The Rebel Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  Filber cleared his throat. “My lord.”

  “Yes, yes, what is it, Filber? You know I don’t like to be disturbed.”

  Sir Oliver wheeled around in his chair and glared at his butler, but to his surprise, Filber didn’t flinch or embark on a round of apologies. Sir Oliver’s bushy brows snapped together as he noted the rather smug, complacent look on Filber’s face.

  Filber stood his ground, even under the frowning scrutiny of his master, and said, “His lordship, the earl of March, is here to see you, my lord.”

  This information carried a wealth of meaning. Sir Oliver eyed Filber for a moment before replying. Filber noted with satisfaction the myriad emotions that crossed his master’s face, particularly the speculative glitter that finally narrowed Sir Oliver’s eyes. He knew that he hadn’t been mistaken about the importance of his announcement. Miss Katharine had obviously succeeded in capturing the wealthy and powerful earl of March. Undoubtedly Sir Oliver was at that moment busily calculating some vast sum of money that he would try to extract from his future son-in-law. Filber couldn’t help but feel pleased with himself, for it had been he who’d announced to Cook and Lilly, not long after the earl’s first visit to Brandon Hall, that the earl was taken with Miss Kate, as sure as Sir Oliver would yell at one of them before sunset. Not altogether surprised by this revelation, Cook and Lilly had given free rein to their condemnation of Sir Oliver, whom they thought a vicious, despicable man despite his puritan ways, and then heartily toasted Miss Kate’s good fortune from Cook’s bottle of cowslip wine.

  Filber shifted from one foot to the other as he watched Sir Oliver expectantly.

  Sir Oliver’s mind reeled at the implied nature of the earl’s visit to him. He had been very much aware of the earl’s constant attention to Kate during the past week, and simple avarice had led him to nurture some fantastic notions that the earl might offer for her. But the earl was here, now, and wanted to see him. He cursed himself, remembering how he had forced Kate to receive the attentions of that oaf, Robert Bleddoes. But how could he have imagined that the miserable little creature would do better for herself? Good God, she would be a countess. The countess of March. It was fortunate that his need for money was greater at the moment than his abhorrence of his daughter, for the mere thought of her queening and pluming herself about him was nearly enough to dampen his enthusiasm.

  He became suddenly aware that Filber was covertly observing him and quickly decided on what he considered to be a suitable settlement from the earl. He rose from his chair. “Filber, tell his lordship that I will be with him directly. And don’t tarry, man.”

  Filber obligingly scurried from the room, and Sir Oliver stepped to a small mirror on the mantelpiece and adjusted his cravat to a more acceptable shape. His face was pale with suppressed excitement, and he shook his head in sheer wonderment as he left the book room to greet his future son-in-law.

  11

  When Julien was informed by Filber that Sir Oliver would join him directly, he asked quietly, “Is Miss Katharine about, Filber?”

  Filber noticed the softening of his lordship’s voice at the mention of his mistress’s name, and allowed a slight conspiratorial smile.

  “No, my lord, she isn’t here inside the hall, but I fancy she’s walking in the grounds. She enjoys walking. It is possible that she is by the small fish pond behind the gardens. It’s one of her favorite places.”

  Julien nodded. On the brink of making his first offer of marriage, Julien found himself unusually calm, for which he was profoundly grateful. He felt at his ease, and confident, particularly about the interview he would shortly have with Sir Oliver. He’d taken the man’s measure and had determined that despite his officious, sanctimonious ways, Sir Oliver was eager to see Harry well placed and Kate off his hands as quickly as possible. Since he seemed as solitary as he was cheerless, and appeared to nurture for some curious and inexplicable reason a profound dislike for his own daughter, it wasn’t likely he would thrust himself upon them after their marriage—surely a blessing.

  “My lord, welcome, welcome.” Sir Oliver executed a formal bow and advanced toward Julien with his hand outstretched.

  Julien returned his greeting, aware instantly that his purpose was quite evident to Sir Oliver.

  “Please do be seated, my lord.”

