Married Past Redemption

by Patricia Veryan

  So Strand told them of the incident, finishing, “And he fought like a Trojan, sir, do I say so myself!”

  Vastly entertained, Mr. Van Lindsay slapped his knee. “God bless us all!” he exclaimed. “I do believe you’ll make a fair copy of your brother after all, Norman.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, sir,” said Strand blithely.

  Bolster glanced to him in surprise. Norman, on the other hand, looked at Strand as though this man he had come to admire above all others had sunk a knife in his breast.

  “What’s that?” asked Mr. Van Lindsay, somewhat startled.

  “I don’t think Norman will be a copy of his brother, sir,” said Strand. “As a matter of fact, with your permission, I am negotiating to get him commissioned a naval ensign.”

  Norman dropped his glass.

  Lisette entered the room some moments later, when the excitement had died down a little. She had chosen to wear a robe of pale pomona green over a cream under-dress, and her only jewellery consisted of dainty diamond drop earrings. She had thought she looked well, but her mama said she was positively delicious, and, to judge from the expressions of the gentlemen as they stood to greet her, that opinion was shared. Norman was so ecstatic as to be all but incoherent, but when Lisette had drawn forth the details of his brilliant future, she was almost as excited and, having hugged him with enthusiasm, went to Strand and thanked him prettily for his help and interest. He was pleased but said in his brusque way that it was a lot of fuss about nothing and that anyone would have done it. Humphrey voiced the opinion that his little girl had found herself a fine gentleman for a husband, to which Lisette said demurely that she was quite aware of Strand’s many qualities.

  Bolster stood beaming at her, and she went to urge that he sit down and not further tire himself. Not wishing to embarrass him, she lowered her voice and murmured, “I was so very sorry, Jeremy, to hear that you hurt yourself while helping my brother. Strand will be remorseful, I do not doubt.”

  “And for n-no cause,” he smiled, grateful that she spoke too softly for her father to hear. A shrewd judge of character, Bolster had no doubt that the bombastic politician would seize upon the trifling accident and not only enlarge it into a full-fledged disaster, but also draw a great deal of the attention he dreaded to himself. “Feeling much imp-improved already, y’know. Wouldn’t go back to Town, except—”

  “Except Strand insists, and rightly so,” she put in, sitting down, so that he perforce followed suit. “You will be very welcome to return, if Lord Belmont allows it. Indeed, I think my husband is counting on it—so long as you do not work too hard.” She saw that he was about to protest, and added with a mischievous twinkle, “We cannot have Miss Hersh becoming overset with nerves, can we?” Bolster’s face fell. Leaning closer, she said kindly, “My Lord, do go and see her while you are in Town. Perhaps you could take a letter from me.”

  He looked up eagerly. “No, would you? Oh, but that would be sp-splendid. If only she will receive me…”

  Chatting easily with his father-in-law, Strand’s eyes drifted often to the pair on the sofa. They made a handsome couple. How softly they spoke, almost secretively.… Bolster was looking at Lisette as though she were something holy. As if—he drew himself up short. What in the deuce was he about now? Jeremy was the most honourable of men and so in love with his Amanda he could scarce see any other woman. If he was less shy with Lisette than was his usual way, it was probably because she’d gone out of her way to be kind to him and because he knew she was fond of Amanda. For shame, Strand! he thought impatiently. For shame!

  * * *

  Lord Bolster left Strand Hall early the next morning, Best driving him back to the metropolis, from which his lordship cheerfully vowed to return the instant the mighty Lord Belmont pronounced him fit enough to do so. “M-might be back tonight!” he called, as the curricle started off along the drivepath.

  A few hours later, the Van Lindsays departed, taking with them a son alternately rhapsodic because of his rosy future and cast down because the Silvering Sails was far from completion. Strand was appealed to with the greatest pathos, until he laughingly agreed to work his “poor nails” to the bone to finish the task.

