“Happy?” barked Lady Bayes-Copeland. “What fustian! Who could be happy stuck out there at Cloudhills all year round? The man was a colonel! He is accustomed to activity and a full social schedule. The life of a country squire will soon pall, I’ll warrant!”
“Perhaps it will, my lady. But for a man like Tristram Leith, the busiest and most socially glittering life imaginable must be a desolation were not the lady he loves at his side.”
It was far and away the most romantic thing Lisette had ever heard Strand say, and she stared her surprise. Beatrice sneered cynically. Sir William was so inspired as to utter an enthused, “Well said, by gad!” The old lady’s eyes began to gleam. “Huh!” she snorted. “And what of Justin Strand, sir? Is it to be Town or country for him?”
Strand grinned. “Lord, ma’am, you must not speak of Leith and Strand in the same breath, or the latter must suffer to the point of extinction! Indeed, when I am in Tristram’s magnificent presence, I sometimes find it necessary to pinch myself to be sure I’m still there!”
It was said with affection rather than rancour, and they all laughed.
Lady Bayes-Copeland did not so lightly lower her guns, however. “A clever evasion,” she nodded grimly. “And I’m still without an answer.”
“D’you know, ma’am,” he replied, “I suspect you knew the answer before you asked the question.”
For a moment she almost returned his unexpectedly winning smile, but instead snapped, “You’re nobody’s fool, I see. Yet had you been a little wiser, you would have come to see me at Richmond, young man. Not whisked my granddaughter off without so much as a decent meeting. You may imagine that because I’m an old widow, you can dismiss me from the reckoning in this family. But you are out there, and so I tell you!”
Mrs. Van Lindsay placed a hand briefly over her eyes, and her husband looked aghast. Strand said nothing, but Lisette felt constrained to point out that they had driven down to see the old lady. “I was dragged all that way in the rain, dear Grandmama,” she said aggrievedly, “the very morning after I had accepted Mr. Strand’s offer.”
Contrarily, this advice served to send my lady’s wrath flaring. “Then why in God’s name could you not have said so, Strand? Making mock of me, eh?”
“Not at all, ma’am. But you were having such a lovely time trying to put me out of countenance, I hesitated to spoil it for you.”
It was lightly said, but through another taut silence, his eyes met hers steadily. What she read in those eyes, only she knew, but suddenly her scowl relaxed. She smiled, then went into a cackle of mirth and, relieved, everyone laughed with her. “Very well, put up your sword,” she wheezed at last. “I own you to be a worthy opponent. Have a care, Lisette! This brown-faced hank of skin and bone will be a sight more difficult to tame than would a gentleman like Tristram Leith!”
Lisette gave a gasp. Strand’s narrowed eyes shot to her face. Mr. Van Lindsay, laughing heartily, missed the implication and said, “Well, he stood up to you, ma’am!”
“Indeed he did,” chuckled her ladyship. “Game as a pebble!” She lifted her glass. “I give you joy. Strand—you’ve won yourself a rare girl. It will be up to you to see her beauty don’t ruin her! Lisette—I venture to believe you have found a gentleman who is also—a man!”
Lisette met Strand’s eyes. They were unfathomable; she dared not guess what he had read into her grandmother’s remark, and why she should care what he thought was also a mystery. But she smiled, and for some odd reason felt proud. He returned her smile, and only Sir William noticed how tightly his fingers were clamped about the stem of his glass.
Chapter 6
At half-past eight Justin Strand’s new town carriage was at the front door to convey the Van Lindsay party to the betrothal ball. The downpour had eased to a steady light fall, but the streets were deeply puddled, the carriage progressed with caution, and conversation in the large vehicle became desultory until Lady Bayes-Copeland remarked on the bridesmaids’ gowns. “Who selected Judith’s?” she asked.
“Well you may ask, ma’am,” replied Beatrice with a vexed little titter. “My choice was rejected, and a dowdy thing she has sewn for herself in its place. She will look a quiz, I fear.”
“If she does, ma’am, she may lay it to my door,” said Strand quickly. “No doubt the gown would have been enchanting on another girl, Lady William, but—”
“But would have made Judith look as wide as she’s tall,” the old lady interpolated, adding a vehement, “You are to be commended on your good taste, Strand. I’d not known the gal was so fine a needlewoman, had you, Philippa?”
Lisette did not hear her mother’s response. Seated between her betrothed and her sister, she felt Beatrice tense. She’d feared just such a reaction to Strand’s interference, and could only hope Beatrice did not take him in such dislike that she launched one of her campaigns against him, which could prove painful for every member of the family. Such fears were forgotten, however, as the coach turned the corner on to Bond Street. Harland’s house was a blaze of light. A long canopy covered the approach across the flagway, up the steps, and to the front doors, and despite the rain, carpets were already laid. Awnings had also been set up on each side of the entrance, where an eager crowd was beginning to form, pleased that they could watch the arrivals without being drenched.
“How nice of Harland to provide a shelter for the crowds,” murmured Lisette.
“I suspect he wasted his effort,” Beatrice sniffed. “There’ll be no large turn-out to watch only a few guests arrive on such a miserable night.”
