Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (16 page)

That was sufficient to give her pause, and she knelt there
motionless, glaring into the chaotic valise. What
would
the servants think? What would everyone think? The fires of wrath began
to yield to rationality once more. And slowly, she came to see how
hopelessly she was caught. She could hear again her father's exultant
voice. "The settlement is magnificent! All our troubles are over,
m'dear…" And Mama, ecstatic because she might at last buy some new
furnishings, and draperies, and even—joy unbearable!—new carpets! In
the face of such generosity, how could she leave Strand? The man had
already had his father's disgrace and Rachel's ghastly reputation to
overcome. For him to be abandoned by his bride on their wedding night
must be the
coup de grace.
No one would blame
her,
that was certain, for her name was without blemish, but they would be
sure to imagine all kinds of horrible things about
him.
Not that she cared, of course. He deserved the worst fate imaginable.
He had, in fact, deserted
her!
Only… wherever he
had gone, she was assured it would be with discretion. Whereas, if she
went home, all London would know.

Lisette bowed her head, and wept bitter tears of chagrin,
frustration, and—loneliness.

The sunlight poured into the bedroom and
crept under Lisette's lashes so that she blinked and yawned sleepily.
In another moment the bedcurtains were pulled aside, and the
housekeeper stood there, smiling with astounding warmth and holding a
tray containing an enticing display of hot scones with clotted cream
and strawberry jam, an egg cooked just as she liked it, some rashers of
bacon, and a pot from which emanated the delicious aroma of hot coffee.
Memory returned with a rush. Sitting up, Lisette's guilty eyes flashed
from Mrs. Hayward to the abandoned valise. Everything had been whisked
away, and her dressing table was as neat as though nothing had ever
been displaced.

"Good morning, ma'am," beamed the housekeeper. "We wasn't sure
what you preferred for your breakfast, so it's to be hoped as you'll
find something to suit. It's a lovely day. So nice to see the sun
again." She settled the tray across Lisette's knees, and glancing into
the rather bewildered young face, still marked by tear streaks, her
heart was wrung, and she murmured, "How very pretty you are, if I dare
be so bold as to say so, Mrs. Strand. Poor Master Justin! I said to
him, no matter how he was needed, there's sometimes a 'no' must be
said. But I don't need to tell you that he's not the kind to let people
down who call on him. There now, I'll let you enjoy your breakfast in
peace." And she was gone, leaving Lisette to stare after her, amazed at
the changed demeanour.

By rights, a lady caught in so unhappy a web of circumstances
should have found herself without appetite and picked at her food only
for the sake of appearances. At least, that was the way of it in the
romances Lisette had read. It was rather lowering to find that she was
ravenous. She ate far more breakfast than was her usual custom,
attributing it to the pure country air. She rang for Denise at length
and lay back, wondering if Strand meant to return today and whether
this was to be the pattern of her life. Perhaps he had a mistress in
keeping somewhere nearby and, despite Mrs. Hayward's polite excuses,
had actually rushed back to his peculiar once he had captured the mate
who could restore some gloss to his tarnished name. The prospect of
being abandoned in the country, while he amused himself elsewhere,
brought such a surge of rage and self-pity that she was relieved when
the door opened and Denise hurried in.

Like the housekeeper, the little abigail was full of
light-hearted chatter. She was so sorry she had not quite finished
unpacking last night, so that madame had found it necessary to seek out
some of her toilet articles, but all was made right now. Did madame
intend to ride this morning? Would madame wear the blue habit or the
green? Was madame aware that there was in the house a water closet and
that Monsieur Justin had had the entire building painted and
refurbished? Madame had beyond a doubt been too weary to last night
notice, but Mr. Fisher, the splendid butler, was of an anxiety to show
madame about so soon as she was bathed and dressed. And Mrs. Hayward
asked that if madame could spare an hour or so this afternoon,
she might interview three women for the position of madame's
dresser applying.

Suspecting that a determined effort was being mounted to
prevent her
from becoming lonely, Lisette was touched. When she went downstairs an
hour later, clad in her green habit and a pert little hat with a
matching green feather, her suspicions were confirmed. From the
omniscient Fisher, who bowed and welcomed her, to the stableboy who
eyed her with awed admiration as he led Yasmin from the stables,
everyone seemed genuinely delighted to greet her. In return, she went
out of her way to appear cheerful, her chin high, a smile never far
from her lips and, however vexed she may be by the belief that she was
the only resident of Strand Hall who did not know the whereabouts of
its master, betraying no hint of that fact.

