him.
"Can you not see that poor Lisette is dying of grief?"

"What? Oh, Lord!" he gasped, dismayed by the sight of tears.
"My—er, apologies, Lisette. It is not—Grandmama?"

"No. Thank goodness," gulped Lisette, trying valiantly to stop
weeping. "It—it is only—"

"She has received An Offer," said Judith, eyeing her quailing
brother with revulsion. "Men!"

"Good God! How many?" he gasped.

Lisette could not restrain a watery smile. "One—this
afternoon." She ignored the surprised glance Judith shot at her.
"Justin Strand."

Norman was so diverted as to forget discretion. He took out
the piece of nougat he had been hiding in his pocket, removed a leaf
from it, and popped it into his mouth. "Hmmn," he said indistinctly.
"He's not a commoner, whatever they say of his family. And—at least
it's not Garvey."

"Garvey would be a—a paladin compared to Strand," Judith
declared with indignation. "And you thought him wondrous great when he
first began to fix his attentions with Lisette."

"I doubt you know what 'paladin' means, even!" He did not add
that he'd written to his brother Timothy in the matter, nor did he
mention Tim's reply, now residing in his desk, but said merely,
"Changed my mind about the fellow. Was it my decision, I'd have Strand,
Lisette."

"And was it my decision, she should have neither, but wait
until a Prince of the Blood offers!" Judith announced grandiloquently.
"She has the looks, the lineage, and the grace, goodness knows."

"Well,
hee haw
!" mocked Norman. "From
the look of her, she don't mean to have neither. Is that the sum of it,
Lisette?"

"No." Lisette stood. "I shall wed Mr. Strand." She smiled
sadly at Judith's agonized wail and, saying she must go and tidy her
hair, went up to her bedchamber. Sanders was waiting and, taking one
look at her favourite, held out her arms. Lisette walked into them and
wept.

"My lamb." Sanders stroked the glossy hair comfortingly.
"Never you mind. Things has a way of working out for the best. You'll
find your happiness yet. Just look at Emily Cowper, married and a
Countess, but in love with Palmerston as all London knows. Love don't
always come where it's supposed to, my dearie."

"I know," Lisette sniffed, drawing back and drying her eyes.
"That's what Grandmama said. Only… I had so hoped…" Her voice scratched
into silence. She went over to sit down at her dressing table, and gave
an aghast cry at the sight of her red and puffy eyes. "Oh, Sandy! They
will be calling me downstairs!"

"Never you fear. We'll have you pretty as a picture in a
trice. You just close your eyes now." Sanders proceeded to bathe
Lisette's eyes with icy cold water, and then skilfully applied
cosmetics. "Was Mr. Strand all loving words and flowery speeches, my
lamb?" she asked.

"No! He—he was horribly cold and—and businesslike. He stamped
up to me as though he were on a parade ground, and when I uttered a
perfectly natural and maidenly demurral, he practically barked out that
I knew his family, and demanded to know if an offer from him would be
repulsive to me." Blinking away fresh tears, she said, "He—he might
have been bidding at a cattle auction!"

"Poor lad," Sanders smiled, and as her lady's eyes flew open
to fix her with an indignant stare, she shrugged, "Well, you know, Miss
Lisette, some men has the gift of the gab, and some hasn't."

"Lisette!" Judith burst into the room, quivering with
excitement. "Papa has sent Pauline to ask if you can please step into
the drawing room only I came instead and what did you mean when you
said one this afternoon did Mr. Garvey offer this morning?"

"Lawks!" gasped Sanders. "Whatever did you say, Miss Judith?"

Jumping up and down in agitation, Judith demanded, "Lisette!
Did
he?''

Lisette stood, smoothing her frock and knowing she looked
fairly well restored. "Yes. He offered. And I refused."

Judith uttered a shriek and threw herself backwards onto the
bed, to lie with arms wide-tossed. "What a waste! What an awful waste!"

Sanders muttered, "I doubt Mr. Garvey had any lack of flowery
words."

Lisette said, "No. As a matter of fact, he did not."

And, sadly, she went downstairs to accept the hand of Mr.
Justin Derwent Strand.

