Lisette

by Gayle Eden

  Pamela flushed. “Thank you…I don’t…”

  “—But you should. You are absolutely stunning.” Lisette reached her the books. “These are my favorites. I hope will enjoy them. I’ve copies at the manor, so they are yours.”

  After Pamela took them, she dug in and handed her a pretty box. “Chocolates, from France. My mother has such a love of them that she had dozens of boxes smuggled in during the war. And this…” She brought a wrapped item out. “This is a shawl my father, the duke, sends you.”

  Pamela managed, “I am overwhelmed. I don’t know how to thank you…”

  Lisette took her hands over the pile that was growing. She looked into Pamela’s eyes again. “I haven’t many friends—never could make them easily. I am a bit—well; I do not do well with rules and strictures. However, the friends I make, I cherish. We are loyal to each other and share our greatest secrets. I have come here, to be your friend. I hope. While I know trust must be earned, I promise you, I will never betray that friendship. Do you believe me, Pamela?”

  Elisha saw his sister nod slowly. He knew that Lisette was now aware of their past—all of it. He could hardly sit there and keep his wall of aloof control up.

  Lisette was saying, “It will take patience for you to be my friend. I will make you daft, no doubt.” She grinned. “Do you walk in the gardens?”

  “I...Not often.”

  “We must. Will you walk with me, whilst I am here?”

  “I often get—fatigued.”

  “Then we’ll rest often.” Lisette nodded and then went back to pulling things from that bag. There was a music box and two pamphlets that he suspected were of the suffrage bent. She had, in the bottom, a robe of beautiful red roses, with gold threads.

  “Thank you.” Pamela touched it. Elisha was heartened by the way her fingers touched the roses as she admired the material. He had been resigned that she would forever hate her womanhood, but it seemed like a female response to a lovely feminine garment.

  A maid came in and took the gifts into Pamela’s chamber. Another woman, older, the housekeeper, served them tea and pastry.

  Elisha merely listened and drank, as Lisette told his sister about her family and the manor. She talked of the duchess’s pets, and her favorite horse—and he noticed as she talked, she would often take his sister’s hand and pat or stroke it. Yes, the Wimberly’s believed in touching, in making people feel their love and sincerity.

  He was watching Pamela too and seeing her smile. He could almost read her mind while she observed Lisette. There was animation, life, warmth, color and humor, in everything Lisette said. Elisha knew that feeling, felt some of it himself still—and all those months he had watched her from afar, been drawn to her.

  Time passed—three hours perhaps, before she arose.

  “The housekeeper will have your rooms ready,” he told her.

  She leaned down and kissed Pamela’s cheek. Upon straightening, she said to him, “Thank you.”

  He arched his brow. “You’re welcome.”

  Softly, she asked, “Am I?”

  “Yes.”

  She beamed at him.

  The housekeeper entered.

  Lisette followed her out.

  Elisha remembered to announce dinner would be at eight. Moreover, to tell her, he would show her the estate house before then.

  It was quiet in his sister’s sitting room, though they could hear Lisette chatting happily with the woman as they went a bit down the hall.

  Pamela was looking at him. Her smile was half confused and half delight.

  Elisha grinned fully, unable to help it. “She doesn’t seem like the woman I would be suited to, does she?”

  “You must be very happy—and feel wonderful when you are around her.”

  “I do.”

  “I can see why. She even smells like flowers and sun.”

  He went over, took her frail hand in his, and kissed it. “I need her so much, it frightens me. I have tried… not to.”

  When he released her hand, Pamela told him, “She seems to need that too, people—around her, and those to care for.”

  “She knows, everything, Pamela. I did not tell her, but I know how persistent she can be. Smith must have—”

  For a moment, Pamela put a hand to her chest. Her joy vanished.

  He said with conviction, “It doesn’t matter to her. She knows it’s not your fault, and Lisette is genuine in her offer of friendship.”

  “How can she…want to be around me?”