One of the grooms, a vigorous middle-aged man with a shy
smile,
mounted up and rode at a respectful distance behind her. She was not
sorry for his company, since the neighbourhood was strange to her, and
after a short while invited him to ride with her and serve as guide. It
developed that his name was Best and that he had been in the service of
the Strands for twenty years and more. "If ye would care fer to look
round now, marm," he said in his soft Sussex voice, "ye can have a
foine view o' the great house."

It
was
a fine view, thought Lisette.
Always provided one
cared for the pretentious neoclassical architecture, which she did not.
Certainly, with the sun bathing its white columns, the breeze riffling
the branches of the trees, and the flower beds a mass of colour, Strand
Hall was an imposing sight. It faced west, toward the rolling wooded
hills where she now sat her horse. The park that surrounded it was
spacious and well kept, and many would have considered it a most
desirable estate. She tried to be objective, asking herself if her
dislike of the place was born of her distaste for her husband. But she
decided this was not so. Perhaps in her mind the ideal of country
living must always be the farm the Van Lindsays had once owned, where
she had spent many happy childhood summers. The residence had been more
an overgrown cottage than a manor house, rather on the style of a
rabbit warren, with odd little corridors and unexpected steps that were
a burden to the maids, and where one always worried lest Grandmama
might trip. But the grounds were deliciously uncultivated,
there had
been many obliging trees where one could climb or erect tree houses or
swings, with no thought of offending, and the house itself, a
nondescript brick structure, had always seemed warm and welcoming, its
charm so informal and delightful a departure from London's elegance.

Watching her, a half-smile on his face, Best said, "A bit
grand,
bean't it, marm? Would'ee care fer to see the Home Farm? It be a
pretty—" He broke off with a shout of warning as a tawny shape hurtled
at them from a clump of beeches, shot between the two horses, and raced
for the house. Yasmin, the gentlest of creatures, was yet a spirited
animal, and for a few moments it was all Lisette could do to keep her
from bolting. Best's gelding, being of a less tractable disposition,
shied wildly, and thundered off with the groom coming perilously near
to being unseated. Best soon regained control of his mount and,
turning, was immeasurably relieved to find Lisette riding up to him.

"I'm very sorry, marm. A foine help I'd have been if you had
been
thrown!" He glanced angrily to the house. "That worthless mongrel!''

"I rather doubt he is a mongrel," said Lisette, patting the
still skittish Yasmin. "It was Lord Bolster's bulldog, I believe."

"Ar. Brutus. A good name fer 'un. If ye don't mind, marm, I'd
better
ride down to the road and see if his lordship be looking fer the beast."

They turned about and rode eastward until they approached the
Petworth road. Lisette asked, "Does Lord Bolster live in the
neighbourhood?"

"No, marm. His lordship's country seat is Three Fields, in
Surrey.
Likely he do be coming to see the master, and Brutus ran on ahead."

"Ran?" She smiled. "Flew, more like!"

Best muttered something, the words inaudible, but the tone
making it
clear that Brutus was not highly regarded at Strand Hall. Reaching the
road, they parted, Best saying he would ride on a little way, and
Lisette returned to the Hall.

It had become quite warm by the time she entered the yard. She
saw
no sign of visitors, or of Brutus but, deciding to walk around to the
front in case he might be waiting there, spotted the animal in the
shade of one of the pillars, lying on his stomach, panting cheerfully,
with both back legs stretched straight out behind him. Lisette went
over and bent to stroke him. He listened without apparent repentance to
the admonition that he was a bad dog and had probably worried his kind
master. His only response was an even wider canine grin and an apparent
attempt to "shake hands." This gesture, being essayed from a prone
position, was disastrously unsuccessful, the powerful paw raking down
the skirt of Lisette's habit, one nail slicing the seam into a long
tear.

