Married Past Redemption

by Patricia Veryan

  “By God!” he snarled. “You? Of all men? You?”

  His lordship blinked. It had never occurred to him that Strand might think he had cuckolded him, and briefly, he was stunned with surprise. If ever there was a moment when it was imperative that he enunciate clearly, this was it. But the more nervous Bolster became, the worse was his stammering, and thus, belatedly attempting to extricate himself from this deadly development, he uttered an unfortunate, “N-no! Not—I didn’t—we didn’t—L-L-Lisette and I d-d-did—but we didn’t mean t-t-to—”

  A red haze was before Strand’s eyes. Quite forgetting he still held the whip, he struck out, the blow catching Bolster across the left side of his face so hard that he was sent reeling back.

  “Foulness!” spat out Strand, advancing on his dazed victim. “Judas!”

  Recovering their wits, Devenish and Clay jumped forward; Devenish, to support Bolster, Clay to leap before the enraged Strand.

  Appalled, Clay demanded, “Justin! Are you run mad? Bolster is your closest friend!”

  With an effort that left him shaking, Strand overmastered his fury. His face very white, he said with devastating and deliberate clarity, “Lord Bolster is no friend of mine! He is a damned cheat! A lecherous, conniving, disloyal, womanizing vermin I can scarce wait to shoot down so I may wipe my boots on his worthless carcass!”

  “Good … God!” gasped Devenish. “What in the name of—”

  “Name your seconds, Bolster!” thundered Strand.

  With deepening horror, Clay noted that the door to the hall stood wide and that the porter, who had been conducting two military gentlemen on a tour of some available rooms, stood with his charges gazing across the small vestibule at the dramatic confrontation. Stifling a groan, he raced to close the outer door, his heart plummeting as he recognized one of the officers as Captain Butterfield, a likeable but garrulous young man. There was, he thought miserably, no quieting this now!

  “J-Justin,” Bolster managed faintly, one hand pressed to his cheek, “you m-must not—”

  “If your friend, Mr. Devenish,” sneered Strand, “lacks sufficient backbone to meet me, I would as soon bring my pistol here and shoot him down like the dog he is!”

  To swallow this, added to the former insults, was unthinkable, and Devenish and Clay exchanged stricken looks. His lips tight, Devenish turned to Bolster. “Jeremy, do you wish that I act for you?”

  Bolster lowered his hand, revealing a great darkening welt across his cheek. “No! Justin, I b-beg of you to l-l—”

  “Observe the whining coward,” sneered Strand. “What is your next move, poltroon? Shall you fall on your knees and beg pardon?” Bolster flushed, and Strand snarled, “Can you suppose I would ever pardon such treachery?”

  “N-no!” Bolster said with a faint frown. “B-but I am n-not—I did not—”

  “You convicted yourself with your own mouth,” Strand raged. “Unless—” The glaring, murderous light in his eyes softened. He said an all but pleading, “There can be but one reason for your refusal to meet me! You are innocent and it was Leith, as I suspected! Jeremy, for the love of God! Only tell me that is so, and—”

  “No!” gasped Bolster. “But there is no n-n-need for us to fight, and—”

  “No need?” Strand thundered. “Damn you! Do you rate her favours so cheap?” He sprang forward, but Clay stepped between them, and said, a touch of frost in his voice, “Bolster. You have no choice, you know.”

  Bolster sighed. “I know,” he muttered, and drawing himself up, added with the odd judicial dignity that occasionally marked him, “Gone too far now. Quite r-right. I th-thought Leith was c-coming in with you, else I’d not have said—oh, well. Too late n-now.” He glanced at Devenish. “Thank you for the offer, D-Dev. I’ll accept it.”

  Devenish nodded gravely.

  Strand turned his glittering gaze on Clay.

  “I’ll act for you, Justin,” the Major said with frowning reluctance. “When?”

  “Now!”

  Devenish gave a gasp and, with sudden and uncharacteristic propriety, remonstrated, “Cannot fight at this hour! Ain’t done!”

  “Don’t be so damned prim!” growled Strand.

