Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (34 page)

"A very little of it, I should think."

"It ain't no laughing m-matter," warned Bolster sternly.
"Don't like Garvey. Never did. Nasty temper."

"Then how fortunate I am to be surrounded by such devoted
champions," Strand laughed. "You do mean to return, I trust, Jeremy?
And Norman—"

"Must return to Town," decreed Humphrey, "for he—"

Coming into the room at that unpropitious moment, Norman said
in a voice of stark tragedy, "Town? Me? Oh, sir! Never say so!"

Humphrey frowned. "I do not care to be interrupted. I vow I
don't
know what you young people today are coming to. Of course you will
return to Town. I've a new tutor hired for you, since poor Worth tells
me he had sooner be nibbled to death by newts than suffer another month
with you!"

"But, sir," Norman pleaded desperately, "our boat is—"

"Be damned to your boat!" snapped his father huffily. "I shall
discuss your future with you when these two gentlemen are not obliged
to have to endure so depressing a subject. I'll own myself pleased by
your improved appearance, at least. How old are you now? Older than
Judith, I know. Fifteen, is it?"

The old sullen look creeping back into his eyes, Norman
muttered, "Sixteen, sir."

"Very well, you may take a glass of ratafia with us. With your
approval, Strand."

"By all means." Strand dropped a hand on Norman's drooping
shoulder
as he walked to the sideboard where stood the decanters. "Matter of
fact, we've had a busy time here. Norman and I got into a fine brawl,
and—"

"The young puppy!" exclaimed Mr. Van Lindsay, spluttering over
his brandy. "He dared raise his hand against you? Why, I'll—"

"No, no.
With
me, sir. We took on a few
of the town bullies
who thought to—er—have some sport with us, eh, Norman?" He gave the boy
a glass of ratafia and his most friendly smile.

Norman took the glass, but said in quiet denial, "No, sir.
They came after me, Papa. In regard to—"

"In regard to having—er, 'bought' their sister," Strand
grinned.

Mr. Van Lindsay's eyes all but started from his head. Bolster
gave a shout of laughter.

"You—you young dog!" chortled Humphrey.

"Tell us, for Lord's sake!" urged Bolster.

So Strand told them of the incident, finishing, "And he fought
like a Trojan, sir, do I say so myself!"

Vastly entertained, Mr. Van Lindsay slapped his knee. "God
bless us
all!" he exclaimed. "I do believe you'll make a fair copy of your
brother after all, Norman."

"Oh, I doubt that, sir," said Strand blithely.

Bolster glanced to him in surprise. Norman, on the other hand,
looked at Strand as though this man he had come to admire above all
others had sunk a knife in his breast.

"What's that?" asked Mr. Van Lindsay, somewhat startled.

"I don't think Norman will be a copy of his brother, sir,"
said
Strand. "As a matter of fact, with your permission, I am negotiating to
get him commissioned a naval ensign."

Norman dropped his glass.

Lisette entered the room moments later, when the excitement
had died
down a little. She had chosen to wear a robe of pale pomona green over
a cream under-dress, and her only jewellery consisted of dainty diamond
drop earrings. She had thought she looked well, but her mama said she
was positively delicious, and, to judge from the expressions of the
gentlemen as they stood to greet her, that opinion was shared. Norman
was so ecstatic as to be all but incoherent, but when Lisette had drawn
forth the details of his brilliant future, she was almost as excited
and, having hugged him with enthusiasm, went to Strand and thanked him
prettily for his help and interest. He was pleased but said in his
brusque way that it was a lot of fuss about nothing and that anyone
would have done it. Humphrey voiced the opinion that his little girl
had found herself a fine gentleman for a husband, to which Lisette said
demurely that she was quite aware of Strand's many qualities.

Bolster stood beaming at her, and she went to urge that he sit
down
and not further tire himself. Not wishing to embarrass him, she lowered
her voice and murmured, "I was so very sorry, Jeremy, to hear that you
hurt yourself while helping my brother. Strand will be remorseful, I do
not doubt."

