The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“If you prefer to stay with us, I’m sure Kate would welcome your company.”

Harry sensed suddenly a tenseness in his brother-in-law’s voice. Never one to tread warily, he demanded, “What of Kate? She’s not ill, is she? Never been sick a day in her life, and the things she’s done, they’d grizzle your hair.”

“No, Harry, not precisely,” Julien said slowly. “She suffered a miscarriage three days ago. She is much better now, but is still confined to her room.”

“Good Lord!” Harry jumped to his feet, forgetting for the moment the dignity he owed to his rank. “I had no idea that she was— well, she is your wife, after all and I suppose it’s natural enough that— oh, my God, my poor Kate.”

“She wasn’t far along in her pregnancy, but as I’m certain you’ll understand, it was quite a shock.” He gazed at Harry speculatively from beneath half-closed lids. Unexpected though his visit was, it could not have been better timed. Perhaps Harry would succeed where he had failed.

“Damned shame.” Harry brightened almost immediately. “I’ve just the thing to cheer her up. I brought her a present, you know. A trifle really, but I fancied she would like a real Spanish mantilla. All the ladies drape them over their heads in Portugal, you see.”

“Doubtless she’ll be delighted, Harry. Now, if you like, you can visit with your sister. Mannering will take you up. I won’t intrude on your reunion.”

Kate lay languidly on a sofa near the fireplace, a finely knit cover spread over her legs and a paisley shawl draped about her shoulders. An embroidery frame with only a few too large, uneven stitches covering its muslin surface lay precariously near the edge of the sofa. She heard a light tap on the door and quickly lowered her head, as if suddenly preoccupied with her stitching. It was Julien and she couldn’t face him, she simply couldn’t. She didn’t move when she heard the door open.

“Well, I say, Kate, that’s a fine way to greet your only brother, your older brother, who, I might add, you should honor and respect.” Harry was the picture of cheer as he stepped into the room.

“Harry!” She struggled into a sitting position, her initial shock at seeing him giving way immediately to a tearful smile. “Oh, my dear, it’s so good to see you again. How very fine you look, so handsome and dashing.” She alternately clasped him tightly against her and pushed him back, as if to verify that it was indeed he.

“Ho, Kate,” Harry protested after several of her fierce embraces, “don’t want to wrinkle my coat, old girl.” He patted her pale cheek, endeavoring to keep the worry from showing on his face. Lord, but she looked pale and drawn, and dreadfully thin. He’d never thought of a pregnant woman being thin, but she was. On the other hand, Julien had said she wasn’t very far along. Still, it scared him witless.

To Kate, who knew her brother perhaps better than she knew herself, Harry’s thoughts were mirrored in his wide blue eyes. She forced a smile and said lightly, “Do sit down, my love. As you see, I’m still a trifle weak, but it will pass, Harry, and there is naught for you to worry about. Come, my dear, pull that chair closer, and tell me about your regiment and all your adventures.”

Harry could find no fault at all with her suggestion, as it appeared she had no wish to speak of herself. He’d give her thoughts another direction, that’s what he would do. “Deuced hot in Spain and Portugal,” he said, stretching himself easily in the chair opposite her.

“Was there much fighting, Harry? I was very worried about you.”

“Oh, no, just scattered packs of ruffian bandits. We routed the scurvy lot, let me tell you. No match at all for our men.” He sat forward in his chair, warming to his story. “We had a couple of native guides, though of course we really didn’t need them, just had them along to point us through the scrubby paths. Damned rocky terrain, you know, ground dry as a bone. But our men were hearty goers, rounded up the villains, no matter how cunning they were.”