  “If you were caught,” Clay pointed out reasonably, “you’d have to make a run for it. Better be dawn, Justin, or—”

  “Now!” Strand reiterated. Green had been right, as usual, and he had contracted a heavy cold. Already he felt hot and feverish, and his head so wooden that to think was an effort. Lord knows if he’d be able to fight at all tomorrow! He said stubbornly, “I’ve to leave Town first thing in the morning. No one will see us in this miserable weather. We can meet in Wanderer’s Spinney off the Wimbledon Road. If”—his lip curled unpleasantly—“you can get your man there, Devenish.”

  With his wide gaze fixed on the hearth, Bolster did not hear this latest slur. He was instead experiencing a vague and foolish sense of pride that Strand had suspected him of engaging in an affaire with the lovely Lisette. This emotion was followed at once by regret that the beauty had proven so faithless. She had spent the night at Cloudhills, alone with Leith. That much he’d been able to determine. It was a pity he had been unable to come up with a believable explanation for her activities—or his own. But at least Strand no longer suspected that Leith had been his betrayer. Perhaps, did Strand wound him a little … for he certainly would not shoot to kill, would he? Bolster frowned thoughtfully. Perhaps he’d best write a note to Lisette and to Leith, warning them. Just in case. He thought with regret of his love and of the life they might have had, save for her high sense of honour. And with a sudden stab of guilt, knew that his mother would mourn him deeply. And there was good old Harry Redmond and his tempestuous brother, Mitchell. And Lucian St. Clair, and Vaughan, and … He started when Devenish touched his shoulder and repeated a gentle, “Well, Jeremy?”

  “Eh? Oh, whatever. I shall choose pistols if you d-d-do not mind.” He looked to Strand apologetically. “Never was much good with swords, you know.”

  Not glancing his way, Strand nodded. “Two o’clock!”

  “Good God, no!” Devenish was nursing the hope of reaching Leith and somehow calling a halt to this, and he expostulated, “That’s ridiculous!”

  Bolster gestured fatalistically. “Two o’clock is acceptable to me, Dev.”

  Strand took up his belongings and marched to the door. Bolster called to him. He scowled and swore under his breath, but turned back.

  Bolster held out the fateful whip. “F-forgot this,” he said quietly.

  A wave of grief racked Strand. His exquisite and wanton wife … and Jeremy…! He took the whip and strode out, leaving the door open.

  Chapter 17

  Passing Mrs. Strand’s cloak to the footman, Powers relayed the news that her family had been delayed due to the weather and was not yet returned from Park Parapine. “Meanwhile, Miss Lis—ah, madam,” he intoned, “we are so fortunate as to entertain my lady.”

  Lisette was ill-prepared to cope with Beatrice, and, her heart sinking, could not restrain a dismayed, “Oh, dear!”

  “Wicked, wicked girl!” snarled an irate voice. “How I wish I might box your ears!”

  Turning joyously, Lisette cried, “Grandmama!” And ran to kiss that vexed grande dame and say fondly, “Oh, but how famous to find you here! Do you stay with my parents? Please say you do not mean to rush away.”

  Mollified, Lady Bayes-Copeland allowed herself to be ushered tenderly to the drawing room, settled into a chair by the fireside, and begged to wait while her granddaughter hastened upstairs to change her gown and tidy her hair. Returning very soon to the old lady, Lisette drew a chair closer, expressing her concern that her grandmother should have journeyed to Town in such weather.

  “Is a new form of madness,” declared my lady, sourly. “No sooner does heaven visit a second Flood upon us than everyone takes to the roads! Beatrice, yourself, Jeremy Bolster, my new grandson and, most unwilling and innocent of victims, myself!”

>   Surprised, Lisette asked, “You have seen Strand? And Bolster? Here?”

  “I have seen neither. Only arrived half an hour before you. I was at Brighton. My footman brought the post down to me, and there was a letter from Strand which disturbed me. On my way back to Town, I detoured, suffering my poor old bones to be jolted over more miles of cart ruts for his sake, only to reach the hall and find him gone!”

  “I am so sorry, dearest. Justin is at Silverings, working on the yacht.”

  “Ain’t. According to Fisher and your housekeeper, that skitterpate Jeremy Bolster rid in, was closeted with Beatrice, and went off uttering some fustian about being called to Oxford. Oxford! From what his mama told me of his undergraduate years there, the town would throw up barricades to keep his disastrous person from the environs!”

  Trying not to dwell on what Beatrice might have said to alarm Bolster, Lisette probed, “And—my husband, ma’am?”

