Strand Hall was gleamingly impressive in the late afternoon sunlight. Mrs. Hayward and Fisher came out onto the porch to greet the family and welcome his lordship, and Brutus went quite berserk, rushing from one owner to the other, barking madly, and leaping about, succeeding in muddying everyone until Strand cowed him with a firm “Down!” Despite the warm welcome they were accorded, Strand was quick to note the trace of worry in the eyes of both his butler and housekeeper. Rumour, he realized, had spread on the usual lightning links between servants’ halls, and his people likely were aware of everything that had transpired in London.
Since the supplies for the boat venture were to be delivered at Silverings, the men left directly after breakfast the following day to supervise the unloading. Returning to the drawing room after watching them ride off, Lisette asked Judith what Miss Wallace had said of her various lengths of material.
“Oh, she thought it very well done,” Judith said happily. “We were to start on the beige wool half-dress today, but I neglected to buy the braid, so we’ll likely make up the pink velvet instead.”
“I am sorry, dearest! That wretched Strand! He rushed us so, I knew we would forget something.”
“No, but he has been so good.” Judith slipped an arm about her as they started to the stairs. “I often think how he has changed all our lives. Can you credit the difference in my brother? I wonder Strand can bear it, he pesters him so.”
“He does?”
“Why, yes. Have you not noticed how Norman trails after him? He has taken your husband for his model, I suspect, and I doubt could have found a finer one.” Slanting an oblique glance at her sister, Judith read surprise in that lovely face, and added hurriedly, “Norman fairly badgered Strand to hurry our leaving yesterday, so we can scarce blame the poor man that I did not have time to purchase my braid.”
Lisette pondered those words in the morning when she began to sort through the correspondence she’d not had time to attend to the previous day. She had not known their hurried departure had been the result of her brother’s manoeuvrings, and wished she had not scolded Strand so. Still, Judith might find less to admire in her brother-in-law did she know he beat his wife! And afterwards made not the slightest attempt to woo her forgiveness. The only time he’d really kissed her since the spanking episode had been in her bedchamber yesterday morning, and that only to impress Denise. The abigail had immediately left, of course, but her merry eyes had later conveyed quite clearly that she had seen that warm embrace. Lisette blushed a little as she remembered the touch of Strand’s lips, the strong hands gripping her shoulders. How wonderful to be kissed like that by someone who really cared; how wonderful if so sweet a caress was followed by words of passionate adoration, instead of being quizzically asked if her husband’s acting was adequate.… Did he treat his blond bird of paradise so? Or was there no need to act with that lady? She frowned and tore an invitation to fragments without first having read it. He would doubtless have again sought out his peculiar had he not been so busied with convincing all London Town that he adored his bride. Now that they were back in Sussex, however, he would probably lose no time in going to her. Lisette scowled at the torn scraps of paper between her fingers. Was that why he had offered to help Norman work on the boat? She’d thought it an excessively kind gesture, but perhaps it was merely a means to leave his wife while he consoled his amour. If truth be told, Strand actually meant to spend very little time at—
“Your pardon, madam,” murmured the lackey, carrying in a calling card.
Lisette whirled on him. “What is it?” she snapped.
The lackey blinked, and made a rapid readjustment of his private opinion that Mrs. Strand was as calm and gentle as she was lovely.
* * *
A picnic was prepared the following morning, the girls having indicated an interest in viewing the efforts of the amateur shipbuilders. Two hampers were loaded into the chaise, together with the kitchen maid who was to preside over the feast. Her qualifications were evidently questionable, for no sooner were the hampers installed than Brutus leapt into the vehicle. The maid’s resultant hysteria alarmed the animal, but did not undermine his guarding instincts. As a result, demands to “get out at once!” were met with a craven crouch and much whining, but a marked disinclination to obey. Bolster, feeling responsible for the dog’s behaviour, volunteered to ride in the chaise and protect the maid, an excitable French emigrée who was niece to the cook and quite sure she would be devoured was “the beast énorme” not allowed into the hamper. Strand said with some heat that no servant or guest of his was going to be inconvenienced by a confounded bacon-brained mongrel, but his preparations to oust the dog brought forth nervous protests from the ladies, while the maid declared she was about to fall into a fit. Outnumbered, he abandoned the effort and they started off, only an hour later than had been originally intended.
