Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (46 page)

"No, no!" Rachel looked up and smiled brightly. "Only, I try
not to
think of those times. They were bad—and yet, that was when I met my
dear husband, so you see there were happy moments, too. Enough of that.
Now you must tell me of my brother. If I know Justin, he has been a
most intractable patient and quite driven you out of your senses."

"Oh, dreadful," Lisette agreed, laughing. "As soon as he began
to get better, he was impossible!"

"Poor girl. You must be very glad he is gone away."

Lisette looked down at her hands and managed a rather
scratchy, . "Yes."

Rachel Leith was a most warm-hearted girl. She had always
thought
this beauty pretty-mannered and charming, but a shade too
self-possessed. When her brother had fallen so desperately in love with
her, she had encouraged his hopes outwardly, and inwardly had despaired
of his chances of ever having his affections returned. Intrigued now,
she said, "I can tell that you have had a dreadful time. Justin is so
hopeless about resting, or taking care of himself. Even so, I would not
have supposed him capable of being so unfeeling as to abandon you
again, after you were so good as to nurse him day and night, when we
all know you did not—" She caught her breath, her eyes horrified
because of what she had almost said.

Looking up through a veil of tears, Lisette sniffed. "Did not
care
for him? Well, you are right. I did not—when I married him." She dried
her eyes, aware that Rachel had stiffened. "It was supposed to be a
mariage
de convenance,"
she imparted miserably. "Is it not the height of stupidity for the
bride of such a match to—to have fallen madly in love with her own
husband?"

"No!" Rachel moved impulsively to hug her and say in her
winning,
eager way, "I think it wonderful, for Justin has been in love with you
since first he set eyes on you."

"So I—I thought. But ever since he was ill, he—he has not… not
so
much as… kissed me!" She raised tragic eyes and went on, "And now he
has gone away again and I know Charity was not his Fair Paphian, but I
cannot help but wonder if there
is
one after all."

Stifling a smile at this naive muddle, Rachel commiserated,
"He is
the outside of enough, and no mistaking! I wonder you do not leave him."

"Leave
him? How could I, when he is the
dearest, kindest,
most gallant, and unselfish man who ever lived?" Lisette's lower lip
trembled, and she added a forlorn, "Only, I do not think I can endure
it, does he mean to be endlessly coming and… g-going like this."

"The wretch! Did he say
nothing
? Did he
leave no word at all?"

"Only this." Lisette drew a very wrinkled note from her pocket
and handed it over.

" 'Dear Ma'am' " read Rachel aloud. She flashed an irked
upward glance at her sister-in-law's woeful countenance. "Typical!

So very romantic! 'Dear Ma'am, I am called away on a matter
that
must be completed with all possible speed. By your leave I shall call
upon you next Thursday afternoon at three o'clock. Please receive a man
who is—yours forever, Strand.' '' She looked up and said with
incredulity,
"Call
on you? Today? In his
own
house?
Good God! Did Leith write me such a note I would have him put under
restraint at once! Though I am glad to see my brother's writing is
improved. When he is ill his hand shakes so he can scarce form the
words. And, do you know, dear, the ending
is
rather—"

She stopped as Fisher entered. He presented Lisette with a
large,
beribboned box, and at once trod his stately way from the room without
uttering a word.

Intrigued, Rachel said, "Good gracious, how theatrical! Is
there a card, love?"

Untying the pink velvet ribbons, Lisette said, "No. Perhaps it
is inside, but— Oh! Rachel,
look
! Is it not
exquisite
?"

At first Rachel saw only a charmingly arranged posy of pink
roses
and maidenhair fern, but in the centre was a velvet cushion containing
a large diamond set in an intricately wrought gold filigree pendant.
Lisette jumped up, ran to take a small pair of scissors from a drawer,
and began carefully to snip the stitches holding the chain in place.
Rachel assisted then in fastening the chain about Lisette's white
throat, and clapped her hands when she finished. "Oh, you must see it!
Here—in the mirror. It is adorable! I would not have thought Justin had
the sense!"

