The Rebel Bride (37 page)

A
fter Mrs. Cradshaw left the room with Dr. Quaille in tow, Cook having prepared a light luncheon for him, Julien dragged one of the tubs of hot water into his dressing room, stripped off his bloodied clothing, bathed, and quickly dressed. He walked back into his bedchamber and looked up at the clock on the mantel, surprised that it was only early afternoon. There was no movement from the bed. She was still asleep, a healing sleep, he had assured Dr. Quaille. Reluctantly the doctor had replaced the vinaigrette in his black bag.

Julien tugged his cravat into a more or less acceptable shape, drew up a chair, and sat himself beside his wife. For perhaps the fourth time, the morning’s events made a tangled procession through his mind, violent emotions jostling against each other, so intensely destructive that he began to despair of a resolution that would bring about forgiveness.

She sighed suddenly, then buried her face in the pillow, as if loath to leave her dreamless sleep. Strangely, it was the total absence of pain that forced her to awareness. “How very odd. I’m not dead. At least I don’t think I’m dead.”

“That, Countess, I would never have allowed.” He smiled, clasping her hand in his. “How do you feel, sweetheart? Is there any pain? Do you have any more cramping in your belly?”

Her mind planted itself firmly into her body. She heard his voice—soft and gentle, that voice—felt his warm hand holding hers. “No, there’s no more pain.” The question
seemed foolish to her, but she’d answered, out of habit, she supposed.

What she felt was a great soreness, as if someone had battered at her, but of course, she couldn’t speak of it. Her hand moved as if by purposeful design to her belly. It was smooth, empty. He watched her pale as she realized what had happened. He heard her voice break as she whispered, “The child?”

He squeezed her hand more tightly. “I’m so sorry, Kate. There wasn’t anything I could do. Dr. Quaille assures me that the accident hasn’t harmed you in any way, that, if you wish, we can have as many children as you desire.”

Odd, she thought, staring silently away from him, he speaks of children and yet I knew of the child for but one day. The poor wee thing, never really existing. She felt, somehow, strangely suspended in a vague present, where painful memories—ghosts, Julien had called them, and now the loss of the insignificant small being that was inside of her—didn’t quite touch her. The future, the tomorrows that must irrevocably weave themselves into the present, were mercifully clouded. She looked at her husband and turned her eyes quickly away. The past was mirrored in his eyes—wrenching pain, deception, and misery. She didn’t want to remember, to feel. She struggled to pull herself up on the pillow.

“Go easy, sweetheart, easy.”

She gasped, fear suddenly filling her eyes. There was a warm stickiness spreading between her thighs.

“What’s wrong?” He was leaning over her in an instant. “I think I’m bleeding.”

“Lie still.” Before she knew what he was about, he’d jerked back the covers. Small patches of purple stood out starkly against the white of her nightgown. He quickly slipped one hand under her hips and with the other stripped up her gown. His hands stilled. The pads of cloth had simply slipped away in her effort to pull herself up.

“Oh, no, please don’t, Julien, please.”

“Hush, don’t be embarrassed. The bleeding is natural,
and nothing for you to fear. Your sudden movement dislodged the cloths, that’s all.”

She tried to draw her legs together as he straightened above her.

“Hold still now. I’m going to bathe the blood from your legs.”

“No, please don’t. I can do it, Julien, please.”

“After this morning’s events, it’s absurd that you should be embarrassed with me. Surely you wouldn’t prefer a stranger.”

She made a choking sound and lay tense and rigid as he gently bathed her. He seemed a stranger to her. All she knew were strangers; she felt alien even to herself.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said, not expecting her to answer, and she didn’t. As he tucked the covers about her shoulders, he let his fingers gently brush across her pale cheeks. “Would you like to see Dr. Quaille now? He’s been cooling his heels waiting for you to wake up, but Cook did feed him. After he’s satisfied with your progress, then I’ll fetch you some lunch. All right?”

He was another stranger, yet she had known him from her childhood. Why could she not be left alone? She wanted no more orders, no more gently veiled commands for her care. She raised bleak eyes. She wanted somehow to lash out at him, but she said only, “You take much for granted, Julien.”

“You’re wrong there. I take nothing for granted, at least not anymore. I wish only to see you well again. Then we will see what there is left.”

Damn him, she didn’t want his kindness. She watched wordlessly as he strode from the room.

“Ah, my dear Lady Katharine, there is color in your cheeks already. As I assured your husband here, you’ll be much your old self in a few days’ time. One of the many advantages of youth and your glowing health.” He clasped her hand and wasn’t surprised to find her pulse rate still rapid.

“You are the most fortunate of women in your choice of husbands, let me tell you.” Seeing her look of
bewilderment, he added with a smile, “But for his lordship’s quick thinking and intelligent actions, you might have suffered severe complications.”

“Dr. Quaille is overgenerous in his praise.”

“His lordship’s natural modesty, my lady. But in any case, I don’t wish to overtire you.” He patted her hand in a fatherly way and straightened. “I’ve given his lordship instructions for your care. No running up and down the stairs, now. I’ll come to the hall tomorrow to see you. Daresay you’ll be much more the thing then. Ah, and, my dear, there will be other children. Don’t blame either yourself or your husband for this. It was an accident, nothing more, nothing less. These things happen. I’m sorry, but there it is.”

Dr. Quaille executed two swift bows, and Kate heard him exclaim to Julien as he passed through the bedroom door, “A most delicious luncheon, my lord. The ham slices—so wafer thin—a delight, my lord, a delight. Now, you’re not to blame yourself either. It’s just as I told her ladyship. These things happen quite frequently.”

“Is it true, Julien, what the doctor said?” She asked when he returned some minutes later.

She wouldn’t look at him. He said merely, “I acted as I thought best, that’s all.”