  Lisette took leave of her family in the drawing room, the evils of her situation suddenly making it more than she could bear to watch the carriages disappearing from sight. While awaiting the rest of the party, Strand and Mr. Van Lindsay wandered together onto the front porch, beside which could be heard a faint grinding marking Brutus’s attention to a rediscovered bone. A brief silence fell between the men, both having much they would like to say, and struggling to put their thoughts into words. Van Lindsay succeeded first. Clearing his throat he said gruffly, “I’m most devilish grateful to you, Strand, for your interest in Norman. I vow I was never more shocked than when I saw the tears in the poor lad’s eyes last night. I’d not dreamt he entertained hopes for such a career. Gad! How can I have been so blind?”

  “I think we all are when it comes to our own, don’t you, sir? Perhaps it is that we are so close to them every day, we no longer really see them. But I am perfectly sure your son knows you wish only the best for him.”

  “It is good of you to say so. I’m not totally unaware, however. I have, for instance, noted something about you and my little girl.”

  Strand tensed, the smile in his eyes fading into a guarded expression.

  “She’s miserable,” alleged Van Lindsay, bluntly. “And, dammit all! I know why!”

  His hands clenching, Strand wondered bitterly if all England knew of the barriers between him and his wife.

  “I’m sorrier than I can say, that such a thing should have occurred,” Van Lindsay went on. “Especially right at the start of your married life. It was dashed decent of you to say nothing to my wife. She don’t know yet. Lisette would say nothing, of course, for she’s the soul of loyalty. What you must think of us, I dare not guess. We’re responsible. No way out of that. Though Lord knows, we tried hard enough to guide the girl.” He sighed, and thrust out his hand. Strand took it and gripped it hard. “She ain’t all bad, y’know,” Van Lindsay said pleadingly.

  Considerably taken aback, Strand responded, “You may believe I am very well aware of that, sir!”

  Shaking his head, the older man said heavily, “If he would only refrain from spoiling her to death—the poor booberkin.” Strand started, his eyes glued to Van Lindsay’s troubled face. “I’ve told and told Dwyer to spank her,” Humphrey went on, “but telling pays no toll. I don’t hold with violence, but”—he shrugged—“I pray you don’t reproach your sweet little sister, m’boy. Doubt she had the faintest notion of what Beatrice would make of her unguarded words.”

  Strand stood rigid and silent, the implications striking him with numbing force.

  Philippa and Norman came out onto the porch then. Brutus pranced up the steps and succeeded in getting under everyone’s feet, but at last the baggage was stored in the boot, the goodbyes had all been said, promises of frequent visits exchanged, and the carriage rumbled off along the drive, Philippa’s dainty handkerchief fluttering from the window.

  Chapter 15

  Strand stood staring after the departing carriage for quite some time. Brutus returned from having assisted the horses to negotiate the drivepath and went panting in search of his bone. He found it, made his ponderous way up the steps, and paused for a minute or two beside the quiet man, but Strand did not address him so he went on about his business, carrying the bone into the house for burial. Van Lindsay’s words seemed to roar in Strand’s ears: “Lisette would say nothing … she’s the soul of loyalty…” His clenched fists tightened until the nails drove into the flesh. It had been Beatrice, all the time! Beatrice must have pried a few confidences from Charity and then flitted about, spreading her mischief. He could have groaned aloud, so searing was his remorse. He had captured the loveliest girl in England for his reluctant bride; he had even begun to fancy she no longer quite despised him. And then, tricked by
that bastard Garvey, he’d allowed hurt pride to rule him, to the extent that—His head bowed under the weight of guilt. He’d spanked that glorious girl for no reason! Dear God, how could he have been so stupid? So lacking in faith? Lisette had been so good as to conceal the truth about poor naïve little Charity, and in return he had beaten her. And cherishing his sense of ill usage, had since made no slightest effort to apologize—to try to heal the breach between them. The memory of several slights he had dealt her returned to lash him until they were magnified out of all proportion. How she must loathe him. How she must despise the man who had so selfishly claimed her, and then mistrusted and maltreated her like some feudal savage.

