Promptly at three o’clock Mr. Justin Strand was announced and at once strode swiftly into the drawing room. Lisette had been idly turning the pages of Ladies Magazine and looked up, startled, schooling her features into a smile that died a’borning. In anticipation of a carriage ride, she had donned a high-necked gown of cream silk, the bodice overlaid with ecru lace, and had selected a fine straw bonnet with a high poke trimmed in the same shade of lace. Mr. Strand, however, was dressed very formally in an impressive dark brown velvet jacket, fawn knee breeches, and a magnificent cravat in which a great topaz gleamed. Not a little dismayed, she rose as he marched across the room to halt before her.
“Good afternoon,” she faltered, holding out her hand. “I must thank you, Mr. Strand, for your—your understanding this morning. And for escorting my sister home. Perhaps I should call my mother. I’d not realized you meant to come up, and—”
His clasp was firm, brief, and icy cold. “And it is improper to be alone with me,” he said in his brusque way. “I know. That is why I asked the footman not to announce me until I was up here. There is something I must discuss with Mr. Van Lindsay. I am told he is at home, but first, I must know. Miss Lisette—have you taken me in aversion?”
With the moment of truth upon her, she stared at him in blank shock. He was a little pale, and the thick light hair with its tendency to turn upwards at the ends was rumpled as though he had run a nervous hand through it. Those intense eyes seemed to burn through her defences so that she lowered her own and lied, “Why, no. But—but, I know you so slightly, sir. It is very—er, soon to—to—”
“You know my background; my family,” he interpolated gruffly. “Tell me without frills if you please, ma’am. Would an offer from me be—repulsive to you?”
From under her lashes she saw that his jaw had set, and that a little nerve pulsed in his cheek. His hands, too, were clenching and unclenching, and she noted absently what long, thin, sensitive fingers he had. Could it be possible that he did care for her a little? What stuff! If he cared for anything, it was that he not be made to look ridiculous by suffering a rejection after his braggadocio! Recovering her poise, but her heart recoiling from this duplicity, she lifted her eyes to his. “For a lady to receive an offer of marriage can only be a great compliment, sir.”
For an instant, something that might almost have been regret came into his expression, and was as quickly gone. “I see.” He nodded, and stepped back. “Will you be so good as to excuse me, then?”
Lisette murmured, “Of course,” and watched him stalk from the room. She sat down again, tears blinding her. What a perfectly horrid proposal of marriage. The antithesis of everything she had ever dreamt of. How stiff and cold he was. How totally lacking even a touch of romance. The odious creature had not so much as kissed her hand. After they were wed, she would likely freeze to death! And then, she thought miserably, everyone would be sorry.
The object of her thoughts paced along the hall, slowed, and stopped at the top of the stairs. With one hand resting on the banister, he stared blankly at the lower hallway. She didn’t want him, that was very clear. But she would not refuse him. His brows drew together. Perhaps, if he waited … But he dared not wait. Garvey would not wait, and Garvey could upset the whole applecart! He squared his shoulders, ran an impatient hand through his hair, and hurried lightly down the stairs.
He had visited this house sufficiently often to find his way to the study but when he reached the door, he again paused. He could hear Van Lindsay talking very loudly inside, and Mrs. Van Lindsay’s voice raised in complaint. His knock received no answer and, looking about for a servant to announce him properly, he saw no sign of life. He opened the door, then stopped, blinking in astonishment.
The butler, footman, and two maids sat at one side of the room, watching their employer, who strode up and down, several sheets of paper close-covered with writing in one hand, and the other arm waving as he roared out a speech. Mrs. Van Lindsay, elegant in a gown of dark blue sarsenet braided with white at flounce and throat, ran along beside him, exhorting, pleading, demanding, all to no avail.
A slow grin curved Strand’s mouth, and he watched, delightedly.
“… the fields are being gobbled up!” thundered Van Lindsay.
“You will trample a hole clear through, do you not sit down, sir!” moaned Mrs. Van Lindsay, trotting just as destructively at his side.
“They do not farm! They buy up the land only for their own aggrandizement, and seldom set foot on it!”
“Your feet will touch the boards soon enough, do you not stop this horrid pacing!”
“Thousands have lost their place! Our valiant fighting men have been disbanded with neither thanks nor reward! The taxes are eating us up! And these reckless fools build their palaces, and—”
“Sit down! Will you not sit down, Mr. Van Lindsay? I beg! There are bare strands now! Another few strides, you will be through to the backing!”
