The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

The woman drew her stiff bombazine skirts into a curtsy, and the man gave a tug to a rather unruly spike of gray hair. “A real pleasure, my lady.” He beamed at Kate, revealing slightly protruding teeth.

Kate inclined her head, conscious suddenly of the somewhat strange yet pleasing experience of being treated with such deference.

“We weren’t expecting your lordship and ladyship so soon,” James continued to Julien. “But Mrs. Crayton and I have everything ready for you, my lord, all right and proper, even though we’ve had to deal with these foreigners.”

“Excellent. Her ladyship is quite fatigued from the long journey. Would you be so kind as to show her to her bedchamber, Maria?”

“I’m not at all fatigued, Julien. However, I would very much like to see my room.”

“Her ladyship is renowned for her stamina, Maria. Has the weather continued warm, James?”

“Yes, my lord, though the nights are quite chilly. A peaceful place this is. Mrs. Crayton and I fancy that we can hear our hair grow, so quiet it is.”

Kate ignored Julien’s laugh and followed Mrs. Crayton into a small entry way. As she mounted the delicately carved staircase that wound in a lazy circular fashion to the upper floor, Julien called out, “Let’s dine in an hour. Is that sufficient time for you to perform whatever womanly chores necessary?”

“What womanly chores? No, don’t answer that. I will certainly find something suitably womanly to occupy my time. Perhaps an hour won’t be sufficient. Perhaps you would like to tool the carriage back to Geneva?”

“And leave my enthusiastic bride? Not a chance. Do strive to please me in this, my dear. An hour.” He grinned at her and to her chagrin, she found the corners of her mouth tilting up. As this would never do, she quickly turned, hurrying after Mrs. Crayton.

She was shown into a small, delightfully furnished room, dominated on one side by a fireplace and on the other by long windows curtained with pale-pink brocade. The furniture was all white and gold, in the French style of the last century, blending with exquisite artistry into the delicate shades of pink in the carpet. Her eyes alight with pleasure, Kate turned impulsively to Mrs. Crayton. “It’s a lovely room. How surprising to find such elegance in so remote a place.”

“Indeed, my lady, Mr. Crayton and I were a bit concerned when his lordship told us to come here and make preparations, but now we quite like it.”

“You are part of his lordship’s staff in London?”

“Certainly, my lady. Mr. Crayton and I were with his lordship’s father, the late earl of March. It was quite excited we were, coming to this foreign place and all, even though we were concerned, as I said. His lordship said we needed a change of air, he did. He knew he could trust us to carry out his wishes.”

She pursed her lips. A journey from London to Switzerland must occupy the better part of a week, perhaps even more. The Craytons would have had to leave England before Julien had come to Paris. Surely not. “When did his lordship send you here, Mrs. Crayton?”

“We’ve been here nearly a week now, my lady,” Mrs. Crayton said, quite unaware that her young mistress was now as stiff as the maple tree outside the bedchamber window. “Naturally his lordship told us he was going to be married in Paris. He wanted us to come immediately to have all in readiness for your ladyship. But, of course, you know all of this already.” She smiled kindly at her new mistress. “It’s pleased we are that Master Julien has finally wed. Ach, but here I go again. Mr. Crayton is forever telling me my tongue runs on wheels, begging your ladyship’s pardon.”

“Yes, yes, of course I knew, Mrs. Crayton,” Kate said quickly. Though the woman’s tongue ran on wheels, they were quite informative ones. Damn Julien anyway. How very certain he had been of himself and of her.

Mrs. Crayton read the tightening of her ladyship’s lips and the sudden frown on her forehead as signs of fatigue. “You just sit down and rest by the fire, and I’ll have Mr. Crayton fetch up a nice hot bath.”