The Rebel Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  “Dr. Quaille is overgenerous in his praise.”

  “His lordship’s natural modesty, my lady. But in any case, I don’t wish to overtire you.” He patted her hand in a fatherly way and straightened. “I’ve given his lordship instructions for your care. No running up and down the stairs, now. I’ll come to the hall tomorrow to see you. Daresay you’ll be much more the thing then. Ah, and, my dear, there will be other children. Don’t blame either yourself or your husband for this. It was an accident, nothing more, nothing less. These things happen. I’m sorry, but there it is.”

  Dr. Quaille executed two swift bows, and Kate heard him exclaim to Julien as he passed through the bedroom door, “A most delicious luncheon, my lord. The ham slices—so wafer thin—a delight, my lord, a delight. Now, you’re not to blame yourself either. It’s just as I told her ladyship. These things happen quite frequently.”

  “Is it true, Julien, what the doctor said?” She asked when he returned some minutes later.

  She wouldn’t look at him. He said merely, “I acted as I thought best, that’s all.”

  How calm he is, how very self-assured, she thought. “As you’ve always acted for the best in my regard,” she said, her voice a blend of sarcasm and bitterness. “Perhaps in this instance, it would have been better had you not succeeded so well.” There, it was said. Oblivion, she thought. Yes, I would have preferred oblivion to the pain of my gratitude to you, to the pain of your knowledge of what happened to me.

  She’d finally pushed him over the edge. He leaned over her, his face close to hers. “Listen to me and listen with both ears, and your damned brain. Don’t you ever say such a thing again, else I’ll beat you. Whatever follies I’ve committed in the past, whatever pain I’ve brought to you—” He broke off a moment at her distraught face. “Perhaps you won’t believe me, but yes, I’ve always acted toward you as I thought best, for both of us, for our life together.”

  She didn’t move, simply stared up at him and said low and mean, “How glib you are, my lord. Deception? Why, it’s nothing, an everyday thing, in fact. And forcing me, lying to me? Why, my dear, it was for the best, certainly you see that. But of course you’re naught but a woman, and thus not privy to the mysteries of men’s minds. All for the best, yes, that’s it.” She couldn’t stop the sarcasm, the destructive words, they overflowed as from a cup full to brimming.

  He straightened, his lips a thin line. “You’re in no condition to speak of such things now. You’re becoming overwrought. I don’t want you to make yourself more ill than you already are. When you have regained your health and are capable of speaking more calmly—”

  “Damn you, I’m not overwrought or hysterical or anything except bloody furious. Even though you don’t want to face it, I just happen to be in full possession of my meager faculties. You’ve remained silent for so long now. Is it that you’ve forgotten the rational motives for your behavior? Must I give you more time to weave reason into your worthless arguments?” She fell back panting against the pillow, appalled at the rising note of hysteria in her voice. God, she was overwrought, damn him. “Oh, God, why didn’t you just let me die?” Unwanted, scalding tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Here is her ladyship’s lunch, my lord,” Mrs. Cradshaw announced as she came into the room. “Oh, dear, I didn’t know—” She stood frozen in the doorway, the big silver tray balanced on her forearms.

  It was with an effort that Julien tore his eyes away from his wife and walked to Mrs. Cradshaw. “Give me the tray, Emma. Her ladyship will be all right presently.” He added under his breath, “Fetch me the laudanum. It will calm her.”

  He returned to the bed and stood above her. “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m not at all hungry. Give it to the dogs or the pigs. Give it to Dr. Quaille. He was so pleased with the so very thin ham slices.”

  “Very well. You will take your medicine then and rest.”

  “I don’t want your laudanum. I would rest quite well, were it not for your presence.”

  “You will have your wish as soon as you drink your medicine.”

  When Mrs. Cradshaw reappeared with the laudanum, Julien dismissed her and carefully measured out the drops into a glass of water.

  Kate took the glass from Julien’s outstretched hand and quickly downed the clear liquid. There would be forgetfulness in sleep, and that was something. For at least a short while, it was something.

  “Now, as you wish, madam,” he said flatly. “I shall relieve you of my presence.” He turned and walked from the room, not looking back.