The bedevilled orator halted. “By gad, madam! Can you think of nothing but your confounded floor coverings? I am striving to—” Here, chancing to encounter the amused glance of his guest, Humphrey gave a gasp. “Mr. Strand!” he cried with uncertain joviality. “Er—that will be all, you people.”
Hiding covert grins, the servants fled. Mrs. Van Lindsay looked briefly ready to swoon, but recovered to extend her hand in a queenly gesture and assure Mr. Strand he was most welcome, although she would wish someone had been available to receive him.
Inwardly delighted that the lapse in protocol had enabled him to witness such a scene, Strand replied, “I am encouraged to feel sufficiently at home that I came on, ma’am. I trust I have not offended.”
“No, no!” She granted him a rather toothy smile. “Never that, Mr. Strand. You are—always welcome. You have come to call for my daughter, I believe?”
“No, ma’am. I have come for a word with your husband. If I do not intrude at a difficult moment?”
“Never!” Van Lindsay beamed, all but throwing his speech aside. “My dear, you will be so kind as to require that Powers bring a bottle of the ’seventy-four Madeira. Now, my dear Strand, sit down and be comfortable. Tell me—what may I do for you?”
* * *
“Do not cry! Oh, please do not cry!” wailed Judith, fluttering about her sister with damp rag in hand and tears of sympathy filling her own eyes. “My poor darling! How could they be so heartless? Sold! Like sweet Fiona! I vow it is inhuman!” She stood straight and flung up the rag in her distress, proclaiming, “We should protest! We must strike a blow for—”
“What the deuce?” chortled Norman, stepping into the room. “Practising dramatics, Judith? Do you play the hero, or the abigail?”
“Odious wretch!” his sister snarled, throwing the rag at him. “Can you not see that poor Lisette is dying of grief?”
“What? Oh, Lord!” he gasped, dismayed by the sight of tears. “My—er, apologies, Lisette. It is not—Grandmama?”
“No. Thank goodness,” gulped Lisette, trying valiantly to stop weeping. “It—it is only—”
“She has received An Offer,” said Judith, eyeing her quailing brother with revulsion. “Men!”
“Good God! How many?” he gasped.
Lisette could not restrain a watery smile. “One—this afternoon.” She ignored the surprised glance Judith shot at her. “Justin Strand.”
Norman was so diverted as to forget discretion. He took out the piece of nougat he had been hiding in his pocket, removed a leaf from it, and popped it into his mouth. “Hmmn,” he said indistinctly. “He’s not a commoner, whatever they say of his family. And—at least it’s not Garvey.”
“Garvey would be a—a paladin compared to Strand,” Judith declared with indignation. “And you thought him wondrous great when he first began to fix his attentions with Lisette.”
“I doubt you know what ‘paladin’ means, even!” He did not add that he’d written to his brother Timothy in the matter, nor did he mention Tim’s reply, now residing in his desk, but said merely, “Changed my mind about the fellow. Was it my decision, I’d have Strand, Lisette.”
“And was it my decision, she should have neither, but wait until a Prince of the Blood offers!” Judith announced grandiloquently. “She has the looks, the lineage, and the grace, goodness knows.”
“Well, hee haw!” mocked Norman. “From the look of her, she don’t mean to have neither. Is that the sum of it, Lisette?”
“No.” Lisette stood. “I shall wed Mr. Strand.” She smiled sadly at Judith’s agonized wail and, saying she must go and tidy her hair, went up to her bedchamber. Sanders was waiting and, taking one look at her favourite, held out her arms. Lisette walked into them and wept.
“My lamb.” Sanders stroked the glossy hair comfortingly. “Never you mind. Things has a way of working out for the best. You’ll find your happiness yet. Just look at Emily Cowper, married and a Countess, but in love with Palmerston as all London knows. Love don’t always come where it’s supposed to, my dearie.”
“I know,” Lisette sniffed, drawing back and drying her eyes. “That’s what Grandmama said. Only … I had so hoped…” Her voice scratched into silence. She went over to sit down at her dressing table, and gave an aghast cry at the sight of her red and puffy eyes. “Oh, Sandy! They will be calling me downstairs!”
“Never you fear. We’ll have you pretty as a picture in a trice. You just close your eyes now.” Sanders proceeded to bathe Lisette’s eyes with icy cold water, and then skilfully applied cosmetics. “Was Mr. Strand all loving words and flowery speeches, my lamb?” she asked.