The day was misty but with a promise of brightness that materialized to warm sunshine by the time they reached Silverings. Once again, Lisette’s heart lightened when they dismounted before the ruins, and Judith, who had not previously visited the estate, was enraptured and roamed about eagerly, exploring and admiring. The supplies for the boat renovations had been stored in the barn, together with the Silvering Sails, just now looking like nothing so much as a derelict fit only for firewood. Lisette said as much, but her brother indignantly proclaimed that the “old lady” was perfectly seaworthy and that a few repairs and new paint and varnish would work wonders with her.
“But it is enormous!” said Judith dubiously.
“It!” Norman snorted. “She, Judith! She!”
“Whether an ‘it’ or a ‘she,’ the fact remains that you have, as usual, bitten off much more than you can chew, brother dearest!”
“Pooh! Nonsense! Strand and I will have it done in the wink of an eye!”
“Well, we—er—might require some helpers,” Strand said cautiously.
“Oh, no!” cried Norman in tragic accents. “I had thought this was our undertaking, Justin. Just the two of us!”
“And m-m-me,” Bolster put in aggrievedly.
“Yes. You, of course, Jerry. Strand, never say you mean to import common workmen? Only think, we have Silverings close at hand. Do we decide to work late, we can always stay overnight.”
“From the size of your boat,” remarked Lisette, watching Strand from under her lashes, “you might be obliged to move down here for a year—or more.”
He considered her with a level, dispassionate gaze and said quietly, “It’s an idea, ma’am.”
The gentlemen now became extremely occupied with an inspection of the vessel. She was a small yacht but, being shored up, did indeed look enormous in the barn. A flying spark from the fire that had gutted most of the house had ignited her sails, burnt the roof of the cabin, and well scorched the deck and the rails before the fire had been extinguished. The hull was sound, said Norman, but all the woodwork needed refinishing, new masts would have to be fitted, and the cabin rebuilt. The talk here became very technical; Lisette became lost in a discussion of shrouds and jibs and something called “the mizzen.” Judith drifted quietly away and, eventually following her example, Lisette wandered into the sunshine.
There was no sign of Judith, but a merry conversation was being conducted in the livable part of the house, so it was likely the girl was inside, talking with the gardener’s wife. Lisette started to join them, but a sudden image of a dressing table holding a small bottle of scent rose before her mind’s eye, and she decided she did not care to go in just at the moment. Brutus was sitting beside the Dutch door, either guarding the house or the picnic hamper that had been carried there. Lisette sat on a bench for a while, enjoying the sunshine and stroking the dog. He howled when at length she stood and started to walk away, but although she called him and he wriggled eagerly, he could not bring himself to desert his post and sat moaning as she strolled away.
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 f-foo- 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.”
Strand 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 seasickness, 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 fine 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 warmed 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 fête 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, that 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! Lord! 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 arm 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 countenance 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 companionably 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!”
“I assure you, Mama, we did not object to hosting my brother and sister,” Lisette evaded. “Indeed they have been a great delight, and Strand has been so good with them.”
“Has he, indeed?” said Mrs. Van Lindsay, a grim set to her mouth. “And as good with you, child?”
Her face hot, Lisette faltered, “That—would depend, ma’am, upon—upon what you have heard.”
“What I have heard is a proper Cheltenham tragedy, and likely holding less truth than would fill a flea’s thimble! I am assured you would never be so gauche as to spread such vulgar scandal!”
With a wan smile Lisette said, “Thank you for that, Mama. I am grateful that you believe me innocent.”
“More to the point, your husband does.” Lisette’s heightened colour alerting her, Philippa probed sharply, “He does, does he not? You did assure him you are guiltless?”
Never had Lisette lied to her parents. She found it horrendous to do so now and hung her head, stammering, “Well I—er, of course—”
She was rescued by a scratch at the door, presaging the entrance of Norman, his dark young face none too clean, his clothes rumpled, but a son such as Philippa had longed to see.
