Once a Rebel

by Mary Jo Putney

  The small salon where family and guests gathered for predinner drinks was at least warmed by a fire, albeit a smoky one. He’d not been old enough for the drinks ritual when he was last in this house.

  But if he’d been the most worthless of the old lord’s sons then, he made up for it now. The footman ushered them in, saying, “The Marquess of Kingston.”

  The words paralyzed the two young men chatting in the salon. That would be Eldon with the brown hair and the air of ironic detachment. He looked very much like an Audley. Francis, the youngest of the five sons, strongly resembled his mother, with fair hair, freckles, and a cheerful face. Neither of them looked at all like Gordon. As always, he was the odd man out.

  Francis spoke first. “George, is that really you?” he asked, incredulous. “You’ve been presumed dead for almost fifteen years! But I remember that blond hair.” He came forward and offered his hand, looking genuinely pleased.

  “I’ve been going by my middle name, Gordon, for years now.” Gordon shook his brother’s hand, glad someone seemed happy to see him. “I didn’t die as reported and I sent occasional notes to the family lawyers to rub in the fact that I was still alive. I imagine our father kept the information to himself in the hope that eventually I would remedy my failure to die while being transported to Botany Bay.”

  Eldon rallied and also offered his hand. “You should have warned us, George! Or rather, Gordon. We could have killed the fatted calf for you. Instead, you’ll have to settle for lamb collops tonight.”

  “The fatted calf can continue to graze in peace,” Gordon said as he drew Callie forward. “Let me introduce you to my wife.”

  Before he could say Callie’s name, Eldon exclaimed, “Catherine Brooke! Surely that’s you all grown up. I’ve never known anyone else with that shade of red-gold hair.”

  “Indeed it is I, Eldon.” She offered a smile and her hand. “I go by my middle name, Callista, these days, but you can call me Catherine if you prefer.”

  Eldon took her hand, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Maybe now we can learn what happened to you two! Gordon, you just vanished while Francis and I were away at school, and we learned later that Catherine was married off in a suspiciously swift way. Speculation was rampant.”

  Thinking his brothers deserved to know, Gordon said, “If you’re asking whether I seduced Callie and got her with child, the answer is no.”

  “My father wanted me to marry a much older Jamaican planter and I hated the idea.” Callie took up the story. “Since your brother and I were friends, he gallantly offered to marry me in Gretna Green to protect me from an unwanted husband. But our fathers found out almost immediately and caught up with us. So I married the planter and Gordon was convicted of various crimes and transported, which was horridly unfair.”

  “So that’s the story, much less scandalous than it might have been,” Gordon finished. He accepted a glass of sherry from Francis, who’d poured for the two newcomers. “What have you two been up to?”

  “Let’s discuss the last fifteen years of history over dinner,” Eldon suggested. “The servants have had time to add two more place settings by now, and I’m sure our discussion will be a long one, so we might as well eat!”

  They moved into the adjoining family dining room, which gave Gordon the chance to abandon his sherry, of which he was not overly fond, though he’d appreciated Francis’s courtesy. He’d been a nice little boy, and now he seemed a nice young man.

  Gordon was briefly disconcerted when he was automatically seated at the head of the table. How could he be head of a family when he’d never felt he was part of it in the first place? But that might be changing, which was a warming thought.

  After the four of them took seats around one end of the long table, Gordon said bluntly, “Eldon, for the last fortnight or so, you’ve been thinking you’re likely the next marquess. How do you feel about my unexpected reappearance?”

  “The younger Mr. Roberts explained that there was reason to believe you were alive, so I wasn’t totally surprised at your return.” Eldon looked thoughtful. “I had mixed feelings about inheriting. As a fourth son, I never expected it, but yes, I was becoming accustomed to the idea of the title and wealth. Yet here you are.” He smiled mischievously. “To make up for my blasted hopes, you can increase my allowance!”

  They all laughed. Gordon was glad that his brother didn’t seem resentful. “I will review the allowances,” he promised. “Do you have any goals in mind? Have you busied yourself with any particular pursuits over the years?”