“No! He—he was horribly cold and—and businesslike. He stamped up to me as though he were on a parade ground, and when I uttered a perfectly natural and maidenly demurral, he practically barked out that I knew his family, and demanded to know if an offer from him would be repulsive to me.” Blinking away fresh tears, she said, “He—he might have been bidding at a cattle auction!”
“Poor lad,” Sanders smiled, and as her lady’s eyes flew open to fix her with an indignant stare, she shrugged, “Well, you know, Miss Lisette, some men has the gift of the gab, and some hasn’t.”
“Lisette!” Judith burst into the room, quivering with excitement. “Papa has sent Pauline to ask if you can please step into the drawing room only I came instead and what did you mean when you said one this afternoon did Mr. Garvey offer this morning?”
“Lawks!” gasped Sanders. “Whatever did you say, Miss Judith?”
Jumping up and down in agitation, Judith demanded, “Lisette! Did he?”
Lisette stood, smoothing her frock and knowing she looked fairly well restored. “Yes. He offered. And I refused.”
Judith uttered a shriek and threw herself backwards onto the bed, to lie with arms wide-tossed. “What a waste! What an awful waste!”
Sanders muttered, “I doubt Mr. Garvey had any lack of flowery words.”
Lisette said, “No. As a matter of fact, he did not.”
And, sadly, she went downstairs to accept the hand of Mr. Justin Derwent Strand.
* * *
The newly betrothed gentleman politely refused an invitation to remain for dinner at the home of his affianced bride. Walking beside her to the front door, he directed a keen gaze at her composed features and said in his abrupt fashion, “I mean to make you a good husband, ma’am. I hope to make you happy.”
Lisette looked steadily at him, wondering what he would think if he knew she was aware of the disgraceful way in which he had bandied her name about. Her silence apparently discomposed him, for he lowered his gaze, muttered, “I shall call to take you riding in the morning,” accepted his hat and cane from the butler, and walked outside.
Turning about, he said with a flickering grin, “At half-past six,” and left her speechless with shock.
She had not the remotest intention of arising at such an hour, but she began to harbour the uneasy suspicion that if she were not ready at the appointed time, Strand would not be above rousing the house. Vexed, she instructed Sandy to waken her at quarter to six, and by half-past the hour, clad in her most attractive habit, was peeping from the drawing room window.
“I’m over here!” announced a familiar voice behind her.
She spun around to find Strand watching her in obvious amusement. He looked different somehow in his riding clothes; more at ease, perhaps, in the brown corduroy jacket, beige breeches, and spurred boots. “Come,” he said, holding out an imperative hand.
Resenting the suggestion of command, she sauntered to his side, tried to ignore that thin hand, but somehow found it clasping her own. He took a small box from his pocket, opened it, and revealed a ring that took her breath away. There were two diamonds and a round emerald, of superb hue and cut, mounted in a charming design of filigreed gold. “They were my grandmother’s gems,” he imparted, slipping the ring onto her finger.
“How lovely! And the fit is perfect. What a good guess!”
“Not at all. Your abigail gave me one of your rings to take to the jeweller. I commissioned Rundell and Bridge to design the new setting for you.”
Frowning a little, she said, “You did? When?”
“Oh, last week,” he answered airily, and stifling a smile at the immediate indignation in her face, said, “Come along. I cannot keep the horses standing.”
“Nor can I make a practice of this. You must know, Mr. Strand, that—”
“Do you fancy you could manage to use my name?” he asked, suddenly wistful. “Since I did not ask for a kiss.”
Colour flooded her cheeks. “You—are quite at—at liberty to take one, sir—Justin.”
“Justin will do nicely,” he said, kindly. “I have no title, you know.”
Yearning to scratch him, Lisette swept from the room. Downstairs, he seized her hand as she started for the front door, and led her instead to the back of the house.
“What on earth?” she asked, curious.
“I came around the back, so that you would not see me arrive. Just in case you were peeping through the curtains, I mean.”
Bristling, she resumed the attack. “Which reminds me, I do not make a habit of rising at this hour, and—”
“Never mind. You’ll get used to it. This way.”
He marched across the lawn as though this were his house instead of the home in which his seething fiancée had grown up, and opened the back gate.
