His Rebel Bride

by Helen Dickson

  ‘I care nothing for his wealth. All I ever wanted was—’ She bit her lip to stop the words, but Alice, sensitive to all Catherine’s moods, knew what she had been about to say.

  ‘What you feel for Harry will pass,’ she encouraged her gently, ‘and in the meantime, with everyone watching you, it’s important to look your best lest one day you regret it.’

  Chapter Four

  D uring her first days at Saxton Court, Catherine’s strong young body recovered from the journey from The Hague. The recovery of her spirits and acceptance of her situation would take longer. She was calm, doing her best to fight her way back to reality, the reality of the loss of her home and Harry—both of which no longer existed in her world. Yet common sense and a hard-headed practicality came to her aid. For better or for worse Marcus Reresby was her husband, Saxton Court her home, and she was the mistress of a vast estate where she would have many duties and social obligations to perform. Without realising it she slipped into the daily rhythm of her new life, and it wasn’t long before the servants began to hold her in the same affection and respect as they did her husband.

  Saxton Court stood in an isolated corner of Somerset, lying between the Quantock and Blackdown Hills. It was a fertile area of small fields, rich pastures, grazing sheep and cattle and cider orchards. May bloomed, and the sun turned the stone walls of Saxton Court into a warm gold. A two-hundred-foot paved terrace dropped away in steps to the immaculate gardens—the lush bright green lawns, the denser greens of topiary and gravelled walks. Built in Tudor times, the house had complete symmetry. Four storeys high with handsome windows and, at either end, two balancing wings, its grandeur reflected the prosperous conditions of the Reresbys, its elegance expressing the same power and pride Marcus possessed.

  Catherine soon saw that the house was run efficiently and smoothly by the more than capable Mrs Garfield, who had been the housekeeper at Saxton Court for twenty years or more. She ruled the staff with a rod of iron, seeing that all work was done promptly, silently and efficiently. Despite this she was admired and respected by all, and she did her utmost to make it easy for Catherine to adjust to her new surroundings.

  During the first two days, Catherine saw little of Marcus. Often she would glance out of a window and see him riding across the open green spaces with Mr Fenton. A cold shudder would pass through her whenever she set eyes on his bailiff, and no matter how often they met she found it increasingly difficult to hide her dislike. She would sometimes find his eyes watching her, almost speculatively, and there was an expression in them that she could not fathom. When he walked the passages of the great house with that steady gait, she froze as she waited and listened. He seemed to be able to move about at times with only the slightest whisper of movement—like a ghost or a shadow.

  Her dislike, she suspected, was shared by the servants, including Mrs Garfield. The servants were always much too quiet when he was present in the house, warily keeping an eye out for him, and there was no mistaking a certain tension in the air, which relaxed the minute he left—Catherine was sure even the great house breathed a sigh of relief.

  She explored the house and grounds and, accompanied by Alice and driven by the aged, talkative Archie Rumbold—a man who knew all there was to know about Taunton Deane—took her carriage out several times to see the surrounding countryside. Wherever she went Catherine attracted a good deal of attention, for the news of her marriage to Lord Reresby had spread fast.

  With a list of goods she wished to purchase, she visited nearby Taunton, a bustling, handsome town on the banks of the River Tone, with narrow streets, its castle very much its centre. The tower of St Mary Magdalene, its four stages rising skywards, its summit crowned by pinnacles and turrets, was soaring proof of the prosperity of this cloth town.

  It was on this visit that she saw the unmistakable Mr Fenton. Unaware that he was being observed, she watched him stride towards the Red Lion tavern with a male companion. They were deep in conversation.

  ‘Why, I believe that is Mr Fenton,’ she said to Archie, who had climbed down from his coachman’s perch to lend his assistance. Alice had turned away to inspect the contents of a shop window. ‘Do you know the identity of his companion, Archie?’

  Archie screwed his ancient eyes up and peered in the direction of Lord Reresby’s bailiff. ‘That be Esquire Trenchard—an important gentleman and a Whig. Member of Parliament once, he was.’

