There was such peace here, thought Lisette. The cries of mudhens and ducks, the soft splashing sounds of the river, the sweet fragrance of flowers. How Rupert Strand could have disliked Silverings, was—
"Pssst!"
Startled, she glanced around. She was by now out of sight of house and barn and it was quite lonely… And then the low hanging branches of a willow tree parted. A handsome, eagerly smiling face was revealed. A gloved hand beckoned imploringly. For an instant, Lisette was too shocked to move. Then, hurrying to him, she cried, "Garvey! My God! Are you mad? If Strand sees you—"
"Much I care." He took her hand and drew her into the leafy privacy created by the gracefully trailing branches. Pressing her fingers to his lips, he murmured, "Oh, my dear—my beautiful love! If you but knew how—"
Recovering her wits, she pulled her hands away. "I do indeed know, sir! I know the dreadful things you said to my husband! Flagrant untruths! And I know why! You thought to provoke him into a duel!"
"Of course." His adoring eyes searched her face. "You must have guessed what I was about. I know of no other way to free you from your wretched bondage, and can only offer my deepest apologies that I failed you."
"Failed me!" With a little cry of horror, she stepped back. "Mr. Garvey, I fear your intellect must have become disordered. When did I ever suggest so dreadful a thing? Why would you suppose I—"
For answer he all but sprang to take her in his arms, saying breathlessly, "Your eyes, your smiles—you have told me in a thousand ways that my affections are returned. Never feel ashamed, beloved. You were not to blame for that travesty of a marriage!"
"Stop! Oh, stop!" she cried, fighting to free herself. "If I gave you such an impression, I am heartily sorry for it. I was deeply moved by the poem you writ me, but I'd not meant to encourage your hopes."
He stared at her. "My poem? You—ah, liked it, then?"
"Liked it! I thought it the loveliest thing. And it came at a time when I was rather downhearted. Truly, I was exceeding grateful, but—"
"It came from my soul." He smiled. "Lisette, you do not love that ill-bred boor. He has neither looks nor address, and aside from his fortune is totally beneath you! If—"
Her hands clenched into small fists, her eyes flashing, Lisette flared, "How dare you speak so of my husband! Ours may not have been a love match, but Strand has been all that is good! Our only real quarrel was occasioned because you told him such wicked lies!"
"For which the brute beat you savagely, so I heard!" He sank to one knee before her, looking up, and said in a near-groan, "Lord! When I heard of it I thought I must run mad! Your beautiful self abused by that crudity who is not worthy to kiss your little shoe! And now, in your sweet loyalty, you defend the creature! How like you! Oh, Lisette! Lisette! To think I brought such misery upon the lady I worship!"
His voice broke with the intensity of his emotion, and bending lower, he seized the hem of her dress and pressed kisses upon it. Aghast, Lisette drew away, staring down at him. Judith was not the only Van Lindsay to harbour a romantic nature. Beneath Lisette's cool and graceful poise beat a heart yearning for the romance she now feared would never come her way save, as Grandmama had implied, through the "side door." She had been revolted by Garvey's behaviour, and she had no wish to take him for a lover, but his tender poem and this abject display of worship could not but move her. Thus, instead of firmly rebuking him, as she knew she should do, she said rather unsteadily, "What you have heard or—or been told, I cannot guess. But, I do assure you that Strand has never—"
He came to his feet in a lithe bound and gripped her arms. "I have heard only what all London has heard. Ah, never look so pale, dear loyal soul! Did you think to silence servant-hall gossip? Rumours swept Town like wildfire and before noon the next day everyone knew. Many discounted the tales. Not I! I knew all too well how that crude savage would serve you, God forgive him!"
"No!" she cried in desperation. "Whatever people say, Strand has never been really brutal to me. You should not have come here, James. I am married, and—"
"Yes, so you told me once before, my dearest. Married past redemption, you said, but—"
"I did not! That is—I did not mean it in such a way. I was—I had not— Oh, why will you persist in—"
He tightened his hold as she attempted to draw back. "You promised," he intervened tenderly, "to send for me if he ill-treated you. Why did you not? Did you think I had failed you in the matter of the duel, and would fail again?" He overrode her shocked denial, and went on in a louder voice, "I was compelled, my adored Fair. Claude Sanguinet once discovered a slight indiscretion committed by a member of my immediate family. He threatened to make the matter public if I oppose him in the Strand situation."
