"If report errs," he sneered, "if you did not in fact vaunt abroad your cleverness in having kept me at arm's length through most of our so-called honeymoon, perhaps you will tell me who else might have done so. And why!"
"I need tell you nothing!" Lisette raged. "But had I spread such revolting gossip, can you suppose I would have been so noble as to have omitted all mention of your—your bird of paradise, or whatever it is you call such?''
Strand's eyes widened. "Bird of— The devil! So that's it! The incalculably superior Lisette Van Lindsay Strand guessed her unworthy husband had left her for another woman! Oho! How that insufferable pride of yours must have been hurt! And thus you thought to teach me a lesson, did you, ma'am?"
"After the disgusting boasts you made before we were wed," she retaliated furiously, "I doubt there is anything I could teach you! In vulgarity, at least!"
"I cannot be responsible for the gabblemongering of a set of women! I will admit you have surprised me, however. And what could be more vulgar than that revolting little flirtation you engaged in with Garvey this—"
"Vile!" Trembling with wrath, Lisette snarled, "Despicable creature!"
"A poor defence, ma'am! I said you had surprised me. It was because I fancied you had eyes for a worthier man, but I should have known when I saw you hanging breathless on Garvey's lips this morning, that—"
Crouching, livid, she hissed, "That… what…?"
"That right under my nose you have been conducting a sordid affaire! And that—no matter how intimate—every incident that transpired between us, was at once whispered into his eager ear! For shame madam! If this is a sample of the famous Van Lindsay breeding—''
"Peasant!" she screeched, in a voice that would have stunned her grandmother. "Foul—loathsome—money-grubbing nabob!"
Strand was livid with rage. His eyes narrowed, their expression so threatening as to have daunted a lesser girl as he stepped towards her.
Lisette was far too infuriated to be daunted. She sprang at him, one hand flashing upward to be seized in a. grip of iron, but the other eluding his grasp. He jerked his face away, but her sharp nails raked across his ear and down his throat.
Strand grabbed her flying wrist and rasped out a pithy sentence in Tamil which it was as well she did not understand. The sight of the crimson streaks she had inflicted sobered her, and the glare in his eyes was frightening.
Fear came too late. Strand had lived a nightmare this day. He had been publicly shamed, derided and, immeasurably worse, betrayed by the very lady he idolized. Lisette's attack was the last straw. Scourged by disillusion and with his head throbbing brutally by reason of the afternoon's excesses, he thoroughly lost his temper. For the first time, Lisette felt the full strength of him as she was swept up in arms that were more like steel bands. She uttered a shriek as he sat on the end of the bed, swung her face down across his knees, and reached across to seize the hairbrush from her dressing table.
"By God!" he snarled through set teeth. "It is past time someone taught you a lesson, you spoiled, prideful little snob!"
Kicking and struggling, beating her fists wildly against his leg, Lisette squealed, "Do not dare!"
For answer, he held her with crushing force and brought her hairbrush whizzing down. Lisette heard the whack more than she felt the pain. Her eyes grew as big as saucers; her mouth fell open. Never in her life had she encountered uncontrolled fury. Never in her life had she been really spanked. She experienced both now. Six times that hairbrush rose and fell, and at the finish she was sobbing with rage and humiliation and pain.
White as death, past caring, Strand stood up so that she collapsed in a heap at his feet. Glaring down at her, he said breathlessly, "Do you ever claw me again, madam tabby, you will get twice that treatment! And do you ever breathe one word of our personal relationship to anyone save your immediate family, you will really feel my wrath!"
"Beast…" she sobbed. "Savage! You's-speak of Garvey with—with contempt, but he would never treat me…'s-so."
"Then it is as well you're wed to me and not to him. And wed you are!"
"Bought is—is what you mean. Bought and p-paid for!"
She crouched on hands and knees, tears streaking her cheeks, her great eyes filled with hurt and shock; and the enormity of what he had done penetrated his anger at last. He still held the hairbrush and now flung it from him with such violence that it sent a vase of flowers toppling.
Instinctively, Lisette shrank.
"Get up!" he growled, and when she only drew farther from him, he picked her up and tossed her onto the bed.
