His Rebel Bride

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Have a care, Catherine. If you were to do so, the consequences would be disastrous. Allow me to tell you what I know of Lord Reresby.’

  ‘If you must,’ she responded stiffly, unable to conceal the turbulent animosity she felt for the man she refused to consider her husband.

  ‘Perhaps then you will not judge him so harshly. He is a military man, having distinguished himself in Scotland and Tangier. He is also well liked—a man of honour—’

  ‘Honour? The man is beyond honour,’ Catherine was quick to retort, making no effort to hide her scorn. ‘There was nothing honourable in his dealings with me.’

  ‘I understand that that is how it must seem to you, my dear. Lord Reresby is a man of great wealth in his own right—although there was a time when his family’s fortunes suffered greatly when they supported the King during the Civil War. At the time of the Restoration, Lord Reresby’s father’s closeness both to Charles the First and his son played a great part in advancing the Reresby fortunes considerably. Your husband inherited Saxton Court, the Reresby estate in Somerset, on the death of his father.’

  Unmoved by Mr Soames’s account of Lord Reresby, Catherine rose and went to the window, staring out with unseeing eyes at the courtyard. ‘How did this come about? Why did my father marry me to Lord Reresby?’ She turned and looked at him. ‘You know, don’t you, Mr Soames? Tell me, and then I shall know what I have to face. And please do not try to spare my feelings, because you know as well as I how little he thought of me—so little as to marry me to a total stranger against my will—how unforgiving he was, and how he blamed me for the death of my mother until the day he died.’

  Mr Soames nodded. She was right. Her mother had breathed her last the moment Catherine came into the world. This young woman had a right to know everything. Unfortunately he only knew what Henry had told him, and that wasn’t the half of it. ‘Your father lost his fortune to Lord Reresby in a card game. He gambled away everything he owned.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Soames answered with a quiet finality that struck at Catherine’s heart. ‘Your father was a compulsive gambler—he never could resist the cards or the rattle of the dice, and the higher the stake the more exciting it became. It was at the tables where he acquired the greatest proportion of his wealth—he seldom lost. Reresby must be a clever man to have got the better of him.’

  Catherine had to steel herself to ask the question uppermost in her mind, dreading what the answer would be. ‘And what of me? Where do I fit in to all this?’

  ‘I will try to explain as best I can, for I do not know all the facts. Your father told me that the game of cards was deliberately instigated by Lord Reresby with an aim to ruin him. Lord Reresby wanted to take revenge for some wrong Henry had done him. Your father was not a popular man, Catherine. Unable to achieve professional acclaim because of his extreme political beliefs, wealth became his god—a fact which you, of all people, are aware of. He believed power would come with wealth, that he could buy power. He had many enemies.’

  ‘I’ve always known that. But tell me about the game of cards,’ she asked, growing impatient to know all the facts. ‘What do you know of that?’

  ‘When your father had lost all his property, his fate—yours too, my dear—was to be determined on the turn of a card. If Lord Reresby drew the highest card, then he would extract a written confession from your father.’

  A puzzled frown creased Catherine’s brow. ‘A confession? For what? Of what crime was he guilty?’

  ‘High treason,’ Mr Soames said quietly.

  Horror filled Catherine’s heart, for to accuse her father of high treason could only mean that he was guilty of some crime against the King, which was punishable by death.

  ‘However,’ Mr Soames went on, ‘Henry refused the wager and made one of his own. He insisted that should he draw the highest card, he would keep his property for his lifetime and Lord Reresby would marry you instead of making you his mistress, which was what Lord Reresby originally intended.’

  Catherine listened, caught in the grip of paralysing disbelief. ‘Indeed. And if Lord Reresby drew the highest card? What then?’

  ‘Unfortunately I was not made privy to that.’

  ‘Are you telling me that my entire future was staked on the turn of a card?’

  Mr Soames nodded.

  ‘And who won this final wager?’

  ‘Your father.’