  ‘A Dissenter?’

  ‘Oh, aye, no secret ’bout that—no shame in it, either. Concerned himself in treasonable activities in the time of King Charles. Rumour has it that he’s raised a troop of horse to fight King James should rebellion come about, but in spite of local loyalists and justices pokin’ about and delving into people’s affairs, nothing’s been proved. William Savage—that be the landlord of the Red Lion over there—he’s one of ’em. Free beer available to any man prepared to take up arms at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘Do you think the rumour about the troop of horse is true?’

  Archie shrugged. ‘Might be. Thing is, likely rebels know ’ow to keep their mouths shut.’

  ‘Would you support a rising, Archie, should the Duke of Monmouth come to the West Country?’

  Nodding his head slowly, Archie climbed back into his seat. ‘Aye, I’d be behind it. I’m too old to fight, mind, but I can’t speak for the rest of my generation. Where the young are concerned—well, some of ’em believe the cause their fathers and grandfathers fought for back in the forties and fifties and still dream about is a dead cause, and react against the piety and desperation that drove their elders, whilst others have been fed daily on stories of what happened.’

  ‘Like bread and water.’

  ‘Aye, you might say that, Lady Reresby. Back then Taunton was like an island of Parliamentary strength surrounded by Royalists. Its defiance at that time led to harsher persecution during the Restoration. It lost its charter when King Charles came to the throne, and singled it out as a centre of sedition, an’ as I believe that’s hardened the people’s resolve enough to rebel.’

  ‘So the people here were brought up in the shadow of events of forty years ago. Do you still sing the song that celebrates the relief of the Royalist siege here in Taunton?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Our experience of the Civil War and of victory then will give plenty the inspiration to revolt, should young Monmouth come ’ere and raise his standard.’

  Catherine looked towards the tavern door through which Mr Fenton and Esquire Trenchard had disappeared, wondering if they were already plotting insurrection over a mug of Mr Savage’s free ale.

  Marcus was in the hall when Catherine returned from her trip to Taunton. He told her he wished to speak to her, and Alice, who was carrying their purchases, excused herself.

  Whenever Marcus addressed his wife he was always polite and considerate, his manner reserved, and Catherine had no way of knowing that this was to camouflage the warm tide of feelings he always experienced whenever they were together.

  Since her arrival at Saxton Court, Marcus had kept his distance, watching her settle in under the capable wing of Mrs Garfield, giving her time to adjust to her new home and keeping callers at bay. He was rewarded daily when he saw how she began to relax, to move about the house with a newly acquired confidence.

  However, he was not unaware that her presence was causing much talk and speculation among his wide circle of friends in the neighbourhood, and the time to introduce her to Elizabeth could not be put off any longer. Besides, he could not remain away from London for much longer, not with all this talk of insurrection.

  That something was undoubtedly brewing here in the western counties was evident. Ever watchful, he observed how conversations were guarded and expressions closed. Letters that had been intercepted told of mounting unrest and possible rebellion. Conventicles were highly attended, where ministers preached of the revival of ‘The Good Old Cause’, of the time of the Commonwealth under Cromwell, rousing hope and expectations that the Duke
of Monmouth might deliver them from the Papist King James before it was too late and the whole land was turned Catholic.

  Marcus’s good friend, Lord Stanhope, a deputy Lieutenant of the county’s militia, had put him in the picture of how things were the day after he had arrived at Saxton Court, and he had soon seen for himself that there were many dangerous nonconformists, even in his own employ, who were active to bring about insurrection in the west. But they did not do it for their own gain, nor for a better standard of living, nor for greed or a fair share for all, but to defend the Protestant religion. For this Marcus had to respect them, for wasn’t this what all true Englishmen adhered to? But still, believing in traditional hierarchy, he shared King Charles II’s view, that it was right that his brother, James, should have succeeded him, and that he was the legitimate king.