  A less sensitive man might have run into the house, fallen to his knees before his love and, confessing his contrition, begun to win his way into her affections. Despite his bride’s impression of him, however, Strand was an extremely sensitive individual, too sensitive to be easily able to express his deepest feelings. Therefore, he instead wandered down the steps and across the lawns, hands deep-thrust in pockets, and frowning gaze on the ground before him. There was, he knew, only one reason that she had not left him: she considered herself to have made a bargain and, no matter how repulsive it might be to her, she was too honourable to fail to live up to it. The thought made him writhe, but the prospect of giving her up, of stepping out of her life and permitting her to seek a Bill of Divorcement was even more harrowing. It would be an example of perfect love, and she would have a chance to find happiness with someone she could really care for.… He gritted his teeth and knew he could not do it! Not yet, at all events. Such unselfishness was surely more of angels than of mortal men, and Justin Strand was very mortal.

  The sun sank lower in the sky, the golden light of afternoon began to warm into a roseate sunset, and still Strand wandered blindly, striving to reach a decision. He concluded at last that his best course would be to keep his promise to Norman and finish the renovating of the boat. In his heart of hearts he knew that his decision was a craven one. It would be simple enough to engage a shipwright to effect the repairs. The truth was that he shrank from facing the accusation in the lovely eyes of the girl he had so wronged. He argued defiantly that he had given Norman his word and that he alone was responsible for seeing that the work was properly completed. And perversely, hoped that while he was away and his presence not a constant reminder of his brutality, Lisette might begin to forget. She might even welcome him with a kindlier attitude. But if he stayed away too long, if he came back to find the great house bereft of her gracious presence, the halls lacking the sound of that quick light step and rippling little laugh, the air not holding the haunting perfume that was so uniquely Lisette … it did not bear thinking of! And it would not happen, by God! He’d tell Connaught to send the four new men down to help, and it should all be done in jig time. He would come home then, and woo his bride with every ounce of ardour he possessed. He would make himself utter the phrases that burned in his soul but froze on his tongue.

  He squared his shoulders and, looking up, was startled to discover that he had been wandering for hours, and shadows were lengthening across the meadows beyond the Home Wood. Turning about, he strode briskly towards Strand Hall.

  * * *

  With Strand busied at Silverings, Lisette decided that this would be the perfect time to take inventory of all the household linens and chinaware, both of which items she felt needed replenishing. This domestic task was deferred before it was properly begun, however, when Amanda Hersh arrived with her abigail and so many bandboxes and portmanteaux that it was clear she intended to make a long stay. Lisette was delighted to have such pleasant company and touched when she learned that Strand had despatched his groom to London armed with a request that if at all possible, Miss Hersh accept an invitaion to join Lisette in Sussex. Peering at her hostess narrowly, Amanda exclaimed, “Good heavens you did not know!”

  “No. And could scarce be more pleased!” Thinking to detect a trace of apprehension in the sweet face, she added, “Unless—my husband did not cause you to feel obliged to come?”

  “Good gracious, no! Strand was most polite as he always is with me though I can readily see he must be a great trial to you for he is not the most robust of men and to be working outside in every weather must worry you even if you are very brave and I wish I was but I was quite afraid to come and wonder that I did at all.”

  Instinctively drawing a breath at the end of this scrambled sentence, Lisette asked, “Why? Do you not like the Hall? If you prefer, we can go into Town. Or should you like to journey to Berkshire, perhaps? My sisters-in-law are there, and I have been intending to visit them for some time.”

  “Please do not suppose me ungrateful of your hospitality for indeed I am and I love the country save only that—” Amanda hesitated and said shyly, “You are trying not to laugh so I have said something silly but we have become such special friends I need not mind only Jeremy is also your friend.”

  Both touched and amused, Lisette said teasingly, “And you fear I may nurse a tendre for him?”

  Amanda burst into a peal of laughter. “Of course not for how should you when you have such a wonderful marriage, it is that I fear he may come here he will not do you think?”

  Lisette concentrated on straightening her wedding band and said that he was sure they would have plenty of warning did his lordship decide to do so. “Meantime,” she went on, able to meet Amanda’s trusting eyes again, “I promise you shall not be bored, for I have so many invitations, and more callers than you could believe. I am become slightly—er—notorious, you see. We shall have a lovely time, Mandy.”

