Lisette

by Gayle Eden

  “This all came out to me years later, after I forced myself into Elisha’s hell. I would take every opportunity to talk with him at school, and,” Smith confessed, “I told him why everyone avoided me. Why they harassed and mocked me. My father, you see, his name was Aivers. He was a medical doctor, who worked in many of the asylums. His methods were published, and more often, controversial. He was eventually removed from his position, and declared as insane as his patients. In time—he took his own life. He did so after stripping, tying a rope around the bedpost, the other end around his neck—and jumping out the window of one of the London Hotels. I began to use Smith only the last year of university. But, I would have nothing—if not for Elisha.”

  Lisette nodded, feeling utter sadness for him, and horror for them both.

  “I had read all of my father’s publications, as well as his private journals. Perhaps I was seeking the why in his life and death. Nevertheless, rumor was wild that he was insane and that he had killed my mother after I was born. He did not. She died of fever.” He sighed. “In any event, I suppose I was obsessed with understanding him, and in some strange way, that is why I was drawn to Marston’s pain and darkness. It was evident the moment I looked at him, that he was not present—not really living in the moment. He lived in the hell that became real to him when he was here—he was tormented by what his sister and mother went through, when he was away.”

  “His sister…”

  “Yes. Pamela. She was more a ghost than he was. I hesitate to be so blunt, but 'tis vital to everything that you will understand about him, to know that he loved her on sight. He both loved her and wished her not born, because he knew his father would not spare her. Forced to attend school those months, he would not be here, you see, to deflect the worst from them.”

  Lisette grasped the edge of the chair arm, dreading what was to come.

  Smith said quietly, “It was far worse than he imagined. She had a broken arm that she swore happened during a fall. But that arm was broken by her father—to keep her from warding off his….visiting her bed.”

  Smith shuddered. He looked up and finished. “It eventually happened that she was of age to bare children and did find herself in such a condition. Pamela knew no other world, no existence outside this house. She was cut off from anything normal, and born into the same nightmare; the Viscountess had completely withdrawn into herself by then. Taking the abuse doled out—knowing what her children suffered, but unable to stop it.

  Marston’s are wealthy, extremely wealthy, due to their miserliness, and respected, on the outside. Servants do not cross them easily either. In any case, I thought Elisha would go mad during that time. The Viscount had gotten some quack to purge her of the child, and nearly killed her. Not that he cared; it was simply a way of covering what he had done.”

  “She lives still?”

  “Yes. Though calling it living is a stretch. She was not out of the world the way the Viscountess was. Who, by the way, passed after taking laudanum. A mercy, considering her memories and guilt, which were a kind of unrelenting torment for her. Pamela is... too thin and too detached from herself. The only way she could survive what happened though, was to become so. She loves Elisha… and myself, to some degree.”

  He smiled. “But her world was so skewed that she had no notion how to live normally. And if she did, she has shame.”

  “She should not. It isn’t her fault.”

  “True.” He nodded, but told her, “I must skim over details of what Elisha went through, but suffice it to say that any distraction he caused earned him punishment. At times, he was locked in cellars. Others, he was taken to the estate and made to stand out in the cold and rain. His father’s favorite act—was to make him kiss his feet and beg forgiveness and tell him how he deserved a better son.”

  “Dear God in Heaven.” Lisette covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “Tell me the bastard died a cruel death?’’

  “After the incident with Pamela—I helped him plan it.”

  She dragged her hands down.

  He was regarding her without regret or guilt. “I helped Elisha get them out of the house and safely to the manor they have since been living in. We did it, the both of knowing how enraged the Viscount would be. By then, I had been assuring Elisha had full meals, and we had devised ways to get around his servant—so that he could build up his strength. I worked at earning Marston’s trust, and chipping through the wall of shame and guilt.

  It has been an ongoing thing—Lisette, getting Elisha to believe that hell is behind him, and the shame is not his anymore than it was Pamela’s. He did what he did out of terror, and later for the love of them both.”

