The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“Had I not told them, how else could they have been here in good time?” Julien drained the remainder of his sherry and looked down at her with mild surprise.

She fidgeted with her glass a moment, realizing that to continue in her argument would only provide him with more amusement at her expense. “Very well, you refuse to acknowledge the justice of my point. I don’t wish to haggle further with you. Oh, how nice, here is our dinner.”

“Begging your lordship’s pardon, but you said dinner was to be served when her ladyship arrived.”

“Your entrance was exquisitely timed, Maria. Kate, my dear, would you care to be seated?”

“How very gracious of you, my lord March. Ah, do try the lamb, it looks quite delicious.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Julien said, grinning at her, and promptly fell to his dinner.

Some minutes later, he said casually, “Oh, I quite forgot to tell you. Harry wrote you a letter and asked that I give it to you.”

“A letter from Harry? But how ever did you get a letter from Harry? No, no, please don’t deign to give me a tedious explanation. How could I imagine that you would overlook my brother in all your machinations?”

“You begin to understand me, Kate. I do apologize for not giving it to you sooner, but there were so many other pressing matters that I forgot about it. Crayton found it when he was unpacking.”

It didn’t take her long to decipher the few lines of Harry’s familiar sloping scrawl, and she raised a face pale with anger to Julien. She wadded up the sheet, really quite viciously, and clutched it in a tight fist.

“Good Lord, you look ready to hurl your lamb chops at the sofa. Whatever did he write?”

“You miserable sod, you put him up to this.” She flung the ball of paper at him. He caught the paper handily and smoothed it out in front of him. He’d expected Harry to simply congratulate his sister, which of course he did, but in such a way that Julien could readily understand why it had raised her hackles, indeed, sent her temper to the boiling point. Harry had advised her in no uncertain terms not to play the shrew and argue and give orders as was her wont, because she was, after all, a very lucky girl to be offered marriage by such a distinguished, amiable, and accomplished gentleman. Even this could have been forgiven if, in his zeal to commend himself to his brother-in-law, Harry had not gone so far as to advise her to forget all her nonsensical notions of playing at men’s sports, to toss away her men’s breeches as well as her pistols, to become an obedient wife and conduct herself as a countess should. Undoubtedly Harry had meant to do him a favor. Lord, he hadn’t meant to impress the boy so. The last few lines were difficult to read, and Julien, after making them out, decided that Kate hadn’t read to the end of her letter. Perhaps it would reduce her anger. Probably not, but perhaps.

“Control your ire, my dear. Your brother was a trifle overexuberant in his, er, counsel, but you should forgive him, for he was very excited about joining his regiment.”

“Counsel! Is that what you call it? Oh, what do you mean— joining what regiment?”

“The last lines of his letter. He tells you that by the time you read his letter, he will be on his way to Spain.”

“Spain,” she repeated blankly.

“Of course. You must have known this was his wish above all things— to be a soldier, all dashed out in a white-and-red uniform, a saber at his side, astride a stallion of doubtless noble descent. I made the arrangements before I left London. Don’t worry about him, for there are only minor squabbles with the guerrillas since Napoleon’s downfall. Trust me, Kate. I even spoke to Lord Hawksbury, telling him that under no circumstances did I want Harry in the midst of any fighting. He’s still too green. But he will learn and mature, and I suspect that he will make an excellent soldier in the not-too-distant future.”