The Rebel Wife: Book Four in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  “A little after noon, your Grace.”

  “That late?” said Alex, raising his eyebrows. “I thought I asked for someone to wake us at ten?”

  Harland clasped his hands behind his back. His head dipped to the side, his eyes fixed on an indeterminate point somewhere about the height of Alex’s elbow.

  “Her Grace, your mother, I mean, insisted that you were not to be disturbed under any circumstances. She was quite clear about the matter, stating that she was concerned that Lord Arthur would find himself with a very poor head this morning.”

  Alex scratched at his temples. “I suppose some motherly concern is to be expected.”

  “Last time I was three sheets to the wind in this house she sent a footman in to douse me with water at dawn,” said Arthur, looking amused at the memory. “I was only nineteen at the time, and had found father’s stash of brandy.”

  “Davies can help you get yourself presentable,” said Alex as he walked out of the room. “We have a busy day ahead of us.”

  “I’d rather remain in bed,” called Arthur.

  “Not a chance, old boy,” replied Alex as he paused in the doorway. “Not only do we need to work out how to rebuild your fortune, I’m going to need some moral support as I beg forgiveness from my wife.”

  Arthur visibly brightened. “She’ll put you through the ringer I have no doubt, and I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

  *

  The crowd was enormous.

  A rousing cheer went up as their carriage swept around the corner into Berkeley Square, only to find the way blocked by several dozen other vehicles. Members of the Beau Monde sat in their carriages or on picnic blankets on the Square, while waiters from Gunters wove in and out of the groups carrying trays of ices and sweet delicacies to their customers.

  “I think they are cheering for you, my dear,” said Sarah, although she waved regally at the crowds anyway.

  “You must be fit to burst with excitement, for I am and I am not even to leave the carriage!” said Helena as she bounced up and down on her seat. “But however will you get to the competition through these crowds?”

  “I believe the cavalry approaches,” said Sarah, “for if I’m not mistaken, the tall gentleman making his way toward us is Lord Colbourne.”

  Her brother Duncan was indeed weaving his way toward them, his usual air of ennui replaced with the enthusiasm of a giddy schoolboy.

  “You made it, Kate! I was beginning to worry that the crowds would stop you from coming. The others are already here, and we’ve set up the boards and wafers in advance.”

  He reached up a hand to help her descend from the carriage, and another cheer went up as her feet touched solid ground.

  “I’ve laid a pony on you to win, Duchess!” shouted someone in a gruff voice.

  “Aye, show them what you’re made of!” yelled out another.

  “I shall certainly try!” she called back, and there was much laughter and encouragement from the sea of unknown faces.

  She leant heavily on her brother’s arm as the crowds made way for them, trying not to let the sheer number of people present suffocate her. Her breath came fast and shallow, but the smile did not leave her face.

  Duncan glanced down at her, his face bemused. “Scared, brat?”

  “I’d be an idiot if I were not,” she replied. “Why are there so many people?”

  “You should probably thank Lord Arthur for that,” he replied. “There’s nothing the Ton likes more than a spectacle, and the prospect of the young fool losing everything was too tantalising to resist.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I hate our class sometimes.”

  “Only sometimes? You always were an optimist,” Duncan said. “As much as I cannot say publicly that I want you to beat my wife in this contest, I hope for your brother-in-law’s sake that you do.”

  “I hope it as well,” said Kate, her focus on the three ladies she would be competing against. “But that does not mean I am confident of the outcome.”

  “Your Grace!” cried out Bella, reverting to her formal title in the presence of such mixed company. “I am so glad you are here, for we are to begin at any moment!”

  Abby, Lady Gloucester, slumped her shoulders and pouted. “And there was I, thinking I had a chance to win.”

  “You never know, I might miss,” said Kate.

  “When was the last time that happened?” asked Abby, folding her arms over her chest.

  Kate, remembering her own brother’s bravado about his ability to shoot, cocked her head to the side and pretended to consider the matter.