“Stuff!” said her grandmother, as a footman ran to throw open the door and let down the steps. “If everyone waited for a mild night in England, we would have very few parties!”
The onlookers gave them a cheer as they entered the great house, and in the entrance hall Mr. Fisher, a lean, greying gentleman, was as immaculate as any well-bred butler at a ton ball should be. Already, strains of music were drifting down the stairs, although none of the guests would arrive for another half-hour at least. Strand offered one arm to Lady Bayes-Copeland, the other to his betrothed, and led the way upstairs and along the corridor to the doors giving onto the ballroom. A lackey hurried ahead to open those doors, and Strand, suiting his pace to the old lady’s uncertain steps, was gratified as she cried an appreciative, “Aha! What a pretty sight!”
The great room was a picture: large golden baskets holding long-stemmed red and white roses were placed about the walls; the chairs and sofas were white, gold, and pink, and here and there on the walls hung two golden hearts, intertwined. Lisette darted a startled look at her fiancé and discovered him staring, wide-eyed, at this last touch.
“But it is charming!” exclaimed Mrs. Van Lindsay, entering on her husband’s arm.
“Good evening,” murmured Geoffrey, Earl of Harland, coming up behind them and, as usual, looking very well in his evening clothes. “Well, Strand,” he said, having bowed over the hands of the ladies and exchanged firm handclasps with the men, “and how many of your family shall be here tonight?”
Beatrice uttered an audible gasp, and Lisette paled. Strand’s brows twitched into his rare frown. “None, unfortunately, sir. I had hoped to persuade my sister, Charity, to come. But—it was not possible.” His lips tightened as Beatrice sighed her relief, and he added a rather pointed, “But they will dance at my wedding, I assure you!”
“And so shall I,” Lady Bayes-Copeland nodded. “But for the moment, come and sit beside me, Harland, and tell me all the latest on dits. I fairly thirst for gossip!”
The rest of the party adjourned to the ground floor to inspect the refreshment room where immaculate long tables awaited the many delicacies they soon would hold.
The guests began to arrive a little earlier than had been expected, and in far greater numbers, and by half-past eleven o’clock it was very apparent that the ball was a huge success.
Strand leaned to Lisette’s ear during a brief lull in the reception line a
nd murmured whimsically, “I trust the people outside did not give up hope too early.”
She smiled. “I do not think we shall have to blush for our party, sir. Though my feet feel as if they are doing so.”
“In a little while,” he promised, “I shall take them in to supper, so they may rest.”
“I’ll say one thing for you, Strand. You move very fast.” Resplendent in peerless evening dress, James Garvey went on, “What a great pity you was not with our Duke on the Peninsula.”
“Isn’t it?” Strand agreed, his handshake so crushing that his guest flinched. “And what a good thing you wasn’t!”
Garvey glared. Strand smiled on him sweetly, then turned to take the hand of the Duke of Vaille. Gritting his teeth, Garvey sauntered on beside the elegant French Chevalier who had accompanied him. Lisette could breathe again.
Strand was soon enabled to keep his promise and take his betrothed to the refreshment room. He found her a place beside Sally Leith and Sir Frederick Foster and went off to the laden tables. Foster had been on the town for better than ten years and was an engaging young man. He was regaling the two ladies with the details of a horse race that had taken place between Sir Harry Redmond and Viscount Lucian St. Clair, when James Garvey slid into the vacant chair beside Lisette.
“I say, dear old boy,” Foster remonstrated mildly. “’Fraid that chair’s reserved for our prospective benedick.”
“And I shall hastily relinquish it when he returns. Fair Miss Van Lindsay, your dance card, I beg.”
Foster stared at him for an instant, then turned to identify General Smollet for Sally.
Lisette seized the opportunity to murmur, “Mr. Garvey, I hope you—I mean, if I—if I gave you a wrong impression—”
“No, but you tried,” he declared in a low, intense voice. “Very valiantly, poor creature! How terrible that such as you should be sold to the highest bidder!”
“No! Oh, please do not say so! You are—”
“I am—ever—yours to command! If you stand in need of help, only send me word, and I shall be at your side!” Despite the melodramatic declaration, his eyes were very grim. He signed her card, rose, bowed, and sauntered away.
The dashing Earl of Ridgley had claimed Lisette for his partner when the hour neared midnight, and he was leading her into a country dance when a slight commotion erupted at one side of the room. Lisette glanced that way, curious to see the cause of such a flurry of whispering and raised eyebrows. She saw Strand, his face alight, pull a frail, mousy-looking girl into a warm embrace, then reach an eager hand to the girl’s escort.
Following his gaze, Lisette halted. She was accustomed to seeing Tristram Leith clad in the magnificence of his uniform, but even in civilian evening clothes he seemed to relegate all other gentlemen to obscurity. He was half turned from her, but his commanding height and the proud carriage of his dark head were unmistakable. She thought, No! Oh, no! And then he was glancing her way, so that she saw fully the vital smiling face, and the scars that now raked down his right cheek. It was the first time she had seen him since Waterloo, and although she knew he had been wounded, she was not prepared. She felt suffocated and, one hand flying to her throat, fought a sick dizziness. Dimly, she saw Strand staring at her, and then an arm was about her. In a voice that seemed to ring through the room, Beatrice asked, “Whatever is wrong, love? You are white as a sheet!”
