Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (12 page)

Recovering her voice at length, she gasped, "What—
what
decorations? What have you done?"

He waved an arm expansively. "Have you not noticed? All

London wears her party dress. Flags, bunting, the parks full
of lights, bands and parades and jollifications practiced these many
days now."

She said indignantly, "But that is not for
us
,
and well you know it, sir!"

"It ain't?" He blinked, disconcerted. "Never cast me down so!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake! You are as aware as am I that the
celebrations are for the marriage of the Princess of Wales and Prince
Leopold!"

"What? Then I've been properly gulled! Dashed if I shall ever
heed the word of the Lord Mayor of London again!" The twinkle in his
blue eyes very pronounced, he said solemnly, "I suppose that means
I
shall be expected to stand the huff for our own celebrations!"

The horses had slowed during this interchange, and, sternly
suppressing a gurgle of laughter, Lisette spurred her mount to a trot
once more, her covertly grinning betrothed following suit.

Despite his teasing, Strand's adherence to the immediacy of
their union was firm, and Lisette soon discovered she had only begun to
glimpse his unflagging zeal in achieving that—or any— goal. He did not
so much ride roughshod over opposition as he outdistanced it, going
merrily along at his energetic pace, apparently convinced that the
plans he set in motion were sure to please everyone, so that by the
time others caught up with them, it was too late to protest. A
bewildered Lisette found herself whisked from Richmond, where her
grandmother was not at home, to Windsor, where Strand's grandmother
dwelt. This octogenarian
was
at home and, having
favoured her grandson with a plaintive sigh and one faded cheek raised
for his kiss, extended two drooping fingers for Lisette to shake, and
offered Strand her congratulations on snaring "such a lovely girl. In
spite of… everything." It was the first time Lisette had found her
betrothed subdued, but he soon rebounded and next day the chaise was
racing towards Esher and his Great-Aunt Therese. Therese was a large
widow with an overpowering and delightfully erratic personality. She
dwelt in a very large house to which she welcomed them warmly, and
spent most of the day . introducing them to visitors, more of whom
arrived hourly. No one left, and the house became crowded, with each
saloon seeming to contain a group of decidely differing
opinions to
those aired in the next. Lisette was both bewildered and enchanted, the
hours flew past, and she was genuinely sorry when they left.

They reached London at dusk. Lisette was thoroughly tired, but
Strand arrived for dinner, as full of spirits as ever, and entered into
a lively discussion with Mrs. Van Lindsay regarding the date of the
wedding. Shocked when he expressed a desire for a morning rather than
the customary evening ceremony, that redoubtable dame adopted her most
chilling attitude. She was agreed with, smiled upon, told she was "a
most delightful lady," and while still befuddled somehow agreed to the
morning wedding.

Judith was no less summarily dealt with. Strand, interfering
in matters to which gentlemen never paid the least heed, was horrified
when he chanced to arrive a few days later while she was promenading in
the elaborate gown she was to wear as a bridesmaid. "Why, it makes her
look big as a house!" he exclaimed indelicately, and whirling to the
murderously scowling Judith, demanded, "Do you like that abomination?"
As always rather intimidated by his brusqueness, she stammered that she
did. "But you cannot imagine it flatters you?" Sure she was being
roasted, she sulked, "Flatters
me?
What could
flatter
me!
At all events, it is too late now."
Strand refuted this and demanded she go and bring "that periodical you
ladies are always looking at,
My Lady,
or
whatever it's called. Hurry now!" When she had fled, he turned to the
astonished Lisette and expostulated, "Good God! Whoever chose that mass
of frills and flounces?"

"My sister, Lady Dwyer, helped Judith make the choice. With
which, I might add, she was perfectly happy until you condemned it."

"Hmmn. Thought so. Never mind, we'll come about!"

Judith returned with
Ladies Magazine,
and the pair of them spent an hour poring over this and that style
until Strand decided on a very plain gown Judith thought deplorable. He
convinced her it would be more becoming than the other and carried her
off to a rather middle-class emporium called Grafton's, returning with
a welter of pale peach-coloured satin and tulle, and the triumphant
announcement that, Judith being a splendid seamstress, they would go
along very nicely with this one. It was the first intimation her family
had that Judith was a more than passable needlewoman, but to everyone's
surprise, she set to work at once, thoroughly enjoyed herself, and
turned out a truly charming gown that admirably became her.

