Married Past Redemption

by Patricia Veryan

  He chuckled. “Forgive, dear lady. I certainly knew you could not refer to Bolster. One can but hope the brute may prove of comfort to the poor fellow, for he has taken his loss very hard. But I expect you know the story?”

  Know the story? Of course she knew the story! Rachel Strand had stolen the man she loved, and now the wretched woman’s sinister brother had dared to ogle her as if she were a common—but Garvey was speaking of Lord Bolster, not Justin Strand. She must be wits to let for her mind to wander so! Her cheeks hot, she confessed her ignorance and begged to be enlightened.

  “Most gladly. I am sure you will remember the sensation last autumn when Lucian St. Clair came to grips with that revolting trafficker in White Slavery? He called himself the Dandy Lion, but was in fact a member of the Quality.”

  “Yes! Oh, yes, I do!” Her indignation forgotten, Lisette clasped her hands, her dark eyes sparkling as she recalled the dramatic events that had set all London agog. “Papa never did tell me the whole, but I know there was a dreadful fight, no? It was all very exciting!”

  Glancing down at her, Garvey was enchanted both by her beauty and the swift change of mood. “Exciting, indeed,” he breathed, and then as curiosity came into her eyes, added with a grin, “Nonetheless, had it not been for Bolster and a few others who went to his aid, St. Clair would be only a memory today.”

  “Oh, how splendid to be such a loyal friend!” Lisette turned to glance back, and at once wished she’d not been so impulsive. The curricle had halted, and the dark face of Justin Strand had also been turned. For the second time their eyes met and, despite the distance, Lisette was as though hypnotized by that brilliant gaze. She jerked around then, her heart thundering. She felt confused and frightened. Why the miserable creature should so upset her was more than she could guess, except that he stared so, and with such a stern, fixed look, not at all in a friendly or admiring fashion. A horrifying new suspicion brought with it a shudder of humiliation: Could it be that he knew of her secret regard for his brother-in-law? Was he contemptuous of the girl who had made such a hopeless little idiot of herself? The very notion was sickening. She was perfectly sure those hard blue eyes were still boring into her spine, and she began to feel so unnerved that she had to take herself sharply to task. It was all too nonsensical. She had concealed her heartbreak, surely? No one knew of it—save only her immediate family. Tristram Leith did not know; he could not know. Could he? Oh, Lord! Please, please let him not know!

  Her unhappy introspection had caused the hot blush to recede from her cheeks, which was as well since Garvey was peering at her with some concern. Lisette Van Lindsay, she thought firmly, stop allowing that wretched Strand person to panic you into behaving like a silly widgeon! She clenched her fists and managed to say brightly, “So that is Lord Jeremy Bolster. I was trying to recall what I did know of the matter, and even to do that frightens me.”

  Garvey smiled and said with approval, “As any gently nurtured female should be frightened by such villainy, my dear lady.”

  Relieved that her small fib had been accepted, Lisette went on, “One would suppose his lordship would be proud, rather than distressed.”

  “His distress springs from another cause.” Garvey flourished his whip but did not stop when that dashing young blade, Mr. Galen Hilby, reined in a spirited grey mare the better to bow to Miss Van Lindsay. “You may know,” said Garvey, “that Bolster was betrothed.”

  Lisette smiled after Galen, one of her more ardent admirers, who was so wicked as to blow her a kiss. “Yes. In fact, I met her once. Amanda … Amanda— Oh, dear! I cannot think of her last name, but I do remember her.”

  “And did you approve?”

  “Very much. She is the dearest girl, and has such pretty red hair. I recall that there was not an ounce of affectation about her.”

  “True. It’s a pity, it really is. But you do remember the Dandy Lion?”

  “Yes, indeed. Dreadful creature, how could one forget such wickedness? And he a member of the Quality. He was a highwayman, too, and a ruthless murderer of his victims. It makes me shudder! His name was Hersh, was it not? Winfield Hersh?” Her eyes widened. “My heaven! That is Amanda’s surname! Oh, never say they are related?”

  He nodded. “Her half-brother. Beastly luck, because Hersh will hang—not a doubt of it, so there’s no hope for her. She cannot wed Bolster.”

