The Rebel Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  “Ah, Harry, there you are,” Julien said pleasantly, turning to face his flustered brother-in-law. “I’ve decided to return to London. There are pressing matters that require my attention. Kate has decided to remain here at St. Clair a while longer before joining me.”

  He ignored the look of patent disbelief on Harry’s face. “I’m driving my curricle. Would you care to join me?”

  Harry would have liked very much to yell at the earl, to defend his sister with scathing demands as to the earl’s reasons for such an abrupt departure. But under Julien’s cool, inquiring gaze, he was made to feel that such an action would be grossly impertinent. He fidgeted with a gold button on his scarlet coat and said finally with stiff formality, “As you wish, my lord. I will accept your offer. Actually, I didn’t really want to visit Sir Oliver anymore or stay with him.”

  He looked for the world like a ruffled bandy rooster, Julien thought as he turned his attention back to Mannering. He wondered if Harry would drop his reserve and question him on their journey. He really had no idea, at the moment, how he would respond to questions from a brother.

  They ate their breakfast in strained silence. Julien carefully laid down his fork, drew out his watch, and consulted it. He transferred his gaze to Harry, at once amused and rather touched by his obvious agitation. “I applaud your sentiments, Harry, but you must understand that it is Kate’s wish. I am certain that you have noted an atmosphere of tension between us.”

  “Yes.”

  “As a gentleman, you must know that I cannot divulge the reasons. To do so would be a great injustice to your sister.”

  “Is it because of her miscarriage?”

  “Perhaps, in part.” Julien turned the subject. “I’ve already said my good-byes to your sister. I will await you in the curricle. I believe Timmens has packed your bags and Mannering has seen them brought down.”

  Harry wasn’t much relieved, but he felt that to persist would make him appear boorishly forward. He rose slowly and laid his napkin down beside his half-empty plate. He was taken aback by the hard glint in his brother-in-law’s eyes.

  He turned nervously and walked to the door. “Yes,” he said over his shoulder, “I’ll say good-bye to Kate.” He wondered as he slowly mounted the stairs if he appeared mealymouthed to the earl. He knitted his brow a little over this, but by the time he lightly tapped on Kate’s door, he’d managed to reassure himself. Julien was her husband, after all. It was in a heartening voice that he called, “It’s I. May I come in?”

  “Of course, my dear.” As he walked into the room, she rose, shook out her skirts, and stretched out her hands to him. Harry pulled her rather gruffly into his arms and said in a low voice, “If you prefer that I stayed with you—”

  “Don’t be silly. You know very well that you would pine away within the week for want of your laughing, gay companions.”

  “But the earl—Julien, Kate. He’s offered me a place in his curricle to London. It doesn’t seem the thing to leave you alone.” He ground to a halt, seeing in her eyes the same hard look he’d so shortly before witnessed in his brother-in-law’s.

  “Oh, damnation, Kate. I didn’t want to see you unhappy. God, to see you this way after all those years with Sir Oliver. Isn’t there anything I can do?”

  “This isn’t a Greek tragedy, Harry. You just don’t understand about people who are married, that’s all. The earl merely journeys to London on business matters. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

  “Your husband’s name is Julien, Kate, not the earl. Don’t take me for a fool.” He would have said more, but he checked himself at the sight of her drawn face.

  She looked up at him, the merest hint of a smile on her pale lips. “Never a fool, my dear, never. Now, I know you must be off. Pray don’t concern yourself further about my stupid affairs.”

  He eyed her dubiously for a moment, and to her profound relief, said nothing.

  “Take care, Harry, and don’t wallow in too much mischief.” She dropped a light kiss on his cheek, hugged him briefly, and drew back.

  “You will write to me if there is anything you—”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” She felt quite calm at the moment and didn’t want to risk any faltering on either of their parts. Some moments later, from her vantage point at the window, Kate watched the footman strap the luggage onto the boot of the curricle. Julien and Harry, scarves knotted securely about their throats against the light flakes of falling snow, climbed into their seats. The groom handed Julien the reins, and Kate fancied she could hear the crunch of hardened snow beneath the wheels of the curricle. She maintained her vigil at the window long after new snow filled in the wheel tracks on the drive.