The next item on the agenda was the possible location of the
betrothal bail. It had been decided to hold this at the home of a
friend until Strand came wandering in one morning with the guest list
of his own friends and family. This was voluminous, but he cheerfully
refused to shorten it and, since he was paying for the ball, which
promised to be expensive even if it could not be expected to be a great
occasion, it was clear that a much larger home would be required. Even
so, they were all stunned when at his next appearance he casually
announced that the Earl of Harland had graciously offered his London
house for the purpose, and that Strand's majordomo, one Mr. Fisher,
would "handle everything."

When the news of the betrothal appeared in
The
Gazette,
London was deliciously shocked. As a result, a
stream of visitors descended upon Portland Place in a flurry of
excitement that was not soon to fade. One of Lisette's first callers
was a man she dreaded to receive. Mr. Garvey was smiling and suave. He
expressed his felicitations with grim insincerity, his eyes glaring his
frustration. Bowing over her hand before he departed, he murmured, "I
have not given up, ma'am. If there is any possible way to rescue you
from this fiasco, it will be done!" Frightened, Lisette relayed the
episode to her father. Van Lindsay pooh-poohed her alarm, telling her
in some amusement that Garvey was merely a heartbroken suitor and must
be excused this flight into melodrama. To his wife, he was less
facetious. "Garvey is a vengeful man, m'dear," he said worriedly. "I
told Lisette to forget the matter, but I'll not dissemble, he's a power
to be reckoned with!"

Among the crush of those arriving the following day were two
very different callers. The first of these was Amanda Hersh, whose
green eyes still held the shadow of sorrow that had disturbed Lisette
when first they met. Lord Bolster, she confided, had made a final
attempt to persuade her to wed him and had been thoroughly routed when
she had vowed to join the next group of emigrants sailing for the
Colonies, if he did not cease to entreat her. "He is such a dear," she
sighed, "and being extremely opposed to
that
notion, has agreed to deface himself.''

Preserving her countenance with difficulty, Lisette said she
had heard his lordship meant to go to Europe. "My betrothed," she went
on, "has suggested you might agree to visit us in Sussex when we are
settled there. I do beg you will consider it. I shall, I fear, find
country life somewhat tedious, having been accustomed to Town."

This was not an idle remark. Strand had, at the first
opportunity, taken his bride-to-be to visit her new home. Well aware
that a certain pair of blue eyes watched her reactions with no little
anxiety, Lisette had tried to be polite, but Strand Hall, with its
pillared front and neoclassical architecture, she found cold and
unattractive, and the housekeeper, a sharp-eyed woman named Mrs.
Hayward, was respectful but unfriendly, so that, with sinking heart,
Lisette had known there was a battle to be won there.

Shortly after Amanda departed, Lisette was receiving the
Honourable Sarah Leith. Sally, who had once been a very dear friend,
came into the room rather hesitantly. She was a kind girl, but blessed
with few of the good looks so spectacularly evident in her brother
Tristram. Her eyes were dark but not large; her clear skin was inclined
to be sallow, and although her brown hair was luxuriant, it could not
make her into a beauty. Her smile, however, was warm and sincere, and
her gentle disposition soon won her friends to thinking her very pretty
indeed. When she saw the smile Lisette summoned, she ran forward to
clasp her in a hug and say rapturously, "Oh, Lisette! I am so happy! To
think you will be my sister-in-law! Is it not wonderful? I never
dreamed of such luck, for I always dreaded lest I be the victim of
relations who would either bully or despise me—neither of which you
will do! How thrilled I am for Strand—he is the very dearest boy.
Indeed, you could not do better! And he, of course, is so deep in love
he can scarce recall his own name most of the time!"

She laughed, and Lisette responded suitably, wondering how
Strand, so very unloverlike, could possibly have given her such an
impression. Drawing Sally to the sofa, she said, "How nice it is to see
you again. It has been such a long time since we met."

"Yes—before my brother was married. And then, I heard you were
ill. I wrote, but perhaps you did not get my letter. The postal service
is so very bad these days."

Lisette blushed. She had received the letter and meant to
respond, but never quite found the words. "You were so kind. I intended
to write, but everything has happened so fast. How does your brother go
on? I hear Mrs. Leith is—is very beautiful."

"Oh, she is! And so sweetly natured. They are beyond words
happy! After Tristram lost Mia Buchanan, I began to think he would
never wed. For a while I even thought—perhaps—" she smiled shyly—"you
will think me foolish, but I hoped you had an affection for him, and
that you would be my new sister. Then, when we feared him lost at
Waterloo—heavens! What a ghastly time that was! You can imagine my joy
when he came home at last, and so deep in love with his Rachel. But you
know that story, I do not doubt, and the important thing is that he is
happy now. Dear soul, he deserves it, and I could not wish a sweeter
wife for him! Enough of my brother. Lisette, may I See your ring? Oh!
It is beautiful! Do you know, I'd no idea you had even
met
Justin."