  Something cold clawed at Catherine’s heart. What Mr Soames had divulged made her so angry she felt physically sick. Swallowing the lump of humiliation in her throat, in a voice shaking with fury, she said, ‘Were there others present at that game of cards to witness my shame, of how I came to be Lord Reresby’s wife, of how I was dragged from my bed in the middle of the night and forced into marriage—despite the fact that I was violently opposed to it?’

  ‘I believe they were alone—and the shame is not yours, my dear.’

  In humiliated outrage, fighting for control, she turned away, silently calling Marcus Reresby every terrible name she could think of. ‘Lord Reresby is vile and I hate him. I hate him,’ she hissed, with such conviction that Mr Soames could almost feel it. ‘Had he realised how much my father despised me perhaps he would not have been so eager to involve me. But why go to all that trouble? If my father was guilty of some terrible crime, then why didn’t Lord Reresby simply expose him?’

  ‘The matter is extremely complex and I am certain there is more to it than I can tell you, but I am sure Lord Reresby knew what he was doing.’

  ‘Of what treasonable offence was my father guilty?’

  ‘I believe he was implicated in some way in a conspiracy to murder King Charles and his brother, then the Duke of York. You may have heard of it, for it was widely publicised at the time. The assassination was to take place after a visit to Newmarket when the brothers were en route from Newmarket to London, close to a house named The Rye, owned by an old Cromwellian.’

  ‘Yes, I do know about it, and that, owing to a fire in the Earl of Sunderland’s stables at Newmarket, half the town was burned down, which resulted in King Charles and his brother returning to London earlier than expected, whereby the conspirators were caught unprepared and the plot misfired. Some of the conspirators have been caught and executed, have they not?’

  ‘They have. Others escaped abroad.’

  ‘Then if, as you say, my father was implicated in the plot, I still do not understand why Lord Reresby did not expose him.’

  ‘It is a mystery, I grant you. I still feel that your husband’s revenge was of a personal nature. Perhaps you will discover the truth in time—when you know him better.’

  ‘Damn Lord Reresby. I have no wish to know him better,’ Catherine retorted vehemently, recoiling from the thought of committing her body, her entire life, into the hands of that man. In her mind he represented every cruelty that had been heaped on her throughout her life, every suffering and loss. ‘I have nothing to give him. I will not be bound to him for all eternity—better that it were spent in purgatory.’

  Her look became one of desperation, as though her senses had filled her with pain she could no longer stand. ‘I simply cannot bear it. A marriage begun with a sham of a ceremony is doomed from the start. I want to be free of him—to have the marriage annulled, to divorce him—never to have to set eyes on him again.’

  For a moment Mr Soames looked at her wordlessly, for what was there to say? There was nothing to be gained in comfort or pity. ‘In the eyes of the church you are his wife,’ he said quietly. ‘There can be no question of a divorce, for it would require an Act of Parliament, and an annulment would be just as difficult to obtain as a divorce. But—just supposing the church did grant you an annulment, how would you live, Catherine? You have nothing of your own, only a few jewels you inherited from your mother and a small sum of money that is nowhere near enough to keep you for the rest of your life.’

  When Catherine thought of this final insult to her pride, he
r heart pounded so hard she could scarcely breathe. There must be something she could do, somewhere she could go to escape Marcus Reresby. Then, as if by magic, the smiling face of Harry drifted before her mind’s eye.

  Harry. Harry was the one she loved with all her heart. Harry was the only son of a wealthy, respectable Protestant family who lived in Richmond. She suddenly remembered that he was to leave for The Hague this very day. In the merciless coldness of her mind and the goad of desperation, she knew Harry would provide her with a way of escape. She would go with him. They would be together after all. With nothing to lose and her mind made up, a curious sense of lightness, of freedom, pervaded her whole being, and she smiled at her own ingenuity.

  ‘Alice,’ she said when Mr Soames had departed and she had hastened to her bedchamber. ‘Prepare me some clothes—just a few necessary articles of clothing suitable for a journey.’

  Alice jerked her head towards her. ‘What’s this? A journey? And where to, might I ask?’

  ‘Holland.’

