Married Past Redemption

by Patricia Veryan

  “Belike she won’t,” he agreed dubiously. “But it bean’t fitting, it do stink so drefful of paint!”

  “A deal more fitting than this horrid storm,” said Lisette, and required that her coachman drive on.

  Cloudhills hove into view like a great and welcoming refuge, then suddenly became a monstrous black shape against a vivid flash of lightning. The coachman’s blast on the horn was answered by a lackey who came running out to hold the horses, and as thunder bellowed deafeningly, the front doors opened wider to reveal a brightly lit interior and a motherly woman fumbling with a large umbrella. The guard opened the carriage door and let down the steps. Lisette was greeted by the housekeeper, the umbrella, and a stifling reek of fresh paint. The back of the house, explained Mrs. Keene, when the unexpected guest had identified herself, was “not nearly so bad.” Hurrying Lisette and Denise into the great hall, she said firmly that Mrs. Strand and her servants must not think of journeying on, smell or no smell. Another booming roll of thunder caused the buxom housekeeper to jump and remark with a grin that she could scarce be more pleased to have company arrive, for thunder and lightning plain terrified her.

  The sprawling and luxurious Tudor house, set, as its name implied, on the rim of a hill, commanded a wide view of the surrounding countryside, and was renowned for its beauty and comfort. Today, however, it presented a bleak appearance, for the view was shut out by the grey curtain of the rain, and most downstairs rooms were either empty or had their furnishings encased in Holland covers. Offering profuse apologies for the state of the house, Mrs. Keene bustled her beauteous charge upstairs. Mrs. Leith and Miss Charity, said she, would be oh, so sorry to have missed their sister-in-law. Were there any more in Mrs. Strand’s party? Another coach following, perhaps? Well, it was as well, for there was only one guest room made up on this floor, which would do nicely, however, and madam’s maid could have a room in the servants’ quarters. No call to worry over the coachman and guard for there was plenty of room for them. Mrs. Stand could likely do with a cup of tea before dinner, and she should have one quicker than the dog could wag his tail!

  The chamber to which Lisette was conducted was spacious and comfortable. Velvet draperies were quickly drawn against the lowering dusk, and the glow of candles brought a warmth to the heart, if not to the room. The fire was already laid, and Mrs. Keene had it flickering merrily in no time. Within half an hour Lisette was seated at a small table before leaping flames, an ample meal set before her, and several books and periodicals brought in for her pleasure. Mrs. Keene stayed for a few moments while two soft-footed maids hovered about. The weather looked to be clearing, she thought, but if Mrs. Strand cared to remain until the family returned in a day or two, no effort would be spared to ensure her comfort. Meanwhile, madam’s bed was ready with a warming pan tucked twixt the sheets, and she’d only to give a tug on the bell pull did she need anything.

  By the time the hospitable lady left, Lisette was beginning to feel drowsy. Between the tiring journey, the pleasant meal, and the warmth from the fire, she no sooner started to leaf through one of the periodicals than her head was nodding. She rang for Denise and an hour later was in bed and fast asleep.

  * * *

  At about the same time that Lisette had been leaving Farnham that rainy afternoon, a light travelling chaise splashed up the drivepath and stopped before Strand Hall. The panelled door bore the crest of its noble owner and, upon the groom jumping down to swing it open, Lord Jeremy Bolster alighted, smiled his thanks, and ran lightly up the steps. Fisher admitted him and swiftly put him in possession of the fact that Mr. Strand was still down at Silverings, and Mrs. Strand had driven up to Berkshire to visit her sisters.

  “Good God!” exclaimed Bolster. “In th-this weather? You noddicock, you should not have allowed her!”

  “Madam was quite determined on it, milord. In fact—”

  “Bolster! Why, how delightful to have callers in this lonely old place!”

  If his lordship shrank inwardly at the gushing tones, he nonetheless bowed with unfailing courtesy over Beatrice’s hand. “Lady W-William. Didn’t expect to f-f-f- see you here.”

  “Why ever not? Lisette is my sister, you know. Do you mean to stay? I hope you do. It is a crushing bore here alone, and I must say I think it shabby that I no sooner arrive than Lisette goes jauntering off to Berkshire!”