Intrigued, despite herself, Lisette asked, "But why? One would think he had every reason to loathe the Strands after Rachel jilted him and married Leith. Why would he choose to stop your duel?"
"Because I am known to be his friend. He does not want it thought that my challenge to Strand was issued at his instigation."
She frowned. "It all sounds most weird. But the important thing is that you must go at once, and forget about me. How you found me here, I cannot think, but—"
"I followed you. I have been staying in Horsham, praying for a chance to see you, and was watching the Hall when you left this morning."
Touched, she said, "James, I am so sorry. But you must find another lady!"
He drew her closer. "Foolish little love. How could I exist were I to give up hope that someday you and I will—"
"Lisette? Lisette… where are you?"
Lisette paled. "Bolster! Oh, heavens! James, you must go!"
"Only if you promise to meet me."
He bent to kiss her, but she swung her face away. "No! Can you not accept my refusal? I do not want to hurt you, but you must not continue to pursue me!"
"Li-sette… ?"
The voice was very close. With a frightened gasp, she tore free. "Go! For pity's sake, go!" she hissed desperately, and stepping into the sunshine again, came almost face to face with Lord Bolster. "Here I am," she cried smiling, but her heart racing with fright. "Is the boat finished then, my lord?"
She could not know how white and frightened she looked. Bolster frowned, and his eyes shifted to the leafy screen behind her.
"Yes. And S-Strand and Norman ready to sail off to sea, taking our f-foo Moo- luncheon with them. I thought you had become lost and have been looking for you this age."
"I am sorry to have wandered off," she said contritely, "but it is so lovely here."
A branch snapped behind her. His expression unwontedly grim, Bolster stepped towards the tree. Horrified, Lisette took his arm and all but babbled, "You must explain this strange business of restoration to me, for I would—" She stopped, her great eyes becoming wider as she saw that Strand was coming briskly towards them.
Bolster's suspicions were by now so thoroughly aroused that he would not have been in the least surprised had James Garvey leapt from concealment brandishing a pistol. But because he was both fond of Lisette and sincerely sorry for Strand, he essayed the travesty of a laugh and stammered, "I f-found your b-br-br lovely w-w-wife, J-Justin."
Stand looked at him thoughtfully. "So I see."
Justin Strand had contrived to exist for close to thirty years without experiencing the adoration of the waters that inspired so many of his fellow Britons. He had read Thomas Traherne's immortal observation, "You never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in your veins…" and had been unmoved by it. He had been obliged to spend a good deal of time on shipboard and, although not plagued by sea sickness, had considered the interminable journey to India (which had taken the better part of four months) a dead bore. It would, in fact, never have occurred to him to go to the trouble and expense of rebuilding Silvering Sails had he not become fond of Norman. He had soon realized that the youth he'd at first been inclined to write off as a lazy do-nothing had all the makings of a fin
e young man, whose greatest vice was boredom. Suspecting that the boy's initial hostility towards him had been inspired by a deep devotion to Lisette,
Strand judged this not only understandable, but commendable, while the pranks were more the products of youthful spirit and a sense of humour than an intent to harm. He should have been sent away to school. It was a great pity that Humphrey Van Lindsay had been unable to provide the needed funds to permit this. Strand, however, did have the funds, and with typical zest he set about arranging for Norman's future. It would require time for his schemes to materialize, and meanwhile the refurbishing of the yacht might not only keep the boy happily occupied for the balance of the summer but also provide them with a boat once again, if only for use on the river.
By the end of the week it became very apparent that Strand's earlier misgivings had been justified. The task would take a deal more time than he appreciated. In an effort to expedite matters, he drove himself and his small crew hard. Bolster and Norman were thoroughly enjoying themselves, but by the end of the day they were all so tired and dirty that they took to remaining at Silverings, just as Judith had foretold.
Strand Hall seemed quiet and subdued with no gentlemen about, and Lisette commenced to feel a grass widow, for once again her husband had vanished from her life. She was grateful for Judith's company and wanned by the knowledge that her brother was undoubtedly having the time of his life.