  “It is amazing he lived through it.” She was sure the punishments were more than he had mentioned. A lifetime, it must have seemed each time, whilst Elisha grew into manhood. She said softly, “Thank God you were the kind of friend you have been.”

  “He has helped me just as much,” Smith, offered next, “I had secured a set of rooms away from the university that we would go to. I tell you without shame to him, or myself, that during his purging this nightmare life, I held him and wept with him—I rocked him in my arms like a babe. I got him drunk. Provoked him—so that there was not a thing unbroken in that place, including two of his fingers on my jaw.” He stared at her unblinking. “I gave him the only love he had ever in his life, felt.”

  She leaned up and took Smith’s hand.

  He held to it and dropped his eyes there, to their linked hands, saying, “The man who faced the Viscount was no broken boy, nor young man with a warped vision of the world—believing he was born to suffer in it. He let his father rage—and then ripped the old Viscount to shreds with the foul truth. Elisha scorned him, mocked his manhood, and when his father was so enraged as to go for his pistols to kill Marston—Elisha took him and locked him in the cellars overnight. He gave him no food or water. And for every curse hurled through the door—Elisha sat on the steps and laughed and mocked all the more.”

  “I don’t blame him.” She did not, though she knew it was likely just as hellish for Elisha to do that.

  “He did that for three days. Then took him out but allowed him water only. In the next week, Elisha followed a routine of much of the same—save he made his father write it all down—the truth of the abuse. At the end of it, he had his things packed and told his father if he ever set foot on the estate, they—the words—would be published.

  Elisha cared nothing for the wealth. It nor the title. That had never given him anything. In fact—it allowed his father to be what he was, without censure or interference. The Viscount knew that. Therefore, he had no threats with which to counter. Elisha was leaving. He had not put his trunks on the coach before the shot sounded. It was reported as a tragic accident, thus they could quietly bury the old Viscount and move to the estate.”

  Lisette released a held breath slowly.

  When Smith let go of her hand, he arose and poured them a brandy.

  She was more than ready for it.

  A bit later, standing with him by the windows, the traffic obscured by rain, she asked at one point, “Why did he pursue me?”

  “Because—you are everything he sees as life and joy. He watched you a long time before he approached the duchess. You fascinated him. By your spirit and warmth—your very unique way of being yourself, regardless of your father’s lofty position and the family scandal. And of course, you are beautiful.”

  She glanced aside at him, seeing he had a hand on the mantle, the other holding his brandy glass, but was looking aside at her. Firelight played over his warm features and now she could finally put all the pieces together for Elisha, she could do it also, for him.

  Smith offered, “I have encouraged him to pursue you. I am the one who told him when to stop and tell you he was withdrawing his suit.” He grinned. “Not that you are predictable—I merely sensed that you felt pressured, and without that, you might see more than others do of Marston—and le
t the natural attraction take over.”

  “You’re a wise man. Very astute.” She laughed softly.

  When he winked and continued looking at her with a grin, she said more seriously, “Your bond with him goes beyond brotherhood or friendship. I imagine your feelings for him are unique to the relationship that both your pasts, and all those years, evolved into.”

  His smile vanished. He scrapped his teeth over his bottom lip and nodded but looked away to finish his brandy.

  Lisette watched him set the glass on the mantle. He was staring broodingly into the flames. He murmured finally, “I was falling in love with you too. Through him...”

  That did not upset her. However, Lisette knew the confidences and the things he told her about them both, made everything sensitive and serious. Their relationship was complex. And, she thought, very necessary. In many ways, they gave each other life. Perhaps freed each other. Moreover, fought their demons together.

  The love was a selfless kind, born out of each one’s need and each one’s pain—and a belief in the other. It was actually amazing to her. It was a love to be envied.

  She told Smith. “I’ll go to him. I must. But I want you to come too. In say, a week’s time?”

  He did not answer for a moment, but at length nodded.