  From the doorway, Lisette said softly, “For the same reason I enjoy being around your brother.” She entered the room.

  Elisha moved.

  Lisette reached up to cup his sister’s face. “I am sorry for what happened to you. I am sorry for your pain and suffering. I cannot begin to know what you feel. But I promise you this—if you find me worthy of your friendship, I will cherish it, I will count myself the luckiest woman in the world, to have won your trust.”

  When Pamela began to weep, Lisette asked Elisha, “Will you leave us, for a bit.”

  He nodded and left while she was leading Pamela back to the bedroom.

  Below, Elisha spoke to his staff, informing them of the lady being the daughter of a duke, and working out a schedule with the housekeeper and cook—thankfully knowing what her favorite dishes were, and something of Lisette’s routine.

  He went to the stable next, and talked to Samuel, before speaking to the grooms. He had food and ale brought for the Wimberly coachman, and after Samuel had eaten, they stepped out, into the coach yard.

  “She’s here with the duke and duchess’s blessing,” the coachman told him, now divested of all save shirt, trousers and boots. His iron gray hair was back with a thong. “His Grace bade me stay as long as she wished.”

  Seeing the searching in the man’s eyes, Elisha murmured, “How long have you been with the family?”

  “Nigh on fifteen years.” The man grinned.

  That relayed well enough that he was used to the unconventional ways of the Wimberly.

  “There are apartments above the stable you can make use of. Let my man, James, know of anything you need.”

  Samuel nodded.

  When he left him, sometime later, Elisha could not resist going by his sister’s apartments before proceeding to his own, to change for dinner. He went to the sitting room, seeing through the doorway that they were seated on the side of Pamela’s bed. Pamela was weeping still—something he had not heard her do—. She was in Lisette’s arms. Lisette was stroking her hair and murmuring to her.

  Elisha turned and went to his rooms. He sat with his head in his hands while his bath was prepared. He had to deal with her knowing of his past. It coiled his guts into knots. He sat back, dragging his hands down until they fell heavily onto his thighs. Looking up at the ornate ceiling, he could torment himself with imaging what it was like—hearing Smith tell it. Even they did not discuss that between them, those years, and vulnerable moments. Elisha’s skin heated on and off with some of that old male shame that came with sanity, manhood, freedom—and looking back.

  She should have a disgust of him.

  “Your bath is ready.”

  “Thank you.” He watched the footman pass by and arose to strip and then pad to the bathing chamber.

  His mother’s chamber was cleared. She’d had little of herself in it but the wheeled chair. It had been a difficult task—despite whatever mercy her release from life gave to her. The emotions connected to her would always be mixed for Elisha. The chair was in the attic. The room bare. The memories and sadness…he was dealing with.

  Elisha bathed while he attempted still to come to terms with Lisette knowing and her being here—after knowing. But some discomfort still clung to him, even after he dressed later, in black trousers, white silk shirt and boots.

  They met in the dining room.

  “She’s sleeping,” Lisette told him as he held the chair for her to sit.

  He took his place at a d
ining table that was too long and large, seldom used. After the servants filled their plates and poured wine, departed, he drank half the glass and met her gaze, asking? “You have questions?”

  “No. Not like you think.” She looked down and cut into her meat, then before spearing it offered. “If you meant what you said and I’m welcome here. I asked only for your trust.”

  “Lisette...” Elisha began, but sighed and put down the glass, sitting back and merely looking at her.

  She chewed and wiped her mouth, then sat back too. Hands in her lap, her eyes went over his face before meeting his gaze. “I’ve told Smith to join us.” She relayed what she had said to him, regarding his name and writing, then requested, “Give me a few days to focus on Pamela. She needs someone to talk to. She has held this in for years. I don’t doubt she loves you above anything—but it’s sometimes difficult for a woman to admit or relay things to a man, the way she can another female.”

  He swallowed.

