The Rebel's Bride

by JoAnn DeLazzari

  Copyright © 2013 by JoAnn Delazzari

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN-13(eBook): 978-1-938568-11-4

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. No part of this publication may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. For use as an excerpt or for additional information contact Blue Star Books.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Camille Charette and Bri Bruce

  Cover image courtesy RomanceNovelCovers.com

  Cover Design by Bri Bruce

  Published by Blue Star Books

  Blue Star Books

  903 Pacific Ave.

  Suite 207A

  Santa Cruz, CA 95060

  831-466-0145

  Visit us at book-hub.com

  Email us at info@book-hub.com

  To Terry Ann

  My best friend and my sister

  And to T’Bear

  My adorable grandson

  Chapter One

  * * *

  Catherine Thorpe sat huddled on the stairs covering her ears. She could still hear her uncle roaring at her cousin. She knew the argument well. It had continued all afternoon.

  “You will marry who I say you will marry, young lady! You’re lucky any member of the peerage would even consider you after your disgrace. If the viscount did not live in America, and his father did not owe me a considerable sum of money, even he would pass you up.” Her uncle’s voice raised in anger.

  “But I do not want to live in that savage country!” Sabrina replied. “We are at war with them. They are Britain’s enemies!”

  “The war will not last forever.”

  Catherine chewed her lip as she eavesdropped. Her uncle was determined to see Sabrina settled.

  “And I suppose it will not bother you one wit that I will be wed to a murderer.” Sabrina spoke so quickly Catherine wondered if she had practiced the argument.

  “He killed Lord Marshant in a fair duel.”

  “Over the man’s wife! It was a terrible scandal, Father.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me of scandal.”

  Catherine knew they could go on for hours; both yelling, neither listening. If only Sabrina had not been quite so foolish as to try to meet with one of her many gentlemen friends while her father entertained. Catherine sighed. Whatever possessed her to use the garden house for her rendezvous?

  “Poor Sabrina,” Catherine murmured. She recalled how no one listened when Sabrina tried to explain.

  The door to the library slammed shut. Catherine looked up to see her cousin storm from the room. Even in her rage she was beautiful. It was no wonder she was constantly set upon by young men. Her soft blond hair was the perfect foil for her large blue eyes. Every woman wanted to look like her—and every man desired her. Catherine thought she looked like an angel. She extended her arms to comfort her cousin.

  “Oh, Catherine,” Sabrina sobbed. “Father will not change his mind.”

  “I know, Sabi,” Catherine consoled her with a pat on her back. “I heard it all. He . . . is being so unreasonable.” She took Sabrina’s hand and led her up the stairs to her room. “If it were not for that dreadful Lady Wentworth none of this would have happened.”

  “She is so cruel!” Sabrina cried. “I am sure she told everyone it was my fault to save her precious nephew.” She looked up and sobbed. “What am I going to do? I . . . I just cannot bear the thought of going away to that savage land.”

  Rising, she began to pace. Every few steps she glanced at Catherine. “I do not know a thing about surviving outside of London. I am not like you. You had to help run your small estate and are so talented. You can cook and sew and . . . oh, Catherine!” She dropped to her knees to place her tear-streaked face in Catherine’s lap. “I shall simply die there, I know it!”

  Tenderly, Catherine stroked the blond curls before her. She adored her cousin, but Sabrina was right. Her talents were few. Being mistress of a house fell beyond her. Shopping and playing the perfect hostess were the extent of her abilities.

  Catherine sighed. “Surely you cannot envy me.” She smiled gently when Sabrina looked up at her. “You are so wonderful with people and… and making them love you. You do not want to be like me. People scare me to death. I could not host a ball or even pour tea without messing it up.”

  Shivering at the mere thought, Catherine caught sight of her own reflection in one of the numerous mirrors gracing Sabrina’s room. If only her hair held fewer streaks of the assorted autumn colors. If only she was a bit taller and not so slender, she might be more at ease socially. Not one to dwell on what could never be, Catherine returned her gaze to her cousin.

  “You are so very beautiful, you should live here, letting the best of London see you, and not in some strange land where they might not appreciate your beauty.”

  “You are so kind,” Sabrina finally said as she squeezed Catherine’s hand. “But none of that will do me any good in this New York.”

  Catherine could not bear her cousin’s sadness. There had to be something she could do. “Do you think it would help if I talked to Uncle Charles?”

  “No,” Sabrina sighed deeply. “He swears it will be his way no matter what I wish.”

  “Poor Sabi.” Catherine wiped away a tear of compassion, unaware she was about to cast her own fate. “I . . . I would go for you, if I could.”

  “Would you really do that for me?” Sabrina asked hopefully.

  Catherine gasped lightly, uncertain whether Sabrina’s question was in jest. “Surely you don’t mean—” She watched Sabrina’s smile grow. “I could never be you! I . . . I would not know how to act or . . . or what to say.”

  Sabrina’s tears miraculously stopped and she hopped up beside Catherine on the bed. “There would be no need to worry. I am to sail on a Dutch ship. No one will know me—or you.”

