The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

Kate cleared her throat and forced her feet to move forward.

“My dear, do come in. Are you feeling more the thing now?” Julien gave her a smile and a wink before turning to his mother, who was now sitting bolt upright, her dark eyes open and assessing.

Kate made a pretty curtsy and said, demure as a nun, “I’m indeed honored to make your acquaintance, ma’am. Julien has of course told me much about you. Your kindness, your generosity, your immense understanding.”

“Well, at least, child, you in no way resemble that impudent father of yours,” the dowager said flatly.

“I’m said to resemble my mother,” Kate said. She sat down beside her mother-in-law.

The dowager was silent for a moment as she searched her memory for a picture of Lady Sabrina. She vaguely remembered bright-red hair set atop a rather pale, silent face. “Yes, perhaps you do, which has to be a blessing because Sir Oliver is a very homely man, so very unprepossessing, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh yes, ma’am, ‘unprepossessing’ is the very word for him.”

“Ah, Mother, Kate, would you care for a glass of sherry?”

“I suppose it would be a soothing agent to my nerves,” the dowager said with a sigh. As Julien poured the sherry, the dowager turned back to Kate.

“You seem rather on good terms with my son now, young lady. Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me why you refused my son two months ago and ran away in the most ill-bred manner possible and by yourself to Paris?”

Julien was annoyed and didn’t hesitate to let it show. “Really, Mother, the past is in the past, and it’s no longer of any import whatsoever. Any misunderstandings Katharine and I have had are over and done with, and are certainly none of your affair, in any case.”

The dowager gasped and pressed her hands to her palpitating bosom. To Kate, Julien’s measured words seemed only the mildest of reproaches, but it was not so, she perceived, to her mother-in-law. She quickly took one of the dowager’s limp hands in her own and patted it.

“Of course you have a right to know, ma’am. You must forgive Julien, for he is quite fatigued from our long journey. You see, my father was quite Gothic in his attitude, demanding that I wed your son before I knew my own mind. Indeed you are right, ma’am, it was most foolish of me to travel unaccompanied to Paris. I can but attribute my thoughtless action to my, er, confusion of sensibilities. I do hope that you will now endeavor to forgive my irregular behavior.”

The dowager found herself in a quandary. She saw from beneath her lashes that Katharine’s prettily spoken speech had found favor with her son, and there was a kindness of expression, a warmth in his eyes that she had never before observed. Having, however, cataloged a rather impressive list of complaints, she decided to take a nip at her daughter-in-law on another matter.

“My dear boy, your Aunt Mary informed me that Katharine was a lady of quality, and now I suppose that I must concur. But she also told me that you, Katharine, appear to be no breeder. Of course, I don’t in general like to speak of such indelicate subjects, but I think it is a matter of great importance that an heir be provided quickly for the St. Clair line— at least one, perhaps two or three, just to be safe, for life is so very uncertain, don’t you think? Is it true, Julien? Does she have narrow hips?”

Kate couldn’t think of a word to say. She sat there like a stick, her head down, wanting to cry, wanting to scream at her mother-in-law that none of it was any of her business and she was a witch. But she held silent and still.

Julien was at the end of his patience, his anger fanned by the misery in his wife’s eyes. He stood over his mother. “All right, Mother, this time you’ve gone too far. It’s obvious you mean only to make mischief. I won’t have you badger Katharine with your tactless and altogether unnecessary comments. If you can’t bethink yourself of any conciliatory words, then I would suggest that you take your leave.”