The
newly betrothed gentleman politely
refused an invitation to remain for dinner at the home of his affianced
bride. Walking beside her to the front door, he directed a keen gaze at
her composed features and said in his abrupt fashion, "I mean to make
you a good husband, ma'am. I hope to make you happy."

Lisette looked steadily at him, wondering what he would think
if he knew she was aware of the disgraceful way in which he had bandied
her name about. Her silence apparently discomposed him, for he lowered
his gaze, muttered, "I shall call to take you riding in the morning,"
accepted his hat and cane from the butler, and walked outside.

Turning about, he said with a flickering grin, "At half-past
six," and left her speechless with shock.

She had not the remotest intention of arising at such an hour,
but she began to harbour the uneasy suspicion that if she were not
ready at the appointed time, Strand would not be above rousing the
house. Vexed, she instructed Sandy to waken her at quarter to six, and
by half-past the hour, clad in her most attractive habit, was peeping
from the drawing room window.

"I'm over here!" announced a familiar voice behind her.

She spun around to find Strand watching her in obvious
amusement. He looked different somehow in his riding clothes; more at
ease, perhaps, in the brown corduroy jacket, beige breeches, and
spurred boots. "Come," he said, holding out an imperative hand.

Resenting the suggestion of command, she sauntered to his
side, tried to ignore that thin hand, but somehow found it clasping her
own. He took a small box from his pocket, opened it, and revealed a
ring that took her breath away. There were two diamonds and a round
emerald, of superb hue and cut, mounted in a charming design of
filigreed gold. "They were my grandmother's gems," he imparted,
slipping the ring onto her finger.

"How lovely! And the fit is perfect. What a good guess!"

"Not at all. Your abigail gave me one of your rings to take to
the jeweller. I commissioned Rundell and Bridge to design the new
setting for you."

Frowning a little, she said, "You did? When?"

"Oh, last week," he answered airily, and stifling a smile at
the immediate indignation in her face, said, "Come along. I cannot keep
the horses standing."

"Nor can I make a practice of this. You must know, Mr. Strand,
that—"

"Do you fancy you could manage to use my name?" he asked,
suddenly wistful. "Since I did not ask for a kiss."

Colour flooded her cheeks. "You—are quite at—at liberty to
take one, sir—Justin

"Justin will do nicely," he said, kindly. "I have no title,
you know."

Yearning to scratch him, Lisette swept from the room.
Downstairs, he seized her hand as she started for the front door, and
led her instead to the back of the house.

"What on earth?" she asked, curious.

"I came around the back, so that you would not see me arrive.
Just in case you were peeping through the curtains, I mean."

Bristling, she resumed the attack. "Which reminds me, I do not
make a habit of rising at this hour, and—''

"Never mind. You'll get used to it. This way."

He marched across the lawn as though this were his house
instead of the home in which his seething fiancee had grown up, and
opened the back gate.

Lisette walked ragefully into the alley. A groom held two fine
horses, one a big chestnut stallion, and the other a black mare, all
fine Arabian daintiness. Her vexation forgotten, Lisette went at once
to stroke the mare. "What a beauty! You never found her at the stables?
Is she yours?''

"No. She's yours."

She gave a gasp, and stared at him.

He said quietly, "Your engagement present, my dear." And,
heedless of the groom's presence, he bent and kissed her on the cheek.
An odd flutter disturbed Lisette's heartbeat. Instinctively, her hand
went up to touch his face. For an absurd instant she thought she saw
longing in his eyes, then he said, "Now you're paid up!" and bent to
receive her foot and throw her up into the saddle.

The mare's name was Yasmin; she had a pretty, mincing gait and
a spirited, playful disposition. "No cow-handed idiot has ever hurt her
mouth," said Strand, adding a "yet," that caused Lisette to freeze with
indignation until she glimpsed the twinkle in his eyes.

He rode towards the park despite the fact that his mount
showed a marked inclination to climb into every passing vehicle. "I'm
afraid," Strand said wryly, "I shall have to take this silly fellow for
a gallop, but I'll only be a minute."