  Julien obliged, easing his long frame into a worn leather chair next to the fireplace. Sir Oliver seated himself opposite and looked expectantly at him, for all the world like the pug Julien had had as a boy.

  “I would imagine, sir, that you can easily guess the nature of my visit.”

  Sir Oliver could not repress the gleam of anticipation in his eyes, and Julien realized that he could dispense with any further formalities.

  He said smoothly, “As you know, sir, I have developed a great regard for your daughter and cherish hopes that she returns my affection. I’ve taken the liberty to have a marriage settlement drawn up.” He paused for a moment and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “You’ll notice, sir, that I’ve included the promise to buy Harry a pair of colors and see him admitted to an elite cavalry regiment.”

  Julien was pleased with himself that he had thought of this, for the pleasure was evident on Sir Oliver’s face. “As you see, the sum to be presented to you, sir, upon my marriage to your daughter, is named, I believe, in the third paragraph.”

  As Julien had anticipated, Sir Oliver’s eyes widened and he was voluble in his expression of gratitude. “Very, very generous of you, my lord. Indeed, it is good of you, for I detest haggling over something as odious as money, and you know my daughter’s beauty and accomplishments, not to mention her immense charm and kindness—ah, yes, all of those things, surely. I count it a rare privilege that our two families will be united. Naturally Katharine is worthy of the exalted position your lordship offers and if she isn’t, well then, you will instruct her.”

  Julien felt a stab of anger mixed with relief. He didn’t care if Sir Oliver didn’t like his daughter. It didn’t matter. She would be out of this house just as soon as Julien could arrange the matter. He rose and sealed their bargain with a handshake. Sir Oliver thought to ask, “I presume your lordship has already spoken to my daughter?”

  “No, sir, I felt it would be proper to secure your permission first.”

  “Very proper, and quite right, my lord.” Sir Oliver sounded worried. But that was ridiculous, surely. He said, clearing his throat, “I suppose your lordship would like to speak to her now?”

  “Yes,” Julien said, as he walked beside Sir Oliver out of the shabby drawing room.

  Julien strode from the hall into the overgrown gardens and shaded his eyes with his hand from the bright sunlight. He scanned the landscape and, not seeing Kate, walked toward the pond.

  He found her seated on the mossy bank, her arms clasped around her knees, a pensive, faraway expression on her face. Her hair was unbound and hung down her back in soft waves, reaching nearly to her waist. His calm assurance didn’t falter as he approached her. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, and he’d spent much of his day visualizing her response. She would be surprised at how soon he was declaring himself, but she would be prepared, for his feeling for her was obvious. Her face would flush slightly, and she would softly tell him that she cared for him as well. Perhaps she would even tell him she loved him. The altogether delightful vision ended with a discreet, yet promising kiss.

  As he drew nearer, he could hear her singing a Scottish ballad. He grinned, for she had a small, wooden voice. He rather hoped she didn’t play the pianoforte, for he’d had to endure the painfully accurate performances of too many nervous girls out to impress him.

  She didn’t notice his presence until he dropped down to his knees beside her. She looked up, not at all startled, and said cheerfully, “Good morning, sir. You are up and about quite early.”

  “What is this? You think me a lazy sluggard, Kate?”

  “Well,” she said slowly, the irrepressible dim
ples peeking through, “not exactly a sluggard. Being one of the—what is it you fine gentlemen call it—ah, yes, being a Corinthian, you would naturally be expected to be at your dressing table until at least noon.”

  “Little baggage.” He lightly buffeted her shoulder and she laughed.

  He looked at her searchingly for a moment, thinking suddenly of the way they’d parted the day before, of her fear at the copse and her undeniable response to him. Neither of these incidents appeared to be disturbing her now. She was perfectly at her ease, the pensive expression he’d observed on her face vanished.

  She saw that he was looking at her very seriously. “What, my lord, can’t you find a suitable hunter to buy?” She laid her hand on the sleeve of his light-blue-broadcloth coat, thinking fleetingly how very exquisite he looked. His cravat was snowy white and arranged with such subtle perfection that she wished Harry could see it.