  Although the household staff were astounded at the earl’s abrupt departure without the countess, no word reached Kate’s ears. To the casual observer there was no sign of disruption in the daily activities at St. Clair. Privately, of course, there was endless speculation, even by the second footman and the Tweenie, a circumstance that Mannering heartily deplored but was unable to curtail. That the countess roamed through the various rooms, silent and aloof, was obvious to everyone, even those of little to no sensitivity.

  Never sure how long the countess would wish to remain in any one room, footmen scurried to lay fires against the chill, only to discover not many minutes after their efforts that the room was empty again.

  Luncheon and dinner trays were returned to Cook with scarce a morsel taken from the plates. A firm believer in the benefits of pork restorative jelly, Cook artfully hid spoonfuls of the thick gray substance beneath a cutlet or among the sauced vegetables. “The only one who’s benefiting from my jelly is that miserable tabby,” she said to Mrs. Cradshaw, as she dished yet another uneaten plate of food into the cat’s bowl.

  Kate had no idea that she was unwittingly adding to the culinary pleasure of the kitchen cat, so closely was she locked into herself.

  One afternoon, after wandering into the estate room, she returned to her room and huddled into a chair close to the fireplace, pulling a cover up to her chin. She had tried so hard not to think, not to remember, that she felt as if her mind was weaving itself into circular patterns. Finally, unable to withstand the onslaught of the bitter, shadowy memories, she allowed her mind to dwell upon them, each of them in turn. As once she had sought frantically to forget, she now forced herself to recall every detail, vividly re-creating the past five months, from the moment she’d fallen dead at Julien’s feet in her duel with Harry.

  She rose reluctantly sometime later to light candles against the early-winter darkness. As she carried a branch to a table near her chair, the glowing lights blended for an instant with the orange embers in the fireplace, creating a lifelike shadow that loomed upon the wall in front of her. She could almost feel Julien’s presence near to her. It was almost as if she could reach out and touch him. She had but to listen closely to hear him speak to her. The large shadow flickered and flattened into an insignificant blur.

  She sank into her chair and buried her face in her hands. With appalling clarity she remembered their last night together, when she’d taunted him until, finally, his calm, impassive facade crumbled. With a fury that matched her own, he had shouted at her.

  “You speak so scathingly of my unbridled passions. But listen to yourself, madam, you rant like an uncontrolled, hysterical termagant. You can’t say that you were mistaken in my character, for indeed you have never exerted the slightest effort to determine what sort of man I am. You have acted childishly, ignoring the needs and distress of everyone else around you. Your arrogance is amazing, your assumptions even more appalling. Damnation, woman, stop acting the shrew one minute and the victim the next.”

  “Damn you, how can you say such a thing, how—”

  “How dare I what? Speak the truth? Make you realize that this mockery of a marriage is not only of my making? How many times you have hurled at my head that you dance to my every tune? I will tell you, madam, that the piper no longer
plays.”

  She rushed at him with clenched fists. “You lie, just as you’ve always lied, just as you—” She raised her fists.

  “Don’t do it, Kate,” he said in a voice of deadly calm. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure at this moment than to thrash some sense into you. You’ve quite nearly pushed me over the edge. Don’t give me the excuse to do it.”

  “Ah, yes, your pleasure.” She drew up, panting. “I’ve been naught but an instrument for your bloody pleasure, your token countess, whom your gentleman’s code forbade you to seduce. You were forced to marry me so you could bed me, nothing more.”

  “Forced to marry you?” He looked at her thunderstruck. “Is that what you believe? You witless little fool. Hear me, Kate. I could have had quite an admirable selection of women for my wife. My choice of you for my wife, as the countess of March, had very little to do with the gratification of my sexual appetites. Only your irrational refusal of me caused me to act in the way that I did, that and the dreadful way you were forced to live by that maniacal father of yours.”

