Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (37 page)

The chamber to which Lisette was conducted was spacious and
comfortable. Velvet draperies were quickly drawn against the lowering
dusk, and the glow of candles brought a warmth to the heart, if not to
the room. The fire was already laid, and Mrs. Keene had it flickering
merrily in no time. Within half an hour Lisette was seated at a small
table before leaping flames, an ample meal set before her, and several
books and periodicals brought in for her pleasure. Mrs. Keene stayed
for a few moments while two soft-footed maids hovered about. The
weather looked to be clearing, she thought, but if Mrs. Strand cared to
remain until the family returned in a day or two, no effort would be
spared to ensure her comfort. Meanwhile, madam's bed was ready with a
warming pan tucked twixt the sheets, and she'd only to give a tug on
the bell pull did she need anything.

By the time the hospitable lady left, Lisette was beginning to
feel
drowsy. Between the tiring journey, the pleasant meal, and the warmth
from the fire, she no sooner started to leaf through one of the
periodicals than her head was nodding. She rang for Denise and an hour
later was in bed and fast asleep.

At
about the same time that Lisette had
been leaving
Farnham that rainy afternoon, a light travelling chaise splashed up the
drivepath and stopped before Strand Hall. The panelled door bore the
crest of its noble owner and, upon the groom jumping down to swing it
open, Lord Jeremy Bolster alighted, smiled his thanks, and ran lightly
up the steps. Fisher admitted him and swiftly put him in possession of
the fact that Mr. Strand was still down at Silverings, and Mrs. Strand
had driven up to Berkshire to visit her sisters.

"Good God!" exclaimed Bolster. "In th-this weather? You
noddicock, you should not have allowed her!"

"Madam was quite determined on it, milord. In fact—"

"Bolster! Why, how delightful to have callers in this lonely
old place!"

If his lordship shrank inwardly at the gushing tones, he
nonetheless
bowed with unfailing courtesy over Beatrice's hand. "Lady W-William.
Didn't expect to f-f-f- see you here."

"Why ever not? Lisette is my sister, you know. Do you mean to
stay?
I hope you do. It is a crushing bore here alone, and I must say I think
it shabby that I no sooner arrive than Lisette goes jauntering off to
Berkshire!"

Bolster, however, thought Lisette had employed shrewd tactics
indeed
and, having every intention of emulating them, smiled and was silent.

"She said she promised to her sisters-in-law at Cloudhills,"
Beatrice swept on, walking back with him to the drawing room. "I think
she must have mistaken the date, and she will be provoked with me not
to have remembered until I arose this morning that Mrs. Leith and her
sister are in Town. I saw them on Bond Street only the day before
yesterday, and Rachel said they mean to pass a few days with the
Mayne-Warings."

"You'd think she'd have reme-membered that," said Bolster,
frowning a little.

"Well, of course she does, you silly boy," teased Beatrice,
rapping
his arm with her fan. "The Mayne-Warings are Tristram's aunt and uncle
and were at his wedding, even if very few of the
ton
were in attendance. I believe Rachel and Lady Mayne-Waring hit it off
famously, in spite of—er—everything."

"I m-meant that if L-Lisette was promised to Mrs. Leith, she
don't seem the type to f-f f-forget the date."

Beatrice's brow puckered. "No," she said slowly. "For she has
the
most excellent memory in all things, and—" She stopped. One shapely
hand drifted to her cheek in an aghast fashion, then she said a little
too hurriedly, "But there is a first time for everything, no? Oh, there
you are, Fisher!"

The butler slanted a rather affronted glance at her as he
carried in
a silver tray on which were decanters and glasses. Beatrice gave a
trill of nervous laughter, causing the frown in Bolster's honest eyes
to deepen. Pouring ratafia for Lady William and Madeira for his
lordship, Fisher murmured an enquiry as to whether my lord would be
overnighting with them.

"Came down to help Mr. S-Strand," said Bolster, accepting his
glass with a nod of thanks. "Still at it, is he?"

"He is, indeed, sir," sighed the butler and, with a troubled
glance
at the rain-splashed windows added, "I only hope he may not be working
outside."

"Hmmnn. I'd best get d-down there. Ask Best to find me a
suitable pair, w-would you?"