Lisette admired her reflection, then ran eagerly back to the
box.
She found a note inside. Unfolding it with hands that trembled, she
uttered a shocked little cry that brought Rachel hastening to read over
her shoulder:

I saw a maid who set my soul to dreaming
Sweet,
tender dreams
of love that haunt me yet.
A girl with eyes like dusky velvet, seeming
To make my heart a shrine just for
Lisette.

Her hair a cloud of midnight, richly glowing.
Her
voice a silvery peal I can't forget.
Her lips curved in a smile, as if she's knowing
Deep
is the love I bear for my
Lisette.

I'll gather all my courage and pursue her.
I'll kiss
away her
sorrows and regret.
I'll worship and adore and gently woo her,
And win
myself an angel, named
Lisette.

Astounded, Rachel breathed, "Why, it is beautiful…"

"How
dare
he!" raged Lisette, tearing at
the clasp of the pendant. "Oh, that wicked,
wicked
man! After all the pain and grief and suffering he has brought on us!"
She was panting, so deep was her disgust and chagrin. "Rachel, help me!
Help me get this wretched thing off!''

"Do not! Please, do not! You will break it. And I am sure
Justin did
not mean to offend. I—I do not understand. You said you loved him, yet—"

"This horrid diamond did not come from my husband! Garvey sent
it, just as he sent the other poem! To think he would
dare
—"
She succeeded in opening the clasp, tore the offending pendant from her
throat, and hurled it across the room.

"Garvey?" Rachel echoed in bewilderment. "No, but—but this is
Justin's hand, dearest. Surely, you must know it."

Shock drained the high colour from Lisette's cheeks. She
stared at Rachel blankly.
Justin?
Justin had not
writ that poem. He
could
not have done so. Justin's writing was atrocious. Would she ever forget
that first dreadful note he had sent, telling her he was leaving her on
her wedding night… Like a physical blow, she thought, But he was
ill
that night! And Rachel said when he is ill his hand shakes
so
that he can scarce form the words!

Regarding her anxiously, Rachel held out the note Justin had
written
to say that he would call today. Numbly, Lisette looked from one to the
other. The writing was identical! She gave a gasp, remembering the note
Grandmama had received from Strand. Why ever had she failed to notice
the difference in the writing? "My God!" she moaned. "It cannot be… it
cannot
. .
.!" And to Rachel's bewilderment she suddenly fled, in a most
ill-mannered abandonment of her guest, flinging open the door and
running down the corridor with a flutter of draperies and a rustle of
the two letters she held.

Following at a less precipitous rate, vastly entertained,
Rachel
informed a bowl of chrysanthemums that while this household had never
been of an exemplary nature, it had of late deteriorated into total
insanity. She climbed the stairs, marvelling at the progression of
events, gleefully anticipating sharing them with Tristram and Charity.
But she hastened her steps when she heard sobs coming from Lisette's
bedchamber. Entering, she found her sister-in-law kneeling on the
carpet, weeping over three letters spread before her. "Oh, my dear!"
Rachel cried, running to kneel with her. "Whatever is it?"

"They are… the
same!"
sobbed Lisette, a
glory shining
through her tears. "Oh, Rachel… all this time, I though him so… so
unromantic. -All this time I thought that wicked Garvey had writ my
first poem! How I—I longed for Justin to speak such beautiful words!
How I
yearned
over them… never dreaming my… my
own beloved
husband— Oh, Rachel!" And clasped in her sister-in-law's arms she
dissolved into floods of happy tears.

Well
before the appointed time, Lisette
was seated in the
drawing room, her hands clasped in her lap, her face pale with
anticipation. She wore a new gown of pale orange velvet, the low
square-cut neck edged with tiny scallops, the skirt falling in a slim,
straight line from beneath the bodice, and the puff sleeves also edged
with the embroidered scalloping. An orange velvet ribbon was bound
through her glossy dark hair, and her only jewellery was the diamond
pendant that had been joyously reclaimed (luckily intact) and
reverently replaced about her throat. She was quite alone, for Rachel,
overcome with wonder that her loved but prosaic brother should have
hidden such a flair for the art of flirtation, had vowed she'd not stay
like a marplot in a house where a man obviously meant to court his own
wife. She had summoned up her carriage and her maids and been swept
away, fairly beside herself with eagerness to share all this
deliciousness with her husband.