On Friday of that week, Bolster succeeded in severely wrenching his elbow while carrying a heavy board. Strand accompanied the casualty back to the Hall. He was mildly surprised not to be met by Brutus, whom Lisette had insisted on retaining "for protection." The dog usually staged a welcoming ritual that might have led the uninitiated to suppose he was suffering severe convulsions. Today, however, although there was not the slightest breeze, Brutus was noticeable by his absence. The entire house, in fact looked deserted and, assisting Bolster from the saddle, Strand was relieved to find Best and a stableboy running to greet them and take charge of the horses.
"I'm glad to see there's someone about," he said. "What's to do, Best?"
"The mistress and Miss Judith has gone to a fete at Park Parapine," said the groom, looking worried. "They was expected back afore this."
"Then they will undoubtedly arrive at any moment. Mrs. Strand is very punctilious in such matters. I've left Green at Silverings with Mr. Norman. Is Fisher here? Or Mrs. Hayward?"
"Mr. Fisher and Lang do have goed to Dorking for supplies, sir. And Mrs. Hayward be all on end."
"The devil! Well, then, you must come. Let the boy take the horses. Lord Bolster's knocked himself up a trifle and will need our help."
With the stableboy obediently leading the horses stableward, Best accompanied his master and Lord Bolster to the front door, at which point Strand said curiously, "Dorking? Why Dorking?"
"Fer supplies, sir. Mrs. Hayward said Horsham would not do."
"Why ever not? Have we company?"
They stepped into the deserted hall. Strand thought to hear voices upraised in dispute, and Best nodded toward the back of the house and muttered, "I'll help his lordship upstairs, sir. Belike you'll wish to greet your people."
Bolster grinned, but his eyes were strained; the ride he had. insisted would be child's play had not only taxed him, but had served as warning that the foolish little accident had done more than wrench his elbow. The old wound in his shoulder was making itself felt in such a way he would be obliged to take himself to Town and let Lord Belmont prod and poke about again. "Go-go on, Justin," he urged. "Cannot neglect your—ah, people."
Exasperated, Strand fumed, "Of all times for the house to be empty as a confounded drum! Who the deuce do we entertain?"
"Your lady's family, sir," Best offered glumly.
"Oh, good God!" groaned Strand. "My apologies, Jeremy, but I must welcome them. Should you wish that I send for the midwife?"
"Midwife?" Bolster echoed in a near-scream. "What the d-devil—?"
"'Fraid it's the best we can do, my dear fellow. There's no doctor close by. Old Bellows always visits his mother in Wales at this time of year."
"Oh. Well, I'll have n-no midwife laying her hands on my p-poor elbow! Matter of fact—" Bolster paused on the stairs and resting one hand on the railing, said reluctantly, "M-may have to go back to T-town. Dreadful of m-me, but… there 'tis."
Strand's heart sank. He had hoped, selfishly, the Bolster would, in his good-natured fashion, bear Norman company for a week or two, so that he himself could come back here occasionally during the process of rebuilding the boat. Norman was working well, but he should not be left down at Silverings alone. It was utterly reprehensible, of course, that he'd even entertained such inhospitable notions, but dear old Jeremy had seemed to enjoy the work, and it might have taken his mind off his own troubles. Scanning his friend's face, he saw the strain in the hazel eyes and, his scheming forgotten, said sharply, "Damn it! You twisted that shoulder! I should have driven you straight to Town! What a gudgeon I am! I'd clean forgot! I should never—"
"Confound you, Justin!" Bolster interrupted angrily. "Will you b-be still? I shall d-do nicely if I rest a little." He lifted one hand to quiet Strand's impassioned attempt to intervene, and went on, "You forget I was in a b-blasted great brawl with St. Clair last year, without no trouble. Except I lost a tooth. I'd have d-done well enough had I not't-tripped over my own f-feet. Now get on about your business." He winked, took another step, then threw over his shoulder, "And do not dare let that m-midwife near me!"
Best aided his lordship up the stairs, listening with amusement to the young nobleman's indictment of friends who threatened their guests with such fiendish ploys as to visit midwives upon them.
Strand stood for a moment, listening to this profane monologue and watching his friend anxiously. What Bolster said was true; the war wound had not bothered him for a long time. He should have remembered, though, and would have given a good deal not to have been responsible for Bolster being plagued by a resumption of the trouble. A muffled shout recalled him to his present obligations and, accepting the inevitable, he ran a quick hand through his rumpled locks and hurried along the hall.