"Best is at Silverings with the master, sir. But I am sure
your own
man can select the horses he wishes." He bowed, took himself off, and
paused in the doorway to enquire how soon his lordship wished to be on
his way.

"At once," said Bolster, an unusually firm set to his jaw.

Beatrice began to chatter about his kindness in having come
all this
way to assist her brother with "that silly old boat," complaining that
Norman should never have plagued "poor Justin" until he agreed to
restore it. Bolster scarcely heard her. He was thinking that Lisette
was a glorious Fair, no doubt of it, but it was rather painfully
obvious she was not deep in love with her husband. Already there had
been one unpleasant scandal. If she'd gone trotting off
to
see Rachel or Charity and they was away, she would be alone at
Cloudhills. Unless Leith was there. He scowled down at the amber wine
in his glass. Perfect gentleman, Tristram Leith. Totally besotted over
his lovely wife. But there was an ugly little rumour drifting about to
the effect that Leith had enjoyed more than a casual acquaintanceship
with Miss Van Lindsay and that the girl had, in fact, expected to
become his bride. Nothing to it, probably. Still, if word should get
out she'd gone running up there as soon as her husband's back was
turned, and with the two girls away… gad!

"Is something amiss, my lord?" asked Beatrice, innocently.

Bolster jumped. "Eh? Oh, no! Why?"

"You were frowning so."

"Oh. Well, it's—er—it's a d-deuced n-n-nuisance to have to
g-g-g-
drive all the way down to S-Silverings in this rain, ma'am! I'd better
leave before I ch-change my mind."

In point of fact, his lordship had already changed his mind.
Hurrying to the stables, he informed his groom that he would not be
needed past the first stage, and could bring Mr. Strand's horses back
as soon as they were rested.

"First
stage
, sir?" echoed the groom.
"What—between here and Silverings?"

"No, you hedgebird. God aiming."

"Godalming, sir? But I thought as your lordship were going to
help Mr. Strand with his boat."

"Just remembered," Bolster said nonchalantly. "Pressing
engagement in Oxford."

During the night the storm rumbled itself back toward the
city, but
although the wind and rain lessened and eventually stopped altogether,
Lisette did not enjoy a restful sleep. Once, she half woke from a dream
in which Justin invaded her bedchamber at dead of night, while singing
a decidedly naughty Spanish lovesong. Typical of dreams, the song was
delivered in a fine true baritone, whereas her husband's singing left
much to be desired. Despite her broken slumbers, habit decreed that she
wake at dawn and, having lain staring at the bedcurtains for half an
hour, she arose, reached for the bell rope, then relinquished it.
Denise had been thoroughly worn out last evening; it would be cruel to
waken the poor little creature at this early hour. Still, she would go
down and see if there was some hot water to be had.

She put on her peignoir and started along the hall. It was a
wide
hall, richly carpeted and charmingly appointed. She had been too
wearied last night to notice much of the house and now looked about her
with interest. Her interest became consternation, however, as one of
the doors she approached was flung open. She came face to face with
Tristram Leith, considerably in need of a shave, his thick dark hair
tumbling untidily over his brow, and his dressing gown tied carelessly
so that a hairy chest was exposed to her startled eyes.

"Good God!" gasped Leith.

"T-Tristram!" Lisette squeaked, shrinking against the wall in
horror.

"Your—your pardon!" He ran a hand hurriedly through his hair.
"I
came in very late and did not waken the servants. I'd not realized you
and Strand were visiting us."

"W-well, we are not!" she gulped. "Did Rachel and Charity come
back with you?"

She knew from his sudden pallor that they had not and uttered
a
whimper of dismay. "Then—you… and I… have been here all alone? All
night?"

Leith forced a grin. "None so dreadful, is it? I
am
your
brother-in-law, after all. Come now, never look so scared. Perhaps I
can creep away again before anyone knows I—oh, devil take it!"

A maid carrying a steaming copper jug was followed by a lad
with a
bucket of firewood. Both halted, staring in amazement at the two who
stood as if frozen in the hall.

"Is—that for me, I hope?" called Leith with hoarse cheeriness.

"N-no, sir." With her stupefied gaze fixed upon her employer's
broad
chest, the maid said faintly, "It is hot water for—for Mrs. Strand."