  Julien looked down at her hand and clasped it in his own. She made no move to pull away, but simply cocked her head to one side and gazed at him inquiringly. With supreme confidence, emboldened by her gesture, the earl of March set course on his first proposal of marriage.

  “I’ve spoken to your father. In fact, I’ve just come from meeting with him.”

  “Good heavens, whatever would you have to say to Sir Oliver? I hope he didn’t annoy you.”

  A bit daunted by her naïveté, he hesitated a moment, carefully choosing his words. “I of course wanted to make a suitable agreement with Sir Oliver before speaking with you. I have always believed this is the way it is done.”

  “What is done?”

  “You do not ease my task, do you? Very well, in short, Kate, my dearest Kate, I asked his permission to pay you my addresses. I want you to be my wife. I care very much for you. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  “Marry you,” she repeated blankly. “You want me to marry you?”

  “That’s right.” He wasn’t dismayed, not really, for she was quite innocent. Her uncertainty, her charming guilelessness pleased him, for it fitted to perfection the reaction he’d expected to see from her at his declaration. He could almost imagine now the softness of her lips and the feel of her silky hair in his hands. He wanted to stroke his hands down her back, cup her and bring her up tightly against him, let her feel how very much he wanted her.

  “You’re not jesting with me, my lord?”

  It occurred to Julien that perhaps she couldn’t quite believe that she would become a countess. “It’s a serious matter, Kate. I can’t imagine any man ever living has jested when he’s proposed marriage. I’ve already spoken to your father, as I said, and he gives us his blessing. It just remains for you to say yes to me and it is done. Then we’ll select a date and everything will go forward.”

  “My father has agreed to this?” Her voice was a whisper, and he had to strain to make out her words.

  “Yes, of course. Actually I had few doubts that he would.”

  With an effort she wrenched her gaze from his face, terribly aware at that moment of his nearness to her. The day before, when he’d kissed her, she had known an instant of tingling excitement, an altogether new sensation that had been actually quite pleasurable. But the brief moment had passed so quickly that she wasn’t now certain it had happened at all. What she remembered was that she had felt at once so consumed with the unexpected deadening fear that had caused her to run from him. She hadn’t been able to understand either the unwanted feelings that had surged through her when he’d touched her or her sudden fear. She’d decided later that she had behaved foolishly, that the earl had merely given way to a moment of capriciousness. She realized now that she had been mistaken not only in her final dismissal of her own feelings, but in the earl’s motives as well. His had not been the action of a capricious nobleman. He wanted her. She felt the strength and possessiveness of his hand, knew the power in that hand, and jerked hers away. Her chest tightened painfully, as it had the day before. She felt an overwhelming desire to run, but she didn’t move. Her body seemed leaden, weighted down by a strange lethargy. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips nervously. Without wishing to, she pictured his powerful man’s body barely held in check by his elegant clothing. The inexplicable terror that had consumed her at the copse now descended, cloaking her mind in a pervasive and dreadful blackness.

  “Kate.” His voice penetrated the darkness.

  Her mind cleared at the sound of his voice. The full realization of what he wanted broke over her like a massive wave of freezing, numbing water. Marry him. He would be her husband, a man who would rule her life just as her father did now. Her husband. She would belong to him. He would own her. She would have nothing, no escape, no freedom, nothing. Her father had given him his blessing.

  A bitter fury gripped her and she encouraged her rage, for it gave her mind direction. How could he be so presumptuous, so very sure of himself? “How dare you? You bargain with my father for me like stocks on the ’Change. Did it never occur to you that I would find your sly maneuver despicable?”

  She paused for breath, and to find more words, hurtful words to drive him away, to keep him away, to give him a lasting disgust of her.

  “I don’t understand you,” he said, staring intently at her, doubting her words even as she spoke them, not understanding her, not understanding any of it now.