  “Oh, the poor girl. And she and Lord Bolster were deeply attached, I heard. How very sad.”

  “And how kind that you are so touched by their tragedy. But it would not serve, you must agree.”

  “No … it would not.” She sighed regretfully. “Bolster is from a very fine house. Even were he willing to ignore his own obligations to his name, he could scarcely expect his family to consent. Indeed, it would be dishonourable to ask such a thing.”

  “If there’s one thing Bolster ain’t, it’s dishonourable. I must ask your pardon for failing to introduce him, but—well, you saw how he is.”

  Perplexed, she said, “No. What do you mean?”

  “Nothing to his detriment, I assure you. He was badly wounded at the Siege of Badajoz. He’s the best of good fellows, but a little…” He tapped his temple significantly.

  “Oh, my! How dreadful! And now, to have lost the girl he loves!”

  “There are still some wagers on the books at the clubs, but she’ll not wed him. If it were up to Jeremy…” He paused thoughtfully. “He’s not the man to puff off his consequence. But I don’t have to tell you that, for you saw who was with him.” He met her enquiring gaze and said mischievously, “The—ah, unattractive creature.”

  Lisette stiffened. “I have already said, sir, that I intended no such implication. I should be most distressed did you hold me guilty of so unkind a remark.”

  “What—about a dog?” he looked at her askance. “You are very nice, ma’am, but I thought you spoke only truth. He is, indeed, unattractive.”

  “Good morning, Miss Van Lindsay! How do you do, Garvey?” The Duke of Vaille smiled on them from the driver’s seat of a splendid high-perch phaeton. “Do not forget my waltz, dear lady!” he called, then swept past.

  “Shall you attend the ball for his son’s betrothal?” asked Garvey eagerly. “I implore—I beg to be allowed to escort you. Do say yes!”

  Lisette thanked him but said she had not yet made up her mind as to which of several offers to accept, and beyond asking that she consider him also, he did not press her. During the balance of their drive he was all a lady could wish for on such an occasion, bringing her to laughter more than once with his recountings of humourous episodes concerning the Regent’s Pavilion at Brighton and some of the dinners and entertainments he had attended there. He was charming, bright, witty, and poised; very much a man of the world. Lisette could not but be flattered by his very evident admiration, nor was she unaware of the many curious glances that followed them. She enjoyed herself as she had not done for weeks, and when Garvey returned her to Portland Place and escorted her to the front door, she was sincere in expressing her thanks for a delightful drive.

  Once in the house, she was pounced upon by Judith and begged to recount all that had happened. To an extent she complied, amused by her sister’s excitement, but when Mrs. Van Lindsay returned from an afternoon card party and joined them in the family parlour, she was obliged to tell her tale again. Her mother was ecstatic to learn of Garvey’s request to escort Lisette to the Vaille ball. “You must have a new gown!” she decreed. “You have moped at home for too long, and nothing could be better than to return to Society with so consequential a gentleman as James Garvey as your partner. It will be all over Town by now that you are his new interest!”

  “But, Mama, I only just met the man. Surely, I—”

  “What has that to say to anything? Never say you have taken him in aversion?”

  “Well, no, but I scarcely know him.”

  “You could do a deal worse, Lisette. He is a man of insinuating address to which you may add impeccabl
e lineage, wealth, influence.… Only think of Timothy and the doors a word in the Regent’s ear might open!”

  At this point, Powers made his dignified way into the room, followed by the parlour-maid carrying a huge bunch of red roses, a small flower box, and two letters. Mrs. Van Lindsay accepted the letters and the small box. The red roses were from Garvey, the card reading “To London’s fairest flower.” Admiring the perfect blooms, Lisette heard her mother utter a derogatory snort. The small box held a bunch of lilies of the valley set in a filigreed container. Frowning at the card she held, Mrs. Van Lindsay said, “What impertinence!” and tossed the flowers into the wastebasket.

