Married Past Redemption

by Patricia Veryan

  She was returning to the ballroom ten minutes later, the stains removed, when she saw a lackey carrying a tray to a secluded ante-room. Sophia’s request was brought to mind and, dismayed that it had been neglected, Lisette waited until the man left, then entered the room. Sure enough, a forlorn red-haired girl huddled at one end of a sofa, reaching for a macaroon.

  “Good evening, Miss Hersh,” said Lisette, at her most friendly.

  Amanda Hersh jumped, the macaroon shot into the air, and she all but flipped the plate over as she turned a startled face towards the newcomer. It was a wan face, the freckles that dusted the bridge of the small upturned nose being very noticeable against the white skin, and the big blue eyes rather pink-rimmed. “Oh!” gasped Miss Hersh. “I thought you were my godmama!” And then floundered, “Not that I mean you sound that old—I didn’t I meant to—”

  Lisette gave a ripple of laughter and sat beside her. “May I join you? We have had little opportunity to chat, and I know Sophia Drayton holds you in very high regard.”

  “Yes,” sighed Miss Hersh, her eyes wistful. “Sophia is all kindness but I have heard your family is—I mean—” She blinked and said unsteadily, “I should not be here you know for we—I am quite disgraced and you perhaps would not wish to be seen—”

  Her heart won, Lisette touched the trembling little hand. “Why, I am perfectly sure you have done nothing even remotely dreadful.”

  “No,” gulped Miss Hersh, her eyes filling with tears, “b-but my wretched brother did and—and J-Jeremy was almost killed as if it wasn’t bad enough I’d drawn the wrong molar, I used a piece of string and the doorknob and it was dreadful I assure you and oh I wish Sophia had not been so consistent that I come although she means well of course but it makes it quite—quite decrepit for … for me!” She sank her face into her hands and sobbed.

  Her ready sense of humour battling with her sympathy, Lisette took the weeping girl into her arms. “Poor Amanda. May I call you Amanda? Is it not dreadful to be heartbroken? I understand exactly how you feel.”

  Amanda raised her head from Lisette’s damp shoulder and blinked at her. “You—do?” she said. “But—you are so very high—er—I mean—”

  “High in the instep?” Lisette suggested, laughing. “Oh, never say so.”

  “I meant—highly born.” Amanda accepted the handkerchief offered and attempted to dry her eyes with that tiny wisp of lace and fine cambric. “I cannot concede how you could know h-how I feel.” And noting the curiosity touching the great dark eyes that watched her so sympathetically, she sighed. “Oh dear I must have said the wrong word again I always do it I try not to but somehow things get muddled up and Lucian my cousin Lucian St. Clair he’s Jeremy’s best friend next to Strand and Harry Redmond, Lucian is always quizzing me about it only I don’t mind because he is the very dearest boy do not you think?”

  The ingenuous gaze was lifted trustingly to hers. Astounded that so much had been said in one breath, Lisette smiled. “I know Lord St. Clair very slightly, but it would seem you’ve a most interesting story and I should so love to hear it. Would you call on me soon?”

  “How very kind you are but—” The eager face became woeful again. “I doubt your mama would—”

  “I have found you, I see.”

  Amanda gave a gasp, and Lisette turned, a horrible suspicion that she knew that brisk masculine voice confirmed when she saw who stood in the doorway. Justin Strand’s ball clothes were very well cut and flattered him, she thought. The jacket was superb and the knee breeches revealed lean but surprisingly shapely legs. There was a suggestion of carelessness about the cravat, and his fair hair was neat but had certainly not been coaxed into one of the more modish styles. Yet Judith had spoken truly, and if he were only less gaunt he might be fairly attractive. A sense of repressed energy radiated from him, or perhaps that thin face made him look more intense than most men. Assuredly, he had his share of effrontery, for he had doubtless sought her out so as to beg her for a dance. Well, Mr. Justin Strand was in a fair way to being disappointed, for her card was quite full, as she would show him, did he dispute the matter! Why he should presume that she would condescend to dance with one of his revolting clan, was—

  “I have come to beg you will dance the quadrille with me,” he said predictably, coming into the room, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  Lisette drew herself up, her brows arching quellingly. She began to lift her dance card, the better to emphasize her refusal.