"I have known him a—a comparatively short time. It was all
rather sudden."

Sally scanned her lovely face intently. "You are very brave to
marry into our rather notorious family. I was a little surprised that
your parents consented to the match."

"Oh, no, did you think us so very proud?" Sarah's colour
heightened and, realizing she had thought just that, Lisette went on
quickly, "Indeed, had my parents objected, I doubt they could have
prevailed. Your brother-in-law is a most—ah— persuasive gentleman."

Sarah went into a peal of mirth. "Isn't he just? Tristram says
that Justin quite wears him out." Her face clouded suddenly. "I only
hope that long stay in India did not—" She checked and stood as Mrs.
Van Lindsay swept into the room. "Good morning, ma'am. I am come to
welcome my new sister-in-law into the family."

"Why, that is true, of course, dear Sally," gushed Mrs. Van
Lindsay, extending her hand and managing to avoid her daughter's eyes.
"A rather distant relationship, I fear, but one that will, I am sure,
be a delight to Lisette. It is deplorable that I interrupt, but we
simply must get to the modiste's shop for a fitting of the wedding
gown. You do mean to come to our ball next week…?" Miss Leith said
warmly that nothing could keep her away and left them, and in short
order Lisette was in the carriage with her mama and an eager Judith, en
route to the exclusive little shop just off Bond Street. The wedding
gown was lovely, but she was too preoccupied to show much enthusiasm.
Standing patiently while the women fussed about her with tape measures
and pins, her thoughts were on Tristram Leith. Sooner or later, she
must meet him and his bride. The prospect made her heart cringe. She
tried to force that terrible vision from her mind, and wondered vaguely
what Sally had been going to say about Strand's sojourn in India.

The
day of the ball dawned cloudy and
threatening, typical of this depressing Spring, and Mrs. Van Lindsay
went about with a glum expression, forecasting the Disaster of the
Season. By noon, the rain had settled in with a steadiness that augured
ill for attendance, and by dusk was an unrelenting downpour.

Mr. Van Lindsay, who adopted an air of tolerant condescension
to his prospective son-in-law, was undismayed by the weather. He had
jubilantly told Lisette that Strand's settlement had been magnificent.
"All our troubles are over, m'dear. You've done very well by your
family, burn me if you ain't!" The full extent of that settlement was
unknown to her, but the purse strings were considerably relaxed, which
was a joy to all. As a result, she had another new ball gown, a
delicious concoction of pale blue satin, the low-cut bodice embroidered
with seed pearls. With it, she wore long pearl drop earrings, and knew
herself to look very well, a knowledge confirmed by the approval in the
eyes of her betrothed when he arrived at seven o'clock for a light
dinner. He looked quite charming in his ball dress, although she
fancied to see a tiredness in his eyes: not surprising, she thought,
considering the pace he'd set himself these past three weeks.

Lady Bayes-Copeland had arrived that morning, her sudden
arrival in Portland Place having been a considerable shock to her
daughter. "I am here," she announced firmly, warming her frail hands by
the drawing room fire, "to see this young jackanapes my Lisette has
accepted. Only ever laid eyes on him once before he commenced his
courtship. Blessed if ever I saw such an unseemly rush to the altar! I
collect you bullied her into accepting his fortune, eh, Philippa?" It
was not a propitious beginning and, when Strand arrived, the delay to
which she subjected him while critically scanning him through her
lorgnette before consenting to offer her hand, was even less
encouraging. He seemed unabashed, however, meeting the old lady's keen
gaze with twinkling eyes, though his manner was gravely respectful. She
slanted several unkind barbs at him during dinner, and twice Mrs. Van
Lindsay held her breath, her anguished gaze turning to her husband and
quite clearly conveying the fear that Mr. Strand could scarce be blamed
did he wash his hands of them all. The only time he gave the least sign
that he comprehended the vitriol in my lady's remarks, however, was
when she made a contemptuous reference to Tristram Leith's "wretched"
existence. A hush fell over the tense diners. Strand had been sampling
his wine. His hand paused briefly as he lowered his glass, then he set
it down with precision. The eyes he turned to my lady's fierce ones
were cool, and his brows slightly lifted. "I fear, ma'am," he said in
an uncharacteristically slow drawl, "that you have been misinformed. My
brother-in-law is one of the most truly contented men I know. I would
not ask a happier marriage."