Lisette walked ragefully into the alley. A groom held two fine horses, one a big chestnut stallion, and the other a black mare, all fine Arabian daintiness. Her vexation forgotten, Lisette went at once to stroke the mare. “What a beauty! You never found her at the stables? Is she yours?”
“No. She’s yours.”
She gave a gasp, and stared at him.
He said quietly, “Your engagement present, my dear.” And, heedless of the groom’s presence, he bent and kissed her on the cheek. An odd flutter disturbed Lisette’s heartbeat. Instinctively, her hand went up to touch his face. For an absurd instant she thought she saw longing in his eyes, then he said, “Now you’re paid up!” and bent to receive her foot and throw her up into the saddle.
The mare’s name was Yasmin; she had a pretty, mincing gait and a spirited, playful disposition. “No cow-handed idiot has ever hurt her mouth,” said Strand, adding a “yet,” that caused Lisette to freeze with indignation until she glimpsed the twinkle in his eyes.
He rode towards the park despite the fact that his mount showed a marked inclination to climb into every passing vehicle. “I’m afraid,” Strand said wryly, “I shall have to take this silly fellow for a gallop, but I’ll only be a minute.”
The park was almost deserted at this hour, and he was off, leaving behind the memory of his quick smile, his teeth a white gleam against the bronzed skin. Lisette sent the mare after him at a less headlong pace. The animal must, she thought, have cost a pretty penny, for her lines were magnificent, she moved like silk, and it was a joy to ride her. Never having been up at this hour, Lisette was unfamiliar with the peace of dawn and marvelled at how quiet was the great city. The skies were dotted with clouds that were grey at first, becoming gradually roseate as the sun touched them. The air was cool and invigorating, fresh after the rains of the night, and every leaf and blade of grass sparkled to the first rays of the sun. A distant hail penetrated her absorption with the beauties about her, and she saw Strand, far down the path, waving impatiently. On an impulse, she drove home her heels, and Yasmin bounded forward. Lisette crouched in the saddle, and the mare all but flew.
“Jolly well done!” cried Strand laughingly, as they came up with him.
“Oh, but she is splendid!” Lisette exclaimed breathlessly, cheeks and eyes aglow.
“And so are you, but I’d best not encourage you to behave so hoydenishly do we ride any later.”
Lisette glanced nervously around, to find herself the recipient of a disapproving glare from a horsy-looking middle-aged lady, and of a decidedly approving smile from the lady’s escort. “Good heavens!” she murmured, reddening. “I forgot myself! What a thing to do! I fear you are a bad influence on me.”
“Nonsense. You should do it more often—in the country, at least. It becomes you. Come, we’ve plenty of time, and—Hello there!” He waved, calling cheerily as he rode to meet a solitary rider, Lisette following willy-nilly, and irked again by his abrupt manners.
Lord Bolster, astride a fine grey horse, looked nervously at Lisette, but shook hands and bowed politely. He had decided, he said, to go to Italy “on a repairing lease with Mitchell Redmond,” as soon as he got Harry Redmond “settled.” He seemed vague as to what this would involve, but in view of his mental condition and the great difficulty he experienced in enunciating, Lisette did not enquire. She had fully intended to invite Amanda Hersh to tea, and made a silent vow to do so. When they were alone again, she communicated this resolve to her fiancé.
“That would be kind in you,” he nodded. “We could ask her to stay with us for a week or two, if you wish.”
“Yes. But I had meant—in Town.”
“Doubt there will be time. You’d best wait until we get to Sussex.”
“S-Sussex…?” she faltered.
“Yes. My home is in Sussex. Good Lord! I must take you down there, of course. What a clunch I am! We shall have to go and see your grandmama this afternoon, but—”
“We—what?”
“I had thought you would want that. Do you not care for her?”
“Care for her?” She bridled. “Of course I care for her, sir!”
“Justin. No ‘sir,’” he reminded her solemnly.
“It is merely that there is no cause for haste. My papa will put the announcement in The Gazette, and then—”
“It is already in, so you’ve no cause to worry your pretty head over that.”
“Already in…? M-my goodness, but you were sure of yourself, s—Mr. Strand.”
“Not at all. Merely busy yesterday afternoon.” He asked interestedly, “Are you going to do that every time you find me vexing?”
“Do what?”
“Call me Sir Justin, or Mr. Strand. You shall have to say my name in the ceremony, you know.”