  Lisette finished her drink, then went over and stood on her tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek. Lowering, she reached up and touched his hair, soft, silken, warm in hue. His eyes were beautiful and that soulful emotion he held towards Elisha was there, and what he felt for her.

  “Drew Vaien,” she murmured.

  “He told you—”

  Lisette nodded. “Only your name. Smith—doesn’t suit you.” She grinned.

  He answered it. “I know.”

  “I think—you should take your name back, and use this gift you have. You should let your ghosts go also, and believe that either way; you are not your father. You are your own unique self. I think, Drew Vaien, that you should write about what you know—of the good and bad in mortals. Of the facets of love and friendship…For you have an incredible capacity to love. Who knows whom you may pull out of the depths—with your wisdom?”

  He looked almost abashed when she dropped her hand.

  However, Lisette said, before taking her leave, “We will speak of it more, but you will have a home always with Elisha and support from myself and my family, in whatever you undertake.”

  He was helping her on with her coat and hat, and after she turned to face him offered gruffly, “I was hoping you’d come here—and beat the door down. Force me to tell you.”

  She winked. “I am a Wimberly. You should have expected it.”

  He chuckled softly, his eyes shining warmly. “I’ll see you, Lady Lisette. Soon.”

  Chapter Eight

  The manor house sat back, behind a low stone wall, with great iron gates. It was easily the size of Wimberly, but in the gothic design. A beaten stone drive lead to the house—, which was made in darker stone, and having arched windows. Gardens and statuary around it were gothic; many gargoyles and dragons—and although it was intimidating, the deep green hue of the lawns and the well-nourished and full fruit trees, shrubs in bloom, somehow made it more whimsical, than foreboding.

  It was oddly uplifting to Lisette’s spirits considering she had no idea how Elisha would greet her intrusion. It was all a risk. However, she was born to that-and had committed herself fully to her decision.

  Long before the coach stopped at the end of the drive, the front doors opened. At first, a butler stood on the top of the half-moon stoop, but when the coach stopped fully and she was alighting, Marston appeared. He passed the servant and came down the shallow steps to the stone walk, reaching her door in time to hold it.

  Though Lisette was more interested in his expression, and reaction, she took in the close fit trousers he wore and black polished Hessians, and a white shirt with banded collar. Heart racing at the sight of him, stepping out and raising her eyes to his face, she could discern his efforts, and determination to remain remote. Knowing what she did, knowing him intimately now, she understood where his pride and self-preservation came in.

  She let her brightest smile bloom. “Hello.”

  Marston blinked and shut the coach door.

  The driver set her trunk and bags down, and then rolled away from them.

  Lisette reached for his hand and held it. “I’ve come for a visit. Will you introduce me to your sister?”

  “Lisette…” his tone was gruff, his expression hardening.

  She whispered softly, “I know. I know—everything.” Lisette gave his hand a squeeze. “You should have trusted me enough to unburden, but I understand why such things would be difficult.” She searched his face, and then held his eyes. “Won’t you trust me now, Elisha? Just—trust me.”

  He breathed in through his nose as if containing emotions, and turned to the butler saying, “Send someone to fetch her ladyship’s bags.”

  The butler nodded. Soon footmen were outside too lifting her trunks.

  She said, “Not the bag. I’ve gifts for the Viscounts sister in them.” Lisette glanced at Marston. “From my family, too.”

  He took the bag, breaking their handhold. She followed the footmen in. giving over her coat and gloves, Lisette saw that Marston awaited her at the bottom of the stairs. Walking up them, looking around, she thought the place needed work, but it was certainly more cheerful than his townhouse. That place—she decided, needed to be sold and another purchased.

  “Wait here,” he instructed, when they reached the landing. He was looking down a hall.

  “I’ll wait.” Lisette kept her smile cheerful, though she read his tension—and his trying to hide his surprise. He went to a set of double doors. She looked opposite, hearing voices, and then watching servants come out of apartments that also had the doors opened. They were carrying pails and cloths.

