The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

It was Kate who urged that they push on to Hucklesthorpe before they halted for the night.

Though Julien would have preferred to leave early the next morning, he judged from his brief experience that she needed time after breakfast to settle her stomach. She didn’t seem to notice that he ordered a light meal for her, nor did she take exception at their delay in leaving. They were both rewarded by his careful planning, for she didn’t suffer a moment’s illness throughout that day.

It was well after nightfall when their carriage finally turned from the main road down the long elm drive to St. Clair. Mannering wasn’t expecting them, but Julien knew there would be cozy fires in their rooms and a warm dinner ready for them within an hour of their arrival.

“My lord, my lady, how very grand to see you both.” Mannering at first edged the great doors open and then flung them wide. “Ah, Lady Katharine, to see you here, as mistress of St. Clair, such an honor, such an honor. Allow me to offer my congratulations, my lord. Dear me, how very late it is. If your lordship and ladyship will allow me to escort you to the drawing room, I shall inform Mrs. Cradshaw.”

“Whatever Cook has available, Mannering, will be fine.”

“I do hope dinner won’t be long in coming,” Kate said as she stripped off her lemon-kid gloves and tossed them on top of her bonnet.

“On that score you needn’t worry.” Julien smiled. He knew that the mild-spoken Mannering, when confronted with an emergency, bullied, cajoled, and otherwise threatened mayhem on all his staff who didn’t immediately perform in the most exacting and speedy manner possible.

After a footman had unobtrusively laid a fire, Julien seated himself opposite his wife next to the fireplace and stretched out his legs toward the crackling logs. As always, he felt a sense of deep contentment at being in his ancestral home.

“It feels so very strange to be seated in this room, as if I belonged here,” Kate said, more to herself than to Julien. She ran her hand tentatively along the deep-red brocade of the armchair.

Julien shook out the ruffles over his wrists, pondering, it seemed, the great ruby signet ring on his right hand. “It would seem to me that you’re far more at home here at St. Clair than at your father’s house.”

“Perhaps. I certainly look more elegant now than that poor wretchedly dressed girl at Brandon Hall did.” She paused a moment, a frown puckering her brow. “Julien, we don’t have to visit Sir Oliver, do you think? I’m certain a genuine welcome is simply not in his nature, despite the amount of your guineas that now reside in his pocket.”

Julien thought of his impending visit to Sir Oliver. Whatever the outcome, he himself didn’t imagine that it could be in any way cordial. It was likely that Sir Oliver would be the one to sever all relations. He shifted his position in his chair and crossed one gleaming Hessian over the other. “Let’s see what the next few days bring, all right? And as to that poor wretchedly dressed girl, as you so unkindly call her, I thought she showed a great deal of spirit and a goodly dollop of sheer nerve. I can’t but remember your breeches with a certain fondness. The combination of your breeches, leather hat, fishing pole, and pistol were altogether irresistible.”

A slight smile played over her lips, and he could very nearly picture the laughing dimples. “Well, at least in that instance, Julien, you must admit I bowled you over completely, quite left you stunned and speechless.”

“Would you accept a challenge to duel with me? Breeches and all?”

“Only if I find my leather hat. But Julien, it’s quite possible that your masculine pride may be hurt. Just think, you could be beaten by a mere female.”

“Another dream in your sweet female’s head,” he said. “Just another dream.”

“Your dinner, my lord,” Mannering announced as he entered, followed by a footman staggering under the weight of several covered trays.

As Kate settled herself beside a small table to enjoy baked chicken and warm bread, she heard Mannering clear his throat and inform his lordship that the second carriage had succumbed to an unfortunate mishap. “The axle sheered clean through, so I’m informed, my lord. They’re all stranded, my lord, in Tortlebend. It will be several days before the axle is mended.”