The Rebel Wife: Book Four in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  The look of horror on his sister’s face was enough to tell him that she believed his threat. She did not respond, but the sound of clapping made them both turn toward the door.

  Arthur and Kate stood there, Kate with her mouth hanging open, while Arthur grinned and applauded.

  “I say, Alex, that was absolutely capital!” said Arthur with good cheer. “I’ve wanted to say that to her for years.”

  “I hate you!” squealed Helena, and then fled the room.

  “I should go after her,” said their mother, glancing after Helena, but making no attempt to move from the chaise lounge. “but Arthur! What is to be done?”

  “Personally I think Alex should carry out his threat,” said Arthur with good cheer. “Ten to one the little cat is thinking horrible things about Kate right now. Although to be fair, she’s probably thinking terrible things about all of us.”

  “Hang Helena,” snapped their mother, causing Arthur to look at her in genuine surprise. “It’s you that I’m worried about!”

  “Has something happened?” asked Kate, advancing into the room.

  “I take it the two of you didn’t see the papers this morning,” said Alex, and handed them the gazette.

  “Oh no,” murmured Kate, but she did not seem too surprised. Alex frowned as he watched her reach out to touch his brother’s arm in sympathy.

  Arthur looked green.

  “Is it true?” demanded their mother. “Arthur surely you know better than to fall for such a creature as Eugenia?”

  “From the look on Kate’s face, I think every word of it is true,” said Alex, and had the satisfaction of seeing his wife look surprised.

  “You can’t marry that girl!” cried their mother, holding her hands out to Arthur. “She’ll make you miserable all the day long. No, my darling, tell me that you don’t want to marry Eugenia Pulford!”

  “Believe me, mother, I desperately do not wish to marry Eugenia Pulford,” said Arthur, his tone grim. “And to think, I commented to Kate not an hour ago that it was promising to be a wondrous day.”

  “Don’t be flippant,” Alex commanded, ignoring the way his brother winced. “Eugenia Pulford – is she the one who wears the odd bonnets?”

  “Along with her odd clothing, odd humour and odd sense of self-importance,” muttered their mother. Arthur had succumbed to her entreaties to sit beside her, and now she clung to him like he was the only solid thing in the room. “How did such a thing come about? We must find a way to scotch these rumours before you find yourself promised to that hideous girl.”

  “Too late,” said Arthur weakly.

  “Arthur and Eugenia are secretly betrothed,” said Kate with a sigh.

  His mother gasped, and Alex studied his wife.

  “How do you know this?” he asked quietly.

  She met his gaze without so much as a flinch. “He told me.”

  Alex frowned, trying desperately to control the whirl of emotions in his stomach. “And you did not think that I, as the head of this family, should know?”

  “Don’t rip up at Kate,” said Arthur with a weary sigh. “I made her promise.”

  “So why did you tell Kate and not me?” demanded Alex. “Lord, there was no need to become betrothed secretly. I’d approve any match you wished for.”

  “I don’t wish for this one; that’s the entire point,” retorted Arthur before burying his head in his hands.

  Alex closed his eyes and counted to ten.

  “Then how are you betrothed to a girl you don’t want to marry?”

  “It was the fashion to be in love with Eugenia when she first came out,” said Kate, her sympathetic eyes resting on Arthur. “He was foolish enough to sign his name to a love letter, but at the time we all believed that Lord Rothman would offer for her.”

  “But he didn’t,” said Alex, able to piece together the likely outcome of the story, “and now Eugenia is using that letter as evidence of a marriage proposal.”

  “I can’t break it off without ruining the family,” said Arthur. “After everything, I can’t do that to Kate, or even Helena.”

  Alex winced at the jab, unintentional as it was.

  “You should have told me,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “Why?” asked Arthur, looking irritated. “It’s not as though you give a damn what happens to me.”

  “Of course I give a damn; you’re my brother.”

  “How kind of you to remember that after a decade,” muttered Arthur.

  Despite the truth of his brother’s words, Alex felt his temper fraying. He knew that he had shown next to no interest in Arthur’s doings over the years, but they were family, after all, and his brother should have known that.

  “He’s here now,” said Kate, and although she was trying to help, Alex suddenly felt resentful of her status with his family. She represented everything he should have been, and he could barely look at her without feeling a mix of remorse, anger and shame.

  “Fine,” said Arthur, looking up at him. “What would you have me do, your Grace?”

  Alex chose to ignore the derisive tone. “I don’t think there is much you can do, besides marrying Eugenia.”

  Arthur reeled as if slapped, while his mother cried out “No!” in affecting accents.

  “Lexborough don’t jest,” said Kate, and he noted that she had reverted to using his title rather than his name.

  “It’s the truth,” said Alex, remembering his mother’s entreaty that he begin to behave like the Duke of Lexborough. “Arthur must stand by his word of honour and marry the girl, no matter how unpalatable he finds the idea of wedlock. It is his duty to our family name, and besides, surely the girl can’t be that bad.”

  “Damn you,” snapped Arthur, shaking off their mother’s embrace and climbing to his feet. “You wonder why I didn’t ask for your help? It’s because you know nothing, Alex. Nothing at all.”