  “Galloped in as though the devil capered on his shoulder, to hear Fisher tell it. Threw some necessaries into a valise, ordered up his chaise, and drove off again!” She rapped her cane on the floor, then shook it at her bewildered granddaughter. “Well you may stare, miss! The man’s betwattled, just as I always held! You should never have married him, and you’d best not set up your nursery, for it will surely be inhabited by caper wits!”

  Lisette was silent and, her heart touched by those great frightened eyes, the old lady said in a gentler tone, “Now, for Lord’s sake, child, never look so scared. I did not mean it. Is a fine boy, else I’d not have gone to such lengths to find him. For that is why I came here. Truth to tell, I feared you had—er—bolted, and that he’d followed you.”

  Lisette flushed. Evading her grandmother’s shrewd gaze, she explained that she had become bored in Sussex and decided to visit Rachel and Charity for a few days. “But the roads were dreadful,” she appended, and to forestall the comment she dreaded, went on hurriedly, “Indeed, I find it most unkind that Justin would ask you to come to us in such a storm.”

  “Well, he did not. Matter of fact, he wrote asking if he might visit me. But—well, here. Read it for yourself.” Lady Bayes-Copeland drew a crumpled sheet of paper from her pocket and offered it with an impatient jerking of her frail hand.

  Lisette unfolded the page and read:

  “Dear Grandmother B.C.—”

  “D’ye see the way he names me, the saucy rogue?” demanded the old lady, stabbing a finger at the letter. “B.C. indeed!” She cackled mirthfully. “I’ll B.C. him! Well, never sit there like a lump! Read the thing, girl!”

  “Dear Grandmother B.C.—

  You once told me that I know nothing of how to treat a lady. You were perfectly right, and I stand in need of help.

  May I come and see you? If I do not hear to the contrary, I shall drive down on the morning of the twelfth inst., and call upon you. I am desperate, ma’am, else I would not beg that you please receive me. Pray forgive this invasion of your privacy.

  Your devoted admirer,

  Strand”

  Lisette lowered the page slowly. Retrieving it, my lady sniffed, “Now tell me what has gone amiss. Have you quarrelled because he spanked you?”

  Startled, Lisette gasped, “You knew about that?”

  “My spies are everywhere! Did Strand believe the tales Beatrice set about he was well justified, but I doubt he beat you half as hard as you deserved!”

  “Deserved! I had done nothing! Nothing!”

  “Save tilt your haughty nose in the air because you fancied him beneath you, which he ain’t! Child, oh, child!” The old lady leaned to place one hand on her granddaughter’s wrist. “Never be so foolish as to throw away the love of a good man for the smooth words of a pretty scoundrel like Garvey!”

  Sudden tears stinging her eyes, Lisette answered huskily, “I am not that big a fool, Grandmama. But Strand has an odd way showing his love. On our wedding night, he—”

  “I know all about that and am sworn to say not a word.” My lady leaned back in her chair, both hands clasped atop her cane, waiting with smug anticipation. She had not long to wait.

  “You—you know?” stammered Lisette. “Oh, Grandmama! I implore you to tell me. Who is she? Have I met her? Is—is she very beautiful?”

  The twinkle in the old lady’s faded eyes brightened. “A surprising degree of concern from a girl who cares naught for her husband!”

  Lisette drew back, turning her face aside, and, after a contemplative moment, my lady murmured, “She is young. And of a very kind and gentle disposition, and—”

  “Not a spoiled little shrew—like me!” Lisette interpolated through suddenly clenched teeth.

  Lady Bayes-Copeland scanned her thoughtfully. “No. Not at all like you, my dear.” She noted the way the white hands gripped the sides of the chair, and how the sweetly curved lower lip trembled, and went on, “But he loves her very deeply. She has something better than mere looks, you see. A compassionate soul; a warm and tender heart.” Lisette’s proud head bowed low, and the old lady added slyly, “But that does not concern you, since you have interests elsewhere.”

  “Much chance I shall have of—of finding another interest,” said Lisette, blinking rapidly. “If Strand served me so brutally over a silly rumour, heaven knows what he might do did I take a lover!” Flashing a glance at her grandmother, she surprised a grin on that wise countenance and cried indignantly, “Well you may laugh, ma’am! Had you ever known how it feels to be beaten, you…” The mirth on the old lady’s face faded into nostalgia, and Lisette interrupted herself to breathe an awed, “Grandmama…? My grandfather—he did not—you were not…?