  “How very fortunate for you, my lord, that women find you so irresistible, else you would be forced to expend considerable energies staging your elaborate scenes.”

  “I seem to recall, madam, that it was you who staged our last so memorable seduction scene. And if my lamentable memory serves me correctly, your own passion rivaled mine.”

  “No, damn you, that’s a lie. I didn’t feel a thing, it was all imagined. No, I merely feigned feeling for you.” She clapped her hands over her ears.

  “No, I won’t stop and I haven’t said all that I wish,” he said, feeling like a savage now, nearly lost to control. He forcibly pulled her hands to her sides. “Damnation, listen to me. The young girl who was brutally raped no longer exists. You have seen her again, felt her misery. But now you must let her go. You are a woman, with a woman’s needs and desires. You will destroy yourself if you do not banish that child’s fears.”

  She wrenched herself free of him, her eyes grown dark and enormous. She gulped convulsively and the hated tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he whispered, and extended his hand to her. “Please, come back to me.” When she backed away from him, mutely shaking her head, he dropped his hands to his side, and his face hardened.

  “Would that I never see you again, Julien.”

  “If that is what you wish,” he said grimly, his eyes boring into hers.

  “It is what I wish above all things.”

  “Then I bid you good-bye.” Without another word he turned and left her bedchamber.

  Kate raised her head from her hands, realizing inconsequentially that they were wet with tears. She rose slowly and placed more wood upon the dying fire.

  The snowstorm ceased during the night, leaving a thick white blanket in its wake. Soft flakes fell about Kate as the steady pounding of Astarte’s hooves shook the low, snow-laden branches.

  She didn’t slow Astarte’s pace until they’d crossed the small meadow that bordered the copse. She waited for the gnawing fear to come as she slipped off her mare’s back and carefully tethered her.

  Watchful of her footing, she walked into the small hollow and stood there looking about her. Several inches of fresh snow were piled high on the familiar tree stump. The small patch of mushrooms was buried. She bent down and swept the snow from the stump. It seemed so much smaller than she remembered, her two hands could almost span its surface. She felt nothing except a slight chill from the crisp winter air.

  She sat down and pulled her riding habit and cloak close about her. She waited silently, still expectantly, but she could not recapture her child’s excitement, nor her child’s terror. There was nothing here for her, not the soft, sighing music woven from her child’s thoughts, not the sound of the men’s heavy wooden boots coming upon her, their glee at finding her there. The copse was simply a place, a small hollow of land, of no account really, not to her, not to anyone.

  She rose finally and walked back to Astarte. She didn’t look back as she retraced her steps.

  40

  “My lady! Oh my goodness, what a surprise! What an utter and complete surprise. We had no idea that you—well, you’re here and isn’t that something!”

  “Good evening, George,” Kate said brightly, sailing past the flabbergasted butler, waving as she did so to two lackeys. They staggered into the entrance hall under the weight of several trunks, portmanteaus, and bandboxes.

  “I find myself without a guinea, without even a shilling,” she said with a disarming smile. “Would you mind, George, settling with that excellent coachman, and, oh, yes, that very stern-looking fellow, who, I was informed, was an excellent outrider.”

  “Yes, my lady, certainly.” He had sounded calm, even though to his own ears, his voice had risen a good octave. He motioned to a silent footman, who moved forward somewhat clumsily, bumping one of the countess’s bandboxes. George shot him a look that promised retribution, and after giving the hapless fellow instructions and paying the coachman and the evil-looking outrider, he turned back to the countess. He took her ermine-lined cloak, her gloves, and a dashing bonnet.

  “It’s been a long time, George. I trust all goes well with you.”

  “Yes, indeed, my lady, so very well until just a moment ago. No, that’s not really true, since you’re here and that’s an unexpected pleasure.” A nervous tic had formed in the past few minutes in the corner of his right eye.

  “Is the earl here, George?”