  ‘Really, Marcus,’ Elizabeth had said, when her brother had told her she was to meet his wife, ‘you are indeed asking a great deal of me, even though I am your most adoring sister and can usually refuse you nothing. Our father was murdered, and I cannot forget that your wife’s father’s hand was behind that foul deed. And now, not only do you ask me to forgive you for your marriage, but also to extend to her my hand of friendship. I declare, it is the outside of enough.’

  Marcus understood in a measure what his marriage to Catherine had done to his sister, and it had tempered his manner and brought from him a soft plea. ‘I am sorry, Elizabeth. I did wrong, but, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me and face up to it, we’ll weather this together. I hope you won’t take against Catherine because of who she is.’

  ‘How can you ask that of me?’ Elizabeth had fumed indignantly. ‘She is his daughter, and because of who she is she does not deserve the benevolence one would ordinarily extend to a relative.’

  ‘You mustn’t vilify Catherine, Elizabeth. None of this is her fault. She didn’t want to marry me—she tried very hard not to. She’s stubborn and headstrong, and she’s also young and emotional.’ His lips had curved slightly when he recalled how challenging his young wife could be. ‘Her nature is singularly impulsive and passionate—passion is characteristic of girls her age, I suppose. She’s a fine young woman, and entirely innocent. You may not believe it, but she suffered, too, being Henry Barrington’s daughter.’

  ‘How so?’ Elizabeth had sounded unconvinced.

  ‘Her mother died giving birth to her. Barrington blamed Catherine for her death and rejected her all her life. She knows nothing of the events surrounding our father’s death and the part Barrington played in his murder. I am sure she will be devastated when she finds out.’

  ‘You aim to tell her?’

  ‘Of course. I must.’

  ‘And you expect me to accept her.’

  ‘I ask this of you in the confident belief that Catherine will prove herself to be worthy of the name she now bears. I know you are bound to resent her. I only pray it won’t be permanent.’

  ‘You will not cure me of it, but I will try my best to abide by Barrington’s daughter—your wife—my sister-in-law. Else it will make matters between us impossible, and I would not wish that.’

  Despite Elizabeth’s heated declarations, Marcus knew that with Roger’s help his sister could be persuaded to relent, but her attitude mattered to him, and he had remained concerned for Catherine’s sake.

  ‘You have been out,’ Marcus now remarked, moving slowly towards his wife. His expression was soft as he let his admiring glance rove over her restless figure. Beneath her bonnet her dark hair was blown into untidy wisps. Her face was pink from her ride in the carriage, and the tip of her nose was red. How he longed to kiss those cheeks and that small, pert nose, but, knowing her reaction would be to draw back, he restrained himself.

  Peeling off her gloves, Catherine caught his eyes. He was standing less than a yard from her, his tall, broad-shouldered form almost blocking out the light from the high window behind him. With his mud-splashed boots he looked as if he had spent the day in the open, and had merely removed his hat and unfastened his shirt at his throat. His black brows were lifted slightly in inquiry, his gaze unwavering on her face. The scent that clung pleasantly to him stirred her awareness and roused feelings she could not even explain to herself. Feeling strangely vulnerable and angered by the weakness, her voice was sharper than she intended when she spoke.

  ‘Alice and I have been into Taunton, to purchase a few items I have need of. What is it you wish to say to me?’

  ‘That I have decided it is high time I presented you as my wife. Your arrival has created a frenzy in the neighbourhood.’

  Catherine glanced at him sharply. ‘Why? Because of who I am? Unless you have spoken of the circumstances that led to our marriage, I cannot imagine why I should be of interest—apart from being the wife of the illustrious Lord Reresby,’ she argued. ‘Besides, I do not relish being the prime target of anyone’s curiosity.’

  Marcus’s jaw tensed. ‘Any member of my family is a target of curiosity. However, I am not in the habit of bending local ears with matters personal to me,’ he assured her. ‘I would like you to meet some friends of mine—George and Margaret Stanhope. They live at Burton Grange, not far from here. I assure you they are exceptional people. They are old friends of my family and I greatly savour their friendship. George is a deputy Lieutenant of the county militia. You’ll like him.’