"And for n-no cause," he smiled, grateful that she spoke too
softly
for her father to hear. A shrewd judge of character, Bolster had no
doubt that the bombastic politician would seize upon the trifling
accident and not only enlarge it into a full-fledged disaster, but also
draw a great deal of the attention he dreaded to himself. "Feeling much
imp-improved already, y'know. Wouldn't go back to Town, except—"

"Except Strand insists, and rightly so," she put in, sitting
down,
so that he perforce followed suit. "You will be very welcome to return,
if Lord Belmont allows it. Indeed, I think my husband is counting on
it—so long as you do not work too hard." She saw that he was about to
protest, and added with a mischievous twinkle, "We cannot have Miss
Hersh becoming overset with nerves, can we?" Bolster's face fell.
Leaning closer, she said kindly, "My Lord,
do
go
and see her while you are in Town. Perhaps you could take a letter from
me."

He looked up eagerly. "No, would you? Oh, but that would be
sp-splendid. If only she will receive me…"

Chatting easily with his father-in-law, Strand's eyes drifted
often
to the pair on the sofa. They made a handsome couple. How softly they
spoke, almost secretively… Bolster was looking at Lisette as though she
were something holy. As if—he drew himself up short. What in the deuce
was he about now? Jeremy was the most honourable of men and so in love
with his Amanda he could scarce see any other woman. If he was less shy
with Lisette than was his usual way, it was probably because she'd gone
out of her way to be kind to him and because he knew she was fond of
Amanda. For shame, Strand! he thought impatiently. For shame!

Lord
Bolster left Strand Hall early the
next morning, Best
driving him back to the metropolis, from which his lordship cheerfully
vowed to return the instant the mighty Lord Belmont pronounced him fit
enough to do so. "M-might be back tonight!" he called, as the curricle
started off along the drivepath.

A few hours later, the Van Lindsays departed, taking with them
a son
alternately rhapsodic because of his rosy future and cast down because
the
Silvering Sails
was far from completion.
Strand was
appealed to with the greatest pathos, until he laughingly agreed to
work his "poor nails" to the bone to finish the task.

Lisette took leave of her family in the drawing room, the
evils of
her situation suddenly making it more than she could bear to watch the
carriages disappearing from sight. While awaiting the rest of the
party, Strand and Mr. Van Lindsay wandered together onto the front
porch, beside which could be heard a faint grinding marking Brutus's
attention to a rediscovered bone. A brief silence fell between the men,
both having much they would like to say, and struggling to put their
thoughts into words. Van Lindsay succeeded first. Clearing his throat
he said gruffly, "I'm most devilish grateful to you, Strand, for your
interest in Norman. I vow I was never more shocked than when I saw the
tears in the poor lad's eyes last night. I'd not dreamt he entertained
hopes for such a career. Gad! How can I have been so blind?"

"I think we all are when it comes to our own, don't you, sir?
Perhaps it is that we are so close to them every day, we no longer
really see them. But I am perfectly sure your son knows you wish only
the best for him."

"It is good of you to say so. I'm not totally unaware,
however. I
have for instance, noted something about you and my little girl."

Strand tensed, the smile in his eyes fading into a guarded
expression.

"She's miserable," alleged Van Lindsay, bluntly. "And, dammit
all! I know why!"

His hands clenching, Strand wondered bitterly if all England
knew of the barriers between him and his wife.

"I'm sorrier than I can say, that such a thing should have
occurred," Van Lindsay went on. "Especially right at the start of your
married life. It was dashed decent of you to say nothing to my wife.
She don't know yet. Lisette would say nothing, of course, for she's the
soul of loyalty. What you must think of us, I dare not guess. We're
responsible. No way out of that. Though Lord knows, we tried hard
enough to guide the girl." He sighed, and thrust out his hand. Strand
took it and gripped it hard. "She ain't all bad, y'know," Van Lindsay
said pleadingly.

Considerably taken aback, Strand responded. "You may believe I
am very well aware of that, sir!"

Shaking his head, the older man said heavily, "If he would
only
refrain from spoiling her to death—the poor booberkin," Strand started,
his eyes glued to Van Lindsay's troubled face. "I've told and told
Dwyer to spank her," Humphrey went on, "but telling pays no toll. I
don't hold with violence, but"—he shrugged—"I pray you don't reproach
your sweet little sister, m'boy. Doubt she had the faintest notion of
what Beatrice would make of her unguarded words."

