The Rebel Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  She opened her eyes as the chaise lurched its way ponderously up a steep incline that cut through dense, lush forest. A few minutes later the road widened, and the chaise burst out of the forest into a large triangular clearing atop a jutting promontory. In the center of the clearing stood a small, elegantly constructed white-brick villa. Delicately wrought columns supported the overhanging balconies of the second floor. It seemed to Kate that in the fading sunlight the endless numbers of windows glittered like bright prisms. Snowcapped peaks were visible in the distance, and the well-scythed lawn seemed to melt into the green of the forest, as if blended into it by an artist’s brush. It was an exquisite private mansion suited for royalty. She wondered from whom he’d secured this place.

  As Julien reined in the horses, her attention was drawn to an older man and woman bustling out of the front doors toward them. Julien opened the chaise door and helped her to alight before turning his attention to the couple, who stood viewing her with lively curiosity.

  “Good afternoon, James, Maria. I’d like you to meet my countess, Katharine St. Clair. Kate, meet James and Maria Crayton, thankfully here to keep us clean and dressed and well fed.”

  The woman drew her stiff bombazine skirts into a curtsy, and the man gave a tug to a rather unruly spike of gray hair. “A real pleasure, my lady.” He beamed at Kate, revealing slightly protruding teeth.

  Kate inclined her head, conscious suddenly of the somewhat strange yet pleasing experience of being treated with such deference.

  “We weren’t expecting your lordship and ladyship so soon,” James continued to Julien. “But Mrs. Crayton and I have everything ready for you, my lord, all right and proper, even though we’ve had to deal with these foreigners.”

  “Excellent. Her ladyship is quite fatigued from the long journey. Would you be so kind as to show her to her bedchamber, Maria?”

  “I’m not at all fatigued, Julien. However, I would very much like to see my room.”

  “Her ladyship is renowned for her stamina, Maria. Has the weather continued warm, James?”

  “Yes, my lord, though the nights are quite chilly. A peaceful place this is. Mrs. Crayton and I fancy that we can hear our hair grow, so quiet it is.”

  Kate ignored Julien’s laugh and followed Mrs. Crayton into a small entry way. As she mounted the delicately carved staircase that wound in a lazy circular fashion to the upper floor, Julien called out, “Let’s dine in an hour. Is that sufficient time for you to perform whatever womanly chores necessary?”

  “What womanly chores? No, don’t answer that. I will certainly find something suitably womanly to occupy my time. Perhaps an hour won’t be sufficient. Perhaps you would like to tool the carriage back to Geneva?”

  “And leave my enthusiastic bride? Not a chance. Do strive to please me in this, my dear. An hour.” He grinned at her and to her chagrin, she found the corners of her mouth tilting up. As this would never do, she quickly turned, hurrying after Mrs. Crayton.

  She was shown into a small, delightfully furnished room, dominated on one side by a fireplace and on the other by long windows curtained with pale-pink brocade. The furniture was all white and gold, in the French style of the last century, blending with exquisite artistry into the delicate shades of pink in the carpet. Her eyes alight with pleasure, Kate turned impulsively to Mrs. Crayton. “It’s a lovely room. How surprising to find such elegance in so remote a place.”

  “Indeed, my lady, Mr. Crayton and I were a bit concerned when his lordship told us to come here and make preparations, but now we quite like it.”

  “You are part of his lordship’s staff in London?”

  “Certainly, my lady. Mr. Crayton and I were with his lordship’s father, the late earl of March. It was quite excited we were, coming to this foreign place and all, even though we were concerned, as I said. His lordship said we needed a change of air, he did. He knew he could trust us to carry out his wishes.”

  She pursed her lips. A journey from London to Switzerland must occupy the better part of a week, perhaps even more. The Craytons would have had to leave England before Julien had come to Paris. Surely not. “When did his lordship send you here, Mrs. Crayton?”