  “I cannot be sure, but I believe I was twelve.”

  Her pronouncement was met by uproarious laughter from the spectators, who then quickly split into factions that chanted the name of their favoured Lady, each group trying to drown out the other.

  “I’m so nervous I could cast up my accounts,” admitted Abby in a low voice to their small group. “Why ever did I agree to this?”

  “Because it seemed like a wonderful idea at the time,” replied Bella.

  “And the orphans,” said Emma, nodding toward a group of young children, all itching in their new, smart outfits, as their teachers watched over with hawkish attention to their behaviour. “We’ve already raised an obscene amount of money for the orphans. Swallow your fear and think of them.”

  “Right, think of the orphans,” repeated Abby, the look on her face suggesting that any orphan in her immediate vicinity might find themselves the target of her pistol rather than the recipient of her time and attention.

  “Shall we begin, ladies?” said Lord Gloucester, attempting to look bored but failing as badly as Duncan had. “I shall take the liberty of announcing the terms of the match to the spectators. If you will take your places?”

  The shooting line was marked with a red velvet rope, and at a distance further than she had ever successfully shot before, were a series of posts each topped with a cream wafer.

  Seven wafers each, and if she pierced less than her friends, then Arthur lost everything, and her sacrifice would be for nothing.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, her friends gathered around her while Lord Gloucester loudly explained the rules of the competition to the rapt spectators.

  “Is Arthur here?” asked Emma, her eyes scanning the crowd.

  “No, he is nursing a poor head and-” she hesitated, not wanting to lie to her friends, but found that she had no desire to tell them of her husband’s ultimatum, either. “And Lexborough is remaining with him out of concern for his wellbeing.”

  “He should not have made such a stupid bet, and with Sefton of all people,” said Bella, the feathers of her bonnet bobbing as she shook her head.

  “It is still a better fate than being married to Eugenia Pulford,” said Abby with a lazy shrug. “He’ll come about eventually I’m sure.”

  “Unless Kate wins,” said Bella. She chewed on her lip.

  Kate’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t you dare throw your aim, Bella Ash, for I shall never forgive you if this competition is anything but on the up-and-up. If you do not enter this to win, then I refuse to shoot at all.”

  “I swear it,” said Bella, looking somewhere between guilt-ridden and relieved.

  “As do we,” said Abby. Emma nodded her agreement.

  Another cheer went up from the crowd, and Kate turned to see Lord Gloucester motioning toward the red velvet rope.

  “Ladies, the draw has been completed. Lady Colbourne will shoot first, then Lady Gloucester, Lady Loughcroft, with her Grace shooting last of all. May the best shot win!”

  *

  Feeling considerably better after a shave and donning fresh clothes, Alex made his way down to the dining room, where his staff were laying out a very late breakfast of ham, eggs, toast and bacon. He thanked them kindly and loaded himself a plate full of food while he waited for his brother.

  “Will the ladies be joining us, Jones?” he asked the Butler. “I should think they, too, slept lat
e after the grand ball last night.”

  “The ladies dined earlier, your Grace,” replied Jones, his bushy brows knitting together. “Would you prefer ale or coffee to drink?”

  “Coffee, without a doubt,” said Alex. He looked up as his brother – once again dressed in his usual, fashionable style – strolled into the room. “And the same for Lord Arthur.”

  “Coffee and grub! Just the thing to settle my stomach!” said Arthur, clapping his hands together and then rubbing them. “No one bakes eggs like chef.”

  Alex shook his head as Arthur piled his plate high and then happily tucked into the food, despite his earlier protestations of a queasy stomach.

  To be fair to his brother, though, the eggs really were very good.

  “Jones, will you please let the ladies know that we will join them in the sitting room once we have finished?” said Alex as the butler refilled his coffee.

  “The ladies are not in the sitting room, your Grace,” said Jones.

  Arthur rolled his eyes. “Still abed, are they?”