  Bolster, however, thought Lisette had employed shrewd tactics indeed and, having every intention of emulating them, smiled and was silent.

  “She said she was promised to her sisters-in-law at Cloudhills,” Beatrice swept on, walking back with him to the drawing room. “I think she must have mistaken the date, and she will be provoked with me not to have remembered until I arose this morning that Mrs. Leith and her sister are in Town. I saw them on Bond Street only the day before yesterday, and Rachel said they mean to pass a few days with the Mayne-Warings.”

  “You’d think she’d have reme-membered that,” said Bolster, frowning a little.

  “Well, of course she does, you silly boy,” teased Beatrice, rapping his arm with her fan. “The Mayne-Warings are Tristram’s aunt and uncle and were at his wedding, even if very few of the ton were in attendance. I believe Rachel and Lady Mayne-Waring hit it off famously, in spite of—er—everything.”

  “I m-meant that if L-Lisette was promised to Mrs. Leith, she don’t seem the type to f-f f-forget the date.”

  Beatrice’s brow puckered. “No,” she said slowly. “For she has the most excellent memory in all things, and—” She stopped. One shapely hand drifted to her cheek in an aghast fashion, then she said a little too hurriedly, “But there is a first time for everything, no? Oh, there you are, Fisher!”

  The butler slanted a rather affronted glance at her as he carried in a silver tray on which were decanters and glasses. Beatrice gave a trill of nervous laughter, causing the frown in Bolster’s honest eyes to deepen. Pouring ratafia for Lady William and Madeira for his lordship, Fisher murmured an enquiry as to whether my lord would be overnighting with them.

  “Came down to help Mr. S-Strand,” said Bolster, accepting his glass with a nod of thanks. “Still at it, is he?”

  “He is, indeed, sir,” sighed the butler and, with a troubled glance at the rain-splashed windows added, “I only hope he may not be working outside.”

  “Hmmnn. I’d best get d-down there. Ask Best to find me a suitable pair, w-would you?”

  “Best is at Silverings with the master, sir. But I am sure your own man can select the horses he wishes.” He bowed, took himself off, and paused in the doorway to enquire how soon his lordship wished to be on his way.

  “At once,” said Bolster, an unusually firm set to his jaw.

  Beatrice began to chatter about his kindness in having come all this way to assist her brother with “that silly old boat,” complaining that Norman should never have plagued “poor Justin” until he agreed to restore it. Bolster scarcely heard her. He was thinking that Lisette was a glorious Fair, no doubt of it, but it was rather painfully obvious she was not deep in love with her husband. Already there had been one unpleasant scandal. If she’d gone trotting off to see Rachel or Charity and they was away, she would be alone at Cloudhills. Unless Leith was there. He scowled down at the amber wine in his glass. Perfect gentleman, Tristram Leith. Totally besotted over his lovely wife. But there was an ugly little rumour drifting about to the effect that Leith had enjoyed more than a casual acquaintanceship with Miss Van Lindsay and that the girl had, in fact, expected to become his bride. Nothing to it, probably. Still, if word should get out she’d gone running up there as soon as her husband’s back was turned, and with the two girls away … gad!

  “Is something amiss, my lord?” asked Beatrice, innocently.

  Bolster jumped. “Eh? Oh, no! Why?”

  “You were frowning so.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s—er—it’s a d-deuced n-n-nuisance to have to g-g-g- drive all the way down to S-Silverings in this rain, ma’am! I’d better lea
ve before I ch-change my mind.”

  In point of fact, his lordship had already changed his mind. Hurrying to the stables, he informed his groom that he would not be needed past the first stage, and could bring Mr. Strand’s horses back as soon as they were rested.

  “First stage, sir?” echoed the groom. “What—between here and Silverings?”

  “No, you hedgebird. Godalming.”

  “Godalming, sir? But I thought as your lordship were going to help Mr. Strand with his boat.”

  “Just remembered,” Bolster said nonchalantly. “Pressing engagement in Oxford.”

