Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (35 page)

He squared his shoulders and, looking up, was startled to
discover
that he had been wandering for hours, and shadows were lengthening
across the meadows beyond the Home Wood. Turning about, he strode
briskly towards Strand Hall.

With
Strand busied at Silverings, Lisette
decided that this
would be the perfect time to take inventory of all the household linens
and chinaware, both of which items she felt needed replenishing. This
domestic task was deferred before it was properly begun, however, when
Amanda Hersh arrived with her abigail and so many bandboxes and
portmanteaux that it was clear she intended to make a long stay.
Lisette was delighted to have such pleasant company and touched when
she learned that Strand had despatched his groom to London armed with a
request that if at all possible, Miss Hersh accept an invitation to
join Lisette in Sussex. Peering at her hostess narrowly, Amanda
exclaimed, "Good heavens you did not know!"

"No. And could scarce be more pleased!" Thinking to detect a
trace
of apprehension in the sweet face, she added, "Unless—my husband did
not cause you to feel
obliged
to come?''

"Good gracious, no! Strand was most polite as he always is
with me
though I can readily see he must be a great trial to you for he is not
the most robust of men and to be working outside in every weather must
worry you even if you are very brave and I wish I was but I was quite
afraid to come and wonder that I did at all."

Instinctively drawing a breath at the end of this scrambled
sentence, Lisette asked, "Why? Do you not like the Hall? If you prefer,
we can go into Town. Or should you like to journey to Berkshire,
perhaps? My sisters-in-law are there, and I have been intending to
visit them for some time."

"Please do not suppose me ungrateful of your hospitality for
indeed
I am and I love the country save only that—" Amanda hesitated and said
shyly, "You are trying not to laugh so I have said something silly but
we have become such special friends I need not mind only Jeremy is also
your friend."

Both touched and amused, Lisette said teasingly, "And you fear
I may nurse a
tendre
for him?"

Amanda burst into a peal of laughter. "Of course not for how
should
you when you have such a wonderful marriage, it is that I fear he may
come here he will not do you think?"

Lisette concentrated on straightening her wedding band and
said that
she was sure they would have plenty of warning did his lordship decide
to do so. "Meantime," she went on, able to meet Amanda's trusting eyes
again, "I promise you shall not be bored, for I have so many
invitations, and more callers than you could believe. I am become
slightly—er—notorious, you see. We shall have a lovely time, Mandy."

And they did. After the few sunny days, the weather became
inclement
again but this deterred few hostesses, only a proposed boat party
having to be cancelled. Since it was redesigned into a masquerade
requiring that all guests wear nautical costume, it became, instead of
a failure, one of the hits of the summer. The hostess, Lady Salia
Moulton, decorated her charming old house to suggest the interior of a
packet and drew a large and enthusiastic crush of guests. Lisette and
Amanda were escorted to this party by Jocelyn Vaughan, who had become a
frequent visitor to Strand Hall and was always an attentive and
charming companion. It was but one of many social events that filled
their days, and since they each were blessed with a rich sense of
humour and in their various ways suffered the pangs of romantic
afflictions, their friendship deepened and they dealt so well together
that time passed swiftly. One thing marred this period for Lisette: the
fact of her husband's continued absence. When she had blithely told
Amanda he would be gone for a week or more, she had uttered the remark
more as a safeguard against that remote possibility than from a belief
he would really stay away. She had to struggle to keep from
animadverting on the likelihood that he was with his Fair Paphian and,
being convinced that they would see him over the weekend, had to
exercise considerable restraint not to betray her vexation when they
did not.

On Sunday afternoon they attended a church bazaar and later
dined
with the Vicar and his family, spending a delightful evening at the
Vicarage. Monday was their first comparatively quiet day, and after
luncheon they sat together in the lounge, Lisette writing to Timothy
and Amanda struggling with some beading on a reticule. That this task
was not proceeding satisfactorily eventually penetrated Lisette's
absorption, and she glanced up to see her friend squinting at the
finely set stitches, her little face contorted into an expression of
frowning concentration. At once offering the services of her dresser,
Lisette was told that Miss Wallace had already been so good as to
volunteer to repair the sadly torn lace flounce of the gown Amanda had
worn to the nautical masquerade party. "Besides," Amanda remarked, "I
really love to work my designs only I sewed this one so well I simply
cannot see the stitches and I do want to replace the beads with those
pretty French ones we bought at the bazaar yesterday.''