"Do not—touch me!" she gasped out, cringing back, her lips twitching pitifully. "Do not dare to—to strike me again!"
"I'll not touch you, never fear. I've not the stomach for it! But one thing I demand, ma'am. Your vicious little intrigues have spread over all London Town. As a result, we must face them down. Together. I'll own my pride inferior to yours, but I'll not be mocked on this suit. Now or ever! Good night, Mrs. Strand." He stalked from the room, but closed the door quietly.
Lisette turned and, burying her face in the pillows, wept until she fell asleep from pure exhaustion.
The rain stopped shortly after midnight, and an hour later the clouds had dispersed, allowing the full moon to paint all London with its glory, silvering alike shabby houses and luxurious mansions, shops and squares, slums and church spires and palaces; turning the wet streets to rivers of light, and dimming the feebler glow of flambeaux and street lamps. Slanting through a certain upper window of the now silent house in Sackville Street, it shone benevolently on the man who sat slumped forward across a table, his fair head cradled on one arm, whole the other hand, clenched into a fist, beat and beat at the inoffensive tabletop.
Strand was not called upon to waken his bride the next morning. Coming heavy-eyed down the steps, he found Lisette and the horses waiting. She was exquisite in a habit of dark red merino cloth and a high-crowned pink hat with a red ribbon around it that fluttered out behind her. "Good morning, Mr.
Strand," she said in a voice of ice. "I am here to receive my orders."
Flushing, he swung into the saddle, and when they were out of earshot of the grooms, he said, "I'd not intended to start this early, but it is as well."
"Perhaps you would be so kind as to inform me what I must expect."
His flush deepened before that contempt, but he said steadily, "We shall attend every possible event for which we receive invitations. We will be inseparable; we will ride in the mornings, drive in the afternoons, visit the galleries and museums and, in short, be seen everywhere. And everywhere we are seen, we will bill and coo like a pair of damned lovebirds."
"Sickening!" she judged with a curl of the lip.
"But necessary. You must appear to dote on me, madam. And I—" he looked away and finished harshly—"will worship you with my every breath."
Lisette gave a brittle laugh. " 'Twould require a consummate performance. Do you feel capable of maintaining such a fraud, sir?"
He did not immediately answer, looking straight ahead, his posture unusually rigid. Then he turned fully to her, a sternness in his eyes she had never before witnessed. "We either convince London of our devotion, Mrs. Strand, or become its laughing-stocks. You may take your pick."
Her lashes drooped. She felt suddenly wretched and said defiantly, "Oh, very well. When do we begin this foolish charade?"
"Now. Scene One commences this very moment and will continue for as long as we are in |he public eye."
True to his word, he maintained an air of devotion whenever they encountered other riders. He also held to a moderate pace, for which Lisette was thankful, since she was finding riding to be a somewhat uncomfortable diversion this morning.
When they returned to the house, they breakfasted together, Strand apparently engrossed in The Gazette, and Lisette going through her letters. While the servants were in the room, they engaged in light conversation, but the moment they were alone, silence settl
ed over them like a blanket. Rising to pull back his bride's chair, Strand told her that he was leaving to take up
Norman. "We visit Lord Wetherby this morning. This afternoon, you and I are invited to a musicale at Hilby House, and this evening we go to a small dinner party at the Moultons. I trust these engagements will not inconvenience you.''
"Your trust is misplaced!" Lisette snapped. "I plan to shop with Judith this afternoon, and am in no humour for dining— even with John and Salia."
"Adjust your humour," he ordered dryly. "I have already accepted. You may shop with Judith tomorrow. For an hour."