  Alice paused in what she was doing and stared at Catherine as though the girl had taken leave of her senses. ‘You what? But—your husband will be arriving any day. Do you seek to provoke him?’

  Catherine chafed at the reminder. ‘What of it?’

  ‘You wish to avoid him?’

  A spark of resistance sprung to life in Catherine’s heart. ‘Exactly. I will not wait for Lord Reresby to come for me. I will not be his wife. I will not,’ she reiterated adamantly. ‘It is Harry I love. Harry I will have.’ She went to her wardrobe and began pulling out several gowns, holding one of them against her that she had not yet worn. ‘My father is dead, Alice, and suddenly my life has altered drastically. I am determined it will be for the better. I will take charge of my own life and choose its direction. There is no place in it for Lord Reresby. Harry is going to join the Duke of Monmouth in The Hague to offer his support to his cause. I am going with him.’

  Alice’s eyes revealed her disapproval and concern. She was the most sturdy and sceptical of women, and often severe on her charge. ‘Nay, Catherine, you must not. Mark my words, no good will come of it. You are a married woman now. Your duty is to your husband.’

  Catherine threw the gown on to the bed and stared at her old nurse. A rush of feelings rose in her chest. Alice had done so much for her. Deprived from birth of a mother’s guidance and love, if not for Alice, her life would have been so much worse. ‘Duty? I think not. I must go.’ She went to Alice and hugged her. ‘God bless you, Alice. I owe you so much. I fear I owe you a debt I can never repay.’

  ‘You know that I love you like my own child, Catherine. You owe me nothing.’ Alice smiled through her tears, holding Catherine at arm’s length.

  ‘Yes, I do, and please don’t fret. I promise I will write just as soon as I arrive in Holland. Father stayed with Sir Percival Tippet and his wife until his death. They were always kind to me on the occasions we met and I know they will be glad to have me stay with them for a while. I hope you will join me there very soon.’

  Alice stepped back, wiping her damp eyes on her apron. ‘My beautiful Catherine. You always did have a penchant for not doing what is considered right. How will you travel?’

  ‘On horseback.’

  ‘And what shall I tell your husband when he comes?’

  Catherine shrugged. ‘The truth. I am sure he will make you tell him anyway, so you might as well.’

  Alice was assailed by memories of the dark, sardonic man Catherine had married. Recalling how the candlelight had danced across his swarthy features, casting shadows that had made him look positively satanic, she thought there wasn’t a woman in the whole of Christendom who would so blatantly defy and humiliate a man such as he.

  ‘He will come after you, you know that.’

  A chill crept up Catherine’s spine as she imagined how angry Lord Reresby would be on finding her gone, but the alternative of facing him to suffer God knew what terrible fate was too repugnant to consider. Her eyes sparked and her jaw clenched wilfully.

  ‘He can pursue me all he likes, and he probably will, just for the meanness of it, but Marcus Reresby can go to the devil for all I care.’

  Chapter Two

  ‘W here is my wife?’ Marcus demanded of Alice on his arrival at Riverside House.

  He had been in London when he had learned of the death of Henry Barrington, and he was quite astonished by how unmoved he felt. No feeling of guilt or remorse assailed him, and no ghost would rise up from the grave to haunt him. However, the bitterness Marcus had felt over the manner of his father’s death eighteen months ago was as deep and strong in his blood as it had been at the time, and he would not rest until he had found the man who had conspired with Barrington to kill him.

  At his first opportunity he had left London. Catherine would have matured into a woman now. She’d had plenty of time to come to terms with the idea of being his wife and resign herself to her responsibilities.

  Marcus rose to his full six feet three inches. At first he was incredulous when Mistress Parks told him Catherine had left, and then his dark complexion turned darker. ‘What manner of nonsense is this? If my wife isn’t here, then where is she?’

  Alice stepped back nervously from the furious blast of those dark eyes and repeated her words. ‘Catherine has gone.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday—noon.’

  ‘Then perhaps you can tell me where I can find her. Come, I demand to know—and don’t lie to me.’