  “Good evening, Miss Van Lindsay,” he said pleasantly, and walked past her, offering his arm to Amanda. “I do not mean to take no for an answer, Mandy.”

  Amanda voiced an inarticulate hodgepodge of protest. Strand bent, took both her hands, and pulled her to her feet. “Foolish child. Come now, or they will begin.” And with a sideways grin at Lisette, he swept his reluctant partner from the room.

  Lisette stared after them. “Well!” she said in a sort of gasp, and taking up a macaroon, sank her teeth into it with unnecessary ferocity.

  * * *

  When Lisette returned to the ballroom, an indignant Jocelyn Vaughan hurried to her and complained that the quadrille was almost over.

  “And what has that to say to anything, young man?” demanded a querulous voice beside them.

  Vaughan jumped, bowed deeply, and lifting the wrinkled hand of the old lady who viewed them with fierce dark eyes, kissed it. “Had I known you were here, dear ma’am,” he flirted, “I’d have spent the entire time at your side.”

  “I don’t believe a word of it,” snorted Lady Bayes-Copeland, not unkindly, rapping him with her fan. “Now, be off with you, Vaughan. I’d have words with my lady Toast, here!”

  Still battling astonishment that her grandmama should have made one of her rare excursions into Society, Lisette was commanded to give her arm. She obeyed at once and, with the frail hand leaning on her quite heavily, led her ladyship to the side. No sooner had they found an empty sofa and sat down, than Camille Damon was before them, professing himself quite overwhelmed by the honour done them. “What may I bring you, ma’am?” he asked with a smile in his turquoise eyes. “A glass of ratafia … or negus … or…?”

  “Rum, you wicked devil!” said my lady. “Nor tease an old woman when you’ve so lovely a girl of your own.”

  Damon bent over her. “God grant, ma’am, both I and my lady carry our years as well as do you!” And again, her hand was kissed.

  “How many times tonight, Grandmama?” enquired Lisette, as he limped away.

  “Well now, let me see … There was Vaille—lud, but you should have seen him in his youth! What a wild, wicked, handsome fellow! Camille has much of him, but not all—not all. And Ridgley, such a sweet, good soul. And Bolster, who has left, looking so sad, poor boy. And St. Clair, and Strand, and Vaughan, and—and what a’God’s name is your sister about?”

  “Judith?” asked Lisette, startled for more reasons than one.

  “Beatrice. Has she run mad, the minx? I came upon her in an alcove with James Garvey! A good tongue-lashing I gave ’em both, I can tell you! I’m told you came with him. Why?”

  Garvey and Beatrice? Taken aback, Lisette stammered, “Why—he asked me, ma’am. And why not? He is good ton, and from a fine old house.”

  “In my day, girl,” her ladyship snarled, rapping her cane on the polished floor, “in my day, a woman could smell out a rake were he dustman or duke! Faith—now why must you blush and simper and peer around as though I’d filched the crown jewels? Because I said ‘rake’? It’s a prudish lot ye are these days and no denying! Now, what’s to do with Beatrice and that milquetoast she’s wed? Do they not deal well?”

  “I think—that is to say … well, Beatrice is—is of a certain temperament, and William is—”

  “Is a sorry fool. But a better man than she warrants, withal! ’Twould be like Madame Airy Contrary to cast aside the gold for the dross! And are you over your Leith megrims? It’s time and past that you were looking elsewh
ere. Now why is your mouth at half-cock, miss? D’ye all think me blind?” She gave a cackle of mirth. “Will ye look at the scarlet cheeks! You shall raise the temperature in this room, I don’t doubt!” She accepted the glass the Marquis returned to proffer, and bestowed a smile on that young man that gave one an inkling of what she must have been in her youth. “Thankee, Damon. And glad I am to see you limping so noticeably. You’re not wearing that ridiculous boot you was used to fool us all with, eh?”

  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.”