An uneasy suspicion deepening, Lisette entered what she feared might be a useless caveat. “Yes, but that will not be for some time.”
He nodded. “True. Four long weeks. We had best get back now, if we are to get down to Richmond in time for luncheon. Do not just sit there, my dear. Pretty as you are, the flies are sure to pop into your mouth!”
He set a brisk pace, but before they were safely back to Portland Place, it was raining again. When the stunned Lisette was sufficiently recovered, she attempted to demand that they should at least delay the wedding until there was a chance of the weather improving. “Don’t think it’s going to improve, ma’am,” said Strand, adding with a flash of his sly grin, “Do we delay until June, we’ll likely have to be wed in a rowboat! Besides which, I doubt if I could persuade the Lord Mayor to keep up all the decorations until then.”
Baffled, Lisette stared at him until he reached over to put one finger beneath her chin and lift it, thus closing her sagging jaw. “Very pretty, that astonished expression,” he said with revolting condescension. “But it might not be an especially good habit to encourage, y’know.”
Recovering her voice at length, she gasped, “What—what decorations? What have you done?”
He waved an arm expansively. “Have you not noticed? All London wears her party dress. Flags, bunting, the parks full of lights, bands and parades and jollifications practiced these many days now.”
She said indignantly, “But that is not for us, and well you know it, sir!”
“It ain’t?” He blinked, disconcerted. “Never cast me down so!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You are as aware as am I that the celebrations are for the marriage of the Princess of Wales and Prince Leopold!”
“What? Then I’ve been properly gulled! Dashed if I shall ever heed the word of the Lord Mayor of London again!” The twinkle in his blue eyes very pronounced, he said solemnly, “I suppose that means I shall be expected to stand the huff for our own celebrations!”
The horses had slowed during this interchange, and, sternly suppressing a gurgle of laughter, Lisette spurred her mount to a trot once more, her covertly grinning betrothed following suit.
Despite his teasing, Strand’s adherence to the immediacy of their union was firm, and Lisette soon discovered she had only begun to glimpse his unflagging zeal in achieving that—or any—goal. He did not so much ride roughshod over opposition as he outdistanced it, going merrily along at his energetic pace, apparently convinced that the plans he set in motion were sure to please everyone, so that by the time others caught up with them, it was too late to protest. A bewildered Lisette found herself whisked from Richmond, where her grandmother was not at home, to Windsor, where Strand’s grandmother dwelt. This octogenarian was at home and, having favoured her grandson with a plaintive sigh and one faded cheek raised for his kiss, extended two drooping fingers for Lisette to shake, and offered Strand her congratulations on snaring “such a lovely girl. In spite of … everything.” It was the first time Lisette had found her betrothed subdued, but he soon rebounded and next day the chaise was racing towards Esher and his Great-Aunt Therese. Therese was a large widow with an overpowering and delightfully erratic personality. She dwelt in a very large house to which she welcomed them warmly, and spent most of the day introducing them to visitors, more of whom arrived hourly. No one left, and the house became crowded, with each saloon seeming to contain a group of decidedly differing opinions to those aired in the next. Lisette was both bewildered and enchanted, the hours flew past, and she was genuinely sorry when they left.
They reached London at dusk. Lisette was thoroughly tired, but Strand arrived for dinner, as full of spirits as ever, and entered into a lively discussion with Mrs. Van Lindsay regarding the date of the wedding. Shocked when he expressed a desire for a morning rather than the customary evening ceremony, that redoubtable dame adopted her most chilling attitude. She was agreed with, smiled upon, told she was “a most delightful lady,” and while still befuddled somehow agreed to the morning wedding.
Judith was no less summarily dealt with. Strand, interfering in matters to which gentlemen never paid the least heed, was horrified when he chanced to arrive a few days later while she was promenading in the elaborate gown she was to wear as a bridesmaid. “Why, it makes her look big as a house!” he exclaimed indelicately, and whirling to the murderously scowling Judith, demanded, “Do you like that abomination?” As always rather intimidated by his brusqueness, she stammered that she did. “But you cannot imagine it flatters you?” Sure she was being roasted, she sulked, “Flatters me? What could flatter me! At all events, it is too late now.” Strand refuted this and demanded she go and bring “that periodical you ladies are always looking at, My Lady, or whatever it’s called. Hurry now!” When she had fled, he turned to the astonished Lisette and expostulated, “Good God! Whoever chose that mass of frills and flounces?”