Turning the corner, he halted, astonished. The under-footman knelt with one eye pressed to the keyhole of the book-room door, while the lackey hovered mirthfully beside him.
"There he goes!" whispered the footman, waving his arms excitedly. "Oh, what a sight! I wish—"
"You had best wish I do not send you packing!" Strand's thunderous growl brought the footman springing up so hurriedly that his head slammed against the lackey's nose. Two horrified faces whipped toward their employer. The lackey gave a gasp and fled. Scarlet, the footman, opened the door, but was too unnerved to utter a single word of announcement. Fixing him with a smouldering glare, Strand walked in, only to again check. his eyes widening.
The Van Lindsays had arrived some time earlier, and Humphrey had decided not to waste his time. Holding several sheets of paper in one hand and gesturing dramatically with the other, he paced the room, blasting forth his rhetoric while his wife trotted around and about him, alternately cajoling, raging, and scolding, all to no purpose. Brutus pranced along beside her, thoroughly enjoying his new indoor sport. Even as Strand, his lips curving to a grin at this scene, entered the room, Philippa halted and cried in a voice of martyrdom, "Humphrey, desist! You'll not tramp holes in my daughter's house!" Snatching up a straight-backed chair, she set it behind her retreating husband's back, trotted over to claim another, and placed it beside the first, then stood grimly awaiting the result.
Brutus deduced there could be only one reason for her efforts. He sprang onto the nearest of the deterrents and sat panting.
In full cry, Mr. Van Lindsay swung around and advanced at fair speed. Strand's jaw dropped. Behind him, the footman peered in joyous anticipation. Brutus was a large dog. Crashing into something, Van Lindsay lowered his page, roaring an irate "What in thunder?" and came nose to nose with a grinning canine cou
ntenance and a large pink tongue that flapped around his face. With a startled yelp, the orator leapt away, collided with the second chair, and fell into it. Brutus jumped companion-ably into his lap. Philippa shrieked with laughter. Humphrey howled his indignation. Nothing loath, Brutus joined in the chorus.
It was too much for Strand. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he tottered backward. Weeping but faithful, the footman pulled the door to. Master and man leaned against the wall and succumbed together, their mirth the more delicious since it must be smothered.
"Had I dreamt you were here, Mama, I would never have allowed Judith to remain at Park Parapine!" Already dressed for dinner and seated on the sofa in her mother's room, Lisette said remorsefully, "I feel dreadful, and Judith will be disappointed beyond anything."
"With no cause, my love," Mrs. Van Lindsay smiled fondly, adjusting her pearls as she sat at the dressing table. "Papa and I will drive down and collect her, for we've a standing invitation to visit the Drummonds."
Watching Sanders arrange a fine lace cap over her mother's luxuriant hair, Lisette asked, "Do you mean to take Judith back to Town with you, then?"
"I most certainly do! Both she and Norman have been from their studies for too long. Besides, the Season will be commencing, and I am thinking it time for Judith to attend a few parties. Nothing more daring than country dances and such, but she will be fifteen next month, you know, and I have never held with taking a girl straight from the schoolroom and throwing her into Society. I do hope she has not been allowed to enlarge herself during my absence."
"You will scarce know her," smiled Lisette. "How very fetching you look. A new gown, Mama?"
Marriage, Mrs. Van Lindsay decided, suited her beautiful daughter. There was a subtle difference in the girl's manner. Not so much a lessening of poise as a relaxing of formality; a new assurance and warmth that made her seem infinitely more approachable. And yet, also, there was something at the back of those great eyes that might almost be sadness. Disturbed, Philippa nodded, "Thank you, Sandy. That will do nicely. Lud, but I missed you when we was in Scotland!" She waited until the door had closed upon her gratified minion, then turned to her daughter and added, "And should have taken her had I known Judith would not need her! What on earth was Beatrice about to have brought the children to stay with a bridal couple? I dare swear I was never so vexed as when we reached town and Sandy told me of it! And what your grandmama will have to say to me I dread to contemplate. I have had a dozen letters if I've had one, warning that Beatrice was up to no good, and that wretched old hag Monica Hughes-Dering had the gall to say flat out she had heard Bea has taken a lover, and that fool Dwyer properly into the hips over it!"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption Page 24