  “Ah, but I was, child. Such a gentle soul was my Donald. And I, the rage of London—and Paris! I was promised to him in my cradle, but despised his quiet ways, and he so patient through all my tantrums. I thought I could do as I chose, but he showed me my error.…” My lady sighed, her eyes very soft by reason of that distant memory.

  Leaning to her, Lisette breathed, “And did he strike you very hard?”

  “No.” Her grandmother chuckled. “Not really. It was the humiliation hurt the most, and the knowledge I had indeed been most naughty. But never had I admired him more, though I did not let him see that, of course, and wept so that he was horrified by what he had done and—oh, so sweetly repentant.”

  “And—and so you forgave him?”

  “Of course.” My lady cackled and gave Lisette a conspiratorial dig in the ribs. “But not before I had made him promise never to raise his hand to me again. He never did, and although we had our squabbles and differences from time to time, I gave him no cause to doubt me, and I always held him in respect—to the day he died, God rest his dear soul.…” With another sigh for yesterdays, she put her snowy head back against her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. Strand’s letter slipped from her hand, and taking it up to fold it absently, Lisette said, “But I thought you had many lovers!”

  “So I did!” The fierce eyes snapped open again. “Cicisbeos merely, but I’d the largest court of any woman in London, I’ll have you know. In fact—” The door burst open. Irked, she swung her head around and began, “How dare—”

  Amanda Hersh rushed in, dropped the old lady a hurried curtsey, and turned a distraught countenance to her friend. “Thank heaven I found you Lisette! You must stop him you must!”

  Standing to greet her, Lisette was struck by foreboding. “What is it? Has something happened to Lord Bolster?”

  “I pray not!” cried Amanda, wringing her hands. “I do not know the cause but Strand struck Jeremy in the face with his whip!”

  Lisette gasped, “He—what? Oh, your pardon, but you must be mistaken. They are the very best of friends.”

  “They were! No longer. Strand must be all about in his head but he struck him I tell you!”

  “The devil he did!” Lady Bayes-Copeland rose with unusual alacrity and, proceeding straight to the heart of the matter, said, “They’ll go out, then?”

&nbs
p; “This—this afternoon!” wailed Amanda.

  Too stricken to utter a word, Lisette stared at her.

  “Where?” barked the old lady. “When?”

  “Alas I do not know ma’am I can discover naught of it I am sure Mr. Devenish knows but he would not tell me.” Amanda moved to clasp Lisette’s arm imploringly. “I cannot understand it but they are to fight with pistols that much I did learn and it means—that— Oh, Lisette help me! For pity’s sake help me!”

  Lisette raised a trembling hand to her brow. “Yes, but what—whatever are we to do? This afternoon! My God! Why ever must it be so soon?”

  “Because men are incredible ninnies!” raged my lady, rapping her cane on the floor in frustration. “And this is no time to stand on ceremony. Come!”

  Two terrified pairs of eyes turned to her. “Where?” asked Lisette.

  “To the servants’ hall.” My lady began to march to the door, her step surprisingly brisk. “’Tis the one sure source of information. But if those two idiots kill one another before we can stop them, I shall never speak to either of ’em again! And so I warn you!”

  * * *

  The drizzle had stopped by the time the carriage halted, and pale rays of sunlight were beginning to slant through the warm, misty air. Strand drew the collar of his greatcoat higher about his throat and, shivering, started off with his usual rapid stride, only to check as a shattering howl blasted the damp silence. “That damnable hound will raise every constable for miles around does he keep that up!” he gritted.

  Marcus Clay nodded and, praying that Leith would receive his message, offered to go back and let Brutus out of the carriage.

  “Lord, no! He would hang on everyone’s neck, blast him!”

  Walking on, Clay asked, “Why did you bring him if he’s such a nuisance?”

  “I didn’t invite him! The brute jumped in just as my groom was putting up the steps and raised such a fuss when we tried to drag him out that two old ladies who chanced to be passing threatened to have me arrested for cruelty to animals! It seemed less trouble to haul him along, but that is why I’m late.” He scowled to see Bolster’s chaise drawn up beside some trees. “Damn it! I knew he’d be punctual!”