The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

Would he? No, he couldn’t. He was a peer of the English realm. Surely he had standards of gentlemanly behavior. Surely. Ah, but he was himself and not one of these faceless peers. She believed him. She sat rigid as the chair back, waiting to see what he would do.

“That’s better. Now, my dear, I have something of the utmost importance to say to you, and you will attend me or it will be much the worse for you. For over a week now I have watched you try to make your way and have seen you fail time after time. Don’t look so startled. Did you truly imagine that I would have difficulty in locating you? In any case, I didn’t come to you immediately because I wished you to discover for yourself that a young woman with no money, regardless of her breeding and talents, has little if any chance of earning an honest wage. I had hoped that after your experience with Madame Treboucher you would come to your senses, but you didn’t.”

She could only stare at him. “You know of Madame Treboucher? But how? Ah, that horrible woman. She told me I was obviously English and that my hair was too red.”

“You are English, and I would say rather that your hair is more auburn than red, but who am I to quibble with such a stout lady? Don’t be a fool, Kate, I had you followed.”

18

“That is more than a lie, Julien. Surely you couldn’t have done that. Why, it’s—”

“It’s what? Do you believe I would leave my future wife alone, without protection, in a city like Paris? As a matter of fact, I myself observed you leaving that woman’s house.”

She was humiliated. He’d stood by and watched her fail. Unaccountably, the fact that he hadn’t come to her sooner made her strangely furious. To think that he’d had the gall to wait and watch while she made a total and utter fool of herself day after day was too much to bear. “How could you?”

“How could I what?” His voice was soft as the butter beside her plate. He was looking at her intently.

She turned away quickly, swallowing the absurd lump rising in her throat. She couldn’t think of a reasonable thing to say.

“You don’t want to answer me?”

“I don’t want to do anything with you. You watched me, you saw how I failed and failed— and you knew I would, you knew.”

Damnation, he thought. If only she would admit to herself that she cared for him, that she had wished wholeheartedly that he would indeed have come to her in Paris. If only she would but realize the deep intent of what she was saying, if only.

Now she was frozen in her chair, for she’d spoken the truth, even if she couldn’t grasp why it was the truth. He let it go. “I believe that’s enough about your employment endeavors. Let me return to what I have to say to you. We will presently go to Mademoiselle Phanie’s, a most elegant milliner’s shop. Then we will purchase the proper shoes for you. I have already acquired your gowns and other personal articles, but I found it quite beyond my ability to recall your size in shoes and to determine what kinds of charming confections look best on your auburn hair, or perhaps it is red, or even titian. It depends on the light, you know. This morning I do believe it’s as red as all the heathen’s sins.”

“What do you mean, you’ve bought me clothes?”

“You don’t have that many with you. I do hope you approve my choices. The morning dresses, evening gowns, riding clothes, chemises, ah, let me see, wrappers, nightgowns, and the like— all of them are quite charming.”

“But why?”

“I can’t have you being Lady Godiva, can I? I bought you the clothes because after we’ve suitably finished furnishing your wardrobe, we shall proceed to my rooms, and there you will be dressed in your bridal clothes. Don’t look so surprised, my dear. Could you doubt that I wouldn’t bring at least your wedding gown with me? Promptly at five o’clock we are expected at the embassy, where we will be married by an English divine.”