  “I’ve mostly lived in London enjoying the life of a young English gentleman, but lately I’ve been thinking it’s time for a change,” Eldon said seriously. “I’m considering politics. The Kingston estate controls several parliamentary seats, and I’d like the next one that becomes available. It’s time to establish myself as a man of substance.”

  Gordon was glad to hear that Eldon had goals beyond frivolity. “You’ve always had a quick mind and a quick tongue. I think you’d make a good MP.”

  Eldon nodded, looking pleased. Gordon turned his attention to his youngest brother, bemused to find himself acting so much like the head of the family. “Francis, how do you spend your time? Have you also been enjoying the life of a gentleman of leisure in London?”

  “Not at all! After attending Cambridge, I’ve become the assistant estate manager,” Francis said. “The current manager, Martin—you must remember him—is getting along in years. The plan is for me to replace him when he’s ready to step down.”

  “Do you enjoy the work?” Callie asked with interest.

  “I do!” Francis said enthusiastically. “There are so many new developments in both agriculture and mining. For example . . .”

  Eldon cut his brother off with a drawled, “As interesting as breeding programs are, that’s more detail than we need on a night when we’re catching up with each other’s news.”

  Francis smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I tend to be more of a farmer than the son of a marquess should be! But if you’re interested, I’ll be happy to talk your ears off later.” His expression turned wary. “I have an understanding with a young lady who lives nearby. I hope you’ll approve of our marriage.”

  Gordon’s brows arched. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re the one who will be living with her, so the choice should be yours.”

  “Neither Father nor Welham approved.” Francis looked defensive. “Julie’s parents are yeoman farmers, not aristocrats, but they’re generous, hardworking people. I’ve learned a great deal about practical farming from Mr. Frane.”

  From the tone of his brother’s voice, Gordon guessed that the Franes had been a warmer and more welcoming family than the Audleys. Perhaps hearing the same thing, Callie said warmly, “I’d love to meet your Julie. We can call on her family, or perhaps she and her mother can join us here for tea soon.”

  Francis’s eyes widened. “She . . . we would both like that very much!”

  As the first course of the meal was removed and the second course served, Gordon sipped at his wine and commented, “When we drove into the valley, I saw that the coal seam fires have expanded. The smell of them is all through the house.”

  “It’s not always this bad,” Francis said apologetically. “Only when the wind is from the west.”

  Which it usually was if Gordon remembered correctly. “Are the fires undermining the house? Maybe it’s time to abandon Kingston Court for a healthier site.”

  Francis looked appalled. “But the history, Gordon! The oldest section is over six hundred years old!”

  “And every day of that is felt in the lack of comforts,” Gordon said dryly. “I’ll let you have the master’s rooms, which I recall as cold and drafty.”

  “But very grand.” Eldon chuckled. “I think you’re stuck there since the servants are surely preparing those rooms now for the new lord and lady.”

  Callie asked, “Are any reasonable houses on the estate currently vacant? Preferably ones that aren
’t six hundred years old.”

  Francis thought a moment. “The dower house is empty. It’s basically sound, though it would take a day or two to prepare it for occupancy.”

  “As long as badgers haven’t taken up residence in the drawing room, that should do nicely,” Gordon said. “Callie, what do you think?”

  “I remember the dower house as a fine, well placed residence. It will be perfect.” She smiled. “We’ll appreciate it all the more if we must spend several nights in the Gothic tower.”

  That occasioned more laughter. The meal turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. Maybe being Lord Kingston wouldn’t be so bad.

  Gordon’s opinion changed when he and Callie bade his brothers good night and they retired to the tower. Callie studied the vast bedchamber with dismay. “If Welham lived in here, I don’t blame him if he committed suicide!”

  “You don’t like priceless tapestries showing saints dying in various horrible ways and animals being torn to pieces by hounds and huntsman?” Gordon asked dryly.

  “No, I do not!” She began pacing around the room, frowning at the tapestries and the heavy carved wardrobe that matched the bed. The massive four-poster was fit for royalty, with carved mahogany pillars at the corners to support the velvet canopy. The brocade coverlet was turned down, revealing fine sheets and extravagant pillows. He thought of his father in that bed, rutting with wives and maids and mistresses and conceiving multiple sons, and his stomach knotted. “I cannot sleep in that bed.”