  “We’ve been here nearly a week now, my lady,” Mrs. Crayton said, quite unaware that her young mistress was now as stiff as the maple tree outside the bedchamber window. “Naturally his lordship told us he was going to be married in Paris. He wanted us to come immediately to have all in readiness for your ladyship. But, of course, you know all of this already.” She smiled kindly at her new mistress. “It’s pleased we are that Master Julien has finally wed. Ach, but here I go again. Mr. Crayton is forever telling me my tongue runs on wheels, begging your ladyship’s pardon.”

  “Yes, yes, of course I knew, Mrs. Crayton,” Kate said quickly. Though the woman’s tongue ran on wheels, they were quite informative ones. Damn Julien anyway. How very certain he had been of himself and of her.

  Mrs. Crayton read the tightening of her ladyship’s lips and the sudden frown on her forehead as signs of fatigue. “You just sit down and rest by the fire, and I’ll have Mr. Crayton fetch up a nice hot bath.”

  When Mrs. Crayton had removed her garrulous self from the room, Kate yanked off the expensive bonnet and flung it on a chair. The blue-velvet cloak that Julien had bought for her she tossed in a heap on top of the bonnet. She sank down into the soft cushions of the settee that faced the fireplace and idly looked about her for an object to fling at Julien, were he to present himself. She looked fondly at a small gilded mirror that hung over the mantel but thought pessimistically that he would handily duck it were it to be hurled at his head. She found the mental image evoked by such a confrontation so comical that she couldn’t long maintain her anger at him and his officious confidence. She even found herself thinking somewhat philosophically that it would have been most unlike Julien to forget so important an item as accommodations for their wedding trip. She wondered, indeed, if he ever forgot any detail. He had even attended to acquiring the perfectly fitted satin undergarments that felt so delightfully luxurious against her skin, so very different from the stout cotton she’d worn until just days ago.

  She sighed and said to the crackling fire, “Well, my girl, there is no way of getting around the fact that you’re married. I guess once married, one stays married and makes the best of it.”

  The fire crackled and popped. She instantly took exception to her own conclusions, for they reeked of capitulation, of nauseating submission. Nothing had changed between them. She wouldn’t allow him to bend her to his will. As this resolve brought with it an unsettling sense of dissatisfaction, she closed her eyes and concentrated on thinking about absolutely nothing.

  When she appeared in the cozy dining room, closer to two hours than one after they had parted, she saw Julien standing in front of the long windows, his back to her, gazing out into the darkness, his hand holding back the dark-blue drapery, an elegant hand with long fingers, a man’s hand with strength and power. He turned as her rustling skirts announced her presence, and she was momentarily taken aback by the very serious expression on his face. But in an instant the expression was gone, and he strolled, as indolent as a lizard lazing about beneath a bright sun, to where she stood, took her hand in his, and kissed her fingers.

  “How very beautiful you are tonight, my dear. Do you find your bedchamber to your liking?”

  “I fear, Julien, that you compliment the gown you chose rather than its wearer. I’m just me, the same me you met in breeches and that old hat.”

  “I know it well. Know too that I very thoroughly appraised the wearer long before I purchased the gown. Do tell me, do you find your bedchamber adequate?”

  “If you had ever seen my bedchamber at Brandon Hall, you wouldn’t ask such a question. It’s charming, more than charming. It’s quite the nicest bedchamber I’ve ever seen in my life, and doubtless you know that.”

  “I trust you’ll also find the sherry delightful,” he said, handing her
a glass. “It’s really quite excellent. The Conte Bellini’s cellar rivals that of St. Clair.”

  “Who is this Conte Bellini person?”

  “A friend of mine. We’ve done business together and, of course, gamed and caroused together in Milan.”

  No surprise there, but she knew he was baiting her. She managed not to swallow the bait, saying instead, “Ah, something else. Mrs. Crayton informed me that not only are she and Mr. Crayton in your household staff in London but they’ve been here for nearly a week. You told them, my lord, you actually told them while you were still in London that you were getting married in Paris. That passes all bounds, Julien. Your conceit and arrogance make you a candidate for the gallows, my gallows.”