* * *
“You must think me a regular pea goose,” Lisette murmured, gratefully accepting the glass of water Strand offered. “I fear the heat and—and all that while standing downstairs, must have been too much for me.”
“I am fairly astounded,” Beatrice admitted. “I had always thought you strong as a horse.”
“Even a horse is sometimes caught offstride,” Strand declared with disastrous loyalty.
Lisette’s eyes flew to him. A corner of Leith’s mouth twitched and in a chivalrous attempt to smooth a ticklish moment he said, “My sudden appearance is enough to throw anyone offstride. My apologies, Justin. I thought you would want one of your sisters here, but perhaps Charity and I should not have come.”
Her motives not nearly so benign, Beatrice purred, “But of course you should have come, Colonel. I am sure very few people hold you in any way disgraced.”
A chill came into Leith’s fine eyes, and Charity Strand blushed painfully.
“For heaven’s sake, do not encourage him, my lady,” said Strand. “Anyone so stupid as to lounge about under an exploding shell deserves to have his face remodelled.”
The tension eased. Charity gave a relieved little giggle. Leith reached out one large hand and deliberately dragged Strand’s thick hair straight forward over his face. Strand grinned and shook his head and, careless of the fact that he looked considerably dishevelled, said, “Let us ignore this military clod. Ladies, may I present my sister? Charity, you must meet Lady William Dwyer, and her sister, Miss Lisette Van Lindsay, my affianced bride.”
Beatrice bowed, but her brows lifted when Charity Strand essayed a markedly clumsy curtsey. Lisette held out her hand and murmured a polite but cool, “I am so very glad to meet you, Miss Strand.”
“You see”—Strand smiled—“your fears were for naught, little one. Miss Van Lindsay holds you blameless, too.” Lisette was surprised by the blaze of anger in his blue eyes. Nonetheless, he went on lightly, “She has not much choice, of course, for when a lady takes a gentleman to husband, she takes his whole family, perforce.” He looked at her levelly. “Ain’t that right, Lizzie?”
Beatrice uttered an outraged gasp. Lisette’s eyes took on a glassy hue. Charity lowered her lashes, her lips trembling against a smile, and Leith coughed suspiciously, behind his hand.
The suave James Garvey strolled up at that moment, to claim his dance, and numbly, Lisette tottered off beside him. Garvey found her vexingly inattentive throughout the boulanger, even when, in one of the few moments he could address her, he hissed a suggestion that she should fly with him to the Border, that very night. “If only to save yourself,” he urged. Lisette scarcely heard this disgraceful proposal. In her ears lingered one repellent word: “Lizzie”!
She was dancing a quadrille with Lord Owsley before she really began to recover from such a shock and to plan her revenge. The wretch must be punished, and since the next dance was the waltz he had applied for long before the ball began, he would find her very hard to locate. She might, in fact, not be found in time to dance at all! Smiling in response to a singularly asinine remark of the adoring young Owsley, her teeth were unusually apparent. Furthermore, she thought, vindictively, does the wretch ever dare so address me again, he will have a taste of the Van Lindsay temper he’ll not soon forget!
In point of fact, she had seldom been plagued by so unfortunate an emotion as temperament, but she was still seething when his lordship reluctantly restored her to her grandmother. Lady Bayes-Copeland was talking with Charity Strand as though she’d known her all her life, and Lisette at once turned aside, for she could not look at Charity without being reminded of Rachel, and it was all she could do to be civil to the girl.
“Come along, do!” called the old lady. “Never back and fill, so! Here is your sister-to-be, eager to know you better!”
Willy-nilly, Lisette sat beside them. “You should be dancing, instead of sitting here,” she said, nobly turning her most bewitching smile on the shy girl.
“Oh, no, Miss Van Lindsay. I fear I would only make a spectacle of myself.”
“Good gracious! Do you disapprove of dancing, then?”
Charity blushed. “I—I do not remember how to dance.”
Lisette stared at her. Every young lady knew how to dance, and Charity was well past her schooldays. Surely they must have assemblies somewhere near Strand Hall? Or at least impromptu hops at parties, or in the Church Hall?
“I am learning again now,” said Charity with timid eagerness. “But I still seem to lose my balance if—” She checked, seeing consternation come into the beauti
ful face beside her. “Oh—you did not know? I had supposed my brother would have told you. I was an invalid for three years. My horse threw me when I was seventeen, and I have only lately begun to walk again.”
Horrified, Lisette was reminded of the scorn with which she had watched that pathetic attempt at a curtsey. What a wretched girl she was! “Oh, my dear,” she said, her hand going out to the frail one that came so gladly to meet it, “I am so very sorry. Three years! How awful for you!”
“And for my sister. Rachel had such a frightful time, but I expect Justin will have told you all about—” She paused, her eyes opening very wide as Galen Hilby bowed before her and begged the honour of taking her down to supper.
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