“My sister, Lady Dwyer, helped Judith make the choice. With which, I might add, she was perfectly happy until you condemned it.”
“Hmmn. Thought so. Never mind, we’ll come about!”
Judith returned with Ladies Magazine, and the pair of them spent an hour poring over this and that style until Strand decided on a very plain gown Judith thought deplorable. He convinced her it would be more becoming than the other and carried her off to a rather middle-class emporium called Grafton’s, returning with a welter of pale peach-coloured satin and tulle, and the triumphant announcement that, Judith being a splendid seamstress, they would go along very nicely with this one. It was the first intimation her family had that Judith was a more than passable needlewoman, but to everyone’s surprise, she set to work at once, thoroughly enjoyed herself, and turned out a truly charming gown that admirably became her.
The next item on the agenda was the possible location of the betrothal ball. It had been decided to hold this at the home of a friend until Strand came wandering in one morning with the guest list of his own friends and family. This was voluminous, but he cheerfully refused to shorten it and, since he was paying for the ball, which promised to be expensive even if it could not be expected to be a great occasion, it was clear that a much larger home would be required. Even so, they were all stunned when at his next appearance he casually announced that the Earl of Harland had graciously offered his London house for the purpose, and that Strand’s majordomo, one Mr. Fisher, would “handle everything.”
When the news of the betrothal appeared in The Gazette, London was deliciously shocked. As a result, a stream of visitors descended upon Portland Place in a flurry of excitement that was not soon to fade. One of Lisette’s first callers was a man she dreaded to receive. Mr. Garvey was smiling and suave. He expressed his felicitations with grim insincerity, his eyes glaring his frustration. Bowing over her hand before he departed, he murmured, “I have not given up, ma’am. If there is any possible way to rescue you from this fiasco, it will be done!” Frightened, Lisette relayed the episode to her father. Van Lindsay pooh-poohed her alarm, telling her in some amusement that Garvey was merely a heartbroken suitor and must be excused this flight into melodrama. To his wife, he was less facetious. “Garvey is a vengeful man, m’dear,” he said worriedly. “I told Lisette to forget the matter, but I’ll not dissemble, he’s a power to be reckoned with!”
Among the crush of those arriving the following day were two very different callers. The first of these was Amanda Hersh, whose green eyes still held the shadow of sorrow that had disturbed Lisette when first they met. Lord Bolster, she confided, had made a final attempt to persuade her to wed him and had been thoroughly routed when she had vowed to join the next group of emigrants sailing for the Colonies, if he did not cease to entreat her. “He is such a dear,” she sighed, “and being extremely opposed to that notion, has agreed to deface himself.”
Preserving her countenance with difficulty, Lisette said she had heard his lordship meant to go to Europe. “My betrothed,” she went on, “has suggested you might agree to visit us in Sussex when we are settled there. I do beg you will consider it. I shall, I fear, find country life somewhat tedious, having been accustomed to Town.”
This was not an idle remark. Strand had, at the first opportunity, taken his bride-to-be to visit her new home. Well aware that a certain pair of blue eyes watched her reactions with no little anxiety, Lisette had tried to be polite, but Strand Hall, with its pillared front and neoclassical architecture, she found cold and unattractive, and the housekeeper, a sharp-eyed woman named Mrs. Hayward, was respectful but unfriendly, so that, with sinking heart, Lisette had known there was a battle to be won there.
Shortly after Amanda departed, Lisette was receiving the Honourable Sarah Leith. Sally, who had once been a very dear friend, came into the room rather hesitantly. She was a kind girl, but blessed with few of the good looks so spectacularly evident in her brother Tristram. Her eyes were dark but not large; her clear skin was inclined to be sallow, and although her brown hair was luxuriant, it could not make her into a beauty. Her smile, however, was warm and sincere, and her gentle disposition soon won her friends to thinking her very pretty indeed. When she saw the smile Lisette summoned, she ran forward to clasp her in a hug and say rapturously, “Oh, Lisette! I am so happy! To think you will be my sister-in-law! Is it not wonderful? I never dreamed of such luck, for I always dreaded lest I be the victim of relations who would either bully or despise me—neither of which you will do! How thrilled I am for Strand—he is the very dearest boy. Indeed, you could not do better! And he, of course, is so deep in love he can scarce recall his own name most of the time!”
