Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (24 page)

Time passed, and her apprehension began to mount. Strand would
be
gentle with her, of that she was quite sure, but to hope for a little
romance, a few ardent words of love, was to ask too much of so
matter-of-fact a gentleman. Only, how precious it would be to be
approached with adoration… with words holding even a trace of the
sweetness poor James Garvey had penned.

The door opened softly. Strand came in and closed it behind
him. The
long dressing gown he wore was dark red and made him look very pale. He
walked to the end of the bed and stood there for a moment, staring at
his beautiful bride, his expression veiled by the shadows. Her breath
fluttering in her throat, her palms damp, Lisette could not know how
his heart thundered or how his fine hands trembled with nervousness.
She waited hopefully for a word of affection.

Strand untied the sash of his dressing gown. "You must," he
said in
a casual tone, "think me a sorry bridegroom only now to be able to—to
come to you."

Lisette swallowed, and managed, "N-no. And—thank you for the
rose."

He went over to blow out the solitary candle he had brought
with
him. Climbing into the bed, he paused, leaning on one elbow and gazing
down into his bride's huge, terrified eyes.

As he bent to kiss her, a desolate and distant howling arose
from the direction of the stables.

Justin Strand smiled grimly. "Not this time, Brutus," he
murmured. "Not this time!"

In anticipation of the visit to London, Judith and Miss
Wallace,
Lisette's rather formidable dresser, put their heads together over
periodicals and pattern cards, spending hours closeted together while
Judith was instructed as to which fabric might be purchased for which
style. Her experience at the wedding with the plain gown Strand had
selected and the compliments it had won her had taught her much. Now,
with Judith's figure much improved, Miss Wallace said they could afford
to be a little less spartan, and Judith plunged happily into a glorious
world of India muslins, cambrics and gauzes, ribbons and frills and
laces, French knots and rosettes, and all the delicious accessories for
which Strand appeared perfectly willing—as a disgusted Norman phrased
it—"to stand the huff."

Norman, meanwhile, having discovered that Strand was fairly
knowledgeable in matters of ships and shipping, buttonholed his
brother-in-law to the extent that sometimes an entire day would pass
during which Lisette saw neither. One rainy afternoon, having been thus
abandoned, she was writing a letter in the book room, with Brutus
snoring deafeningly before the fire, when the abrupt cessation of all
sound attracted her attention. She glanced around. Brutus was sitting
bolt upright, staring out of the low window that gave onto the front
drivepath. Even as she watched, he crouched and began to creep
backwards in obvious terror. Frightened, Lisette came to her feet. A
firm hand touched her shoulder, and she gave a gasp of relief to find
Strand beside her. "Thank heaven!" she whispered. "He sees something!
Justin—I'm afraid."

He slipped one arm about her and, with his free hand, slid
open a
drawer and took up a small brass-mounted pistol. Norman, coming in
behind him, said an alarmed, "What is it, sir?"

"I'm not sure," Strand answered quietly. "Brutus has spotted
something. Look at him."

"By Jupiter! He's scared to death. What d'you mean to do?"

"There's been someone hanging about of late, I think. Take
care of
your sister. I'm going to have a look." He deposited his trembling wife
in her brother's arms and took a stride towards the window.

"No!" Lisette rushed to throw her arms about him. "Please! Do
not!"

Touched, he looked down at the top of her glossy head, pressed
against the lapel of his jacket. Then he said, "Better to find out now,
love," and gently detaching her, flung open the window.

A bluster of wind and rain swept the draperies inwards and
sent
Lisette's letter fluttering to the rug. She ran forward, but Norman
restrained her. Astonished, she glanced up. There was a new purpose to
his eyes, a new set to his jaw, and by heaven but he was strong, his
hands holding her in a grip there was no escaping. Her eyes flashed to
Justin's straight, lithe figure as he jumped down from the porch and
sprinted across the lawn. My God! she thought, he is a perfect target!

The thought had no sooner flashed across her mind than Strand
checked, crouched in an attitude of intense concentration, then flung
up his arm and fired. She uttered a small shriek of fright and, tearing
at her brother's restraining hand, implored, "Go to him! For pity's
sake! Go to him!"