  “Arthur, wait,” said their mother, jumping to her feet as her youngest son stormed out of the room. “Alex, why did you have to say something so idiotic?”

  He was left with his mouth hanging open as she raced out the room after Arthur, leaving him alone with his wife for the first time since they had argued not three days before.

  “That was not well done,” said Kate with a shake of her head.

  “He made his bed, Kate. He is honour bound to marry the girl he has offered for.”

  “You don’t know Eugenia,” she replied. “She will make his life miserable.”

  “He can always go abroad,” said Alex, meaning it as a joke, but the look she flashed him told him she had found it far from funny.

  “Just because you do not take life seriously, Lexborough, doesn’t mean that the rest of us have that luxury. Do you really believe a marriage between Arthur and Eugenia wouldn’t be plagued with controversy and scandal? It would, I promise you, for they are so completely mismatched on every conceivable level that I would rather gift him my entire personal fortune to cover his breach of promise payments that see him ruin his life in such a way.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and stared at the fireplace, but he could see the tears in her eyes, see her struggle to hold herself together.

  “Eugenia is really that terrible?” he asked, moving toward her slowly, as he would a skittish foal.

  “She is a harpy,” said Kate, “and as angry as I am at Arthur for being such as idiot as to write a declaration of undying love to her, I am angrier at her for having the nerve to hold his youthful folly over him in such a way.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed a little, but then allowed herself to be pulled into his arms. She relaxed into him, and Alex was aware of a blossoming desire to protect her, to take some of the burdens from her shoulders and prove to her that he could be her equal.

  The need to prove himself worthy of her affection left his mind reeling, but he stood firm, holding her tightly against him as the scent of her perfume filled his senses.

  “I don’t kn
ow what to do,” she murmured, and his intuition told him that this was a painful thing for her to admit.

  “Look at me,” he said, moving to cup her face in his hands, tilting her chin so that she looked up to meet his gaze.

  “I promise you, Kate, that I will solve this. But you must leave it to me. I know it’s hard for you to let go, and I know you’ve been a better sibling to Arthur than I have ever been, but it is my burden as head of the family to take care of you all. Allow me this, Kate. Trust me to solve this.”

  He tried not to be hurt at the hesitation in her eyes.

  “Very well,” she murmured. “I’ll trust you on this, and I swear that I will not interfere.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, then dipped his head to kiss her.

  A crash sounded from a nearby room, followed by the raised voices of several of the female servants. Kate pulled away, and if he read the expression on her face correctly, it was with considerable regret.

  His heart did a strange leap in his chest at that realisation.

  “Helena has worked herself into a tantrum,” said Kate, moving toward the door. He held onto her hand and pulled her back toward him. She laughed as she crashed into his chest.

  “Hang Helena,” he said and kissed Kate on the nose. “I’d rather you stay here with me.”

  She smiled. “I wish that were possible, but if we want to prevent a mass resignation of our staff then I will need to intervene.”

  “You don’t need to do everything, Kate,” he said, refusing to let her go. “At least, not anymore. Not now I am home. Let mother deal with my little sister.”

  “Your mother is with Arthur, and she cannot be two places at once,” said Kate, pushing gently at his chest until he released her. “Please, Alex.”

  He smiled. “I like the way it sounds when you call me by my name.”

  She blushed. “I like it as well.”

  Another crash, another scream. Kate winced.

  “I must go,” she said and left the room without another word.

  *

  Eugenia sat alone in the parlour, reworking the embellishments on an old bonnet, and humming to herself as the early afternoon sun streamed in through the window. Her mother was still abed after the previous night’s entertainments, and she had no idea where her father was. Possibly the stables; not that it mattered. She was grateful for the quiet solitude of the morning and the opportunity to allow her creativity and eye for fashion full rein.

  The commotion in the hallway did not cause her any degree of alarm. She laid out the various feathers and ribbons in her possession out on the small table and debated the merits of jonquil as a contrast to aramanthus.

  “Get out of my way, man. I’ll announce myself!” shouted a familiar voice from just outside of the parlour.

  Eugenia allowed herself a small smile but continued to focus her attention on her bonnet. Thus, when the door was flung open and Lord Arthur stormed inside, he was confronted with a view of her as a serene, content young woman.

  He did not appear to appreciate the view.

  “What is this idiocy, Eugenia?” he snapped, and flung a crumpled copy of the gazette onto the table, sending her feathers scattering all about her.

  “Really, Arthur, could you try for a little more decorum?” she snapped, losing her serenity as she tried to capture her bonnet before it fell to the ground. “Can you not see that I’m busy?”

  “Trimming some ghastly concoction, are you?” he snapped, and Eugenia was surprised to discover he was capable of being roused to anger.

  “I was reworking my old bonnet, yes,” she said, looking him up and down.

  He was dressed for riding rather than a morning call, she was disappointed to note, and the faint aroma of the stables still clung to him. He did look rather handsome in his dark coat and tight nankeen breeches, and his top boots gleamed like mirrors despite the fact he had obviously been out riding.

