The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“Julien!” the dowager shrieked, clasping her hands to her meager bosom and falling back against the cushions. “Oh, what a mother must bear, turned upon by her only dear son, to whom she gave her life, nearly her last breath. It was only by the veriest chance that I survived your birth, and now you turn on me. Oh dear, what else will happen before I must leave this earth, possibly even before the winter?”

“Now, Julien, surely—” Katharine said. Above all things, she didn’t want Julien to have a falling-out with his hitherto fond parent, though the parent in question deserved a good kick.

She removed the vinaigrette from the dowager’s unresisting hand and waved it under her nose.

“Come, ma’am, let us try to forget this unpleasantness. Julien, will you not apologize, please? One can see that your dear mother is upset, and her devotion to you is laudable.” She gave her husband a significant look.

To Julien’s surprise, his fast-fading parent turned half-tearful eyes to Kate and uttered in a tremulous voice, “Dear, dear child, how well you understand the frailty of my constitution. Gentlemen do not, nay, cannot share the sensitivity of our feelings, even my beloved son who occasionally forgets himself and says things to wound me utterly.”

Julien looked from his mother to his wife, gave her a wink, then threw up his hands as if in bafflement. He strode to the long, curtained French windows.

“You must forgive him, child,” the dowager said sadly, leaning toward Kate and patting her arm. “I’m certain that you will coax him out of his masculine mood. Alas, a mother’s influence wanes so quickly. As a new bride, you have all the power that I once had but obviously don’t have anymore.”

Kate hesitated to think of Julien’s mother as a remarkably foolish woman, but the truth was the truth, and besides, Julien appeared to deal well with her. If not precisely well, the two of them together certainly did. Her husband was not only smart, he was also guileful. It was a good thing in this instance.

“I shall certainly try to bring him to his former good humor,” Kate said, her voice calm, without a quiver.

The dowager looked rather soulfully at her son’s back, and with the sigh of one sorely used, she began, with the assistance of Kate, to gather her shawls into a semblance of order about her thin shoulders. She even allowed her daughter-in-law to assist her to her feet.

“Julien, your mother is preparing to take her leave. Would you not like to bid her a good-bye?”

Julien turned about, a harried expression on his face, one manufactured, Kate knew, just for his mother. He walked to her and planted a light kiss on her thin cheek.

“My dear son, at least your father is not here to see what you’ve done.”

“Mother, for God’s sake, my father’s misunderstanding with Sir Oliver has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with Katharine. I would that you contrive to forget it, and now, or at least very soon from now. Do you understand me?”

Katharine added, “Dear ma’am, I would assure you that my father was always alone in his views regarding your esteemed family. My brother Harry and I have long been in disagreement with Sir Oliver in this matter. Indeed, after your acquaintance, ma’am, I am more convinced than ever that his actions were quite ill-judged.”

“Ah, dear Katharine, how noble you are, so refined in your observations.” The dowager’s dark eyes grew bright, and the thin line of her lips turned up at the corners, albeit with some effort. She turned her face to Katharine and allowed her daughter-in-law to kiss her upon the cheek.

“I’ll escort you to your carriage, Mother,” Julien said, taking her arm. He wasn’t about to risk a reversal of his parent’s recently acquired good humor.

When he returned to the drawing room, he was obliged to smile, for Kate wore an impish grin, which delighted him.

“You’re a baggage, my dear.” He took her hand. “You speak of my turning Sir Oliver so sweet, and here you handled my mother like a master strategist. It was well done of you, and I thank you for it.”