  He returned some thirty minutes later, saw that she slept, and sat down beside her. He had lost her at last. The admission cost him dearly. There were no more plans, no new strategies to make her understand. At least with the secrets, the necessary deceptions, he’d been able to nourish hope.

  “Deuced strange to think that my sister lives here,” Harry said, all goodwill, stamping freshly fallen snow from his top boots. He whipped off his many-caped greatcoat, stood proudly a moment in his scarlet regimentals, and clicked his heels together in grand military fashion.

  “A fine figure you present, Master Harry,” Mannering said fondly, removing the greatcoat from Harry’s outstretched hand.

  “I daresay I do look rather dashing,” Harry said with a wide grin, looking to his brother-in-law for confirmation.

  Julien had no problem rising to the occasion. “A regular rake in soldier’s clothing. Have you left a score of broken hearts in your wake, Harry?”

  “Not more than half a dozen.” Harry stripped off his heavy leather gloves and gazed about him. “Always thought this place was like a tomb. But trust Kate to like it, always did, you know. She used to stand, mouth agape, mind you, staring at those ridiculous suits of armor. Claimed she would have been a fine figure of a knight, jousting and that sort of thing. Such a sweet little nit she was—and mouthy too—always wanting to do exactly what I did.”

  Harry pulled up short in his monologue. “Speaking of Kate, where the devil is she? Surely she ain’t out fishing in the snow. Ah, I have it, I’d wager she’s on one of your favorite stallions, careening all over the countryside.”

  Julien put a firm hand on Harry’s sleeve. “No, Harry, Kate is here. Before you see her, though, I must speak with you privately.”

  “Eh, what’s this? Is she brewing some new mischief? I warned you about that, my lord, before you married her. Never boring, my sister. Ah, I know. She’s got all sorts of grand treats planned for Christmas.”

  Christmas, Julien thought blankly. He hadn’t given it a single thought. “Come, Harry, let’s go into the library.”

  Harry shot his brother-in-law a puzzled look and said with an insouciance that Mannering readily forgave, “Do see that my hack gets stabled, will you, Mannering?”

  “Certainly, Master Harry, certainly.”

  Harry followed in Julien’s wake into the library and moved quickly to the blazing fire to warm his hands.

  “Will you join me for a brandy, Harry?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. Hellish weather, but to be expected, I suppose, it being winter and all.”

  “No doubt,” Julien said, handing Harry his glass. “When must you rejoin your regiment?”

  “Not until after Christmas.” Harry deposited himself with practiced grace onto a rather fragile settee, which groaned in protest under his weight. “Wanted to see what Kate is about, and then, there is my father, of course,” he added with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

  “If you prefer to stay with us, I’m sure Kate would welcome your company.”

  Harry sensed suddenly a tenseness in his brother-in-law’s voice. Never one to tread warily, he demanded, “What of Kate? She’s not ill, is she? Never been sick a day in her life, and the things she’s done, they’d grizzle your hair.”

  “No, Harry, not precisely,” Julien said slowly. “She suffered a miscarriage three days ago. She is much better now, but is still confined to her room.”

  “Goo
d Lord!” Harry jumped to his feet, forgetting for the moment the dignity he owed to his rank. “I had no idea that she was—well, she is your wife, after all and I suppose it’s natural enough that—oh, my God, my poor Kate.”

  “She wasn’t far along in her pregnancy, but as I’m certain you’ll understand, it was quite a shock.” He gazed at Harry speculatively from beneath half-closed lids. Unexpected though his visit was, it could not have been better timed. Perhaps Harry would succeed where he had failed.

  “Damned shame.” Harry brightened almost immediately. “I’ve just the thing to cheer her up. I brought her a present, you know. A trifle really, but I fancied she would like a real Spanish mantilla. All the ladies drape them over their heads in Portugal, you see.”

  “Doubtless she’ll be delighted, Harry. Now, if you like, you can visit with your sister. Mannering will take you up. I won’t intrude on your reunion.”

