“Has my sister returned to Somerset, ma’am?” asked Lisette.
“No, she ain’t!” barked my lady, with another rap of her cane upon the carpet. “She enjoys her freedom with the Haines-Curtis gal, who I doubt is any better than she should be, and given entirely too much credit for being responsible, which she ain’t! Dwyer should take a stick to his wife! And not wait too long about it, neither!”
The old lady remained for three days, and although she was unimpressed with Strand Hall, the staff pleased her, and for one occupant she developed a passionate fondness. Brutus, who fawned upon her slavishly, was, she proclaimed, a splendid guard, a magnificent specimen, and a credit to his breed. Nobody’s fool, he seldom left her side, even slithering into the forbidden dining room to accept tit-bits from my lady’s hand whilst he hid under the table, and in general taking shameful advantage of the situation. When Lady Bayes-Copeland left, he was devastated and moaned for a full five minutes before discerning a visiting cat that must be chased from the premises.
The bulldog had, by this time, formed the habit of sleeping beside Lisette’s bed. He snored, which was annoying, and his snores were broken by snufflings that were at times followed by a long silent pause. When Lisette first experienced this phenomenon, she jumped up in bed, convinced he had died, only to be shattered by a cacophonous explosion of snorts, snuffles, and grunts before the snoring rhythm was restored. Each time she was awoken by such a performance, she gritted her teeth and vowed never again to endure such a night. After several weakenings, she was driven to insist that Brutus sleep outside her door, but this was worse, for not only did he whine and tear at the panel but soon demonstrated that he was a dog of many parts. Lying sleepless and fuming, Lisette heard a new sound and correctly deduced he had seized the handle between his jaws and was wrenching at it. He’ll catch cold at that! she thought, contemptuously. Brutus, however, did not catch cold; whether by accident or skill, the door suddenly opened. He raced in, leapt onto the bed, and bounced about in triumph until Lisette abandoned her enraged commands and broke her candle over his muzzle. He licked her face to show her that he held no grudge, then abandoned the bed, to settle down smugly beside it. The snoring began within seconds, but gradually Lisette became accustomed to the uproar and was able to sleep through it all.
On the morning after her grandmother’s departure Tristram Leith and his wife paid a call. Despite her efforts, the sight of Leith’s tall, athletic figure and handsome countenance made Lisette’s heart contract. She was invited by Rachel to return with them to Cloudhills, but the prospect of being so close to Tristram—of seeing their happiness—was not to be borne, and with grace but firmness she declined, saying that she was sure her husband would return momentarily. She did not miss the swift, meaningful glance that passed between the two. From the moment of their arrival she had noted that Tristram seemed a trifle grim, and now the worry in Rachel’s blue eyes, so like her brother’s, was pronounced. Lisette guessed that they were pitying her, and her sense of ill usage was intensified. She stood on the front steps for a long time after they left, her wistful gaze following the carriage until it was lost to her sight, envying them the devotion that had manifested itself in so many small ways, and longing to be the fortunate lady now being happily carried off to Cloudhills. A large head was thrust under her hand; a snuffling bark dispersed her useless dreams. She petted Brutus gratefully, then sent a lackey to request that Yasmin be saddled, and went inside to change into her habit.
She enjoyed a long ride, Best guiding her to the Home Farm, which was a very pretty and orderly establishment, presided over by a cheerful, ruddy-faced farmer and his shy wife, who bobbed a curtsey each time she addressed the bride. Lisette, who had immediately won her admiration, now captured her heart by asking that each of the children be presented to her. She dutifully admired them all, kissed the baby, and left, thinking with a pang of her own brothers and sisters.
The house seemed awesomely quiet when she walked into the foyer. Upstairs there was no sign of Denise in either the parlour or her bedchamber. Walking to the bell pull beside the bed, Lisette’s upstretched hand checked. A great white rose lay on her pillow, dewdrops still gleaming on the petals. Staring at it, her heart jolted. She frowned and did not pick up the bloom, but crossed to the dressing table where she sat down and started to tidy her hair. He was back! And he was watching her, she knew. She affected ignorance until her trembling eased, then glanced around, her brows arched enquiringly.