  “Afternoon.” She smiled at them.

  They appeared startled to see her, but curtsied and smiled back.

  “I’m Lady Lisette Willingham.”

  “My Lady.” One of the older ones stopped, and pushed her hair back under her cap. “I’ll fetch the housekeeper.”

  “No need. Your master is looking after me. Thank you.”

  The maid nodded, quite openly looking her over. “We weren’t expecting guests. We’ve been clearing out the—some of the apartments.”

  “Don’t let me be a bother.” Lisette nodded. “I’m quite used to bustle, noise, and seeing to myself. I come from a large family. And my brother, a Marquis, just married our coachman’s daughter.”

  The maid bit her lip but her eyes were laughing. “You don’t say.”

  “Um. It was quite a scandal.” Lisette went the bag and opened it. “Can you read?”

  “A little. George, the butler, he reads to us.”

  Lisette handed her a paper. “It’s all there. It happened on my birthday. They are most happy, expecting an heir soon.” She began reading the piece, seeing many of the other maids had stopped and were listening.

  * * * *

  Having gone in to prepare his sister for Lisette’s visit—Elisha was not quite prepared himself, so he took several deep breaths after he entered the sitting room. (She knew—everything.) There was only one source of that information—Drew.

  Elisha did not have time to process what it all meant right now.

  “Pamela.” He passed into the bedchamber, glad to see Pamela was up and dressed, standing by the windows.

  She turned to regard him. “Yes?”

  “She is here. Lady Lisette. She just—showed up.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “She wants to meet you. And has brought gifts, she says.”

  A smile formed on those dry lips and echoed in dark eyes. “She has come to you, Elisha?”

  He wiped a hand over his face, holding her gaze. “I don’t know.”

  “She has.” Pamela insisted. She looked down at the silver and black gown
she wore. “Will this do, for a duke’s daughter?”

  “Lisette won’t care what you are wearing. What I want to know is—are you comfortable meeting her.”

  “No. But for you, for what I know you feel, I want to meet her.”

  He nodded and then kissed her forehead. “You are so brave. So good.”

  “Go and show her in.”

  When she lifted her head, he turned to go back out. In the hallway, Elisha stopped abruptly, hearing all of the maids laughing—and seeing that Lisette was the reason.

  Shaking his head, he saw her turn and notice him observing.

  She said to the maid, Ella. “Keep it. I have others.” She did not see them watching her walk toward him, nor see their grins and raised brows when she told him, “Bring that bag, will you, darling?”

  Elisha fetched it and winked at the maids who watched him join Lisette before continuing downstairs.

  Pamela had come into the sitting room. Sunlight lit on her raven hair that flowed down to her waist unadorned, but it also showed the translucency of her skin, and the thinness of her frame.

  He watched her start a curtsy, but Lisette said, “Oh. No. Don’t curtsey to me.” She laughed and went to Pamela, and murmured, “May I hug you instead? My family and I are frightfully informal. We embrace everyone.”

  He could not quite breathe or swallow when Pamela nodded looking a bit overwhelmed too when the shorter woman hugged her and kissed her cheek.

  Pamela flickered a glance to him. Elisha smiled and shrugged.

  “I’ve wanted to meet you ever so long. Where shall we sit?” Lisette kept a hold of her hand.

  “Here, my lady?”

  “Lisette. And yes, this is lovely. We are not blinded by the sun but can breathe that fresh air.” Lisette glanced at him. “Come, join us.”

  Elisha did, setting the bag by Lisette’s chair.

  She smiled at him, and then turned to his sister again. “I’ve brought you some gifts. My mama sent you something also.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

  “Nonsense.” Lisette laughed. “I was so nervous too. Hoping that if we did meet, you would like me.” Rising from digging in the bag, she held three books on her lap a moment, and studied Pamela’s face, “You are quite the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Do you know that?”