  “No, Lord Arthur. As I informed his Grace, they rose several hours ago.”

  “Even Helena?” said Arthur, looking dubious as he cut up his ham.

  “Yes, Lady Helena accompanied the Duchesses.”

  Alex paused with a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth. He turned slowly to look at Jones, whose bushy eyebrows were twitching in an alarming rhythm.

  “Accompanied? As in left the house?”

  Jones turned red but otherwise kept his demeanour perfectly professional. “I believe that her Grace – your mother, I mean – ordered the carriage for eleven o’clock.”

  “Was this before or after she instructed you all to allow Arthur and me to sleep until noon?”

  Jones cocked his head to the side as though considering the matter. “I believe it was the same conversation, your Grace.”

  Alex put down his knife and fork. “Did she happen to mention their destination?”

  “Shopping, your Grace,” said Jones.

  “Did you enquire as to where?”

  His butler straightened up and raised his bushy eyebrows high in consternation. “It is not the place of a servant to question the whereabouts of his betters, your Grace.”

  Alex stared at Jones for a long moment, but could not maintain the demeanour of a stern Duke for long. His lips twitched, and he shook his head. “As good a performance as any I have seen on stage. Now go away, Jones, before I decide that I am not appreciative of such open loyalty to my mother. Or my wife, for that matter.”

  Jones huffed, but there were telltale signs of relief on his face as he left the room with the kind of haughty dignity that only men of his vast experience could muster. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Alex and his brother alone.

  Arthur, holding his coffee cup in his right hand, looked Alex up and down.

  “You think she’s gone to shoot.”

  “I’m certain of it,” Alex replied, turning his attention back to his breakfast.

  “You don’t seem to be in a rush to get to her.”

  Alex shook his head. “I’m desperate to reach her, you idiot, but the competition started half an hour ago, and there is nothing I can do now to change the course of events.”

  Arthur took a sip of coffee. He regarded Alex for a moment before voicing his thoughts.

  “You’ll exile her to Darlington, then? For trying to save me?”

  Alex stilled; his knife and fork still in hand.

  “She put duty above her own happiness,” said Alex, vaguely stunned by this revelation. He pushed his plate and remaining breakfast away. “She’s willing to be exiled from London, from her friends and entertainments, all to save you, even if it costs her everything.”

  “Sounds like the kind of thing a Duchess would do, if you ask me,” said Arthur with a shrug.

  Alex sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

  “I gave her an ultimatum, Arthur. Half the servants heard me issue it.”

  “So to save face you intend to throw away your wife.”

  “No,” snapped Alex, his anger rising. “And I’ll thank you not to speak of her in such callous terms.”

  Arthur raised one delicate brow. “What else would you call the exile? DO you really think she would ever forgive you?”

  Alex swallowed hard. “No, and she’d have every right to hate me for the rest of my life. Damn it, Arthur; I only intended to be here for a few days, but the more time I spend with Kate, the more I’m finding that I cannot face the thought of living without her.”

  “She’ll never heed you,” warned his brother. “In another age, she would have strapped on a suit of armour and charged into battle right along side you, and probably spent the whole ride listing the reasons why the fight was your own damn fault, anyway.”

  Alex found himself smiling at the image conjured in his head as Arthur spoke.

  “Sounds like the perfect wife to me,” he murmured.

  Arthur drained his coffee and slammed it onto the table. He spared one brief, forlorn look at the remaining eggs on his plate, before dismissing them with a shake of his head. He nodded toward Alex.

  “Well? Are you coming?”

  Alex stared up at his brother in bemusement. “Coming? Where?”

  “To the competition, you idiot.”

  “I think I liked you better before you starting insulting me at every turn,” replied Alex, but he pushed himself up to his feet.

  “Well then stop acting like a fool instead of a Duke. Damn it, Alex, our family’s future rest on this, not just yours or mine.”

