Once a Rebel

by Mary Jo Putney

  “I am very glad to hear that,” he said solemnly as he led her into the bedroom. She caught a pleasing glimpse of the back garden before their attention turned to the bed. It was almost as large as the one at the Indian Queen Hotel.

  And even more comfortable.

  * * *

  Having tested the bed, which passed with flying colors, they had a relaxed evening meal, then adjourned to the sitting room next to the bedroom. October had arrived and the evening was cool, but a neat little fire kept the room cozy. Callie found it deliciously domestic and didn’t miss the tobacco barrels and Congreve rockets at all. Best of all, very little effort would be required to reach the bedroom.

  She glanced up to admire Richard’s thoughtful profile as he systematically worked his way through the baskets of correspondence that had accumulated in his absence. Most of the letters went into a waste bin. A few he set aside for later attention.

  He glanced up with a smile and took a sip of the claret he’d brought up from dinner. “Comfortable?”

  “Very. I’m writing letters to Baltimore and Washington to let our friends know that we’ve arrived safely.” She arched her back and stretched. “I’ll need to develop some kind of routine here, which is complicated by the fact that you’re the only person I know in London.”

  “You’ll remedy that soon. You attract people and make friends of them easily.”

  She had never thought of that, but realized he was right. “I suppose if I’m feeling brave I can call at Stanfield House and see if any family members are in residence. If not, the servants will probably know where they are.”

  “You don’t sound enthusiastic about that.”

  “You and I have been living in an enchanted cloud, not having to deal with the outside world. With both my parents gone, I’m now the eldest of my family. I’ve been gone so long, I’ll feel like a stranger among them.” She smiled ruefully. “I must look them up soon, but to be honest, I’d rather visit the famous Hatchards bookshop than go to Stanfield House.”

  “Then let’s do some touring of London tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll rent a carriage from the local livery stable and take you to see some of the sights. Hatchards is always a pleasure, and it’s the post box for the Rogues Redeemed.”

  “A post box?”

  “We all send messages there and Mr. Hatchard holds them for whatever cellar rat might come by. There may be some new messages, and I need to write an update to leave there also.” He scribbled a note to himself. “Will it sound too boastful if I say that I’ve married the most beautiful woman in the world?”

  “Yes, it will sound boastful, and they won’t believe you because they may have beautiful ladies of their own. I appreciate the sentiment, though.” A thought struck her. “I presume you must report to your employer that you found me. I’d like to learn more about the mysterious Sir Andrew Harding, who sponsored your mission.”

  “Here’s an easy way to do that. Lord Kirkland is the one who sent me off, and he and his wife are both superb musicians. Before I left, Lady Kirkland mentioned that they sometimes have informal musical evenings for friends. I said I’d like to attend one if I was in London, and I’ve just found an invitation to a private musicale to be held tomorrow night. I will reveal you with a flourish to Kirkland to prove my mission was successful, and you will get a chance to meet people. I think you’ll like Lady Kirkland.”

  Callie blinked. “Lord Kirkland—the fellow whose wife you rescued as well as the wife herself?”

  “As I said, I just drove the boat. But yes, that’s him.”

  “Then I most certainly want to attend!” She considered her wardrobe. “I’ll need more clothes. Wearing remade, used garments doesn’t seem right if I’m going to be on visiting terms with lords and ladies.”

  “You grew up with lords and ladies just as I did, so you shouldn’t be overly impressed,” he said dryly. “Since you’re such a fine seamstress, one of your remade gowns will do very well for tomorrow evening. Lady Kirkland always looks well turned out, so you can ask her the name of her modiste for adding to your wardrobe.”

  “That’s a good plan. I love sewing and designing new gowns, but I’m willing to let someone else do the routine bits.” She hesitated, then decided to ask the question hovering in the back of her mind. “Do you think you’ll tire of the quiet life and go back to adventuring?”

  “No,” he said immediately. “As I’ve said, I’ve always been a reluctant adventurer. Now that I have you, there’s no reason to keep moving.”