  ‘And his wife?’

  ‘Warm, witty, honest and sincere, utterly devoted to George, and with a strong belief in friendship. There—is also someone else I want you to meet, and that is…’

  When he hesitated, Catherine met his gaze directly. ‘You were about to say?’

  ‘My sister, Elizabeth, and her husband Roger.’

  Catherine lifted a wondering brow. This was the first hint she’d had of Marcus having any living kin. ‘Your sister?’

  He nodded. ‘She is married to Sir Roger Danby and has produced three children—two sons and a daughter. She is a highly intelligent and discerning woman, slightly older than me.’

  ‘You—you have a sister, and you never thought to tell me?’

  ‘Forgive me. I’ve been meaning to, but I wanted to give you time to settle down, to adjust to your new surroundings, without adding further complications.’

  Catherine stiffened, eyeing her husband with the wary disbelief of an innocent who is suddenly and unaccountably confronted with a threat they neither understand nor deserve. ‘Complications? You consider your sister a complication? Why, is she some kind of ogre?’

  Marcus cocked an eyebrow, amused by the idea of his sister being depicted as an ogre. ‘No, far from it. Elizabeth is a good wife and mother. She is also staunch and true, and extremely fond of me.’

  ‘And is the reason why we have not already met because she will not approve of your choice of wife?’

  ‘Elizabeth is fully aware of the enmity that existed between your father and me, and in truth she cannot for the life of her understand why I married you. She feels resentment, which I can understand, but I do believe that when she meets you and gets to know you she will like you.’

  Pride swept away Catherine’s surprise at his revelation, bringing her chin high and making her eyes suddenly defiant. ‘Is that so? Well, what is more important to me, Marcus, is will I like her? Taking the circumstances into account, of course she could not possibly think I am suitable for you. And I am not at all certain how well she will be suited to me. If she doesn’t want me in the family, then any cordiality she extends to me will be a pretence.’

  ‘Elizabeth is not a hypocrite.’ Marcus was swift to defend his sister. ‘Pretence is not part of her nature.’

  ‘That’s a relief to know. At least we will know where we stand with each other. I hope you told her that I was a most unwilling bride, that the last thing in the world I wanted was to be married to you, and how I was manipulated by two unscrupulous men for their own ends.’

  ‘To hell with how it came about,’ Marcus snapped angrily. ‘Elizabeth is
fully aware of the circumstances surrounding my marriage to you, and you will be gratified to know that she fiercely disapproves of my behaviour and has berated me most severely.’

  ‘And no doubt in your autocratic arrogance you felt you were being unjustly vilified,’ Catherine retorted coldly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes the cloudy dark green of a stormy day. The fragile unity they had shared since she had come to Saxton Court began to slide down the slippery slope of clashed wills.

  ‘Stop it, Catherine. Anyone would think you were being asked to live like…like a—’

  ‘Like a what, Marcus? A creature that is being kept against its will? For that is exactly what I am.’

  Marcus stepped close, and Catherine almost retreated from those suddenly fierce brown eyes. But she steeled herself and held her ground before his glare. ‘I suggest you put aside this damned silly notion and enjoy what luxuries I have to offer. You are here because you are my wife.’

  ‘I am here because I had no other choice.’

  ‘If you cannot accept this marriage, then I order you to behave as if you do for the sake of appearances.’ He raked her with a brazen stare. ‘That shouldn’t be too difficult for you, my dear.’

  Catherine held her tongue, not in acquiescence, but, since she was determined not to give way to her emotions, she considered it prudent to remain silent. ‘When am I to meet your sister?’ she said finally.

  ‘Tomorrow evening.’

  Catherine’s smile was ironic. ‘As soon as that.’

  ‘It’s just a friendly get-together for family and my two closest friends.’

  ‘Then I shall have to prepare myself and be on my very best behaviour so as not to embarrass you. I shall hold my head high and be as gracious and charming as I can be, and if your sister and your friends don’t like me then they can all go to the devil for all I care.’