Lisette glared at him and went upstairs. Denise greeted her with awed timidity, and several times Lisette found herself being watched with such sympathy that she was sure the servants were aware of what had transpired the previous evening. She made a great effort to appear calm and, having changed her dress, went into the parlour to write letters. Alone, she sharpened a quill, but instead of writing her letter, drew small circles in involved designs all over a sheet of paper. Whatever, she wondered miserably, was to become of her? Although she had entered a mariage de convenance, an odd rapport had sprung up between her and Strand. She had begun to enjoy his cheery way of bustling them all about, his humourous grin coaxing them into whatever he wished. She had begun to feel comfortable with him, sure that whatever she attempted would win his encouragement, and that behind his teasing was kindness and an unfailing generosity. She had not dreamt he ever would visit so ferocious a temper upon her. Never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined that she—one of the most nobly bom debutantes in all England—would be brutally beaten! And so unjustly, for she had not been the one to spread those wicked rumours. Common sense said, "You should have told him the truth." Pride said, "Why? If he was so base as to suspect me—let him suspect! At all events, the damage is done! Whatever understanding may have existed between us is gone forever, and besides, much I care what he thinks!"
If she told Mama and Papa what he had done, they would insist that she leave him. It was a comforting thought, but brief. She dare not leave him; to do so would be a sure acknowledgement that the rumours sweeping the Town were absolute truth. They would all be disgraced, and Strand—Strand would be livid! He would come after her, beyond doubting! She shivered, but at once decided that if ever he again attempted to brutalize her, she would shoot him. Had she a pistol handy. She had never fired a pistol, but Timothy would teach her. He had returned to his Regiment after the wedding, but he certainly would come home on leave, sooner or later. She could not tell him why she wanted to learn how to shoot, of course. It might be rather awkward to ask for instruction so that she could murder her husband, but she'd be able to come up with some plausible reason, when the time came. Meanwhile, she could always use a knife if the need arose. But Strand, she thought broodingly, was so terribly strong: he would probably wrench the weapon from her before she'd had the chance to plunge it into him. Her circle went sadly awry, the contemplation of so dastardly a deed causing her hand to shake. Perhaps, if she did it at night, and did not look, she could manage it. But that seemed unsporting. And to wake one's sleeping husband purely to inform him that he was about to be stabbed seemed to rather diminish the chances for success. She tried to wish that James had handled the business for her, but found it impossible to whip up much enthusiasm for a duel between the two men. She finally came to the conclusion that she would humour her husband—until the scandal had died down—and then get a Bill of Divorcement.
It did not occur to her that this would create an even larger scandal and, satisfied with her decision, she wrote her letter and went downstairs. She was reading in the book room when Norman rushed in, highly elated, and proclaimed Strand to be a prince of brothers-in-law. "Such a splendid time we had!" he exclaimed excitedly, straddling a chair and beaming upon his sister. "Lord Wetherby—he was used to be Admiral Hawkhurst, you know—is the very best of men. I thought him rather gruff at first, but Strand explained my interest in shipping and we got to chatting, and we both agree upon so many things, including the great possibilities of steam, Lisette! And the end of it was, Strand and I are to refurbish an old yacht now in dry-dock at Silverings, before the weather turns, we hope! Is that not famous?"
For Norman's benefit, Lisette slanted a warm smile at Strand, who had wandered into the room and was half sitting against the reference table, swinging one booted foot and watching the youth's enthusiasm with faint amusement. "Lovely," she agreed.
"But I was not aware the weather had ever settled into a summer style, and you certainly cannot work on a boat in the rain."
Undampened, Norman said, "Just like a woman to throw a rub in the way before we've even begun. The yacht's shored up in the barn at present, Lisette, and we can do some of the work inside, before we have to—"
He was interrupted as Judith rushed in, her eyes enormous and her bonnet still on her head. "Lisette!" she gasped, having entered the room at such speed she did not even see her brother-in-law. "I just heard! Oh, how monstrous it is! What Mama will say, I dare not think! And Grandmama! But how splendid of Strand to call out Mr. Garvey!"
Norman sprang up, and exclaimed, "What? Justin—you never did?"
"Oh, it's all right, Norman," Judith intervened, eyes sparkling. "Strand flung a tankard of ale in his face, but Garvey turned craven, and—"
Strand, who had come to his feet when the girl arrived, said bleakly, "And that will be about enough, if you please, miss!"
"What a bag of moonshine!" snorted Norman, his uneasy glance lingering on his brother-in-law. "As if a famous Buck like James Garvey would back down—even for Strand." Strand said nothing, and Norman wailed, "Never say it is truth?"