  She smiled, thinking he was much more romantic than he gave himself credit for. “Will we ever tire of making wild, passionate love?”

  He shook his head. “In the nature of things, we’ll surely slow down, but I can’t imagine ever not wanting to lie with you. You’ll be eighty years old and deadheading roses in the garden and I’ll be sneaking up behind you and trying to coax you into making mischief in the garden shed.”

  She laughed. “I like that thought! I can imagine it, too.” She returned once more to her letter writing. It was good to be back in safe, green England.

  Yet she had a swift memory of the feeling she’d had in Maryland. Their way would not be as clear and safe as it appeared now.

  She reminded herself that all lives had troubles. Surely together they could face anything.

  Chapter 36

  The next morning was cool and sunny, a fine day for Gordon to show London to his bride. He ordered a curricle from his local livery, along with a boy to ride on the back and look after the horses when they got out. Now that he was going to be in London more, he must get a carriage of his own.

  He started by giving Callie a tour of the parks and palaces of the West End, then a stop at Westminster Abbey to see the grandeur within. She loved the sights, and it delighted him to make her as happy as she deserved to be.

  Their stop at Hatchards bookstore ran longer than expected because both of them became entranced with the bonanza of books. After Gordon added her to his personal account, he asked if there were any Rogues Redeemed messages.

  Curious, Callie accompanied him to the Hatchards office. There were two new messages in the Rogues Redeemed file. Gordon opened the first. “This is from Duval, a French Royalist. Very sound fellow. With Napoleon gone, he’s back in France, not surprisingly. He says someday he’ll make it to London again, but he has no idea when.”

  He folded the first message up and opened the other. “Ah, this one is from Will Masterson. He’s another Westerfield old boy, but the well-behaved sort, not like me. He’s the man who figured out how to get us out of that cellar alive.” He skimmed the note and his brows rose. “Interesting.”

  “Interesting good or interesting bad?” Callie asked.

  “Interesting good. He spent years as an officer fighting the French in Portugal and Spain, but after the emperor abdicated, he sold out and acquired a wife on his way home to England. He may be in London now, in fact. I shall have to see if I can find him. Kirkland will know. Kirkland always knows.”

  “I look forward to meeting the omniscient Kirkland,” Callie murmured.

  Gordon grinned. “Think of him as a sinister spymaster, but charming. And musical.” He folded Masterson’s letter and put it back in the file. “Even though it’s a little cool, would you like to stop at Gunter’s for one of their famous ices?”

  “Oh, yes! It’s one of those things that I intended to do when I had a London Season.” She made a face. “Which I never got, of course.”

  “This will be better than a Season,” he promised. “Since you’re stuck with me, you don’t have to worry about looking for an acceptable husband among the dreary hordes of nervous young men in search of a wife.” He gave a mock leer. “And the sleeping arrangements are so much better than if you were on the Marriage Mart.”

  She laughed and tucked her hand around his arm. “That last is certainly true!”

  A Hatchards employee carried two sizable boxes of books out to their curricle and stored them be
hind the seat under the interested eye of Skip, the boy who had come with the curricle. Gordon helped Callie into the carriage and took the reins for the drive to Berkeley Square, location of Gunter’s, the most famous confectioner’s shop in the city.

  When they reached the shop, he ordered three dishes of the day’s special, bitter orange, including one for Skip, the carriage boy, who was wide eyed with pleasure at the unexpected treat. As was the custom, Gordon ate his while standing next to the carriage, where Callie was attacking her ice with ladylike gluttony.

  “This is heaven!” she exclaimed. “I sometimes made ices in Washington, but these are in a whole different class! Imagine how wonderful such good ices would taste in the blaze of a Chesapeake summer.”

  “We would have wanted to drown ourselves in a barrel of this in order to escape the heat.” He took another small bite, enjoying the delicious bittersweet taste as the ice melted, filling his mouth with flavor. “Maybe you should suggest to Sarah that she sell ices in her bake shop.”

