The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“Oh, you’re quite welcome. Oh, yes, ah, Julien, who is this Sarah person? I couldn’t help but overhear your mother speak of her, and I wondered. Oh, I’m sorry if it discomfits you, truly—”

“A beautiful, charming woman,” he said outrageously.

She whipped her face up, her eyes darkening with sudden anger. “You wretched man,” she began, only to pull up short as her own shame seared her mind. She drew a deep breath and planted a tight smile on her face. “I look forward to meeting this paragon.” He was looking at her, and she quickly turned away. Sometimes she felt that he saw too much, that he could probe her thoughts.

Julien dismissed further provocative comments. “Well, my dear, what do you think of my humble establishment?”

She drew an easier breath and gazed about the drawing room. “It’s quite elegant. Naturally, until I see the rest of the rooms I can’t make a final judgment.”

It didn’t take her long to applaud Julien’s excellent taste in the furnishings of the town house and to compliment the quiet efficiency of his staff. She was particularly drawn to the stolid butler, George, whose unruffled dignity she found comforting. It was he who eased her transition as mistress of the house, unobtrusively giving her advice on the management of the servants and the protocol of receiving visitors. In this matter, she was profoundly grateful, for in the next week the knocker was never still during the morning visiting hours. It appeared that all of London society wished to inspect the new countess of March. Because of her own inescapable abstraction, she was a great deal less nervous in the presence of her exalted guests, and many left the St. Clair town house to spread the gossip that even though the countess was, unfortunately, from the country and a mere baronet’s daughter, she did seem to know her way rather well.

Of all the ton who paid visits to the St. Clair town house, it was Percy who found instant favor with Kate. After eyeing her for some minutes through his quizzing glass, he turned to Julien and blithely remarked that he was a lucky dog and quite unworthy of his good fortune. Kate felt a tightening in her throat at what she thought to be undeserved praise, when, but a moment later, Percy turned to her and asked what François was preparing for dinner. She blinked several times at this unexpected question, noted that Julien was grinning widely at her, and said truthfully, “Do forgive me, Sir Percy, I really have no idea. If, however, you will be patient, I shall ring for George.”

“Not at all the thing, you know, Lady Kate, not at all the thing. I shall be over first thing tomorrow morning, and we shall plan the week’s menus.”

Indeed, Percy arrived punctually the following morning, and he and Kate spent a comfortable hour devising menus that would test François’s culinary abilities. “After all, you pay the damned fellow one hundred pounds a year. You don’t want to have him lazing about. Those Frogs take advantage, you know.”

She could find no fault with this logic, and discovered after Percy took his leave that she had quite forgotten herself while in his company. She sought him out, and more often than not, it was Percy who accompanied her to Bond Street to do her shopping and to the park to ride at the fashionable hour of five in the afternoon. It was during one of these excursions that Kate chanced to see a very lovely lady dressed in the height of fashion raise her parasol in greeting. She was seated in an open carriage beside a gentleman who seemed to be remonstrating with her. Her piquant oval face was framed with blond ringlets, and her eyes were a startling blue. Kate raised her hand in a hesitant reply and observed a rather mocking smile pass over the lady’s lips. She wondered whether she should turn Astarte and make the lady’s acquaintance.

“Kate, dammit.” Percy hissed, drawing his horse close to hers, “don’t.”

“What’s wrong? The lady waved to me. Would it not be rude to ignore her?”