  Alice bristled at the suggestion that she would and drew herself up with all her dignity. ‘It is not my way to lie, sir, and nor have I reason to. Catherine has gone to Holland—to The Hague.’

  ‘The Hague?’ Marcus’s frown grew ominous, and the question blazed in his countenance. ‘And why, pray, has she gone there? I take it she is not travelling alone, so who is accompanying her?’ When Alice remained silent, uncomfortably avoiding his direct gaze, he said in a low, deadly voice, ‘It’s him, isn’t it? She’s gone with Harry Stapleton.’

  Alice nodded. ‘Yes.’

  With a supreme effort, Marcus managed to keep his voice steady. ‘Has she, by God? You must forgive my abruptness,’ he said as patiently as possible, trying to stifle his agitation, ‘but I thought Catherine understood that I would come for her as soon as I heard of her father’s demise.’

  ‘She did and I tried to prevent her from going with young Harry, emphasising the recklessness of her actions, but she was determined.’ Alice clasped her hands at her waist, her misgivings and the unease that had attacked her when Catherine had told her she was to leave with Harry evident on her strained features. ‘Lord Reresby, I have been Catherine’s maid since she was a babe, and her mother’s before that, and I must confess that for the first time I fear for her safety. You see, Harry has gone to offer his support to the Duke of Monmouth.’

  Astounded by Alice’s disclosure, Marcus stared at her, and then without a word he turned and paced back and forth. He had realised from the beginning that Catherine would never be a complaisant wife, and her fiery spirit would be compatible to his. He recalled how lovely she had looked: bravely, defiantly lovely. No matter how their marriage had come about she was his, she belonged to him, and no one interfered with anything that belonged to him. Harry Stapleton would regret ever being born if she wasn’t physically untouched.

  He could feel dark anger boiling up inside him, pounding in his temples. Never had he felt such rage. Always he dealt fairly with people, friends and servants alike, and he couldn’t remember when his good nature had been so sorely tested as it was now. The idea of being defied and humiliated by a woman, particularly by his own wife, was unthinkable.

  He ceased his pacing, coming to a halt in front of Alice. A muscle jerked ominously in his taut cheek. ‘Your mistress has acted foolishly and wilfully. I shall leave immediately for The Hague and bring her back. My patience is not inexhaustible and she will very soon realise that her place is with me now and not running lo
ose all over Europe with whomsoever takes her fancy.’

  ‘A moment, my lord,’ Alice said with caution. Suspecting Lord Reresby had a hot temper, she prayed Catherine’s behaviour would not impel him into violent action and she would not be dragged back in humiliation.

  Crossing to the door, he paused and looked back at her, impatient to be on his way and yet prepared to hear what she had to say.

  ‘Without the guiding hand of her father, Catherine, in her gentle way, has always done exactly as she wanted. Her marriage to you was the one thing she was unable to do anything about. The situation was so sudden and so far beyond her experience that she felt quite helpless. It affected her deeply and she has tried to pretend it never happened. I beg of you not to deal too harshly with her when you find her.’

  Alice’s quiet, impassioned plea brought Lord Reresby’s black eyes to rest seriously on her. The thought came to her that he looked very handsome, despite the mud on his clothes and his wind-tangled hair. To anyone exposed to his anger he was so very formidable, so intimidating, she thought, and she feared for Catherine. And yet Catherine was a spitfire, and fully as arrogant as Lord Reresby. But the discomfort she would inevitably be subjected to, should she continue to anger and defy her husband, worried Alice. As if sensing her thoughts, at last Lord Reresby smiled faintly and gave a nod of his head.

  ‘I will heed your words, Mistress Parks. You may rest assured that I do not intend to terrorise her,’ he promised gravely, ‘only to make her see the error of her ways and to make it clear that I expect better from her in the future. It is plain to me that you care for Catherine a great deal, and if it is your wish to continue serving her then I will arrange for you to go to Saxton Court. I do not know what will happen to Riverside House. Until I have spoken to my wife, it is my intention to close it for the time being.’