Strand leaned in the open door to the balcony, arms folded, regarding her with grave speculation. That he had been indulging in some very riotous living was evidenced by the pallor beneath his tan and the shadows under his eyes. How often had she seen that same look on Timothy’s face during the Long Vacation, when he’d spent the night in that peculiar pastime the young Bucks and Corinthians called Boxing the Watch; or when he’d come home at dawn after a night of play (usually disastrous) at Watier’s or White’s. Resuming her task, she battled the urge to stroll over to her husband and claw his wretched face. Instead, “Good morning, Strand,” she said politely.
His head lowered a little. Glancing up at her from under his brows, he murmured, “You are very angry. And rightfully so. But—”
“No, why ever should I be? You are perfectly at liberty to come and go as you choose. With whom you choose. Truly, I have had a lovely time.”
He watched as she dusted a hare’s-foot across her dainty nose, and said in a reluctant, halting fashion, “You are entitled to an explanation, and—”
“Oh, pray do not fret over so insignificant a thing. I thought it most considerate in you to give me a time to settle down. In fact—” she opened her jewel box and peered inside, saying carelessly, “I had thought you might not return for several weeks. Would you mind if—”
The door smashed open. Brutus flung himself across the room. Caught by surprise, Strand was sent hurtling back onto the balcony.
For a very brief instant Lisette’s heart leapt into her mouth. Then she heard the muffled explosion of swearing and, amused, hastened to survey the victim and the prancing delirium of his pet.
“Blast your ears!” Strand roared, fighting off the ecstatic dog. “Down, sir! Down, I say! No—not on me, curse you!”
Succeeding at last in extricating himself, he clambered to his feet, glared at his bride’s smile, and demanded, “What in the devil is he doing here?”
“He was a gift,” Lisette said sweetly, bending the truth a little. “Lord Bolster came and was—a trifle shocked, I suspect. To find me here all alone, you know.” Glancing obliquely at Strand, she saw his lips tighten, and added, “He thought Brutus might protect me.” She raised limpid eyes to her husband and purred, “So thoughtful.”
“And quite unnecessary. You are safe here. I will return Brutus this afternoon.”
“It is kind in you to offer. But if you do not object, Strand, I shall keep him. I doubt it is as safe here as you may think. And besides, when you are away on your—er—affairs, he will be company for me.”
Frowning into that angelic face, Strand’s fists clenched. “I do object. He goes back. This afternoon. Do you feel the need of a dog, ma’am, I’ll buy you one.”
“But, sir, one cannot buy love. Or loyalty.”
The barbs went home. Strand thought, She marshals a strong counter-attack, and he bowed, saying nothing.
Lisette shrugged and turned away. “However, if you must—you must. Now, will you please pardon me whilst I change for luncheon?”
He walked over to the door, and was about to open it when she called gently, “Shall you be home for dinner, sir? I only ask because the Vicar and the Misses Hepplethwaite are to dine here and play some whist afterwards, and I possibly should warn them you will join us.”
The prospect was not enthralling. “I doubt I shall be home,” he said, opening the door. “It’s a long ride to Three Fields.”
And a pointless one! she thought jubilantly.