  Lisette offered quietly, “I told you that I cared for you. I do not think you believed me. Though I understand why, I was still very hurt when you turned away from me before leaving that day. I know how difficult and complex it all is now, but I’m still capable of having my feelings wounded—particularly since we’d been so intimate.”

  “I’m sorry. You know it wasn’t you.”

  She nodded. “I know. I am just speaking bluntly, Elisha. You are a man, stronger than anyone I know. I wanted you to send me some small word. I wanted you—to reach out to me…”

  “Lisette.” His eyes closed a moment.

  She offered when they opened again, on her, “Whilst I am here, will you try, Elisha, to talk to me? Because as bold as I am, as brash as I seem, and as strong as you think I am, I still need to know that you trust me enough to be yourself with me. I have to know what you feel—if anything. I have taken a great risk. Not the scandal, I care nothing if talk comes from my being here. You know what I mean.”

  He nodded, his gaze scanning her face.

  They ate then, not talking much, and not consuming much either. Afterwards, he walked with her through the lower floors, though his tour was as strained as the tension between them. She was tired. He was also; from the many nights he had lost sleep after deciding to never see her again.

  They were at the bottom of the stair, she heading up them, he to his study—when he said, “I didn’t want to bring you into these shadows. The wounds are healed somewhat, but the pain goes beyond that. It gets in your head at times, and you have to fight your way back to the present—to the reality that it is over. Particularly for me, because for a time, before he shot himself, I knew what that power over someone felt like. Rage, cold, sick—it flowed through me. I lived and breathed it, and I could have…” He looked down at his fisted hand, slowly uncurling his fingers. “I could have so easily shot him myself. I did, in essence.”

  She reached and touched his cheek. “Just hearing it, and I am sure it was not the full day by day, hour by hour, reality. I felt rage and hate and pain so strongly that I could taste it.” Her fingers stroked his skin. “I know you at your vulnerable moments. You are nothing like him. You touch me and make love to me with such intense emotion; I feel how you want me and how you see me.”

  She smiled slightly. “You may present yourself as cold, but you bring the darkest fires to your passion—and you took me to the most exquisite heaven with them.”

  He took her hand, moving it at the same time he kissed her. The kiss, the emotions, wanted to be unleashed. Yet she pulled back before it could. Her eyes and expression showed how it aroused her and he drew satisfaction from it even though she whispered goodnight and left him there.

  Elisha found his own chambers. He lay in the dark sensing her in his house, near, but not near enough. If he woke and today was a dream…

  * * * *

  Lisette was up early the next morning, and after breakfast asked the housekeeper if Pamela was awake?

  “Yes, my lady.”

  She went to see her, finding her dressed too warm, but supposing she felt a chill being so thin. “Will you walk with me?”

  “Yes.” Pamela took her hand.

  On the way down the stairs, Lisette subtly allowed Pamela to lean on her, and though her heart shook at how frail the woman actually was, she was determined to at least try to get her outside.

  That accomplished after slow progress, she sat with her on the garden bench, and for a while talked softly of different flowers and herbs, speaking about animals, butterflies-anything—to call her attention to the life around her.

  “I would scarcely be able to read if not for Elisha,” Pamela told her while holding a bloom that Lisette picked. “I was not allowed to attend the girls academy and no governess was hired for me.”

  “He taught you, Elisha?”

  “Yes. He always brought me books.” She looked at Lisette. “Not novels as you have, though.”

  “Ah, you’ll love them.” Lisette promised.

  At noon, the maid brought out a cart with fruits, cheeses, and sweets and they ate and talked more—Lisette watching how little Pamela ate. She hoped the woman would gradually build up an appetite.

  They went in early evening. Pamela napped while Lisette toured the rest of the house with Elisha. His mother’s chambers were completely empty, not even having drapes.

  “You should rid yourself of your townhouse and buy another.” She leaned inside his sitting room, seeing that it was comfortable, masculine—too tempted by the high bed she could see through the archway. She understood why it was so elaborate—and it was, with plush pillows and velvet and silk comforter.