  Catherine stood. She wrung her hands at the thought. “But the viscount . . . He is expecting Lady Thorpe. I’m just a poor relation. He’ll know I’m not of the peerage.”

  “Yes, you are,” Sabrina insisted. “Your father was born to gentility. He simply chose the small estate rather than wedding a title.”

  Catherine lowered her head at the thought of the dear parents she had lost just three years before. “He loved my mother more than a title,” she defended.

  “I know.” Sabrina’s voice softened. “And I know you hate London and society. What better way to escape it all than by taking my place?”

  Catherine bit her lip. She did hate the many facades of the ton, but she was not comfortable playing a deceitful role. “This grand scheme will not work. Besides, I do not think I could do it.”

  “Of course you could. All it would take is a couple of fancy gowns and this.” Sabrina shoved a ring at her that was meant to identify the prospective bride.

  As she gazed into the green stone, Catherine allowed herself to truly consider it. She had no dowry. At best she might be married off to some well-to-do merchant or possibly an older peer who wanted a young wife to bear his heirs. Could this be any worse?

  “It would be the biggest favor you could ever do for me, Cathy.”

  Hearing the name her father always used for her, Catherine swallowed hard. If she went to this New York and married the viscount, she would at least have someone.Even
if he were the barbarian Sabrina claimed, she would still have her own home and, possibly, children to love.

  “What about your father?” Catherine asked, tempted but still unsure. “He may make it difficult to . . . change places.”

  Sabrina grinned. “Not if I ask him to let you accompany me to Dartmouth, or better yet, tell him you are joining me in America. He trusts you.”

  Catherine winced. Her word was terribly important to her, and she would be betraying her uncle’s trust.

  “It will not be a lie,” Sabrina quickly added, “We will both be traveling.”

  No, it wasn’t exactly a lie, Catherine thought. And she had to face the truth: she was fast approaching the age when no man would want her. At eighteen she was practically on the shelf. This might be her best chance. “What will you do there if you do not wed the viscount?” she asked, edging ever closer to her decision.

  Sabrina grinned prettily. “I shall not be going to New York at all.”

  Catherine gasped. “But Sabi, if you stay here how will you explain it to your father?”

  “I will not be here, either,” Sabrina grinned. “I met the most wonderful man when I went to Piccadilly. He is Spanish and wants to take me to his country. His name is Don Rafael and he is so handsome.”

  Catherine could see Sabrina’s eyes fairly dancing. “Do you love him?” she asked shyly.

  “Oh, yes! That is why I have fought my father’s marriage plans for me.”

  Puzzled, Catherine was about to remind Sabrina that she had gone to Piccadilly only a few days before, but decided against it. “Does he wish to marry you?”

  “Of course!”

  Somehow the plan seemed the right thing to do for both their futures. Catherine owed a certain allegiance to her cousin for all her kindness. By going to America in Sabrina’s place, she could repay her cousin and also gain a home of her very own. “All right, Sabrina. I will go and marry this viscount, and you can be happy with your Don Rafael.”

  Sabrina squealed and threw her arms about her. “Oh, Cat! I know it is going to be simply wonderful for both of us.”

  “I am sure it will be,” she sighed, praying that everything would work out as easily as Sabrina made it sound. Catherine had her doubts, but she would see the bargain through to the end. She closed her eyes and returned her cousin’s hug. Surely she could convince an outcast from London society transplanted to the colonies that she was Lady Thorpe long enough to become his wife.

  * * *

  “You’re looking quite well this evening, Catherine,” Charles Thorpe remarked.

  “Thank you, Uncle Charles,” she smiled. “It is my new gown. Sabrina gave it to me.”

  “The color becomes you,” he said gently.

  Catherine touched the soft rose sleeve and smiled. “It is lovely.”

  “And it will be perfect for your voyage.” Charles smiled and reached out to take Catherine’s hand. “Can you forgive me for not considering that you might wish to join Sabrina?”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Uncle,” she said softly. “You have always been kind to me.”

  “Well, my child, you are doing both of us a great service. You have no idea how pleased I was when Sabrina told me you wished to accompany her.” Catherine lowered her head. Her uncle placed his palm beneath her chin and lifted her face. “Your calm presence will help her through this.”

  Catherine hated duplicity, but she had already given her word to her cousin. She had no choice but to follow through, yet she found she could not speak the falseness of it all. Instead, she nodded her reply. A ruckus behind them drew her attention. She turned to see Sabrina coming down the stairs, her maid still fussing over ribbons in her hair.

  “I am too excited to sit still tonight,” Sabrina beamed as she waved away the maid. She hugged her father, then Catherine. “Now that you are coming with me, I am not so frightened.”

  “You should have told me of your fears, daughter,” Charles smiled. “I thought you were simply bolting at my order. I know how you love to set your own path.”

  Sabrina slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and turned on her charm. “I did not want to seem cowardly, Father,” she proclaimed. “After all, I am the daughter of a duke.”

  Charles led them to a well-set table. They began their repast in an atmosphere of calm.