"No." Strand gave a faintly apologetic smile. "I believe my glass contained wine, not ale."
"Oh… my God!" Norman groaned, clutching his dark locks.
Strand's smile faded. The topic heightened Lisette's nervousness, and she interjected hurriedly, "Were I you, Norman, I would not offend Strand. He is quite capable of beating you."
Norman sat down, but he still looked troubled. Strand's eyes fell. His scowl vanished, and he changed the subject.
The, musicale at Hilby House was an ordeal Lisette would long remember. She had chosen to wear a new blue silk round dress with six rows of tiny frills at the hem, and despite the inclement weather, carried only a gossamer scarf looped across her elbows. Denise was admiring her beautiful mistress when Strand came in carrying a small, flat leather box. Slipping it onto the dressing table, he bent to kiss his wife's temple and murmur lovingly, "I am glad you chose the blue today, my sweet."
The abigail sighed romantically, and left them. Lisette glanced to the closing door. "Bravo. A good touch, sir."
"So I thought." He shrugged. "Wear this, if you please."
"As you command, my lord and master."
He opened the box savagely and took out a bracelet of gold filigree. Finely cut sapphires were set amongst dainty golden leaves and flowerets of tiny pearls, the workmanship so exquisite that Lisette's breath was taken away. "Oh!" she gasped. "How very pretty it is."
"I brought it back from India," he imparted grudgingly, "but thought it too large, so Rundell and Bridge have sized it for me."
So he had not bought it purely for effect. Or perhaps he had intended it for his bird of paradise, and changed his mind so as to make a gesture in view of their present situation. Frowning, she watched him fasten it about her wrist and was struck by the thought that his thin fingers were so gentle now, whereas last night… She trembled involuntarily. Strand looked down at her in brooding silence, bowed, and went out.
They were quiet in the carriage, but from the moment they walked into the magnificence of Hilby House he was every inch the adoring lover, the bewitched slave. Struggling to appear as infatuated, Lisette more than once caught a glint of amused appreciation in his blue eyes, and when she sighed audibly as he provided her with a chair, he bent above her and murmured with a doting smile, "Not to
o much syrup, m'dear—lest they suspect."
Patting his cheek, she cooed, "I strive only to be as cloying as you, dearest love."
He nodded, took up her hand, and kissed it.
Each was aware of the many eyes that followed their every movement. Quite a number of those eyes surveyed Lisette with disapprobation. It was a new experience, and she apprehended with a distinct shock that Strand's belief that she had been engaging in an affaire with Garvey was not an isolated one. She had refused to believe that others would accept the tale and for the first time appreciated her husband's present strategy.
The Duke of Vaille came over to remark on Lisette's beauty and engage Strand in low-voiced conversation. His lovely fiancee, Charlotte Hilby, bending to Lisette's ear, said softly, "Don't be frightened, dear. Most of them do not really believe it. They will soon forget." Lisette was so moved by this kindness that a lump rose in her throat and she could not speak. She squeezed Miss Hilby's hand and blinked her thanks. The musicale began, and for a terrible few seconds she felt quite unable to face down all these critical, shallow people who'd not had the decency to know her above such despicable behaviour. She was shaking and, in her already overwrought condition, knew she would burst into sobs at any moment. Strand leaned to her and murmured with a tender smile, "Keep your chin high, best beloved. Concentrate on Leith—that should bring you safely through!" She was at first flabbergasted, then so infuriated that she did indeed come "safely through" the ordeal. But she did not concentrate on Leith. Instead, she dwelt with wicked delight on the scene in court when she should plead for divorce. And all the delicious things she would tell the judge.
Intermission came, and everyone adjourned to the large dining room where long tables held a tempting array of delicacies, and many small tables and chairs were set about. Strand seated Lisette at a corner table and went off to fill a plate for her. Returning, he made his way through the knot of dashing young gentlemen that had formed about her, and sat down. Her admirers scattered. Lisette breathed, "What a vicious thing to have said to me! And you've no reason for jealousy—there has never been a romance between Leith and me."
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption Page 22