  Lisette took the card she extended. There were no written words, only the printed name, Justin Derwent Strand. She experienced an odd little jolt of the heart, and could almost see those brilliant blue eyes scrutinizing her as they had in the park. She said nothing, but when she was alone, she rescued the posy. It was, she thought, quite dainty, and she was fond of the fragrant little flowers. No matter who had sent them.

  She was tidying her hair when Mrs. Van Lindsay returned to advise that Miss Charlotte Hilby and her brother Galen had come to call, and that Sir Aubrey Suffield’s chaise had just stopped outside.

  “You see?” Philippa cried triumphantly. “It has begun! London believes you recovered from the ‘slight indisposition’ I had set about. You will likely become more popular than ever, my love!”

  She was quite correct. It was the start of a flood, and even Cook, apprised at the last moment of the fact that they would sit down twelve to dinner, broke only two glasses and a chipped plate by way of protest. When the teatray was brought in at ten o’clock, a merry crowd of four and twenty, mostly bachelors, with a sprinkling of parents and sisters, had gathered in the drawing room.

  “Thank God!” Mrs. Van Lindsay murmured in an aside to her spouse. “Lisette is in looks again. For a time I really feared she would go into a decline. Only think how mortifying that would have been!”

  “Silly chit,” grunted Humphrey. “She was sure all the ton thought her jilted. Was you t’ask me, not a soul so much as suspected she gave a button for Leith! She’s too sensitive and flighty by half. An overabundance of pride has that daughter of yours, ma’am!”

  “And as she should have—nor begrudge her it, sir! It is that very pride and knowledge of her position in Society will compel her to make the best match she may. How clever of Garvey to send those beautiful roses, but not call tonight. Much that wretched Strand girl may count her triumph. Lisette will eclipse her yet!”

  Mr. Van Lindsay slanted an oblique glance at his wife, pursed his lips, and said a cautious, “Hmmnnn.…”

  It said much for Philippa’s excitement that she did not take heed of this warning signal, turning instead to chatter graciously with the beautiful Miss Hilby, although everyone knew her family tree could be traced only to the fifteenth century, and there was some suspicion her great-grandfather had been a wealthy merchant.

  All in all, it was a triumphant evening and by the time she retired, Lisette was very weary. Sleep eluded her, however, and she lay reliving the events of the day. Her thoughts lingered on poor Amanda Hersh. How deeply she must love, and how unselfishly, since she had chosen to reject Lord Bolster sooner than disgrace him by her unworthiness. What a contrast was offered by Rachel Strand, who, for all her famed beauty, was the daughter of a man known to have cheated at cards and to have evaded debtors’ prison only by his own death. As though that were not sufficiently shameful, Miss Strand had won even more notoriety by jilting the French nobleman to whom she had been betrothed and running off from her own engagement ball with some unknown. Utterly disgraceful conduct! There was no understanding why Tristram Leith, one of the most handsome and wellborn young aristocrats in all England, should have wed the girl. One thing was sure, however, he was now just as much an outcast as his bride! Lisette tried to feel triumphant and, having failed, sighed miserably. How strange a thing was Fate. Rachel Strand had stolen the man she loved. And even now, Justin Strand’s flowers were adding their fragrance to her bedchamber. She sighed again, and went to sleep, to dream of mushrooms growing in a field of lilies of the valley.

  * * *

  The next five days raced by. The word that one of London’s most spectacular beauties was recovered of an illness that had confined her to her home for several weeks swept the ton like a whirlwind, and quiet Portland Place became the target for more traffic than it had seen since before Miss Van Lindsay’s “illness.”

  Lisette was showered with invitations. She was taken driving in the park by Galen Hilby and by Sir Aubrey Suffield; James Garvey escorted her to a rout party and a musicale and sent flowers every day; Jocelyn Vaughan, one of London’s very popular bachelors, became a member of her court, which pleased her, since she found the handsome young man most charming. The morning callers meanwhile seemed to increase daily. Among these latter was Lady Jersey. That revered patroness of the mighty Almack’s complimented Lisette upon her recovery and, taking Mrs. Van Lindsay aside, remarked that her daughter was again in great beauty. “It is certainly understandable she is so admired by the gentlemen,” she observed, “for she looked ravishing when I saw her driving with James Garvey on Tuesday. You—er—approve, my dear Philippa?”