  Kate lay languidly on a sofa near the fireplace, a finely knit cover spread over her legs and a paisley shawl draped about her shoulders. An embroidery frame with only a few too large, uneven stitches covering its muslin surface lay precariously near the edge of the sofa. She heard a light tap on the door and quickly lowered her head, as if suddenly preoccupied with her stitching. It was Julien and she couldn’t face him, she simply couldn’t. She didn’t move when she heard the door open.

  “Well, I say, Kate, that’s a fine way to greet your only brother, your older brother, who, I might add, you should honor and respect.” Harry was the picture of cheer as he stepped into the room.

  “Harry!” She struggled into a sitting position, her initial shock at seeing him giving way immediately to a tearful smile. “Oh, my dear, it’s so good to see you again. How very fine you look, so handsome and dashing.” She alternately clasped him tightly against her and pushed him back, as if to verify that it was indeed he.

  “Ho, Kate,” Harry protested after several of her fierce embraces, “don’t want to wrinkle my coat, old girl.” He patted her pale cheek, endeavoring to keep the worry from showing on his face. Lord, but she looked pale and drawn, and dreadfully thin. He’d never thought of a pregnant woman being thin, but she was. On the other hand, Julien had said she wasn’t very far along. Still, it scared him witless.

  To Kate, who knew her brother perhaps better than she knew herself, Harry’s thoughts were mirrored in his wide blue eyes. She forced a smile and said lightly, “Do sit down, my love. As you see, I’m still a trifle weak, but it will pass, Harry, and there is naught for you to worry about. Come, my dear, pull that chair closer, and tell me about your regiment and all your adventures.”

  Harry could find no fault at all with her suggestion, as it appeared she had no wish to speak of herself. He’d give her thoughts another direction, that’s what he would do. “Deuced hot in Spain and Portugal,” he said, stretching himself easily in the chair opposite her.

  “Was there much fighting, Harry? I was very worried about you.”

  “Oh, no, just scattered packs of ruffian bandits. We routed the scurvy lot, let me tell you. No match at all for our men.” He sat forward in his chair, warming to his story. “We had a couple of native guides, though of course we really didn’t need them, just had them along to point us through the scrubby paths. Damned rocky terrain, you know, ground dry as a bone. But our men were hearty goers, rounded up the villains, no matter how cunning they were.”

  Kate sighed. “Oh, Harry, how I wish I could have been with you. I wouldn’t have minded the heat, and goodness, all the excitement—”

  “Now, that’s not something for a countess to wish, old girl. Cursed rough work, you know.” He paused and gazed around the elegantly furnished chamber. “Lord, I never thought to see you so regally placed.”

  “It does seem strange. I daresay, though, that Kate Brandon never wanted or sought such honors.”

  “Ridiculous, sister. Don’t you remember we couldn’t find a solution for you and Sir Oliver when I left for Oxford? Then the earl of March, dashed fine fellow, by the way, swoops down and rescues you, just like in those romantic novels.”

  She lowered her eyes and drew her lips tightly shut.

  Harry eyed her with a frown. “I can see you’ve indeed fallen into a depression, and that isn’t good for you. Now, my dear, trust me to cheer you up.”

  “Harry, you will stay here at St. Clair, will you not?” she thought to ask, her voice pathetically eager.

  “Think I very well might. The earl already asked me, you know. Sir Oliver won’t quite like it, but I shall pay him a visit or two. Surely three visits to him would be overdoing it, don’t you think?”

  “You must call him Julien, Harry. He would not care for such formality from his brother-in-law.” At the mention of her husband’s name, she lowered her head and asked with forced lightness, “You’ve seen him, then?”

  “He met me downstairs and told me of your accident. I’m sorry, my dear. Bound to have more children.” He felt suddenly that he had stepped into uncharted land and was quite out of his ken. He could not unsay the words he’d already spoken, so he merely looked at her hopefully.

  “Of course, Harry,” she said, her voice as dull and gray as the overcast day.

  As he could think of nothing to say for the moment, Harry picked up a periodical from the table at his elbow and casually flicked though the pages.

  Kate sought to divert his attention, chiding herself for making him feel awkward and uncomfortable. “It will be Christmas in but two weeks. If you don’t think your military dignities will suffer, we could decorate the hall. There are holly and berries in abundance in the home wood.”