  However, Eugenia felt quite strongly that the proper thing for him to have done was to have changed his clothing before coming to see her, and it was difficult to forgive him the slight, considering he fancied himself an arbiter of taste and proper address.

  “Why did you do it?” he snapped at her, pacing up and down the room as he did so. “Why did you send that damned piece of gossip to the Gazette?”

  She raised an eyebrow the way she had practised so many times in front of the mirror. “What are you talking about, Arthur?”

  He stalked over and thumped his fist down onto the table, making her jump. “Do not act the innocent, my dear. Why did you do it?”

  For the first time, Eugenia thought that possibly trying to force Arthur’s hand had not been the best of plans. It could not be undone, however, so she tried her best to regain the sense of serenity that had been with her since breakfast.

  “I thought you would be happy,” she said.

  His eyes went wide. “Happy? Good God, why would I be happy when such nonsense is printed in this rag about my future?”

  “It is only the truth and will help build a sense of anticipation at your brother’s ball. Really, they should thank me. No doubt the entire Ton will be there now.”

  “They will be there for the return of the Duke of Lexborough, Eugenia; never for you.”

  His words hurt, and she bit her tongue hard to prevent herself from making an acidic comment in return. Arthur was far angrier than she had thought he would be; indeed, angrier than she had believed him capable of.

  It was not a pleasant realisation that Lord Arthur Weatherly was not as placid as she had always believed, and a strong temper was not something she wished for in her husband.

  “Be that as it may, we had agreed to announce our engagement at the ball, had we not?”

  “How many times must I tell you, Eugenia? I am not yet in possession of my fortune. Alex will not consent to the marriage. I have not even asked your father’s permission for your hand.”

  “None of which will matters since we are both of age,” she said with a tight smile. “Besides, my father is hardly going to say no to the heir of a Duke.”

  Arthur grabbed his hair in his hands and looked as though he were about to rip it out by the handful.

  “Are you still harping on about that? My brother is recently reunited with his wife. The odds of my still being heir a year from now are rather slim!”

  Eugenia, thinking back to how the Duchess had reacted to her disclosures at the picnic, allowed her smile to linger on her face.

  “On that we must agree to disagree, my dear. I shall be ambitious for the both of us.”

  Arthur stared at her in frank disbelief. Suddenly he dropped to his knees before her, grabbing her hands into his. Her heart leapt; she knew full well that there was no love between the two of them, but she was as susceptible to the romance of the moment as any girl.

  “Eugenia, please, end this farce,” he implored. “You know full well that I wrote that letter in the belief you were betrothed to another and outgrew my infatuation not long after. You know that I do not love you, as I know that you have no love for me. But I implore you: burn that damned letter, and let there be no more idiotic talk of a marriage that neither of us wants.”

  Eugenia reclaimed her hands. Her serenity was gone, replaced by a cold ambition that did not involve her growing old as a spinster daughter in her father’s house.

  “You are wrong, Arthur. I very much desire this marriage. You are a steady man of fortune with a bright future. As I do not subscribe to this modern, foolish belief in marrying for love, I find that matter quite irrelevant. I will be a good wife to you, and in time I believe you will see that marriage shall be the making of you.”

  He stared at her for felt like an age. He stumbled back from her, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “I never thought you could be so damned calculating,” he said.

  “I will see you tonight at your brother’s ball,” said Eugenia, turning back to her feathers and ribbons. “You can announce our engage
ment before supper.”

  “Please, Eugenia,” he said, but she did not so much as turning her head.

  He left in silence, leaving the crumpled copy of the Gazette behind.

  She sighed and shook her head.

  “You’ll see that it is for the best, Arthur,” she murmured to the empty room.

  Possibly in an effort to convince herself.

  Eleven

  Kate struggled to maintain an air of calm dignity when really all she wanted to do was crawl back to her bedroom and sleep for an age.

  Calming Helena had been her priority. While Sarah was occupied with Arthur, it had fallen to Kate to prevent her wilful sister-in-law from destroying her bedchamber and driving the servants out the house. Even though she had been alone not quite fifteen minutes, her room was still in a state of carnage by the time Kate arrived at her door to relieve the flustered maid.

  “He hates me!” Helena half screamed, half sobbed as she flung a half-finished reticule across the room.

  Kate, knowing better than to interrupt the tirade, stood quietly by the door as Helena babbled on in an incoherent rage for the best part of five minutes.

  “I will never be separated from my Jonathan – never!” she declared, her voice starting to go upwards again as she worked herself into another fit of rage.

  “That’s all well and good, dearest, but you’d hardly want to see him while you look like Lady Macbeth, now would you?”

  This observation, delivered in a calm but cheerful voice, had the desired effect. Helena stopped in her tracks and turned an indignant glare toward Kate.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Kate strolled over to Helena’s dressing table and picked up the large hand mirror. “Only that you’d rival Sarah Siddons if you took to the stage looking so wild. It’s very dramatic, I’ll grant you, but I’m not sure the Ton will approve.”

  Helena snatched the mirror away with a scowl, and then lifted it high so she could study her reflection. Her eyes went wide with surprise, and then a tell-tale smile began to tug at her lips.