Lisette's attempt to help was as ineffectual. Amanda was a
fine
needlewoman, and her stitches were practically invisible. "If only we
had a magnifying lens," Lisette murmured, blinking. "Oh, I have it!
Strand's quizzing glass!" She stood, waving away Amanda's protests that
she not put herself to so much bother. "I've got to go upstairs at all
events, for my mama particularly desired me to send Timothy the
direction of a friend of hers in Paris, and I cannot recall it. I'll
see if I can find the glass while I am up there."

She found the Parisian's direction neatly inscribed in her
address
book, but did not fare so well in her husband's bedchamber. Strand was
not the type to affect such things as fobs and seals, and possessed but
one quizzing glass that was brought forth only occasionally. Lisette's
hurried scan through his chest of drawers unearthed such unlikely
objects as a collar obviously purchased for Brutus, a solitary spur and
several whip thongs, a small brass-mounted pistol, and an old map of
East Anglia—but no quizzing glass. The dressing room was equally
unproductive, and Lisette was about to admit failure when her eyes fell
upon the small table beside Strand's bed. There was one slim drawer,
but since Green was either very indulgent of his master or of an
equally haphazard nature, it was possible the missing glass might be
there. Lisette opened the drawer carefully. She moved aside a folded
letter inscribed in the writing she had come to know as Rachel's, but
could see no sign of anything resembling the quizzing glass. Preparing
to close the drawer, she paused. A dainty handkerchief, trimmed with
lace, had been beneath Rachel's letter; a lady's handkerchief, surely?
Her hand trembling, she took up the neatly folded square and uttered a
shocked gasp. The lace was unmistakable—it was the handkerchief
grandmama had fashioned for her. But why on earth was it here in
Strand's drawer? Something dark showed through the fine cambric.
Unfolding it, her heart began to thunder. A small blue feather had been
carefully placed there; a feather from a bonnet that had found
particular favour with her husband. He had once casually remarked, in
fact, that she had been wearing that same bonnet when first he had seen
her.

The implications were inescapable. A lump came into her
throat; she
could not seem to think coherently, and stood there, her eyes wide and
unseeing, until a call shook her from her trance.

"Lisette! Lisette!"

Mandy's voice, and extremely agitated. Lisette started, folded
the
handkerchief with its small enclosed treasure, replaced it, and went
into the hall.

Amanda waited there, her face white and frightened. "I must
leave at
once!" she imparted tremulously. "A messenger has come I heard him tell
Mrs. Hayward that Lord Bolster sends his compliments and is delayed in
Horsham but will come tomorrow if it is convenient, oh but I am so
sorry and must leave at once!"

Nothing Lisette could say would move her. Thoroughly
distraught,
Amanda fled to her bedchamber, astonished her formidable abigail by
snapping out sharp orders, and within the hour the carriage was
rumbling down the drivepath carrying its shaken occupant back to London
Town.

Lisette went back into the house, entertaining the distinct
suspicion she dwelt in the midst of some strange dream. Adding to this
impression was a sense of unfamiliarity in the hall, explained when she
noted that the large tapestry had disappeared from the wall. Mrs.
Hayward was summoned and all but burst into tears at the sight of the
nude expanse of plaster. "Mr. Justin was so proud of it!" she mourned.
"It was dreadfully shabby when he come home from India, ma'am, but he
had it restored so lovely. Wherever can it have gone? I know it was
here this morning, for I saw how the sun was hitting it and wondered if
we should ought to draw the draperies over the east windows."