  “That’s a very good idea. I’ll come back another day to talk to the Gunter’s owner to find out how he makes his ices so superb, if he’s willing to tell me.”

  “Bribe him,” Gordon suggested. “Sarah is far enough away so as not to be competition for Gunter’s.”

  “That’s a rather good idea. We can discuss a bribery budget later.” With regret, she finished her ice and Gordon returned the three empty dishes to a waiter. Skip had apparently licked his dish. If Gordon had been younger, he might have done the same.

  As he returned to the carriage and climbed inside, he said, “Kirkland House, where the musicale is tonight, is just over there on the other side of Berkeley Square. Perhaps there will be ices among the refreshments.”

  “An incentive to attend even if I didn’t like music,” Callie said with a smile.

  They had left Berkeley Square and were heading home toward Mount Row when Callie caught hold of his arm. “That’s South Street!”

  “Yes?” he asked, wondering at the significance.

  “Stanfield House is on South Street. Number twenty-two. Let’s stop and see if any of my family is there.” She drew a deep breath. “I should probably get this first meeting over with. If none of the Brookes are in residence, even better. I can say that I tried and forget them for a while longer.”

  Understanding the impulse to get it over with, he turned into South Street. Number twenty-two was about halfway down on the right. The knocker was up, so some of the family were in residence.

  Callie gazed up at the house. It was large, anonymous, and expensive looking. “Though I stayed here as a child, I don’t remember it at all.”

  Richard climbed from the carriage and gave the reins to Skip, then helped Callie down and took her arm as they walked to the house. “If I recall correctly, you got on reasonably well with your sisters and brother when you lived at home. Whom in your family are you most reluctant to meet again?”

  His question steadied her by making her analyze her anxiety. “Jane,” she said. “The next oldest after me. She was always such a prig. She’d lecture me on my wild behavior and tattle to my parents. I’m sure she was the one who told my father we were running away. I don’t think I can ever forgive her for that because of the ghastly consequences. You came so close to being killed that night!”

  “But I wasn’t.” His voice was calm as they climbed the steps. “She couldn’t have known how disastrous it would be, and she was very young. Fifteen or so? Perhaps she’s learned some tolerance with the years.”

  And perhaps Callie would scratch her sister’s eyes out. She slammed the knocker hard into the door. She didn’t think she’d actually do any eye scratching, but she was less charitable about Jane’s youthful betrayal than Richard was.

  The door was opened by an impeccable butler who made her think of a stuffed owl. She’d met three butlers in two days, and she liked Richard’s the best, but she smiled at this one pleasantly. “Good day. Are any of the family in residence?”

  The butler frowned. “And who would you be?”

  “A long lost relative. I hope to surprise my family.”

  He didn’t stop frowning, but there was a general resemblance among the Brookes, and apparently she passed the appearance test. “Sir Andrew and Lady Harding are currently staying here since their own residence is being remodeled, but Sir Andrew is out. Lady Harding is taking tea in the morning room. I’ll see if she’s receiving guests.”

  Lady Harding! Surely she was the one who had persuaded her husband to send a man all the way to America to find Callie. As act of expiation, perhaps.

  The butler admitted them to the foyer, but didn’t invite them to sit. Rather than waiting in the front hall, Richard quietly followed the butler, taking Callie by the hand to draw her with him.

  The butler opened the morning room door and announced, “A person claiming to be a long lost relative is here and says she wishes to surprise you, my lady.”

  The elegantly dressed young woman on the sofa looked up, her fair hair pulled back primly. The very image of a proper young matron, just as Callie would have expected of Jane.

  Lady Harding saw her visitor and leaped to her feet. “Catherine, you’re here!”

  Callie blinked. Not Jane, but Elinor, the next youngest sister. Most of the Brookes had the same shade of blond hair. Only Callie had inherited the red-gold color that her father had claimed was the mark of the devil. Though Jane and Elinor had similar coloring and features, Ellie was shorter and slighter than Jane. Sweet and shy. She’d been Callie’s shadow, following her around adoringly, sometimes to the point of being a nuisance. She was the sister who would have missed Callie most.