  “Father,” Sabrina began after finishing the first course, “will you be sending much of my dowry when I sail?” Charles raised a brow. “I only ask because I would like to assign some of it to Catherine.”

  “I am pleased with your generosity,” Charles smiled. “But actually, my child, I am not sending any of it with you.”

  “What?” Sabrina gasped. Catherine noticed a scowl appear on her uncle’s face, but it disappeared when Sabrina went on. “I . . . I mean, do you not want to help poor Catherine?”

  “Oh, I fully intend to see that you both have sufficient traveling funds and I would be proud to bestow a decent dowry on our Catherine someday, but your full dowry will not be sent until after you wed.”

  “Because you do not trust me,” Sabrina pouted.

  “No, daughter,” he sighed and leaned forward to take her hand. “Because I do not trust those damned Americans not to board your ship and strip it of any treasures. I will see the jewels and coin sent after this bloody war is over, and not risk losing it all together.”

  “That does seem wise,” Catherine said softly to Sabrina. “I have read the papers and they say the American ships keep running the blockade. They could accost our ship.”

  “I am sure we shall not be disturbed,” Sabrina said, obviously still perturbed. “After all, that is the purpose of sailing on that dreadful Dutch ship, is it not?”

  “As the Dutch are neutral, it seemed the best idea,” Charles explained. “Your ship might be stopped by one of ours to ensure its neutrality, but there should be no trouble.”

  Concerned with the sailing, Catherine tilted her head. “Then you think the voyage will be safe enough?”

  Charles smiled gently. “My dear, I would not risk Sabrina or you. The lanes are clear of those miserable marauders along the northern sea. It is late enough to avoid the winter storms and early enough not to be plagued with ice breaking off the flows. You should enjoy your voyage, Catherine. It shall be an adventure.”

  Catherine nodded sweetly at his encouraging words, but her mind was filled with what was to come. The voyage was the least of her worries. It was the landing and meeting the man she was to wed. She already prayed he would be kind. There was so much she didn’t know. If he is patient with her, she will strive to make him a good wife.

  “I find I can hardly wait to sail,” Sabrina smiled across at her.

  “Yes,” Catherine smiled weakly, unwilling to reveal her concerns. “It should be exciting for both of us.”

  * * *

  Catherine sat in the chair before her small fire seeking warmth, but it was not forthcoming. The chill radiated from inside of her.

  It was bad enough she had to pretend all was well in her uncle’s presence, but trying not to let her apprehension carry over into her own thoughts was impossible. She had to admit the truth to herself. She was terrified. She was going to a strange land to wed a stranger.

  She understood completely Sabrina’s reluctance and her defiance of her father’s wishes. Catherine had heard the gossip about the viscount. He was a womanizer and a murderer. Even though he had been cleared, society had never forgiven him. But what bothered Catherine most was she was sure he would be expecting a willing bride—and she wasn’t sure what that meant.

  Her mother died before explaining wifely duties. Catherine knew there was to be a physical union, yet she wasn’t certain how that was to be accomplished. Perhaps Sabrina knew. She had so many beaus, she must have some idea. Sabrina had been kissed, at least. Catherine had once seen one young man slip his hand beneath the bodice of Sabrina’s dress. Sabrina had smiled, so it must have been pleasant.

  The soft closi
ng of a door nearby caught her attention. Catherine went to her door and slightly opened it to peer down the hall. She saw a caped Sabrina slip down the hall and out of sight. Catherine sighed and stepped back into her room. She hoped Sabrina wasn’t going to jeopardize the impending trip. Although frightened at the prospect, Catherine wanted this chance at happiness and marriage.

  Catherine lowered her lamp before she removed her robe. She approached her window to close it against the dampness. Something in the dark below caught her eye and she stepped back behind the drapery. Sabrina raced into the arms of a man. They disappeared into the barn. Catherine turned away at the sight. She prayed the young man was the Spaniard Sabrina had mentioned.

  * * *

  Sabrina slouched at the table over her breakfast. “I wish we had one more day.” She tried to hide a yawn. “I’m tired.”

  “You should have thought of that last night,” Catherine chided. She saw Sabrina’s eyes widen. “I know you love Rafael, but you should have waited to see him in Dartmouth and gotten some sleep.”

  Sabrina shrugged with a strange smile on her face. “If you must know, it was not Rafael I went to see.” Catherine gasped. “Oh, Sabrina. You didn’t—”

  “Of course not,” Sabrina replied quickly. “I am a bit nervous Father might find out my plans before we leave. I could not sleep, so I simply went for a walk to relax.”

  “But I saw you with . . . someone,” Catherine stammered, recalling the sight of the would-be lovers embracing.

  “It must have been one of the maids and a stable boy. I came back in within moments. You must have fallen asleep and not heard my return.”

  Catherine didn’t feel she had the right to question Sabrina, but something seemed strange. “Then why are you still so tired?”

  “I could not sleep, even after my walk. I suppose I am too excited.”

  Charles entered the room on that statement. “Thank God you have accepted the situation, Sabrina” he sighed. “I was afraid you were going to hate me.”