Strand stood rigid and silent, the implications striking him
with numbing force.

Philippa and Norman came out onto the porch then. Brutus
pranced up
the steps and succeeded in getting under everyone's feet, but at last
the baggage was stored in the boot, the goodbyes had all been said,
promises of frequent visits exchanged, and the carriage rumbled off
along the drive, Philippa's dainty handkerchief fluttering from the
window.

Strand stood staring after the departing carriage for quite
some
time. Brutus returned from having assisted the horses to negotiate the
drivepath and went panting in search of his bone. He found it, made his
ponderous way up the steps, and paused for a minute or two beside the
quiet man, but Strand did not address him so he went on about his
business, carrying the bone into the house for burial. Van Lindsay's
words seemed to roar in Strand's ears: "Lisette would say nothing…
she's the soul of loyalty…" His clenched fists tightened until the
nails drove into the flesh. It had been
Beatrice,
all the
time! Beatrice must have pried a few confidences from Charity and then
flitted about, spreading her mischief. He could have groaned aloud, so
searing was his remorse. He had captured the loveliest girl in England
for his reluctant bride; he had even begun to fancy she no longer quite
despised him. And then, tricked by that bastard Garvey, he'd allowed
hurt pride to rule him, to the extent that— His head bowed under the
weight of guilt. He'd spanked that glorious girl for no reason! Dear
God, how could he have been so stupid? So lacking in faith? Lisette had
been so good as to conceal the truth about poor naive little Charity,
and in return he had beaten her. And cherishing his sense of ill usage,
had since make no slightest effort to apologize—to try to heal the
breach between them. The memory of several slights he had dealt her
returned to lash him until they were magnified out of all proportion.
How she must loathe him. How she must despise the man who had so
selfishly claimed her, and then mistrusted and maltreated her like some
feudal savage.

A less sensitive man might have run into the house, fallen to
his
knees before his love and, confessing his contrition, begun to win his
way into her affections. Despite his bride's impression of him,
however, Strand was an extremely sensitive individual, too sensitive to
be easily able to express his deepest feelings. Therefore, he instead
wandered down the steps and across the lawns, hands deep-thrust in
pockets, and frowning gaze on the ground before him. There was, he
knew, only one reason that she had not left him: she considered herself
to have made a bargain and, no matter how repulsive it might be to her,
she was too honourable to fail to live up to it. The thought made him
writhe, but the prospect of giving her up, of stepping out of her life
and permitting her to seek a Bill of Divorcement was even more
harrowing. It would be an example of perfect love, and she would have a
chance to find happiness with someone she could really care for… He
gritted his teeth and knew he could not do it! Not yet, at all events.
Such unselfishness was surely more of angels than of mortal men, and
Justin Strand was very mortal.

The sun sank lower in the sky, the golden light of afternoon
began
to warm into a roseate sunset, and still Strand wandered blindly,
striving to reach a decision. He concluded at last that his best course
would be to keep his promise to Norman and finish the renovating of the
boat. In his heart of hearts he knew that his decision was a craven
one. It would be simple enough to engage a shipwright to effect the
repairs. The truth was that he shrank from facing the accusation in the
lovely eyes of the girl he had so wronged. He argued defiantly that he
had given Norman his word and that he alone was responsible for seeing
that the work was properly completed. And perversely, hoped that while
he was away and his presence not a constant reminder of his brutality,
Lisette might begin to forget. She might even welcome him with a
kindlier attitude. But if he stayed away too long, if he came back to
find the great house bereft of her gracious presence, the halls lacking
the sound of that quick light step and rippling little laugh, the air
not holding the haunting perfume that was so uniquely Lisette… it did
not bear thinking of! And it would not happen, by God! He'd tell
Connaught to send the four new men down to help, and it should all be
done in jig time. He would come home then, and woo his bride with every
ounce of ardour he possessed. He would
make
himself utter the phrases that burned in his soul but froze on his
tongue.