Norman hesitated. "He'll have my ears," he muttered but left
her and
clambered through the window. He was about to run into the rain when
Strand, who had walked towards a clump of aspens, began to hurry back
to the house, the smoking pistol in one hand and a small branch in the
other. He brushed aside Norman's anxious enquiries and swung easily
through the window.

"Now I shall have to clean the stupid thing," he remarked,
tossing the pistol onto the reference table.

Lisette quavered, "Are you all right? Who was it?"

"I'm perfectly all right." He shot her a grateful, if wet,
smile. "Thank you for being concerned."

She stiffened.
"Concerned?
What on earth
would you expect?"

"Brutus," called Strand. "You may come out now."

The only response was a faint whimper from a periodical that
the
wind had also deposited on the carpet. Brutus, having succeeded in
burying his head under this, apparently believed himself securely
hidden and made no attempt to come forth. Strand bent down and raised
the periodical while Norman and Lisette exchanged baffled glances.
Strand held the branch in front of the dog's craven eyes. "Look," said
he. "It is quite dead."

Brutus glanced at the "defunct" branch, gave a yelp, and tried
to
hide under Strand's shoe. Strand sighed, shrugged, and replaced the
periodical.

Grinning from ear to ear, Norman closed the window and
chortled, "What the deuce…?"

Strand waved the branch. "He won't believe it's dead," he said
solemnly, ignoring his wife's indignation.

Norman took up the branch. "By thunder, but it is!" He held up
one
leaf, a bullet hole squarely through the centre. "Look here, Lisette!
Jolly fine shooting, Strand. Do you seriously tell us that great
leviathan is afraid of leaves?"

"Oh, no. He employs a certain amount of selectivity. Only
aspens—when they flutter. And the wind came up, you see. He really is
terrified of 'em. That's why I had to send him to Bolster, in town.
Fewer aspens."

Norman went off into peals of laughter, and Lisette, trying
not to
smile, said sternly, "I collect you care not that you frightened
me—us—to death?"

He looked at her, his eyes dancing. "I tried to tell you about
our
craven canine after I broke my hand, but I could see you would not
believe me. And, as a matter of fact—" he hesitated, then added
awkwardly, "I care very much."

For a moment Lisette could not seem to tear her eyes from his
steady
blue gaze. Then, a horn summoned imperiously, the sound breaking a hush
that seemed to have held them all mute. "You see?" she said. "He
did
hear something! How you malign that poor animal! If the truth be told,
sir—"

"Justin," he murmured whimsically. "Plain Justin."

She chuckled, then a familiar voice was upraised in bitter
complaint. " It is Grandmama!" she cried joyously, and ran to the front
door, Strand following.

Secure in the knowledge that several humans were before him,
Brutus
boldly left his refuge and rushed into the hall, barking furiously.
Norman picked up the periodical and stared down at it unseeingly, his
eyes troubled. He had dismissed Judith's notions as being the babblings
of a romantical schoolgirl, but dashed if he wasn't beginning to think
she had the right of the situation. He sighed and put the periodical on
the table. "Pity," he murmured.

Comfortably
settled before the drawing
room fire, Lady
Bayes-Copeland damned the weather, the deplorable state of England's
roads, and the fact that it had been necessary for her guard to fire a
shot over the heads of several unsavoury looking customers who had
attempted to stop her coach.

Strand had already noticed that the old lady, despite her
usual
ferocity, looked rather pale. She had suffered quite a shock, he
realized, and therefore said lightly, "A mistake, I fancy, ma'am."

"Mistake?" she bristled. "What d'ye mean, Strand? They saw my
coach, and—"

"And probably thought it was the Royal Mail," he said with a
twinkle.

Norman and Judith laughed, but Lisette regarded her husband
apprehensively. Her grandmama did not give him the setdown he justly
deserved, however. "You may jest," she said angrily, "but with all this
riffraff littering the country and turning their hands to violence and
thievery rather than honest work, we are none of us safe!"

For once, the laughter that invariably lurked at the back of
Strand's eyes disappeared. He said with respect but firmness, "Your
pardon, my lady, but that same riffraff fought and died by the
thousands for England. That same riffraff has been cut off by an
ungrateful government with neither pension nor hope, and how many of
the poor devils have died of their wounds in want and misery, I shudder
to think. They are the greatest potential resource England has. If the
government would offer them work, or—"

"Work!" the old lady snorted ferociously. "Who's to pay for
this
work? Who can pay wages for thousands of shiftless vagrants in these
bad times?"