Chapter 8
>
Lisette underestimated her husband. Although he did not mean to share the early evening’s entertainment, Justin Strand had not the slightest intention of spending another night away from his bride. His return to his ancestral estate was not a propitious one, however. Before he was halfway home, it was raining hard. Brutus was afraid of storms, and when a sudden flash of lightning was followed by a great boom of thunder, he sprang onto the seat beside Strand and did his destructive best to dig his way underneath him. Strand was cold, furiously angry, and very tired. He allowed the edge of his rage to break over the burrowing dog, but was interrupted when the powerful animal’s claws gouged his thigh. Instinctively jerking away, Strand lost ground and found himself unable to lower his knee save over Brutus. Snarling curses, he moved to the other side of the carriage. It was hopeless. The dog hurtled at him. Without the aid of two strong men it was doubtful the brute could be ejected from the carriage, and Strand had no intention of either sitting on Brutus or allowing the animal to sit on him. He draped a corner of his cloak over the shivering monster and favoured him with a succinct evaluation of his ancestors.
“I am sure you are aware, you miserable excuse for a watchdog, that I was thoroughly gulled today,” he observed grimly. “My lady wife did not see fit to explain that she had promised to care for your revolting self while Bolster is away. She was certainly aware I’d not have the gall to dump such a plague on his lordship’s servants. I have driven in excess of forty miles, Sir Shivershakes, to no purpose. But there will be an accounting! I promise you!”
Brutus quailed, whining heartrendingly, then sat up, eyeing his master in so frantic a way that Strand feared a resumption of the earlier chaos. He at once moderated his tone and at last was permitted the luxury of sitting peacefully, listening to the rain between Brutus’s resounding snores.
It was half-past twelve when the carriage splashed into the stableyard, and the house was dark. He would light it, Strand thought mercilessly. Had it not been for his implacable resolve to spend the night with his bride and also to demand an accounting of her savage duplicity, he would have racked up for the night at the first tavern he’d come to and allowed Brutus to quake under the hay in the stables. Without an instant spent repining the disturbed slumbers of the inhabitants, he instructed his coachman to blow up a hail on his yard of tin. As a result, by the time he was climbing down the steps lights were already appearing in the windows of the long house beside the stables where the grooms and outside servants dwelt.
Best came staggering into the barn, dragging a coat over his nightshirt. “Welcome—” he began, then stopped, one glance at Strand’s face freezing the words on his lips.
“Get that hound of Satan out of the carriage!” snarled Strand.
Fisher, hurrying from the side door of the Hall, holding up an umbrella, said a concerned, “Good heavens, sir! You must be tired out!”
“Ain’t no dog in here, sir,” called Best, puzzled.
“We may hope he is well on his way back to Three Fields!” Strand said acidly.
Twenty minutes later, his hair brushed, his new red velvet robe tied over his nightshirt, and vengeance in his heart, he marched across his bedchamber and flung wide the connecting door to his bride’s suite. The parlour was empty and dark. Pacing across it, he threw open Lisette’s door. There was no light save for the flames still flickering in the fireplace, but by that faint glow he saw Lisette leap up in bed. She wore a filmy nightgown of some indeterminate pale colour, her cap was lopsided, and her eyes huge with fright. Retribution, he thought ragefully, was upon her. “Good morning, ma’am,” he gritted. “I came home after all, you see.”
He took three long strides towards the bed and the white-faced girl who trembled there.
Brutus had not essayed the long journey back to Three Fields, for he was decidedly a creature of habit. He was, besides, just dozing off, and did not hear the man’s approach until Strand was almost on him, whereupon he sprang up hurriedly.
The result was unfortunate.
* * *
“Nothing to worry about, dear lady,” Dr. Bellows uttered reassuringly, as he closed the door upon his recalcitrant patient and accompanied the bride (whom he privately thought to be exquisite) along the hall.
He had arrived in direct violation of Strand’s orders and, walking into the book room where his patient was stubbornly attempting the read the morning paper, had announced a jovial, “Well, here’s old Bellows-to-mend again, Justin. What now have you been up to, dear boy?”
Strand had groaned and covered his eyes with his left hand, whereupon Dr. Bellows had pounced upon the right and grasped it, drawing a shout from his patient and an instinctive flinch from Lisette. “Hmmn,” he said mildly. “Something broken in here, I think. D’you have any idea how many bones there are in the human hand, Justin? No, of course you don’t, for I keep forgetting you’ve a head of solid wood.”