  “Yes, it’s me, home from the wilds of the New World,” Callie said lightly. “You’re the one who sent a rescuer to save me from the war?”

  As Elinor nodded, Callie stepped into the salon and drew Richard forward. “I imagine you’ll recognize my husband since he was our neighbor.”

  “Dear God, Lord George!” Elinor stopped in her tracks, her face going dead white. Then she folded onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob uncontrollably.

  Shocked, Callie plumped down on the sofa beside her sister and put a comforting hand on her back. “Darling, what’s wrong? Since you went to such efforts to bring me home, I’d have thought you’d be glad to see me.”

  She patted her sister gently when the tears didn’t abate. “I thought Lady Harding would turn out to be Jane, trying to make amends for past sins.”

  Richard said coolly, “Do you think if I slapped her she might snap out of her crying fit?”

  Callie scowled, surprised by his lack of sympathy. “You will not slap my sister!”

  But the words must have reached Elinor. She lifted her face and produced a handkerchief, blotting her eyes and blowing her nose before crumpling it in one hand. “I . . . I’m sorry.” She gulped. “I was so glad that Andrew was willing to try to find you, but I didn’t really think the search would be successful. And I . . . I thought Lord George was dead.”

  “Alive and well and happily married to your sister.” He was leaning against the door, his arms crossed on his chest and his narrow-eyed gaze assessing. “But given your reaction, I’m wondering if you might have something to feel guilty about.”

  Elinor’s face twisted and she began crying again. She’d always been a watering pot, Callie remembered. A little impatiently, she said, “Why not tell us what’s wrong? Clearing the air is generally a good start.”

  Elinor gazed at her with pale, watery blue eyes. She still had her delicate porcelain prettiness, but she looked twenty years older than her actual age.

  “I . . . I was the one who told Papa that you were running away with Lord George,” she said starkly. “I peeked out of my room when you were leaving and guessed what you were doing. But I never, never expected the results to be so ghastly!” Her gaze moved to Richard. “I thought you had died, and it was all my fa
ult!”

  Callie drew away from Elinor, horrified. “I thought you liked me! Why did you do something so hateful?”

  Elinor began crying again. Richard said in a conversational tone, “Are you sure you won’t allow me to slap her, my dear? Not too hard, just enough to get her attention.”

  This time Callie was tempted to let him, but she really couldn’t. Maybe if it had been Jane, but not Elinor. Still, she did want answers. She stood and gazed down at her sister. “Why, Ellie? Just explain why. Or I might slap you myself!”

  Elinor swallowed hard. “I loved you, but I also envied you dreadfully. You were so beautiful, so brave. So confident. You never backed down, no matter how horribly Papa treated you. You were everything I wanted to be. I wanted to be you.”

  Her agonized gaze shifted to Richard. “And . . . and I fancied myself in love with Lord George. I desperately wanted him to look at me the way he looked at you. When I guessed that you were running off with him, I impulsively told Papa. I never imagined the consequences.” She gazed down at her knotted handkerchief. In a whisper, she finished, “I’ve never forgiven myself.”

  His voice surprisingly gentle, Richard said, “You couldn’t have been above thirteen or fourteen. Very young, and many would say that what you did was right and proper. But you’ve earned your guilt because you acted from spite. Your actions did very nearly get me killed and forced your sister into exile and a marriage to a stranger old enough to be her father. You came close to destroying us both.”

  “That’s more than sufficient reason for you to be racked with guilt,” Callie agreed with barely suppressed fury. The image of Richard crouched in the hay with his arms wrapped over his head to protect himself against her father’s killing rage made her want to vomit. The blood! Her father’s bellowing insults and threats, the certainty that her best friend was going to be killed right before her eyes . . .

  And all because her favorite sister was suffering from calf love. Feeling kicked in the stomach, Callie crossed the room to Richard. He put a comforting arm around her. “Yet we both survived and we’ve found each other again, Catkin.”