  He took a step toward the door and then hesitated. “Will she want me there?”

  “Lord knows, but that’s not the point,” replied Arthur. “She’s risked everything for honour and duty, Alex, and beyond that, she’s as talented with a pistol as they come. You need to see her shoot if you want to have a hope of understanding her.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. Let us make haste.”

  *

  “The final tally is as follows,” bellowed Lord Gloucester. “Lady Loughcroft, four wafers. Lady Gloucester, five wafers. Lady Colbourne, seven wafers, Lady Lexborough, seven wafers.”

  The crowd roared and groaned, while individual shouts of commiseration or support could be heard over the general din. Abby curtseyed for her supporters and received a rousing cheer for her efforts. Emma had a look of determined cheerfulness on her face, but Kate suspected that her friend was disappointed in her result.

  “For the next round, we shall move the wafers back another ten feet,” announced Lord Gloucester, “with only three targets apiece. May the best shot win!”

  As the servants set up the targets, Bella and Kate stood beside each other at the small table, expertly loading their pistols.

  “I haven’t shot this far before,” admitted Bella, her eyes on the wafers.

  “Just remember that your pistol throws, so you will need to adjust accordingly,” said Kate. “You’re an excellent shot, my darling. Don’t forget that.”

  Bella looked up at her and smiled. “Shall we do this again without the crowds, see just how far we can go?”

  Kate looked over at her mother-in-law, who waved in response.

  “I believe that we are to have a house party at Darlington Park over the summer,” she told Bella. “If you and Duncan have no other plans, perhaps you could join us? You can teach me to fire a crossbow, and I’ll teach you to use a bow and arrow from horseback.”

  Bella beamed. “That sounds like monstrous good fun!”

  Kate nodded, for the lump in her throat made it impossible for her speak. She thought of Alex, and how bitter it would be to return to life without him.

  “Lady Colbourne, if you are ready?” said Lord Gloucester, motioning for Bella to take her place at the velvet rope.

  Kate watched as her friend pushed her nervousness deep down, and ignored the cheers and jeers of the surrounding crowd as she carefully took aim with
her pistol, and fired her first shot.

  The first wafer danced as the bullet tore through it, and buried itself in the wooden board behind.

  The cheers were deafening as Bella walked back to the table, a small smile tugging at her lips.

  “It seems I can shoot at this distance,” she said to Kate. “Best of luck, my darling.”

  As Bella reloaded her pistol, Kate walked up to the velvet line. She raised her pistol and fired, allowing herself a glimmer of satisfaction as her bullet ripped through the heart of the wafer.

  “Excellent shot!” exclaimed Bella, her voice almost drowned out be the rising excitement of the spectators. “Good grief, you barely took the time to aim!”

  Kate grinned despite herself, remembering the shooting competitions she and her brother had indulged in as children, where showmanship had been worth at least as much as a successful shot.

  “Your turn,” she said, returning to the table so that she could reload.

  Bella stared at her next wafer for a long moment before raising her pistol to fire.

  The bullet buried itself in the wood behind, but the wafer remained intact.

  “Damn and blast,” she muttered, as the crowd around her either cheered their glee or bemoaned their disappointment as money continued to exchange hands at an increasingly frenzied tempo.

  Kate took her place. Raised her pistol. Fired.

  The heart of the wafer torn apart by her bullet.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Double damn and blast,” muttered Bella, her good humour gone as the competition took over in her heart. She barely acknowledged Kate as she walked back to the line.

  The crowd actually began to hush, all of their attention on Bella as she stared, unblinking, at her final cream wafer. The pistol barked as she pulled the trigger, a tiny puff of smoke drifting around Bella’s hand.

  The crowd roared at the sight of the damaged wafer.

  “Down to you, now,” said Bella as she returned to the table. Her face remained grim.

  “Thank you,” replied Kate, not really knowing what else to say. She began to walk past her sister-in-law, but Bella’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist.

  Their eyes locked.