  She fanned her fury, searching out more painful words, more insults, anything to make him hate her, to make him leave her alone. “How odd. To this moment, I have always found your understanding to be quite superior. What’s wrong, my lord? Don’t simple words make sense to you? Are you so sure of yourself and what you are and what you want that you refuse to listen to a contrary opinion? Truly, your arrogance and conceit pass all bounds.”

  He gazed at her, stupefied, and suddenly she couldn’t hold to her anger. Brokenly she whispered, “I thought you were my friend, that you held me in equal esteem. I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

  He’d been incredulous at her sudden fury, and was now appalled at the pain in her voice. He leaned close to her and said, “Kate, surely you must see that it is only proper for me to seek out your father first. That you are angered by my action, I am sorry. No, don’t look away from me. Of course I’m your friend. My esteem and respect for you are surely obvious. That won’t change. It’s just that I wish to be much more to you. In truth, I want to be your husband, the man with whom you will spend your life, the man who will make you happy.”

  She closed her eyes tightly as each of his words burned deep into her. She knew of a certainty that she couldn’t escape him as she’d done the day before, that he would pursue her and demand an explanation. But she had no such explanation, even to herself. She drew a deep breath. “Pray forgive my anger, my lord. I was unprepared and therefore am shocked by your proposal. I’m aware of the great honor you do me.” To her own ears her words sounded stilted, and she finished in a rush, “But I don’t wish to wed you, nor any other man, for that matter.”

  He grabbed her arm, his own gray eyes darkening with anger. “What game are you playing? Surely you can’t expect me to believe that you are indifferent to me, that you don’t care. By God, I’ve waited until I was certain of your feelings. Don’t you remember opening your mouth to me yesterday?”

  She looked down dispassionately, thinking it strange that she felt no pain, for he was holding her arm in an iron grip. She replied calmly, “What you wish to believe is your own affair, my lord. That I don’t wish to wed you is a fact.”

  “Surely you cannot wish to marry that bumptious ass Bleddoes.” His grip tightened more.

  “If you would like to beat me, my lord, my father finds a cane to be much to his liking, the results giving him immense pleasure.” She stared at his angry face, her chin thrust up. She had nothing left but defiance, nothing at all. Please God, let him believe it.

  It was as if she had struck him full in the face. Appalled at his lack of control, he released her abruptly.

 
She didn’t move or attempt to back away from him. “There is no one else, my lord, nor will there ever be. I don’t wish to be any man’s possession, any man’s chattel.”

  He looked at her blankly and repeated vaguely, “No one else, Kate?” This gave him rational direction, and he asked slowly, “Then what is it you want? I offer you all my wealth, the protection of my name, I offer you a safe haven with someone who will place your wishes over all others’, and above all, I offer you the chance to escape from the intolerable life with your father. That I love you is without question. I’ve never loved a woman before in my life, but I know I love you and it will last. I’m a loyal man, if that worries you, faithful to my toes. Never will you know infidelity from me.”

  Kate looked down and unconsciously began to rub her arm. What he said was true, though she could not fathom why he should possibly profess love for her. As to his faithfulness, she didn’t want to think about that. She knew a brief moment of doubt before the strange fear gripped her. She knew she couldn’t marry him. Not ever.

  She raised her eyes again to his face and saw that he clearly expected an answer from her. His gray eyes were clouded with confusion. He was her friend, her only friend save Harry, and now she would lose him.

  “What you say is true, my lord. It would be absurd to deny that my father and I do not deal well together. But I cannot, indeed, I will not marry you for such reasons as you have listed.”

  “I see.” Julien’s voice was flat, emotionless. His eyes bore into hers for one long, silent moment. He wanted desperately to see some change, some hesitance in her, but she met his gaze without flinching or turning away. He didn’t know the effort it cost her, for absurdly, she wanted to cry.

  He had no more words, no more arguments to present to her. He had only a shred of his pride. He executed a brief, ironic bow and strode away from her. He turned back after a few steps and flung at her over his shoulder, “Pray forgive me, madam, for assuming feelings you obviously don’t share with me.”