The park was almost deserted at this hour, and he was off,
leaving behind the memory of his quick smile, his teeth a white gleam
against the bronzed skin. Lisette sent the mare after him at a less
headlong pace. The animal must, she thought, have cost a pretty penny,
for her lines were magnificent, she moved like silk, and it was a joy
to ride her. Never having been up at this hour, Lisette was unfamiliar
with the peace of dawn and marvelled at how quiet was the great city.
The skies were dotted with clouds that were grey at first, becoming
gradually roseate as the sun touched them. The air was cool and
invigorating, fresh after the rains of the night, and every leaf and
blade of grass sparkled to the first rays of the sun. A distant hail
penetrated her absorption with the beauties about her, and she saw
Strand, far down the path, waving impatiently. On an impulse, she drove
home her heels, and Yasmin bounded forward. Lisette crouched in the
saddle, and the mare all but flew.

"Jolly well done!" cried Strand laughingly, as they came up
with him.

"Oh, but she is splendid!" Lisette exclaimed breathlessly,
cheeks and eyes aglow.

"And so are you, but I'd best not encourage you to behave so
hoydenishly do we ride any later."

Lisette glanced nervously around, to find herself the
recipient of a disapproving glare from a horsy-looking middle-aged
lady, and of a decidedly approving smile from the lady's escort. "Good
heavens!" she murmured, reddening. "I forgot myself! What a thing to
do! I fear you are a bad influence on me."

"Nonsense. You should do it more often—in the country, at
least. It becomes you. Come, we've plenty of time, and— Hello there!"
He waved, calling cheerily as he rode to meet a solitary rider, Lisette
following willy-nilly, and irked again by his abrupt manners.

Lord Bolster, astride a fine grey horse, looked nervously at
Lisette, but shook hands and bowed politely. He had decided, he said,
to go to Italy "on a repairing lease with Mitchell Redmond," as soon as
he got Harry Redmond "settled." He seemed vague as to what this would
involve, but in view of his mental condition and the great difficulty
he experienced in enunciating, Lisette did not enquire. She had fully
intended to invite Amanda Hersh to tea, and made a silent vow to do so.
When they were alone again, she communicated this resolve to her fiance.

"That would be kind in you," he nodded. "We could ask her to
stay with us for a week or two, if you wish."

"Yes. But I had meant—in Town."

"Doubt there will be time. You'd best wait until we get to
Sussex."

"S-Sussex…?" she faltered.

"Yes. My home is in Sussex. Good Lord! I must take you down
there, of course. What a clunch I am! We shall have to go and see your
grandmama this afternoon, but—"

"We—
what
?"

"I had thought you would want that. Do you not care for her?"

"
Care
for her?" She bridled. "Of course I
care for her, sir!"

"Justin. No 'sir,' " he reminded her solemnly.

"It is merely that there is no cause for haste. My papa will
put the announcement in
The Gazette
, and then—"

"It is already in, so you've no cause to worry your pretty
head over that."

"Already
in
. …? M-my goodness, but you
were sure of yourself,'s—Mr. Strand."

"Not at all. Merely busy yesterday afternoon." He asked
interestedly, "Are you going to do that every time you find me vexing?"

"Do what?"

"Call me Sir Justin, or Mr. Strand. You shall have to say my
name in the ceremony, you know."

An uneasy suspicion deepening, Lisette entered what she feared
might be a useless caveat. "Yes, but that will not be for some time."

He nodded. "True. Four long weeks. We had best get back now,
if we are to get down to Richmond in time for luncheon. Do not just sit
there, my dear. Pretty as you are, the flies are sure to pop into your
mouth!"

He set a brisk pace, but before they were safely back to
Portland Place, it was raining again. When the stunned Lisette was
sufficiently recovered, she attempted to demand that they should at
least delay the wedding until there was a chance of the weather
improving. "Don't think it's going to improve, ma'am," said Strand,
adding with a flash of his sly grin, "Do we delay until June, we'll
likely have to be wed in a rowboat! Besides which, I doubt if I could
persuade the Lord Mayor to keep up all the decorations until then."

Baffled, Lisette stared at him until he reached over to put
one finger beneath her chin and lift it, thus closing her sagging jaw.
"Very pretty, that astonished expression," he said with revolting
condescension. "But it might not be an especially good habit to
encourage, y'know."