Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (7 page)

Damon had concealed his infirmity for years, and the colour of
his own lean cheeks was somewhat heightened. He did not avoid those
keen old eyes, however, and answered gravely, "No, ma'am. I am lame.
There is a time for pride, and—"

"And a time for love?" She cackled again. "Be off with you,
then, back to your lady. And—no less than three, nor more than six,
Camille! Hear me now!"

He threw a grin over his shoulder and was gone, leaving
Lisette to gasp a shocked, "Grandmama!"

"Tush and a fiddlestick! He's more wits than you, child! Did
you hear what he said? 'A time for pride…' " She saw her
granddaughter's pretty chin toss upward and sighed as though suddenly
wearied. " 'Tis little I can set at your door, Lord knows. Your mama
fairly bristles with the ugly vice, and that fool of a hus—er—ahem!
Sufficient. Has Garvey offered?"

"Good gracious, no, ma'am! I have only known him a few days."
Lisette's dark eyes grew troubled. "Mama and Papa think him very fine."

"They would!" The cane rapped angrily, causing the old lady to
right her small but beautiful tiara which had become dislodged by the
force of that movement. "It escapes me why I bother with the lot of
you. What with your sister and her haughty ways, yet not above cuddling
in alcoves! To say naught of that spoiled brat of a brother, and—''

"Your pardon, ma'am, but Norman has much to recommend him. He
has a good mind, and always his nose is in a book."

'"And his hands in the sweets! Is a fat little ill-mannered,
sulky boy."

Despite the harsh words, Lady Bayes-Copeland was devoted to
all of her grandchildren, knowing which, Lisette pointed out, "Had he
but been sent to Eton or Harrow, they might have brought out the best
in him. Only look at how well Timothy turned out."

"Aye." The old lady's eyes softened at this mention of her
favourite. "But they'd have to dig deep to find aught of our Tim in
Norman." She scowled and counter-attacked. "And do not evade the point,
miss! What d'ye think of Garvey? Do you love him? Or is it too soon
after Leith for you to know?"

Refusing to be flustered by these direct tactics, Lisette
evaded, "He has been very kind and generous. He is a fine-looking man,
well born, and with excellent prospects. He could only be a—a pleasant
husband. And—if it would help my family…"

The old lady snorted. "A real love match! And with a lover at
the side door before long, I'll wager! Well, perhaps 'tis the way of
things for such as ourselves. Lord knows I'd my share of— Hum! Enough!
Nor suppose your grandmama can be forever picking up bills. I've all I
can do to keep my own tradesmen from the door. And besides, no good
ever came from gifts. If that indolent do-nothing of a Humph—" She
closed her lips and took a deep breath. "Your papa must raise his own
lettuce. Not look to me. Or to you, gal! They've no right to push the
burden onto your shoulders only because you're pretty as any picture.
And I could wish you would look otherwhere than James Garvey. He ain't
the man for you, Lisette. Had I to choose a mate for you, he'd be more
after the style of—" She broke off, and asked sharply, "Well—and why
must you be backing and filling, Strand?"

Lisette's head jerked around. Sure enough, there he stood.
Bold as brass!

"I was merely waiting for you to finish your remarks, ma'am,"
he said courteously, but with his eyes twinkling at the old lady.

"And supposed it would be never, eh? Deny it, and you're a
shifty rogue!"

"Either way you must think ill of me, so I'd best be dumb do I
hope to win your favour."

Her lips quirked. She chuckled suddenly. "Neatly said. Rogue.
Now, what are you about?"

"Merely claiming my dance with your granddaughter, ma'am."

Lisette stifled a gasp, her heart for some reason jumping into
her throat.

Strand said calmly, "It is my waltz, I believe…?"

"You mistake, sir. You did not sign my card."

One eyebrow lifted. He said a cool, "No?"

She flung up the card and glared at it. His name seemed to
leap out at her. "Oh!" she said, in such obvious dismay that the old
lady frowned and shot an oblique glance at Strand's unreadable
countenance. "If 'tis there, girl," she remarked, "you must honour your
word."

"I did not give my word," Lisette fumed. "Someone must have
written—" but she bit off that vexed accusation.

Strand asked, "Do I understand you to refuse me, Miss Van
Lindsay?"