  Mrs. Van Lindsay smiled rather smugly and acknowledged that Mr. Garvey had been added to the list of her daughter’s admirers, which fact did not in the least surprise her.

  “No, indeed,” said my lady, with a lift of her thin eyebrows. “But it does surprise me, Philippa, that you and Van Lindsay would countenance it.”

  Astonished, Mrs. Van Lindsay drew herself to her full height and said at her most regal, “Countenance it? My dear ma’am, Garvey’s lineage is second to none.”

  “His lineage, perhaps. But—his morals?”

  “Good God! I’d heard only that he was of the Carlton House set, which I cannot quite like.” Alarmed now, Mrs. Van Lindsay asked, “Is there more, Sally?”

  “Too much smoke for there to be no fire. But—” my lady shrugged her shoulders—“perhaps I am prejudiced. I do not care for the man, which he well knows. Now, do I say more, I shall invite the criticism that I am the one who is vindictive and has a poisonous tongue. I will add only this: I should want no daughter of mine to associate with a man who whistled a fortune down the wind in only five years!”

  Mrs. Van Lindsay paled.

  Upon being apprised of this conversation in the privacy of his wife’s bedchamber later that evening, Mr. Van Lindsay paled also, then uttered a shocked, “By thunder! So it is truth! I had heard a whisper or two, but fancied it malicious gossip, merely.”

  “Then he is ruined? Oh, lud! And I have given the wretch every encouragement! I even influenced Lisette to accept his escort to Vaille’s ball! Why in the world does he pursue the girl? Does he suppose us to be wealthy?”

  Humphrey frowned at his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. “Perhaps. More likely he has it in his mind that your mama is very well to pass. And a little stricken in years.”

  “But—but whatever my dear mama has—which is very little—will all go to Tim!”

  “True. But very few people know that, my love, and although many consider the old lady to be cheese-paring, there are more who believe her full of lettuce!”

  Philippa’s indignation that her mother should be spoken of in such a disparaging way might have bloomed into a full-scale attack upon her luckless spouse had not a greater outrage taken precedence. “That villain!” she exclaimed. “I believed him to be a chivalrous gentleman, when in truth he is no more than an unprincipled fortune hunter!” Having uttered this righteous complaint, she marred it by adding, “What a disappointment! Well, we shall have to look elsewhere, and there are so few bachelors just at the moment who have satisfactory family and expectations. If only Leith had offered…” She then proceeded to list the various wealthy and acceptable young men who had been snapped up by mediocre girls with not a tenth of her
daughter’s beauty. Humphrey paid little attention to this gloomy recital. Being far more harassed than his wife suspected, he had already taken inventory of London’s possible candidates for Lisette’s hand. Since Garvey had been the leading contender, the runner-up must now be considered the only logical choice. It was a choice that would, he knew, create considerable consternation in his household, and he was seeking for the least offensive way to nominate his man when Philippa asked, “What do you think of young Hilby? Were he to attempt to fix his interest, it would be splendid, no? The boy’s vastly wealthy, and if his lineage is not of the finest, it certainly is not contemptible.”

  “True. But I doubt he’s ready to be leg shackled. And there are some more likely gentlemen, my dear. Vaughan, for instance, Cossentine, Strand, Alastair, Den—”

  “Strand?” Philippa echoed, then went into a ripple of laughter. “You jest!”

  With a fine nonchalance, her husband answered, “It might serve. The boy’s come home from India a regular nabob. Paid off all his papa’s debts, and I hear has dropped a mountain of blunt on that place of his in Sussex. The family’s not ancient, I allow, but it ain’t totally beyond the pale, and Strand can scarce be held accountable for his sister’s manners—or lack of ’em.”

  Astounded that her husband should stoop to consider Justin Strand a suitable prospective son-in-law, Philippa tightened her lips. But after a moment’s thought, she said with a thin smile, “Lord! I can well imagine how Lisette would react did Strand offer. To have Leith for her brother-in-law…? And his odious wife for a sister? I declare she’d sooner wear the willow all her days!”