Surprised, Lisette had darted a glance at him, to find his face suddenly angry. She had been more surprised to see her husband colour hotly, drop his eyes, and endure in silence a careful but undoubtedly unpleasant examination.
When he had gone crashing down in the darkened room, Lisette, for one panicked moment, had fancied herself an early widow. He had soon sprung to his feet, however, and snarling hideous threats had raced into the hall after the fleeing Brutus. Fearing for the dog’s survival, Lisette had followed, only to find Strand leaning against the wall, clutching his arm and looking white and exhausted. “Well, and is your revenge adequate, ma’am?” he’d asked unevenly. His fall was, she knew, only a trifling matter compared to the indignity she had been made to suffer. Nonetheless, she was not an unkind girl, and to see his eyes narrowed with pain had so wrought upon her that she had required Fisher to send a groom galloping at once for the family doctor. Strand had protested vigorously, but Fisher, being both fond of his employer and delighted by the bride, had not heeded him. Not a little frightened by both the accident and her husband’s wrath, Lisette decided to play the part of the dutiful wife, which role she had since nobly maintained.
Now, she asked, “Then, there is nothing broken after all?” and wondered why, if that were so, the doctor had made such a fuss, insisting that her husband take to his bed so that the arm could be properly splinted and placed in a sling.
“To the contrary, I suspect several small bones may be either fractured or broken,” Bellows said. “Shame it’s his right hand. There’ll be no keeping him inactive for long, even so. Still, for the time being he must stay quiet, ma’am. I cannot get laudanum down him, but I’ll leave you these powders. Three a day in a glass of water. They taste foul, so he’ll make a great fuss. But it will keep him quiet, at least. A very light diet, if you please, and I will come back tomorrow to see how he goes on. No need to show me out, m’dear. I know me way.”
She expressed her intention of obeying his instructions implicitly and returned to the bedchamber.
Strand had already been subjected to one of the powders and lay watching her with a drowsy but irked look on his thin face. His hair was rumpled, and in the white nightshirt with his bandaged arm strapped across his chest, he looked rather astonishingly youthful and defenceless.
Discovering that Brutus panted beside the bed, Lisette knew a pang of guilt and said, “I am indeed sorry that you have had so much distress, sir. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“You can take out that revolting animal and shoot it,” he muttered malevolently.
“But of course. I do not know what Lord Bolster will think of so flagrant a violation of my given word. But I must henceforth be guided by my husband in all things. Including—conduct.” His eyes sharpened predictably, and she said with sweet martyrdom, “I should not wish to inflict such a task on Best, for he is so kind a man. Perhaps I could do it. I have watched my brother shoot at Manton’s, so I am not afraid of handling a pistol.”
“Are you not? I shall have to remember that,” he drawled thoughtfully. Lisette
being unable to restrain a dimple, he stared at it, then growled, “You may well laugh, madam wife. The fact remains you’ve not yet begun to know that curst brute’s habits! I was never so glad as to be rid of him, and I count it downright treacherous of you to saddle me with him again. He is a pest, ma’am. He eats like a horse, is totally unreliable as a guard, snores like a volcano, and—”
“And seems most fond of you, sir,” Lisette put in meekly.
“Which verifies his stupidity, else he would comprehend that I cannot abide him.”
“Yes, but he might more easily comprehend that fact were you to stop caressing him.”
Strand glanced to the side and hurriedly snatched back the hand that had been absently fondling Brutus. “I—er … had not realized…”
“Of course, you are half asleep. I will remove him and take care he does not disturb you again.” She moved closer to bend over him and seeing the look of shocked disbelief, enquired, “May I smooth your pillows?”
Strand’s eyes were becoming positively heavy, but he propped himself on one elbow as Lisette plumped his pillows. “I wish,” he yawned, lying back, “you would allow me … to…”
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