  “It has been in our family for—”

  She looked at him dryly. “Get rid of it. Father will help you find another.”

  “I will.”

  She arched her brow. “That was easy.”

  “I have loathed that place all of my life. No furnishings or paint could matter…Nothing could erase the taint…”

  Her grin was gone. “You don’t owe him anything else. You do not owe your ancestors either. You are your own man, Marston. You suffered much, fought, to have any life at all. This is yours to live—and make what you want of it.”

  He looked around and then back at her. “I watched you in the garden today. Thank you.”

  “She has the same desire you do. Pamela. She wants to forgive herself and rid herself of the guilt. She wants to come out of the pain and live.” Lisette pulled away and they walked down the hall toward the stairs. “She doesn’t want to be her mother. There’s spirit in there, and in her way, in a woman’s way—she’s strong and she’s fighting.”

  That night, Pamela joined them at the dinner table. Elisha shared his joy at it with Lisette in a simple meeting of their eyes. They talked, and they laughed, and though she ate less than them both, it was the first laugh he had heard from his sister.

  Lisette, of course, was wonderful—witty, charming, and hard to resist.

  He escorted them both to the parlor for coffee and cake, and later up the stairs.

  Elisha wanted to kiss Lisette, and to make mad, passionate, love to her. However, he went to his study and worked, and thought of all she said to him. Loving her was easy for him. It was like breathing in sun-scented air. The rest—he had to bring himself to, because that was not natural to his nature.

  * * * *

  Day two of her visit saw Lisette and Pamela out at the stables. They walked amid the stalls and stroked the horses, and Pamela wanted to hear about Haven and Patrick, and their love story. Resting later, in the back garden, they ate a nice lunch, and Pamela ate more than the day previous.

  Little by little, she was telling her own story too—and Lisette knew how much listening would mean. She listened and she offered comfort. She thought perhaps Pamela had waited, been mad to just tell someone—her mother—though that would never happen—but someone. Before they went in for dinner, Pamela spoke of the most traumatic parts—the horror that haunted her
, that often dragged her down so far that blanking out her mind was the only way through it.

  Holding her trembling hand during the telling, Lisette watched birds and bees flitter on the blooms and drink from a flowing fountain. It was gut wrenching. She could feel the vibrations in Pamela as much as hear them in her voice.

  When she was done, Lisette offered, “There’s a hell for him, I am sure. He took the demons with him to the grave. Your heart and soul is who you are, Pamela. Your spirit and your life are precious to many. Your beauty is as unblemished as your purity.”

  She regarded the woman and stroked her hair. “He didn’t taint you. He did not destroy what you are or will be. Every day you awaken with love in your heat, and life in your soul. Every day, you can feel breath and taste and experience, that is you.”

  After dinner, Lisette joined her in the sitting room to her chambers. They shared wine and talked more. They laughed too—about things Lisette had done as a child. About some of her other, more daring adventures.

  When they parted, Lisette lay in her own bed awake and mulling over the day. She did not think Pamela would rise from her ashes in a week, but she was certainly going to help her stand—proudly. So that someday when she did, she could soar on her own wings.

  * * * *

  “Will you ride with us?” Lisette asked Elisha the next day.

  “I’d love to.” He included his sister in his smile and reminded himself to hire a dressmaker. He even let a flame of hope stir in his breast that Pamela would someday bring herself to go to London and shop too.

  After he told Lisette, he had written the Smith about selling the house, and asked the duke’s advice, Lisette said, “You should get Pamela’s input on the décor. At least, on her own quarters.”

  “They’d be welcome. As would your own.”

  She grimaced. “My mama is wonderful at that. I am much too eclectic in my taste.”

  Quietly riding beside them in her warm habit, her hair tied back, Pamela offered, “I like rose. Deep rose and shimmering ivory.”