The clock on the mantel suddenly chimed the hour. Lisette
jumped.
Strand had said three o'clock. Oh, how she longed to see him! How did
he intend to "pursue and woo" her? Had he stayed away so as to make
plans for—

Fisher swung the door open. "Mr. Justin Strand," he announced,
his face commendably enigmatic.

Lisette's heart was pounding as though it must break through
her
ribs. She could not know how brightly her eyes shone, how charming was
the blush on her smooth cheeks, how becomingly the orange gown
flattered her slender loveliness. Strand, having schooled himself to
walk steadily, checked on the threshold. He was elegant in a coat of
blue superfine and pearl grey unmentionables. A sapphire gleamed amid
the folds of his cravat, and if that cravat was somewhat less than the
perfection Green had created, by reason of a nervous finger having been
run around beneath his collar several times on the way here, Lisette
saw only the worship in the deep blue eyes of the man she loved. She
was not conscious of having stood, but suddenly Strand was clasping
both her hands. Neither spoke for a moment, each drinking in the adored
face opposite. Leaning to him, lips parted for his kiss, Lisette was a
little taken aback when he bowed, and instead kissed her fingertips.

"How very kind in you to receive me, ma'am," he said primly.
And thought, This time I
shall
do the thing
properly! This time, by God, I will woo her with such poise she will
fairly
fall
into my arms! Waiting until she had sat down, he seated himself in a
nearby chair, his eyes straying to the pendant that sparkled on her
bosom.

Her fingers lifted to touch the gem. "Justin, it is so
beautiful. Thank you," she said breathlessly.

"I am most pleased it—er—pleases you." He bit his lip in
irritation.
How clumsy. And he must be smooth and assured. But she looked so
unspeakably lovely… He knew he was staring, and blurted, "Have you been
well? Er—not lonely, I hope?"

"As a matter of fact," she said with a demure smile, "I
have
been a little lonely. My dear husband, you see… was away."

Strand's grip tightened on the arm of his chair. "He had much
to do.
What I mean is, if you're going to talk of your husband when you
receive a caller, ma'am, I must protest."

His eyes danced. Meeting them, Lisette said softly, "There is
no one else I had rather speak of.''

Again, one thin finger was passed nervously about Strand's
collar.
He sprang up and took a turn about the room. Lisette smiled to note
that quick imperative stride, and thought, How very dear he is… But he
was obviously set on wooing her, and she must not spoil his plans. And
so she said, "Justin…"

He turned to her and corrected with a twinkle, "Mr. Strand.".

"I did not know, Mr. Strand," she said meekly, "that my own
husband writ those magnificent verses for me."

He marched up to frown into her face, his eyes a blue blaze.
"Well,
who in the devil," he demanded, quite forgetting his romantic mission,
"did
you think wrote them?"

"Garvey," she confessed.

"
Garvey
!" He sat beside her. "The deuce!
Why should you suspect so revolting a thing?"

"Because I did not recognize your hand, my dear one. You had
only
ever written me one note, and that was when you were taken ill on the
night we were wed. Your writing was atrocious, and I thought it your
usual hand. I could only think the poem came from Garvey, and when I
mentioned it, he did not deny it."

"That damnable rogue," he murmured and, mesmerized by her
beauty, traced the curve of her dewy cheek with one finger.

"Yes," she sighed, swaying towards him, her voice a caress.
"Oh,
Justin, your poem was so beautiful. If you did but know how I wept over
it, believing it to have come from the—wrong gentleman."

He stammered eagerly, "Do you mean it? I'm—I'm so wretched
when it
comes to—to putting my feelings— Well, I never can seem to say—"

"No. You do not
say,
dearest. Rather,
you
do.
All
the sweet, dear—" And she drew back, startled, as Strand gasped, "By
George!" and sprang up, rushing to open the window that looked onto the
rose garden. He glanced out, coughed twice, then proceeded to pour a
glass of ratafia and carry it to his bewildered lady.

Lisette accepted the glass, wondering why he did not look at
her, but instead scowled at the window.

The sweet notes of a violin arose in the strains of a gypsy
love
song, soon joined by mandolins and a soft chinking of castanets. Amused
and delighted, she thought, In the middle of the afternoon? but said,
"Oh, how lovely!"