“Mama!” he cried joyously, coming to sweep her into a hug with a new assurance that further bewildered her. “Oh, but this is famous!” He dropped a buss onto her astonished face. “Wait till you see the boat Strand and I are renovating. How long do you stay with us? Did my poor Great-Uncle go to his reward?”
“No,” she gasped faintly. “Norman, my heaven, but you have changed! Lisette said—but I never thought—good heavens!”
Pleased, he laughed, and bowed with theatrical grace. “Did you not tell my mother, Lisette? I collect you were too busy chattering of—er, other matters! Egad, what a family. You two up here, and my father downstairs, probably giving poor Strand beans over the duel!”
“Duel?” echoed Mrs. Van Lindsay, aghast. “What duel?”
* * *
“You may count yourself fortunate there was no duel!” Humphrey advised, holding up his glass so that Strand might refill it for him. “Garvey’s a fine shot and, I’ll be honest, I’d not care to be in his black books. Were I you, my boy, I’d watch my back. If Sanguinet won’t allow him to call you out, he’s not above resorting to other means to even the score.”
Much restored after a few hours’ rest, Bolster agreed. “Pre-pre- just as I said, sir.”
“I thank you both for the concern.” Strand smiled, returning to stand by the drawing room fire. “But surely you judge him too harshly. Garvey is a womanizing lecher and runs with a set I’d want none of, but save for his extraordinary behaviour when I challenged him, I know of nothing to cause me to question his honour.”
Humphrey sipped his cognac appreciatively and, frowning into the flames muttered, “I’d thought more along the lines of his pride. The fellow was wild for Lisette before you won her, and regrettably, we encouraged his suit until—but you—ah, probably know all about that. From what I heard you emptied a wine bottle over his head.”
“A glass, merely, sir.”
“Even so, I’d never have believed Garvey would swallow that!”
“A very little of it, I should think.”
“It ain’t no laughing m-matter,” warned Bolster sternly. “Don’t like Garvey. Never did. Nasty temper.”
“Then how fortunate I am to be surrounded by such devoted champions,” Strand laughed. “You do mean to return, I trust, Jeremy? And Norman—”
“Must return to Town,” decreed Humphrey, “for he—”
Coming into the room at that unpropitious moment, Norman said in a voice of stark tragedy, “Town? Me? Oh, sir! Never say so!”
Humphrey frowned. “I do not care to be interrupted. I vow I don’t know what you young people today are coming to. Of course you will return to Town. I’ve a new tutor hired for you, since poor Worth tells me he had sooner be nibbled to death by newts than suffer another month with you!”
“But, sir,” Norman pleaded desperately, “our boat is—”
“Be damned to your boat!” snapped his father huffily. “I shall discuss your future with you when these two gentlemen are not obliged to have to endure so depressing a subject. I’ll own myself pleased by your improved appearance, at least. How old are you now? Older than Judith, I know. Fifteen, is it?”
The old sullen look creeping back into his eyes, Norman muttered, “Sixteen, sir.”
“Very well, you may take a glass of ratafia with us. With your approval, Strand.”
“By all means.” Strand dropped a hand on Norman’s drooping shoulder as he walked to the sideboard where stood the decanters. “Matter of fact, we’ve had a busy time here. Norman and I got into a fine brawl, and—”
“The young puppy!” exclaimed Mr. Van Lindsay, spluttering over his brandy. “He dared raise his hand against you? Why, I’ll—”
“No, no. With me, sir. We took on a few of the town bullies who thought to—er—have some sport with us, eh, Norman?” He gave the boy a glass of ratafia and his most friendly smile.
Norman took the glass, but said in quiet denial, “No, sir. They came after me, Papa. In regard to—”
“In regard to his having—er, ‘bought’ their sister,” Strand grinned.
Mr. Van Lindsay’s eyes all but started from his head. Bolster gave a shout of laughter.
“You—you young dog!” chortled Humphrey.
“Tell us, for Lord’s sake!” urged Bolster.
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.