How calm he is, how very self-assured, she thought. “As you’ve always acted for the best in my regard,” she said, her voice a blend of sarcasm and bitterness. “Perhaps in this instance, it would have been better had you not succeeded so well.” There, it was said. Oblivion, she thought. Yes, I would have preferred oblivion to the pain of my gratitude to you, to the pain of your knowledge of what happened to me.

She’d finally pushed him over the edge. He leaned over her, his face close to hers. “Listen to me and listen with both ears, and your damned brain. Don’t you ever say such a thing again, else I’ll beat you. Whatever follies I’ve committed in the past, whatever pain I’ve brought to you—” He broke off a moment at her distraught face. “Perhaps you won’t believe me, but yes, I’ve always
acted toward you as I thought best, for both of us, for our life together.”

She didn’t move, simply stared up at him and said low and mean, “How glib you are, my lord. Deception? Why, it’s nothing, an everyday thing, in fact. And forcing me, lying to me? Why, my dear, it was for the best, certainly you see that. But of course you’re naught but a woman, and thus not privy to the mysteries of men’s minds. All for the best, yes, that’s it.” She couldn’t stop the sarcasm, the destructive words, they overflowed as from a cup full to brimming.

He straightened, his lips a thin line. “You’re in no condition to speak of such things now. You’re becoming overwrought. I don’t want you to make yourself more ill than you already are. When you have regained your health and are capable of speaking more calmly—”

“Damn you, I’m not overwrought or hysterical or anything except bloody furious. Even though you don’t want to face it, I just happen to be in full possession of my meager faculties. You’ve remained silent for so long now. Is it that you’ve forgotten the rational motives for your behavior? Must I give you more time to weave reason into your worthless arguments?” She fell back panting against the pillow, appalled at the rising note of hysteria in her voice. God, she was overwrought, damn him. “Oh, God, why didn’t you just let me die?” Unwanted, scalding tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Here is her ladyship’s lunch, my lord,” Mrs. Cradshaw announced as she came into the room. “Oh, dear, I didn’t know—” She stood frozen in the doorway, the big silver tray balanced on her forearms.

It was with an effort that Julien tore his eyes away from his wife and walked to Mrs. Cradshaw. “Give me the tray, Emma. Her ladyship will be all right presently.” He added under his breath, “Fetch me the laudanum. It will calm her.”

He returned to the bed and stood above her. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m not at all hungry. Give it to the dogs or the pigs.
Give it to Dr. Quaille. He was so pleased with the so very thin ham slices.”

“Very well. You will take your medicine then and rest.”

“I don’t want your laudanum. I would rest quite well, were it not for your presence.”

“You will have your wish as soon as you drink your medicine.”

When Mrs. Cradshaw reappeared with the laudanum, Julien dismissed her and carefully measured out the drops into a glass of water.

Kate took the glass from Julien’s outstretched hand and quickly downed the clear liquid. There would be forgetfulness in sleep, and that was something. For at least a short while, it was something.

“Now, as you wish, madam,” he said flatly. “I shall relieve you of my presence.” He turned and walked from the room, not looking back.

He returned some thirty minutes later, saw that she slept, and sat down beside her. He had lost her at last. The admission cost him dearly. There were no more plans, no new strategies to make her understand. At least with the secrets, the necessary deceptions, he’d been able to nourish hope.

“Deuced strange to think that my sister lives here,” Harry said, all goodwill, stamping freshly fallen snow from his top boots. He whipped off his many-caped greatcoat, stood proudly a moment in his scarlet regimentals, and clicked his heels together in grand military fashion.

“A fine figure you present, Master Harry,” Mannering said fondly, removing the greatcoat from Harry’s outstretched hand.

“I daresay I do look rather dashing,” Harry said with a wide grin, looking to his brother-in-law for confirmation.

Julien had no problem rising to the occasion. “A regular rake in soldier’s clothing. Have you left a score of broken hearts in your wake, Harry?”

“Not more than half a dozen.” Harry stripped off his
heavy leather gloves and gazed about him. “Always thought this place was like a tomb. But trust Kate to like it, always did, you know. She used to stand, mouth agape, mind you, staring at those ridiculous suits of armor. Claimed she would have been a fine figure of a knight, jousting and that sort of thing. Such a sweet little nit she was—and mouthy too—always wanting to do exactly what I did.”

Harry pulled up short in his monologue. “Speaking of Kate, where the devil is she? Surely she ain’t out fishing in the snow. Ah, I have it, I’d wager she’s on one of your favorite stallions, careening all over the countryside.”

Julien put a firm hand on Harry’s sleeve. “No, Harry, Kate is here. Before you see her, though, I must speak with you privately.”

“Eh, what’s this? Is she brewing some new mischief? I warned you about that, my lord, before you married her. Never boring, my sister. Ah, I know. She’s got all sorts of grand treats planned for Christmas.”

Christmas, Julien thought blankly. He hadn’t given it a single thought. “Come, Harry, let’s go into the library.”

Harry shot his brother-in-law a puzzled look and said with an insouciance that Mannering readily forgave, “Do see that my hack gets stabled, will you, Mannering?”

“Certainly, Master Harry, certainly.”

Harry followed in Julien’s wake into the library and moved quickly to the blazing fire to warm his hands.

“Will you join me for a brandy, Harry?”

“Don’t mind if I do. Hellish weather, but to be expected, I suppose, it being winter and all.”

“No doubt,” Julien said, handing Harry his glass. “When must you rejoin your regiment?”

“Not until after Christmas.” Harry deposited himself with practiced grace onto a rather fragile settee, which groaned in protest under his weight. “Wanted to see what Kate is about, and then, there is my father, of course,” he added with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

“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.”