  Chapter 16

  During the night the storm rumbled itself back toward the city, but although the wind and rain lessened and eventually stopped altogether, Lisette did not enjoy a restful sleep. Once, she half woke from a dream in which Justin invaded her bedchamber at dead of night, while singing a decidedly naughty Spanish lovesong. Typical of dreams, the song was delivered in a fine true baritone, whereas her husband’s singing left much to be desired. Despite her broken slumbers, habit decreed that she wake at dawn and, having lain staring at the bedcurtains for half an hour, she arose, reached for the bell rope, then relinquished it. Denise had been thoroughly worn out last evening; it would be cruel to waken the poor little creature at this early hour. Still, she would go down and see if there was some hot water to be had.

  She put on her peignoir and started along the hall. It was a wide hall, richly carpeted and charmingly appointed. She had been too wearied last night to notice much of the house and now looked about her with interest. Her interest became consternation, however, as one of the doors she approached was flung open. She came face to face with Tristram Leith, considerably in need of a shave, his thick dark hair tumbling untidily over his brow, and his dressing gown tied carelessly so that a hairy chest was exposed to her startled eyes.

  “Good God!” gasped Leith.

  “T-Tristram!” Lisette squeaked, shrinking against the wall in horror.

  “Your—your pardon!” He ran a hand hurriedly through his hair. “I came in very late and did not waken the servants. I’d not realized you and Strand were visiting us.”

  “W-well, we are not!” she gulped. “Did Rachel and Charity come back with you?”

  She knew from his sudden pallor that they had not and uttered a whimper of dismay. “Then—you … and I … have been here all alone? All night?”

  Leith forced a grin. “None so dreadful, is it? I am your brother-in-law, after all. Come now, never look so scared. Perhaps I can creep away again before anyone knows I—oh, devil take it!”

  A maid carrying a steaming copper jug was followed by a lad with a bucket of firewood. Both halted, staring in amazement at the two who stood as if frozen in the hall.

  “Is—that for me, I hope?” called Leith with hoarse cheeriness.

  “N-no, sir.” With her stupefied gaze fixed upon her employer’s broad chest, the maid said faintly, “It is hot water for—for Mrs. Strand.”

  Leith glanced down and stifled a groan as he snatched his dressing gown into a belated propriety.

  Ready to sink, Lisette contrived to walk gracefully back into her bedchamber, and knew only too well that her face was scarlet.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon by the time Lord Jeremy Bolster left Aldershot, his mood considerably less amiable than usual. The job horses he had hired in Godalming had been the best of a very poor lot. They had proven to be slugs as he’d feared, and as he had told them frequently but without result for the balance of their hire. The state of the roads compelled him to change teams at Aldershot, but his situation had not improved, for the pair he now drove were poorly matched and no more inclined to lean into their collars than had been their predecessors. He would, he realized glumly, be compelled to rack up at Basingstoke, a development he viewed without delight since the bad weather would undoubtedly result in overcrowded conditions and harassed servants.

  Arriving at Basingstoke in the middle of a crashing thunderstorm, he was cold and irritable and wished he’d dared bring his groom. He’d not done so, of course, for fear of what he might encounter at Cloudhills, though with luck there would be nothing to encounter. It was unlikely that a lady would persevere with a journey in the face of such wretched conditions.

  The yard of the fine posting house he selected was crowded. Despite the crested doors of his chaise, his lack of attendants was noted, his consequence suffered, and he was fortunate to be allocated a small and noisy room located directly over the kitchens. The sheets were so questionable that he tore the bed apart and aired the bedding before the fire. In the dining room he endured an execrable dinner, his misery lightened only by some tolerable Burgundy and the conversation of a wealthy local merchant who was so jovially ill-mannered that Bolster was fascinated. He slept poorly, falling soundly asleep at dawn and not awakening until eleven o’clock, the early call he had requested having been totally ignored. The thought of breakfasting in the crowded coffee room was unbearable, and he set out for Cloudhills under bright skies, but over roads clogged with mud. He stopped at the first promising hedge-tavern he came to and was restored to spirits by plain but good fare. He was soon on the road again and pulled into the stableyard at Cloudhills shortly after one o’clock. A groom ran to take charge of the team and tossed his lordship a sympathetic glance.

  “Do not d-dare to ask if they’re mine!” warned Bolster, jumping down and peering into the stables.

  “Be ye lookin’ for the Colonel, sir?” the groom enquired.