His eyes were cold, and he was perfectly right, of course.
However slyly it had been accomplished, there was no graceful way to
deny him, and undoubtedly many were watching to see how she rose to the
occasion. With_an effort, she controlled her indignation and got to her
feet. "My apologies. I was surprised, merely. It is, as you said, your
waltz, Mr. Strand."

He was not the best of dancers, but his clasp was firm, and at
least he did not count aloud, which she had half expected. Not a few
amused glances were directed at them as they whirled about the floor.
Gritting her teeth, Lisette went out of her way to be charming. Strand
vouchsafed scarcely a word in response to her efforts, but dreading
lest she appear a spoilsport, she persevered. "I can see you have a
kind heart, sir. It was good of you to dance with Miss Hersh."

"To the contrary. It was good of her to dance with me."

"Well, of course." She stiffened, unaccustomed to being taken
up in such a way. "What I meant was—she was upset and shy, but she's
not lacked for partners since."

"No reason she should. She's a deal more pleasant than many
debutantes."

Enraged, Lisette murmured sweetly, "I stand corrected."

He flashed a swift glance at her set smile. "Am I being
clumsy? I'm trying not to trample on your feet." Some of the ice went
out of her eyes, and he added, "You also were kind. I overheard a
little of what you told her." His sardonic grin flashed. "One might
almost suppose you to be an expert in unrequited love."

Lisette caught her breath, and her hand trembled, so violently
did she yearn to slap his mocking face. So he
did
know of her
tendre
for Leith! His horrid sister
Rachel had boasted to him, no doubt! They had probably laughed over it.
The vicious wretch, how
dare
he so taunt her? "I
think," she said, struggling to conceal her loathing, "there is no
question of unrequited love, sir. Lord Bolster's affections are deeply
engaged, so I'm told. There is merely the matter of unfortunate family
background."

"I'd thought Bolster quite presentable," he said nonchalantly.
"And the Hershes are in some way related to the Raymonds, I believe,
for I'm sure St. Clair's a distant cousin, and—oh, egad! You cannot
mean because of Winfield Hersh? I was in India when it all came about,
but surely Amanda is quite innocent. I'd scarce think his disgrace
sufficient cause to break her engagement.''

In view of his cruel gibe, Lisette would have died before
admitting her agreement, and said crushingly, "Perhaps you would not,
sir. But there are many who feel that
any
scandal
would be sufficient cause—especially in the case of so ancient and
unsullied a house as that of Lord Bolster."

If Mr. Strand was crushed, he gave no sign of it. "Tradition?"
he shrugged. "I had hoped such antiquated and bacon-brained notions
were in a fair way to being abandoned."

The waltz came to an end. Mr. Strand, a noticeable gleam in
his eyes, bowed. Miss Van Lindsay, a noticeable spark in her eyes,
curtsied. "Such a disappointment for you, sir," she murmured."But I
fear my sentiments are with those who revere tradition and place family
and honour above all things."

"Bravo!" he said irrepressibly, ushering her from the floor.
"Spoken like a true Whig, Miss Van Lindsay." He bent to her ear. "I was
quite thrown in the close, wasn't I?"

Surprised, she looked up at him. The quirk beside his mouth
was pronounced. Before she could restrain it, her own laugh rippled
out. She managed to cut it short, but not before she had seen
admiration change his expression.

"She
is
detestable!"
Lady William Dwyer dabbed a tiny handkerchief angrily at her reddened
eyes and, settling herself a little more comfortably into the old
armchair in Lisette's bedchamber, sniffed, "She always has had an acid
tongue, but to think of her—literally
pouncing
on
us as though we had been engaged in—in a passionate embrace. The
look
she gave us! And the things she said! Oh! It quite makes me
shudder
for poor Mr. Garvey's sake!"

Since Beatrice was possessed of an acid tongue of her own,
Lisette found it difficult to be deeply in sympathy with her remarks.
"I'll admit Grandmama can be a trifle caustic sometimes," she began,
"but, on the other hand—"

"Caustic indeed! And the frightful thing is she is sure to
mention it to Mama, and if William hears of it, he will be
so
hurt."

She was closing the barn door when the horse had already
bolted, thought Lisette. This tiresome interlude had lasted above half
an hour, and she longed for her bed. "Grandmama mentioned William," she
said, stifling a yawn. "She seems fond of him."

