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The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“Just the thing to go with your mantilla,” Harry said, all innocent enthusiasm.

“You’re right, of course. Thank you, Julien,” she continued with pained correctness, “They are quite lovely. I’m sorry that I didn’t have the opportunity to—”

“My birthday is in January, Kate. I shall expect two presents from you on that date. It’s the sixteenth. Don’t forget now. If you like, I’ll even give you hints, perhaps write them down and put them under your pillow.”

Harry gazed at them, baffled. He had felt acutely uncomfortable more than once during the past two weeks at being in their company. Several nights as he had made his way quietly to the kitchen, he had noticed a light shining from beneath the library door. He’d walked quietly to the door, cracked it open, and seen his brother-in-law sprawled in a large chair gazing fixedly into the dying fire. He had recalled Kate’s aversion to marriage with the earl, quite inexplicable to him, and her flight alone to France. But, be damned, she’d married him and, for a while at least, carried his child. Certainly no aversion there. That wasn’t possible, was it?

Late one night, as Harry gazed proudly at his scarlet uniform, pressed by Timmens’s careful hands, he was drawn by the sound of loud voices coming from far down the hallway. Blessed with a lively curiosity, Harry quietly opened his door and looked down the darkened corridor. He realized with a start that the loud voices were coming from Kate’s room. It came as something of a shock to him, for during the length of his stay Harry had never before heard Julien and Kate raise their voices to each other, much less argue, and in such an unrestrained way.

He retreated back to his room and closed the door, reflecting as he did so that perhaps marriage wasn’t the divine state it was touted to be. It made him shudder.

Above all things, Harry disliked problems, particularly those he didn’t understand. It occurred to him that staying with Sir Oliver might not be so bad after all. Certainly, at Brandon Hall, he knew exactly what to expect from his dour parent. But he didn’t want to have to put up with Sir Oliver’s endless and continuous sermons that touched on everything from the cleanliness of his linen to the number of girls he’d seduced. Odd that, such extremes in his father, who wanted everyone to see him as being a very holy, righteous man.

But Harry was totally unprepared the next morning, when he walked down the front stairs, to see his brother-in-law in the hall, his head bent in conversation with Mannering, his luggage stacked near the front doors.

“Ah, Harry, there you are,” Julien said pleasantly, turning to face his flustered brother-in-law. “I’ve decided to return to London. There are pressing matters that require my attention. Kate has decided to remain here at St. Clair a while longer before joining me.”

He ignored the look of patent disbelief on Harry’s face. “I’m driving my curricle. Would you care to join me?”

Harry would have liked very much to yell at the earl, to defend his sister with scathing demands as to the earl’s reasons for such an abrupt departure. But under Julien’s cool, inquiring gaze, he was made to feel that such an action would be grossly impertinent. He fidgeted with a gold button on his scarlet coat and said finally with stiff formality, “As you wish, my lord. I will accept your offer. Actually, I didn’t really want to visit Sir Oliver anymore or stay with him.”

He looked for the world like a ruffled bandy rooster, Julien thought as he turned his attention back to Mannering. He wondered if Harry would drop his reserve and question him on their journey. He really had no idea, at the moment, how he would respond to questions from a brother.

They ate their breakfast in strained silence. Julien carefully laid down his fork, drew out his watch, and consulted it. He transferred his gaze to Harry, at once amused and rather touched by his obvious agitation. “I applaud your sentiments, Harry, but you must understand that it is Kate’s wish. I am certain that you have noted an atmosphere of tension between us.”

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Categories: Catherine Coulter
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