"Wretched brute!" she scolded, and reflected that it was as
well she
might be taking on a dresser this afternoon. She returned to the back
of the house. There was no one in sight when she entered the open side
door. It was cool inside, but she was hot and thirsty and, suspecting
Brutus was in like condition, walked along the hall towards the kitchen
to ask that a bowl of water be put out for him. The kitchen door was
standing open, probably to catch the breeze from the outer door, and as
she approached, Lisette could hear the housekeeper speaking. "… quite
clear to see on her pretty face, and her eyes so sad it would break
your heart! It's not right, Mr. Fisher! She should be told!"

"Before you take such a step, Mrs. H.," Fisher responded
dryly, "I
would recommend you go down to Silverings and tell Mr. Justin what you
mean to do."

"Very funny, I'm sure," the housekeeper retaliated. "But he
shouldn't have gone. And
she
shouldn't have gone with him! A fine set-to! I vow I feel so sorry for
that lovely little wife of his, I could just hug the poor, brave soul!"

The wind blew the outer door shut with a bang. Somehow
gathering her scattered wits, Lisette fled.

By the time she reached her bedchamber, shock had given way to
a
quite different emotion from that which had so shattered her the
previous night. There had been room for doubt then. There had been the
possibility that Strand had been irrevocably committed—that he would
return with some logical explanation. Now, she knew an icy wrath; an
indignation that went past mere anger to inexorable condemnation.
Sooner or later, Mr. Justin Strand would come home. And when he did, he
would learn to his sorrow the price of insulting a Van Lindsay!

"My
husband is away, I am afraid," said
Lisette, walking
across the saloon and extending a hand to Lord Jeremy Bolster. "He will
be so sorry to have missed you."

Bolster sprang up, coloured hotly, bowed over her hand, and
stammered out his apologies for having called at such a time.

"Not at all, my lord." Lisette seated herself and waved him to
a
chair. "I expect you have come in search of Brutus? He arrived this
morning. I believe he is being—er—entertained in the stables, but Best
will bring him to you when you are ready to leave."

"Oh," said his lordship, glumly. "I had hoped—Justin is away,
you's-s-say? Dash it all, I th-thought perhaps he m-might…"

Lisette lifted her brows enquiringly. "Can I be of any
assistance,
sir? I am assured my husband would wish I do whatever I might."

Bolster explained painfully that he was soon to leave for
Italy.
"F-fraid old Brutus mi-might pine if I was to l-l-leave him. And
I'd—hoped Justin m-might—er…" He checked, looking at her with his
diffident, sideways glance.

"Take him back? Oh, but that would be famous! I am very fond
of
dogs, and—well, it's rather lonely here. I would be only too delighted
to have Brutus."

Brightening, he said earnestly, "You are v-very g-g-good,
ma'am.
M-Mandy told me you was very k-kind, and I can's-see…" He gestured in a
pathetically hopeless fashion, and finished forlornly, "D-don't want to
go. But—b-best I do. What?"

"Perhaps it is, my lord," Lisette said kindly. "Time heals—so
they say." Her own eyes became sad, and she sighed.

Watching her, Bolster asked anxiously, "N-nothing wrong, is
there,
Mrs. Strand? I mean—old J-Justin's not in queer's-stirrups or-or such
like?"

"How kind you are. No, he was called away on an urgent matter
he could not postpone."

He gave a relieved nod. "And you are quite's-sure he won't
mind?"

"Perfectly sure," Lisette said with a smile.

Justin
Strand did not appear at his
ancestral hall that
week. Surprisingly, however, Lisette entertained an unending stream of
callers. Among these was her grandmother, who was as irascible as she
was unexpected. She greeted Lisette with an almost fierce defiance and
stamped about, grunting "Stupid!" from time to time, while rapping her
cane violently on the highly polished floors. The architecture she
viewed with a jaundiced eye; the lofty entrance foyer she found
depressing, and she judged the splendidly restored tapestry which hung
there an abomination. The lounges were draughty, the fireplaces
probably smoked, and her bedroom was so vast she could scarce see
across it. After one penetrating glance at her granddaughter's calm
smile, she did not enquire as to where Mr. Strand had gone, nor once
comment on his absence. She seemed at times preoccupied and, having
stared into the fire for half an hour on the evening of her arrival,
responded to Lisette's rather uneasy remark that she hoped the family
was well, by saying testily that Judith seemed to be a shade improved
and she hoped would grow up with more in her head than hair. "Not," she
added, "like Beatrice!"