"And
I
—I suppose, am not? I, in fact, am
a heartless wanton, conducting a torrid
affaire
behind my poor husband's back! With—with a man I scarcely—
know
!"
The last word was a martyred wail, and the tears began to flow again.

"If you scarcely know him, dear," Lisette pointed out,
striving for patience, "surely it was unwise to be alone with him in
the alcove?"

"Oh—
base!"
flashed Beatrice, sitting bolt
upright and fixing her sister with an indignant, if watery, eye. ''A
fine
thanks for my efforts in your behalf! I risk my marriage; my reputation
is… dragged in the mud! And all for a sister who only berates me
for—for my sacrifice!"

Suddenly wide awake, Lisette exclaimed, "In
my
behalf? Whatever do you mean?''

"Well you may ask." Beatrice dabbed her at her eyes and,
watching her sister from under her lashes, murmured, "Truth to tell,
some rather odd rumours came to my ears. Rumours concerning you and—a
certain gentleman. When I learned Mr.

Garvey was courting you—well, I know how splendid is
his
repute, so I made so bold as to ask his advice."

Apprehensive, Lisette said, "I wonder you did not take this
tale to Papa and allow
him
to deal with it,
rather than seeking counsel of a comparative stranger.''

"Much good that would have done! Papa is hand in glove with
the man in question—besides being deep in his debt! You may be sure I
would have got my ears boxed for interfering."

Suddenly very cold, Lisette stood. She faced her sister, chin
high, and with a bleak look in her eyes that reminded Beatrice of her
grandmother. "Very well," she said. "Have done with the drama, or let
us go to Papa together." Raising one hand to quiet her sister's
frightened squeal, she demanded, "Name this gentleman who speaks ill of
me."

"Not ill," Beatrice grumbled sulkily. "Only confidently."

''
What
? Then Timothy must come home and
deal with the cur! His name!"

Her dark eyes blazed with passion; her gentle mouth was
tightly compressed, and for the first time in her life, Beatrice was
afraid of this quiet sister for whom she had always secretly felt
scorn. "His name is—is Justin Strand," she stammered. "He says he has
paid off all his papa's creditors and can restore his family name by
simply marrying any lady of noble birth. He boasts his gold can buy any
woman he chooses, and—and that he has already put a—a down payment on—
you."

It should not have come as such a shock, God knows! Nor was
there any reason why she should suddenly see Strand smiling down at
Amanda Hersh in that quiet ante-room. Lisette stood for an instant,
rigidly still. Then she whirled and, ignoring Beatrice's frightened
cry, ran to wrench open the door, rush down both flights of stairs and
along the hall. To how many people had Strand dared bandy her name? Had
he, in fact, actually spoken to Papa, without so much as a word to her?
She gave a strangled sob as she burst through the study door, but then
she froze, her impassioned demands dying unspoken. Her father was
crumpled over his desk, his shoulders heaving, while his wife bent
above him, her own cheeks streaked with tears.

Horrified, Lisette gasped, "Oh—my dears! What is it? Whatever
is it?"

"You have no business coming in… like that, Lisette," said her
mother, turning swiftly away to dry her eyes. "Leave us, if you please."

Despite those brave words her voice was cracked and trembling.
Lisette ran to put her arm about the bowed shoulders. "No, Mama. I am
not a child. Whatever the trouble, I belong here, beside you and my
father."

Keeping his face averted, Mr. Van Lindsay stood and strode to
the fireplace to stare down at the logs, his handkerchief busy.

Philippa leaned against her daughter, reaching out to grip
that comforting hand. "You're a good child. Very well, you should know.
It is finances, of course. We have for some time been quite desperate.
You cannot know how often I have—have gone to your grandmama, which
makes Papa feel so degraded. He could not bear it, and so he took a
desperate chance and— and invested in one of the new canals."

"It could very easily," Mr. Van Lindsay croaked from the
fireplace, "have made us all rich!"

"Yes, indeed it could, my dear," agreed his wife. "But
unhappily it was a disaster. The rain this year—and it has stayed so
damp. There were too many delays, you see. They ran out of funds, and
no one else would invest, so those already having money in the concern
had to—to add more, or lose everything."