  Harry readily agreed to her suggestion, though secretly he thought it would be a dead bore. He suddenly remembered the mantilla carefully wrapped in tissue paper in his portmanteau. Kate loved presents. Surely it would be just the thing to cheer her up.

  He rose and tried for a mysterious air. “Don’t want you to move, Kate. I have a surprise for you.”

  He was rewarded, for Kate’s eyes lit up, quite in the carefree manner of his hoydenish little sister.

  “A present, Harry? Oh, how very kind of you. May I have it now?”

  “Of course you may. Let me fetch it, and while I’m about it, I’ll see if the earl—Julien—will now join us. Said he didn’t want to interrupt our reunion, but we’ve had plenty of it by now, I’d say, and I’m sure he would enjoy seeing you. He’s very worried about you, you know.”

  Kate said nothing to this suggestion, and Harry strode in his finest military fashion out of the room, feeling a bit more encouraged than he had only minutes before.

  Dear Harry, she thought, so innocently does he step into the boiling kettle. She planted a smile on her lips, for Harry’s sake.

  39

  By the time Christmas Day arrived, St. Clair had undergone a magnificent change. Under Harry’s very nominal direction, the servants had festooned countless bunches of bright-green holly, dotted with deep-red berries, all along the walls and beams in the hall, even going so far as to fasten clumps—most disrespectfully, Mannering thought—atop the armored knights. Colorful paper strings of red and green garland were hung in deep scallops over the doors, and much to Kate’s delight, Julien and Harry had hauled in a mammoth Yule log for the giant fireplace.

  On Christmas morning, after Julien and Kate had ceremoniously dispensed gifts among the staff, they went to the library to join Harry. Julien presented Kate with an elegant pair of diamond drop earrings and a narrow gold bracelet dotted with small exquisitely cut diamonds that matched those of the earrings. She accepted them with a smile, conscious that Harry was watching at her elbow.

  “Just the thing to go with your mantilla,” Harry said, all innocent enthusiasm.

  “You’re right, of course. Thank you, Julien,” she continued with pained correctness, “They are quite lovely. I’m sorry that I didn’t have the opportunity to—”

  “My birthday is in January, Kate. I shall expect two presents from you
on that date. It’s the sixteenth. Don’t forget now. If you like, I’ll even give you hints, perhaps write them down and put them under your pillow.”

  Harry gazed at them, baffled. He had felt acutely uncomfortable more than once during the past two weeks at being in their company. Several nights as he had made his way quietly to the kitchen, he had noticed a light shining from beneath the library door. He’d walked quietly to the door, cracked it open, and seen his brother-in-law sprawled in a large chair gazing fixedly into the dying fire. He had recalled Kate’s aversion to marriage with the earl, quite inexplicable to him, and her flight alone to France. But, be damned, she’d married him and, for a while at least, carried his child. Certainly no aversion there. That wasn’t possible, was it?

  Late one night, as Harry gazed proudly at his scarlet uniform, pressed by Timmens’s careful hands, he was drawn by the sound of loud voices coming from far down the hallway. Blessed with a lively curiosity, Harry quietly opened his door and looked down the darkened corridor. He realized with a start that the loud voices were coming from Kate’s room. It came as something of a shock to him, for during the length of his stay Harry had never before heard Julien and Kate raise their voices to each other, much less argue, and in such an unrestrained way.

  He retreated back to his room and closed the door, reflecting as he did so that perhaps marriage wasn’t the divine state it was touted to be. It made him shudder.

  Above all things, Harry disliked problems, particularly those he didn’t understand. It occurred to him that staying with Sir Oliver might not be so bad after all. Certainly, at Brandon Hall, he knew exactly what to expect from his dour parent. But he didn’t want to have to put up with Sir Oliver’s endless and continuous sermons that touched on everything from the cleanliness of his linen to the number of girls he’d seduced. Odd that, such extremes in his father, who wanted everyone to see him as being a very holy, righteous man.

  But Harry was totally unprepared the next morning, when he walked down the front stairs, to see his brother-in-law in the hall, his head bent in conversation with Mannering, his luggage stacked near the front doors.