She laughed, and Lisette responded suitably, wondering how Strand, so very unloverlike, could possibly have given her such an impression. Drawing Sally to the sofa, she said, “How nice it is to see you again. It has been such a long time since we met.”
“Yes—before my brother was married. And then, I heard you were ill. I wrote, but perhaps you did not get my letter. The postal service is so very bad these days.”
Lisette blushed. She had received the letter and meant to respond, but never quite found the words. “You were so kind. I intended to write, but everything has happened so fast. How does your brother go on? I hear Mrs. Leith is—is very beautiful.”
“Oh, she is! And so sweetly natured. They are beyond words happy! After Tristram lost Mia Buchanan, I began to think he would never wed. For a while I even thought—perhaps—” she smiled shyly—“you will think me foolish, but I hoped you had an affection for him, and that you would be my new sister. Then, when we feared him lost at Waterloo—heavens! What a ghastly time that was! You can imagine my joy when he came home at last, and so deep in love with his Rachel. But you know that story, I do not doubt, and the important thing is that he is happy now. Dear soul, he deserves it, and I could not wish a sweeter wife for him! Enough of my brother. Lisette, may I see your ring? Oh! It is beautiful! Do you know, I’d no idea you had even met Justin.”
“I have known him a—a comparatively short time. It was all rather sudden.”
Sally scanned her lovely face intently. “You are very brave to marry into our rather notorious family. I was a little surprised that your parents consented to the match.”
“Oh, no, did you think us so very proud?” Sarah’s colour heightened and, realizing she had thought just that, Lisette went on quickly, “Indeed, had my parents objected, I doubt they could have prevailed. Your brother-in-law is a most—ah—persuasive gentleman.”
Sarah went into a peal of mirth. “Isn’t he just? Tristram says that Justin quite wears him out.” Her face clouded suddenly. “I only hope that long stay in India did not—” She checked and stood as Mrs. Van Lindsay swept into the room. “Good morning, ma’am. I am come to welcome my new sister-in-law into the family.”
“Why, that is true, of course, dear Sally,” gushed Mrs. Van Lindsay, extending her hand and managing to avoid her daughter’s eyes. “A rather distant relationship, I fear, but one that will, I am sure, be a delight to Lisette. It is deplorable that I interrupt, but we simply must get to the modiste’s shop for a fitting of the wedding gown. You do mean to come to our ball next week…?”
Miss Leith said warmly that nothing could keep her away and left them, and in short order Lisette was in the carriage with her mama and an eager Judith, en route to the exclusive little shop just off Bond Street. The wedding gown was lovely, but she was too preoccupied to show much enthusiasm. Standing patiently while the women fussed about her with tape measures and pins, her thoughts were on Tristram Leith. Sooner or later, she must meet him and his bride. The prospect made her heart cringe. She tried to force that terrible vision from her mind, and wondered vaguely what Sally had been going to say about Strand’s sojourn in India.
* * *
The day of the ball dawned cloudy and threatening, typical of this depressing Spring, and Mrs. Van Lindsay went about with a glum expression, forecasting the Disaster of the Season. By noon, the rain had settled in with a steadiness that augured ill for attendance, and by dusk was an unrelenting downpour.
Mr. Van Lindsay, who adopted an air of tolerant condescension to his prospective son-in-law, was undismayed by the weather. He had jubilantly told Lisette that Strand’s settlement had been magnificent. “All our troubles are over, m’dear. You’ve done very well by your family, burn me if you ain’t!” The full extent of that settlement was unknown to her, but the purse strings were considerably relaxed, which was a joy to all. As a result, she had another new ball gown, a delicious concoction of pale blue satin, the low-cut bodice embroidered with seed pearls. With it, she wore long pearl drop earrings, and knew herself to look very well, a knowledge confirmed by the approval in the eyes of her betrothed when he arrived at seven o’clock for a light dinner. He looked quite charming in his ball dress, although she fancied to see a tiredness in his eyes: not surprising, she thought, considering the pace he’d set himself these past three weeks.