"Had Bonaparte invaded as he threatened, ma'am," he argued
quietly,
"none of us would have a roof over our heads, and perhaps not a head to
cover! They preserved our way of life, yet how many will now lift a
hand to help them? And we've no guarantee of safety in this little
island. There are still fanatical despots willing to plunge us into
another bloodbath, as my sister and brother-in-law can attest!"

Lisette turned a startled face to him, and Norman asked,
"What's this, sir? Another Gunpowder Plot?"

"You are not so far wrong," Strand nodded. "Tristram says
little of
it. I suspect he's been ordered to remain silent, but I do know that he
and Devenish escaped France by the skin of their teeth. Dev, in fact,
will likely limp for the rest of his life by reason of one of Claude
Sanguinet's crossbow bolts."

"Good heavens!" gasped Lisette. "Was not Claude Sanguinet the
gentleman to whom Rachel was betrothed?"

"He was. And a more vicious fanatic has not been born. Leith
risked
his life to bring Rachel safely away. It has all been kept very quiet,
but we've not heard the last of Sanguinet, I'll be bound."

"Very likely," said my lady irascibly. "But I did not come all
this
way to be scared by your tales of some puffed-up Frenchman. I
understand you've a pianoforte, Strand?"

"Yes, ma'am. But—"

"Do not 'but' me, young fella! I have been compelled to leave
hearth
and home and journey all this way to your ridiculous Grecian atrocity,
so as to see my grandchildren. I demand some recompense!"

He hesitated, stood, and crossing to her side, bent to drop a
kiss on her withered cheek.

With a cackle of laughter she shook her cane at him. '
'Naughty rogue! That was not what I meant."

"Why then, I shall take it back," he grinned, bending again.

She seized him by both ears, pulled him close, and bussed him
heartily. "Lisette," she said, still smiling up at Strand, "I like your
husband. Now, no more excuses, sir. After dinner—I will have music. Do
you hear, Lisette?"

Strand glanced at his wife curiously. "You play, my dear?"

"And very prettily," confirmed Lady Bayes-Copeland. "Though
not as well as she sings."

Lisette said that she would be glad to sing if someone would
play
for her. "You know what a dunce I am when I try to play and sing at the
same time, Grandmama. Perhaps Judith could-—?"

Colouring up, that damsel replied that she'd not practised in
weeks
and there was no use asking her to play poorly in front of everyone.

"I found lots of music in the little garden house," said
Lisette, "but it was rather old, and I doubt you could read it."

"I'll tell the men to bring it all to the house," said Strand.
"If there is something you favour, I might be able to help."

"Famous!" The old lady rapped her cane emphatically on the
floor, causing the dozing Brutus to leap into the air with shock.

Lisette murmured a surprised, "You play the pianoforte,
Strand?"

He grinned. " One of my numerous accomplishments. I think."

"Such modesty," teased Judith. "I expect you play
magnificently, Strand."

"Wait until after dinner," interposed the old lady, "and
you'll see.
Lisette, you may bear me company whilst I change my dress, and tell me
how it comes about that Judith and Norman are so remarkably improved in
looks."

Standing respectfully as Strand ushered his wife and Lady
Bayes-Copeland into the hall, Norman winked at his sister and muttered,
"Wait until dinner, dear Grandmama, and you'll see!"

Despite
her alleged curiosity regarding
her grandchildren,
once upstairs her ladyship vouchsafed only a grunt upon hearing the
explanation for their svelte figures, and at once launched into a
tirade regarding their presence at Strand Hall. "I was never more
shocked," she snorted, raising her chin so that her abigail might pin a
snowy white lace fichu to the bodice of her violet silk gown. "I
declare Beatrice must be all about in her head to dump two young people
on a bridal couple! And what mischief is she up to that they must be
hustled off so? I
warned
Dwyer to beat her! More
fool he!
She'll bring disgrace on us all yet, and you'll have no more cause to
look down your nose at that fine husband you've caught!"