Leith glanced down and stifled a groan as he snatched his
dressing gown into a belated propriety.

Ready to sink, Lisette contrived to walk gracefully back into
her bedchamber, and knew only too well that her face was scarlet.

It
was late afternoon by the time Lord
Jeremy Bolster left
Aldershot, his mood considerably less amiable than usual. The job
horses he had hired in Godalming had been the best of a very poor lot.
They had proven to be slugs as he'd feared, and as he had told them
frequently but without result for the balance of their hire. The state
of the roads compelled him to change teams at Aldershot, but his
situation had not improved, for the pair he now drove were poorly
matched and no more inclined to lean into their collars than had been
their predecessors. He would, he realized glumly, be compelled to rack
up at Basingstoke, a development he viewed without delight since the
bad weather would undoubtedly result in overcrowded conditions and
harassed servants.

Arriving at Basingstoke in the middle of a crashing
thunderstorm, he
was cold and irritable and wished he'd dared bring his groom. He'd not
done so, of course, for fear of what he might encounter at Cloudhills,
though with luck there would be nothing to encounter. It was unlikely
that a lady would persevere with a journey in the face of such wretched
conditions.

The yard of the fine posting house he selected was crowded.
Despite
the crested doors of his chaise, his lack of attendants was noted, his
consequence suffered, and he was fortunate to be allocated a small and
noisy room located directly over the kitchens. The sheets were so
questionable that he tore the bed apart and aired the bedding before
the fire. In the dinning room he endured an execrable dinner, his
misery lightened only by some tolerable Burgundy and the conversation
of a wealthy local merchant who was so jovially ill-mannered that
Bolster was fascinated. He slept poorly, falling soundly asleep at dawn
and not awakening until eleven o'clock, the early call he had requested
having been totally ignored. The thought of breakfasting in the crowded
coffee room was unbearable, and he set out for Cloudhills under bright
skies, but over roads clogged with mud. He stopped at the first
promising hedge-tavern he came to and was restored to spirits by plain
but good fare. He was soon on the road again and pulled into the
stableyard at Cloudhills shortly after one o'clock. A groom ran to take
charge of the team and tossed his lordship a sympathetic glance.

"Do not d-dare to ask if they're mine!" warned Bolster,
jumping down and peering into the stables.

"Be ye lookin' for the Colonel, sir?" the groom enquired.

Admirably concealing his dismay, Bolster lied, "Yes. Have they
all re-re-come back, then?"

"Just the Colonel, I do believe, sir. Corned in late last
night, he
did. Left's'marnin' though. Don't blame him. Stinks up there. Drefful!"

Undaunted, Bolster pressed on but reaching the house, he was
obliged
to agree. The painters were busily and vociferously at work in the
great hall. Following Mrs. Keene, he was guided through a welter of
planks, ladders, buckets, brushes, and rolls of wallpaper to the
kitchen and the small office beyond it where the butler handled his
transactions. "Sorry I am to bring you back here, milord," she
apologized, "but the paint smell is not quite so bad, you'll notice.
Did you wish to leave a message for Colonel Leith?"

He shook his head and, feeling like a spy, said, "Wanted
to't-tell
you that Mrs. Strand m-might come. She th-thinks her sisters are here.
I'll try to head her off, if I can, but—"

"No need for that, sir," the housekeeper assured him with a
rather
tight smile. "Mrs. Strand overnighted with us. Poor soul was that
disappointed, but I gave her the ladies' direction in London, and she
left early this morning."

"I see. And—er, the Colonel?"

Mrs. Keene's eyes dropped. Reddening, she began to fuss with a
neat
pile of statements on the desk. "He stays with—with Mr. Devenish, I
believe, sir."

After a brief pause, he said blandly, "The roads are very
b-bad. I
f-fancy Mrs. Strand will go straight home—to Sussex, I m-m-mean."

"Oh, I doubt that, milord. She was most anxious to see Mrs.
Leith."
Fixing him with a defiant stare, she added, "That was why she come, you
see. I doubt the roads will intimidate such as Mrs. Strand. Likely she
will drive straight on and try to reach Berkeley Square before dark."

Bolster thanked her, said his farewells, and made his way
outside.

Climbing into his chaise, his eyes were very grim indeed.