  A sleek brow shot up in seeming surprise. “What bounds? Me, arrogant? Gallows? I don’t begin to understand you, wife. Surely you would wish to have all in readiness for you when we arrived here.”

  “That isn’t at all the point, as you very well know. You told them in London, damn you.”

  “Had I not told them, how else could they have been here in good time?” Julien drained the remainder of his sherry and looked down at her with mild surprise.

  She fidgeted with her glass a moment, realizing that to continue in her argument would only provide him with more amusement at her expense. “Very well, you refuse to acknowledge the justice of my point. I don’t wish to haggle further with you. Oh, how nice, here is our dinner.”

  “Begging your lordship’s pardon, but you said dinner was to be served when her ladyship arrived.”

  “Your entrance was exquisitely timed, Maria. Kate, my dear, would you care to be seated?”

  “How very gracious of you, my lord March. Ah, do try the lamb, it looks quite delicious.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Julien said, grinning at her, and promptly fell to his dinner.

  Some minutes later, he said casually, “Oh, I quite forgot to tell you. Harry wrote you a letter and asked that I give it to you.”

  “A letter from Harry? But how ever did you get a letter from Harry? No, no, please don’t deign to give me a tedious explanation. How could I imagine that you would overlook my brother in all your machinations?”

  “You begin to understand me, Kate. I do apologize for not giving it to you sooner, but there were so many other pressing matters that I forgot about it. Crayton found it when he was unpacking.”

  It didn’t take her long to decipher the few lines of Harry’s familiar sloping scrawl, and she raised a face pale with anger to Julien. She wadded up the sheet, really quite viciously, and clutched it in a tight fist.

  “Good Lord, you look ready to hurl your lamb chops at the sofa. Whatever did he write?”

  “You miserable sod, you put him up to this.” She flung the ball of paper at him. He caught the paper handily and smoothed it out in front of him. He’d expected Harry to simply congratulate his sister, which of course he did, but in such a way that Julien could readily understand why it had raised her hackles, indeed, sent her temper to the boiling point. Harry had advised her in no uncertain terms not to play the shrew and argue and give orders as was her wont, because she was, after all, a very lucky girl to be offered marriage by such a distinguished, amiable, and accomplished gentleman. Even this could have been forgiven if, in his zeal to commend himself to his brother-in-law, Harry had not gone so far as to advise her to forget all her nonsensical notions of playing at men’s sports, to toss away her men’s breeches as well as her pistols, to become an obedient wife and conduct herself as a countess should. Undoubtedly Harry had meant to do him a favor. Lord, he hadn’t meant to impress the boy so. The last few lines were difficult to read, and Julien, after making them out, decided that Kate hadn’t read to the end of her letter. Perhaps it would reduce her anger. Probably not, but perhaps.

  “Control your ire, my dear. Your brother was a trifle overexuberant in his, er, counsel, but you should forgive him, for he was very excited about joining his regiment.”

  “Counsel! Is that what you call it? Oh, what do you mean—joining what regiment?”

  “The last lines of his letter. He tells you that by the time you read his letter, he will be on his way to Spain.”

  “Spain,” she repeated blankly.

  “Of course. You must have known this was his wish above all things—to be a soldier, all dashed out in a white-and-red uniform, a saber at his side, astride a stallion of doubtless noble descent. I made the arrangements before I left London. Don’t worry about him, for there are only minor squabbles with the guerrillas since Napoleon’s downfall. Trust me, Kate. I even spoke to Lord Hawksbury, telling him that under no circumstances did I want Harry in the midst of any fighting. He’s still too green. But he will learn and mature, and I suspect that he will make an excellent soldier in the not-too-distant future.”

  She said nothing to that, just sat there, her lamb untouched on her plate, her head averted, stiff as a pike. He said, more harshly than he intended, “Good God, Kate, I don’t understand you. Harry is a grown man, or very nearly grown. You’re behaving as though he is still in short coats and you’re his doting mother or great aunt. Let him have his freedom, let him get away from Sir Oliver, who wants to make a scholar of a boy with no more taste for Ovid than Sophocles, who hated his guts, had.”