  Admirably concealing his dismay, Bolster lied, “Yes. Have they all re-re-come back, then?”

  “Just the Colonel, I do believe, sir. Comed in late last night, he did. Left ’s’marnin’ though. Don’t blame him. Stinks up there. Drefful!”

  Undaunted, Bolster pressed on but reaching the house, he was obliged to agree. The painters were busily and vociferously at work in the great hall. Following Mrs. Keene, he was guided through a welter of planks, ladders, buckets, brushes, and rolls of wallpaper to the kitchen and the small office beyond it where the butler handled his transactions. “Sorry I am to bring you back here, milord,” she apologized, “but the paint smell is not quite so bad, you’ll notice. Did you wish to leave a message for Colonel Leith?”

  He shook his head and, feeling like a spy, said, “Wanted to t-tell you that Mrs. Strand m-might come. She th-thinks her sisters are here. I’ll try to head her off, if I can, but—”

  “No need for that, sir,” the housekeeper assured him with a rather tight smile. “Mrs. Strand overnighted with us. Poor soul was that disappointed, but I gave her the ladies’ direction in London, and she left early this morning.”

  “I see. And—er, the Colonel?”

  Mrs. Keene’s eyes dropped. Reddening, she began to fuss with a neat pile of statements on the desk. “He stays with—with Mr. Devenish, I believe, sir.”

  After a brief pause, he said blandly, “The roads are very b-bad. I f-fancy Mrs. Strand will go straight home—to Sussex, I m-m-mean.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, milord. She was most anxious to see Mrs. Leith.” Fixing him with a defiant stare, she added, “That was why she come, you see. I doubt the roads will intimidate such as Mrs. Strand. Likely she will drive straight on and try to reach Berkeley Square before dark.”

  Bolster thanked her, said his farewells, and made his way outside.

  Climbing into his chaise, his eyes were very grim indeed.

  * * *

  Despite Mrs. Keene’s faith in her, Lisette’s hope of reaching London that evening was foiled by the state of the roads. Mud was everywere, fallen trees blocked thoroughfares, and clogged traffic resulted in interminable delays and confusion. They arrived in Stoke Poges as the light was fading, and were able to bespeak some passable rooms at a small hostelry. A private parlour was not to be had, however, and Lisette ordered dinner sent to her room, where she shared the meal with Denise and then tumbled into bed, close to exhaustion.

  Had she
known it, she had fared better than the faithful young Corinthian who followed her so doggedly. Lord Bolster’s job horses were not pleased by the littered highways and short of lashing at them with his whip, he could not convince them to travel above a snail’s pace. Leaving Reading, one of the animals took violent exception to a wagonload of pigs that jolted raucously past. My lord’s hack reared, startling his lazy companion into a buck. The chaise went off the road, the wheel demolished a signpost and fell off, and the chaise lurched and splashed into the mud. Bolster was thrown clear and, shaken and muddied, all but danced his fury. Fortunately he was a well-known young gentleman and the occupant of a passing phaeton, chancing to recognize him, came to his resue. The wheel, however, was badly sprung, and it was necessary that Bolster, horses, and chaise be returned to Reading to join the many travellers awaiting repairs to their vehicles.

  * * *

  “Not work today?” Strand reached up to halt Green’s ministrations and over the lathered shaving brush regarded his faithful valet incredulously. “Why the devil not? It’s stopped raining, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Misliking the glittering brightness of his employer’s eyes, Green said carefully, “Only—well, you did become very wet yesterday, and I—”

  Lowering his hand, Strand interrupted hurriedly, “How the deuce was I to know the skies would fall just as we were dragging the old tub down our slips? Anyway, she’s launched, and watertight, at least. Mr. Norman will be proud. It would have been a fine bobbery if he’d stepped on the deck and she’d sunk like a stone!”

  Green smiled politely in response to the mischievous grin that was slanted at him. He said nothing, but turning Strand’s head, his fingers lingered on the strong jaw a shade longer than necessary. Frowning, he murmured, “I doubt one more day would prove disastrous, sir.”

  Strand, already chafing at the innumerable delays that had kept him from returning to his bride and determined to be done with this business before he left, said with a trace of asperity, “Likely you do. But the boy’s to come down next weekend. I want it done!”