  She followed his gaze up the long circular staircase and cocked her head to one side in question. He tugged on his cravat. “Er, yes, my lady, his lordship is indeed here, it’s just that he—” George faltered and died.

  “Yes, George?”

  “That is to say, my lady, ah, his lordship is not alone, my lady.”

  “Well, no matter,” Kate said kindly, patting him on his arm. “I’m certain his friends won’t mind a visit from his wife, do you think?”

  “It’s not exactly his friends,” George said in desperation.

  “Oh, not his friends? How very curious. I wasn’t aware his lordship admitted his enemies into his house. Come now, George, who is with his lordship?”

  He realized that the countess of March wasn’t the same young lady he’d known but a month before. This countess wasn’t about to be put off. This countess was clearly in charge. He said, “Lady Sarah is with him. She arrived not fifteen minutes ago, demanding to see his lordship. Surely you see it’s not his lordship’s fault that she’s here. Why, he would never admit a lady to this house, except you, naturally, but you’re not a lady—well, you are, of course, but you’re his wife, and surely that’s more important.”

  “Yes, far more important.” She smiled at him, and he started at the decided militant look in those eyes of hers. Then she gave the most sublime shrug. “Is that all? I dare say the lady who is not his wife is just this moment on the point of leaving.”

  Definitely the quiet, rather biddable young lady was long gone. No tears, just this calm indifference, this somewhat amused hauteur. It was astounding. He quite appreciated it. Perhaps, just perhaps, life would change for the better around here. It certainly couldn’t get any worse, what with his lordship moping about, silent and withdrawn, drinking too much brandy, just sitting in the library, staring into the flames in the fireplace.

  He got hold of himself. “Do allow me to inform his lordship that you’re here, my lady.” He had this sudden horrible vision of a scene that would make his own hair absolutely gray.

  “Oh, no, George, that’s not the way to handle this. Do trust me. I believe I shall surprise his lordship. He’s in the salon upstairs?” He darted a look upstairs, gave her an anguished look, then just stood there like a dumb stick, at least that’s how he characterized his own behavior to himself later over a glass of the earl’s best brandy.

  Kate turned and walked to the stairs, as bouncy as a child fetching a treat. She heard George say in a decidedly
pettish voice, “Get about your business, my lads! Don’t stand there gawking. Oh, yes, I must find some money for the coachman. No, no, I already paid them. Thank God for something, even a too-small something.”

  She walked purposefully up the stairs. Poor George’s distress at Lady Sarah’s tête-à-tête with the earl had, strangely enough, given her confidence. Trepidation is for fools, fainthearts, and butlers, she decided, not for countesses, at least not for this countess.

  Had she lost him?

  No, she wouldn’t consider that, no, indeed not. The door to the salon stood partially ajar, and Lady Sarah’s repulsive voice reached Kate’s ears before she actually saw the lady.

  “Oh, Julien, let her stay in the country. She will be much more in place there. I always thought her awkwardly uncomfortable in society. She was always so pale and uncertain of herself, and our friends didn’t know what to do with her. They were polite only because of you.”

  She waited, but Julien didn’t say anything. Well, there was nothing for it. She marched in, head high. “How very kind of you, Lady Sarah, to have my welfare so much at heart. Do you really believe that everyone dislikes me? Is it because I’m such a bore? I don’t believe I’m particularly pale now.” She spoke in the sweetest voice imaginable. She hoped it was as repulsive to Lady Sarah as her voice was to Kate. Actually she wanted to kill the lady, since her arms were around her husband’s shoulders.

  “Oh!” Lady Sarah jumped back, dropping her arms in stunned surprise.

  “Good evening, my lord. I trust I find you well.” She gave her husband a dazzling smile.

  Julien was staring at her, not smiling back, not frowning, just staring, as if she were a specter. He said easily, “I go tolerably well, my dear, tolerably well.”

  “Now, my dear Lady Sarah, although it is perhaps comforting to think that one’s husband is in such capable hands, I think it time to have a changing of the guard, so to speak. I daresay your own husband would much appreciate such a fond display of affection.”