  And they did. After the few sunny days, the weather became inclement again but this deterred few hostesses, only a proposed boat party having to be cancelled. Since it was redesigned into a masquerade requiring that all guests wear nautical costume, it became, instead of a failure, one of the hits of the summer. The hostess, Lady Salia Moulton, decorated her charming old house to suggest the interior of a packet and drew a large and enthusiastic crush of guests. Lisette and Amanda were escorted to this party by Jocelyn Vaughan, who had become a frequent visitor to Strand Hall and was always an attentive and charming companion. It was but one of many social events that filled their days, and since they each were blessed with a rich sense of humour and in their various ways suffered the pangs of romantic afflictions, their friendship deepened and they dealt so well together that time passed swiftly. One thing marred this period for Lisette: the fact of her husband’s continued absence. When she had blithely told Amanda he would be gone for a week or more, she had uttered the remark more as a safeguard against that remote possibility than from a belief he would really stay away. She had to struggle to keep from animadverting on the likelihood that he was with his Fair Paphian and, being convinced that they would see him over the weekend, had to exercise considerable restraint not to betray her vexation when they did not.

  On Sunday afternoon they attended a church bazaar and later dined with the Vicar and his family, spending a delightful evening at the Vicarage. Monday was their first comparatively quiet day, and after luncheon they sat together in the lounge, Lisette writing to Timothy and Amanda struggling with some beading on a reticule. That this task was not proceeding satisfactorily eventually penetrated Lisette’s absorption, and she glanced up to see her friend squinting at the finely set stitches, her little face contorted into an expression of frowning concentration. At once offering the services of her dresser, Lisette was told that Miss Wallace had already been so good as to volunteer to repair the sadly torn lace flounce of the gown Amanda had worn to the nautical masquerade party. “Besides,” Amanda remarked, “I really love to work my designs only I sewed this one so well I simply cannot see the stitches and I do want to replace the beads with those pretty French ones we bought at the bazaar yesterday.”

  Lisette’s attempt to help was as ineffectual. Amanda was a fine needlewoman, and her stitches were practically invisible. “If only we
had a magnifying lens,” Lisette murmured, blinking. “Oh, I have it! Strand’s quizzing glass!” She stood, waving away Amanda’s protests that she not put herself to so much bother. “I’ve got to go upstairs at all events, for my mama particularly desired me to send Timothy the direction of a friend of hers in Paris, and I cannot recall it. I’ll see if I can find the glass while I am up there.”

  She found the Parisian’s direction neatly inscribed in her address book, but did not fare so well in her husband’s bedchamber. Strand was not the type to affect such things as fobs and seals, and possessed but one quizzing glass that was brought forth only occasionally. Lisette’s hurried scan through his chest of drawers unearthed such unlikely objects as a collar obviously purchased for Brutus, a solitary spur and several whip thongs, a small brass-mounted pistol, and an old map of East Anglia—but no quizzing glass. The dressing room was equally unproductive, and Lisette was about to admit failure when her eyes fell upon the small table beside Strand’s bed. There was one slim drawer, but since Green was either very indulgent of his master or of an equally haphazard nature, it was possible the missing glass might be there. Lisette opened the drawer carefully. She moved aside a folded letter inscribed in the writing she had come to know as Rachel’s, but could see no sign of anything resembling the quizzing glass. Preparing to close the drawer, she paused. A dainty handkerchief, trimmed with lace, had been beneath Rachel’s letter; a lady’s handkerchief, surely? Her hand trembling, she took up the neatly folded square and uttered a shocked gasp. The lace was unmistakable—it was the handkerchief grandmama had fashioned for her. But why on earth was it here in Strand’s drawer? Something dark showed through the fine cambric. Unfolding it, her heart began to thunder. A small blue feather had been carefully placed there; a feather from a bonnet that had found particular favour with her husband. He had once casually remarked, in fact, that she had been wearing that same bonnet when first he had seen her.