Lisette thought absently that the sun's appearance had been
brief.
The sky was clouded over now, and a brisk breeze had come up. "I am
perfectly sure that Miss Hersh did not tuck it into her reticule," she
said with a faint smile. "Perhaps—oh, why did I not think? Mrs.
Hayward—it is quite windy outside." The housekeeper blinked at her.
"Brutus!" "Yes. That wretched animal has made off with it!" Together,
they initiated a search for the Intrepid Watchdog, and he was located
in the red saloon, quaking beneath the small mountain of the tapestry.
Shaking her head, Lisette watched footman and housekeeper bear off the
prized wall hanging and, leaving Brutus moaning his anguish over the
treachery of humankind, returned to her room. She picked up her address
book, intending to return it to the drawer, but instead stood gazing
blankly at it, thinking of her handkerchief, and the little feather so
betrayingly hoarded within it. Surely, a gentleman would behave in so
tender a fashion for but one reason—that he was deep in love with the
owner of the purloined articles. But Strand did not love his wife… Did
he? Her face was burning suddenly. She felt shy and restless so that
she began to wander about the room, carrying her address book,
alternately elated and disbelieving. Was it possible that he had wed
her because he
had
fallen in love with her? Had
he believed
his suit so hopeless that he'd seized upon what he believed his only
possible chance of winning her and concealed his inner feelings,
fearing they would be repugnant to her? And even if this was true, why
should it cause her heart to leap about so crazily? She came to an
abrupt halt. She was forgetting that Strand had deserted her on their
wedding eve: scarcely the act of a man passionately in love with his
bride. She scowled at the andirons, gleaming in a brief ray of
sunlight. How foolish she was to have become so enraptured and hopeful
over a man whose heart belonged to another lady. His blond enchantress.
She must not allow herself to lose her perspective. She was lonely,
that was all.

Through her solitary luncheon she strove to think of other
matters
and failed miserably. Attempting to read that afternoon, her thoughts
strayed constantly from the printed page. She found herself smiling at
the recollection of Justin's teasing, and the way his blue eyes tended
to crinkle at the corners when he laughed. Her eyes grew sober as she
remembered his livid fury when he thought she had betrayed him. And he
really, she thought rather wistfully, had not spanked her very hard
with the hairbrush. Not as hard as he might pardonably have done, under
the circumstances. The memory of the afternoon when he had "shot" the
tree drew a little gurgle of laughter from her.

"It must be a most amusing novel," observed an unwelcome
visitor.

Her cheeks scarlet, Lisette sprang up. "Beatrice!"

"Yes, love," gushed her sister, hurrying to embrace Lisette
while
assuming her most charming smile. "I heard you was alone, and
determined to come and cheer you—"

"I wonder," Lisette interpolated coolly, "you would dare come
here."

A wary light crept into Beatrice's hard eyes. She had put off
her
cloak and gloves and, moving to the fire, began to warm her hands,
saying innocently, "Ah, you are in a funning mood, I perceive. Poor
dear, how lonely it must be for you, with Strand away so much of the
time."

"I am not funning. I know that you were responsible for
setting those wicked rumours about, and—"

"Oh!" gasped Beatrice. "How
can
you say
such a thing of
your own flesh and blood?" She tugged a handkerchief from her reticule
and held it to her lips, sobbing a muffled, "You should be
ashamed,
Lisette. Oh, I vow I am quite shattered!"

"Nonsense! Very few people knew that Strand had gone to
Silverings that first week of our marriage. And those who
did
know believed us deeply attached. You wormed the tale from Charity, and
embellished it to—"

"Wicked!
Wicked
girl!" Beatrice wailed.
"To accuse your own loving sister! Oh, it is too much.
Everyone
hates me and chooses to believe the very worst! I have done nothing!
Nothing! If you had but an ounce of sisterly affection for me, you
would know better."

Lisette was beginning to tremble because of this bitter
confrontation, but she said bravely, "It is because I know you so well
that I understand what happened."

"Never have you spoken to me so!" Beatrice wept her way to a
chair
and sank into it. "To think Strand should turn you against me in such a
way! Oh, I know how it must have been, for he has never liked me, even
as—" she sniffed, watching her sister covertly— "even as he never loved
you."