  “It’s not that,” she said, and she was actually wringing her hands. “It’s just happened so quickly. Everything’s happened so quickly. Everything is different. The changes . . . there have been so many changes.”

  The world she’d known had crumbled about her. Harry had been everything to her after her mother died. Of course she’d known that someday he would leave her, that he would even marry and another girl would take her place in his heart, but it had always been in a misty, vague future. A very distant future. Dear God, he was only twenty-two, and he’d left her without telling her, without a single damned word, without giving her time to reconcile herself to it.

  Quite suddenly, her look of unhappiness was replaced again by thin-lipped anger. She was now dwelling on Harry’s other words. Julien waited patiently for her outburst, but it didn’t come. Perplexed, he saw the angry look vanish, and to his consternation, she gazed at him steadily and said in a voice that was surely desperate, “So, my lord, I am to be your obedient wife and conduct myself as a countess should. Just how does a countess behave? Does she stick her nose in the air when addressed by those who are beneath her? And who are beneath her? Pray tell me, for these are uncharted seas for me.”

  23

  He stretched out his hand and let his long fingers close over hers. “You are no longer Sir Oliver’s daughter. He has no more say about anything regarding you. You’re now mine. You’re also now a countess, and that means that however you choose to behave is quite the correct way.” He spoke easily, smiling, hoping to make light of Harry’s ill-chosen words.

  To his surprise and dismay, a large tear gathered and rolled unheeded down her cheek. She didn’t sniff or blink, merely let the tear and those following it gather and fall, leaving a light streak to mark their path.

  “My dear—”

  She calmly picked up her napkin, daubed the corners of her eyes, and wiped her cheeks. She said dully, “It seems that I didn’t know my brother. He is exactly like the rest of you men. He cares for naught but his own pleasures, his own pursuits, no matter that they may kill him, and expects women to keep to their place, safe and quiet and subservient. An obedient and, yes, undoubtedly, inferior creature, that’s what he expects. Of course, it is what you wish also. The rest is all nonsense. Pray don’t insult my intelligence or patronize me.”

  She slipped out of her chair and without another word walked stiffly to the door. She didn’t turn when he called out to her, just let herself quietly out of the room, picked up her skirts, and fled up the stairs to her bedchamber. Ah yes, such a lovely room, a room fit for a countess, which she now was, but what was that, indeed? Surely not she, for she was miserable and unfit and quite stupid.

 
She looked blindly about her for a moment and then flung herself face down on the bed. She was lost in her own private misery and was roused only when the fire in the grate burned low and she began to shiver. She stood up, automatically smoothing the folds of her beautiful new gown. It was hopelessly crumpled, but she didn’t care, for after all, it was Julien’s. If he didn’t like the wrinkles, let him smooth them.

  She walked to the windows, found the cord, and pulled back the heavy curtains. The night was black save for a few errant stars appearing through the heavy veil of darkness. She pulled the latch and leaned out, the cold night air pressing against her face. A picture of Harry in his yellow-striped waistcoat, proudly pluming himself in front of her, came into her mind. Harry, flinging his arms heavenward, groaning loudly, falling flat on his back when it had last been his turn to be killed in a duel. Harry, now gone from her, now gone to Spain. Harry, no longer a part of her life. Harry, a man like all the rest of them, now gone from her irrevocably. Deep inside she knew that nothing could ever again be the same. For so long as Harry had remained near to her, a semblance of their years together, the happy moments of her childhood, was preserved. But now they had both crossed unalterably into a different life, their past forever lost to them.

  She suddenly felt very tired. She drew back into the room and slowly closed the window, but not the draperies. Not without some difficulty, she managed to unfasten the small buttons at the back of her gown. She let the gown slide to the floor and simply stepped out of it, leaving it where it lay. She slipped out of the silk chemise and then walked slowly to the exquisite bed with its canopy of a soft beige-and-pink silk, pulled back the satin counterpane, and slid between the warm covers.