Lady Bayes-Copeland had arrived that morning, her sudden arrival in Portland Place having been a considerable shock to her daughter. “I am here,” she announced firmly, warming her frail hands by the drawing room fire, “to see this young jackanapes my Lisette has accepted. Only ever laid eyes on him once before he commenced his courtship. Blessed if ever I saw such an unseemly rush to the altar! I collect you bullied her into accepting his fortune, eh, Philippa?” It was not a propitious beginning and, when Strand arrived, the delay to which she subjected him while critically scanning him through her lorgnette before consenting to offer her hand, was even less encouraging. He seemed unabashed, however, meeting the old lady’s keen gaze with twinkling eyes, though his manner was gravely respectful. She slanted several unkind barbs at him during dinner, and twice Mrs. Van Lindsay held her breath, her anguished gaze turning to her husband and quite clearly conveying the fear that Mr. Strand could scarce be blamed did he wash his hands of them all. The only time he gave the least sign that he comprehended the vitriol in my lady’s remarks, however, was when she made a contemptuous reference to Tristram Leith’s “wretched” existence. A hush fell over the tense diners. Strand had been sampling his wine. His hand paused briefly as he lowered his glass, then he set it down with precision. The eyes he turned to my lady’s fierce ones were cool, and his brows slightly lifted. “I fear, ma’am,” he said in an uncharacteristically slow drawl, “that you have been misinformed. My brother-in-law is one of the most truly contented men I know. I would not ask a happier marriage.”
“Happy?” barked Lady Bayes-Copeland. “What fustian! Who could be happy stuck out there at Cloudhills all year round? The man was a colonel! He is accustomed to activity and a full social schedule. The life of a country squire will soon pall, I’ll warrant!”
“Perhaps it will, my lady. But for a man like Tristram Leith, the busiest and most socially glittering life imaginable must be a desolation were not the lady he loves at his side.”
It was far and away the most romantic thing Lisette had ever heard Strand say, and she stared her surprise. Beatrice sneered cynically. Sir William was so inspired as to utter an enthused, “Well said, by gad!” The old lady’s eyes began to gleam. “Huh!” she snorted. “And what of Justin Strand, sir? Is it to be Town or country for him?”
Strand grinned. “Lord, ma’am, you must not speak of Leith and Strand in the same breath, or the latter must suffer to the point of extinction! Indeed, when I am in Tristram’s magnificent presence, I sometimes find it necessary to pinch myself to be sure I’m still there!”
It was said with affection rather than rancour, and they all laughed.
Lady Bayes-Copeland did not so lightly lower her guns, however. “A clever evasion,” she nodded grimly. “And I’m still without an answer.”
“D’you know, ma’am,” he replied, “I suspect you knew the answer before you asked the question.”
For a moment she almost returned his unexpectedly winning smile, but instead snapped, “You’re nobody’s fool, I see. Yet had you been a little wiser, you would have come to see me at Richmond, young man. Not whisked my granddaughter off without so much as a decent meeting. You may imagine that because I’m an old widow, you can dismiss me from the reckoning in this family. But you are out there, and so I tell you!”
Mrs. Van Lindsay placed a hand briefly over her eyes, and her husband looked aghast. Strand said nothing, but Lisette felt constrained to point out that they had driven down to see the old lady. “I was dragged all that way in the rain, dear Grandmama,” she said aggrievedly, “the very morning after I had accepted Mr. Strand’s offer.”
Contrarily, this advice served to send my lady’s wrath flaring. “Then why in God’s name could you not have said so, Strand? Making mock of me, eh?”
“Not at all, ma’am. But you were having such a lovely time trying to put me out of countenance, I hesitated to spoil it for you.”
It was lightly said, but through another taut silence, his eyes met hers steadily. What she read in those eyes, only she knew, but suddenly her scowl relaxed. She smiled, then went into a cackle of mirth and, relieved, everyone laughed with her. “Very well, put up your sword,” she wheezed at last. “I own you to be a worthy opponent. Have a care, Lisette! This brown-faced hank of skin and bone will be a sight more difficult to tame than would a gentleman like Tristram Leith!”
Lisette gave a gasp. Strand’s narrowed eyes shot to her face. Mr. Van Lindsay, laughing heartily, missed the implication and said, “Well, he stood up to you, ma’am!”
“Indeed he did,” chuckled her ladyship. “Game as a pebble!” She lifted her glass. “I give you joy. Strand—you’ve won yourself a rare girl. It will be up to you to see her beauty don’t ruin her! Lisette—I venture to believe you have found a gentleman who is also—a man!”
Lisette met Strand’s eyes. They were unfathomable; she dared not guess what he had read into her grandmother’s remark, and why she should care what he thought was also a mystery. But she smiled, and for some odd reason felt proud. He returned her smile, and only Sir William noticed how tightly his fingers were clamped about the stem of his glass.