  Callie’s gaze moved swiftly to his face. Understanding, she said lightly, “I’d rather not sleep there, either. Beds are too personal to make good family heirlooms. Let’s find an alternative.”

  She opened a door on the left. “This dressing room is much better. We can make up a pallet on the very handsome carpet. I’ll rumple the blankets on the bed so in the morning the servants won’t realize we didn’t appreciate their efforts.”

  Gordon joined her and drew her against his side with one arm. “You don’t mind sleeping on the floor in here?”

  “It will be more comfortable than a warehouse floor surrounded by tobacco barrels, and we found that quite pleasing.” She leaned into him like a cat. “We can manage here for a couple of nights until we move into the dower house.”

  “Thank you for understanding,” he said quietly.

  “The fact that your younger brothers are amiable doesn’t take away years of misery,” she said softly. “Now, let’s make up that pallet and get some rest.”

  She was right. The pallet was comfortable, and Callie’s sweet welcome made all the dark clouds of Kingston Court melt away.

  Chapter 40

  Callie smothered a yawn as they entered the master bedroom for their second night. “I look forward to moving into the dower house tomorrow, but before we abandon the tower, I want to see the secret stairway. Last night we were too tired to bother.”

  “Since I never want to set foot in this room again, tonight is the time,” Richard replied. “It’s hidden behind the mahogany wardrobe. I came up from the cellar level to see where the stairs went. When I opened the door at the top, I was horrified to find myself in my father’s bedchamber.”

  “That hasn’t changed,” she said wryly.

  “Let’s see if I can remember how it opens from this side.” He studied the wardrobe, then ran his fingers behind one of the mahogany columns that matched the bedposts. When that didn’t work, he twisted the whole column. Moving smoothly but with a Gothic groan, the wardrobe pivoted from the wall like a great door.

  Callie carried a lamp to the opening, her nose wrinkling at the dank smell. The stone steps were narrow and descended in sharp turns. “I’d get dizzy going up or down that, and the ceiling is so low I’d probably have to duck. You certainly would have to.”

  “We can go down if you like,” Richard said obligingly.

  “No, it’s less romantic than I thought.” She shoved the wardrobe back into place. “After that, I want to get some fresh air and admire the view from the balcony.”

  “That’s a better choice,” he agreed as he pulled back the draperies that covered the double doors to the balcony, which were cut through the six-foot-thick stone walls.

  Callie opened the door and stepped out onto the wide wooden platform. A brisk wind was blowing and clouds scudded over the moon, creating dramatic contrasts of light and shadow. She drew in a deep, exhilarated breath. “A storm is coming. I love storms as long as I’m inside and safe.”

  She peered over the railing. “Goodness, this is built right over the cliff that drops to the lake, and it’s a very long way down. Was the castle ever attacked?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, but if someone did try to capture it, it wouldn’t have been from the lake side.” Richard joined her at the railing and looked down at the lethal drop.

  The night was cold so he brought a blanket out. He moved behind Callie and wrapped it around them both so that her back was tucked against his chest. “Now, this is romantic,” she murmured.

  “Much better than creeping down a stone staircase,” he agreed. “It’s been a good day, hasn’t it? Particularly the visit to Rush Hall and your family.”

  “It was lovely to see my little brother Marcus all grown up,” she said. “He’s become a fine young lord. Not at all like my father.”

  “He’ll be a good neighbor to us,” Richard said thoughtfully. “Your littlest sister, Annie, is delightful, and your sister Jane was a pleasant surprise.”

  “That was the real shock,” Callie said with a grin. “She seems to have done a good job of running Marcus’s household these last few years. As she said, marrying the local vicar will give her plenty of opportunities to boss people around as well as keeping an eye on Rush Hall to ensure that it continues to run smoothly.”

  “And she laughed when she said it! A sense of humor is not something I ever associated with Jane.”

  “She’s improved with the years.” Callie chuckled. “She’d probably say the same of me. I like that I can be friends with my sisters and brother. For so long, I didn’t believe I’d ever see them again.”

  “Yet here we are.” Richard tightened his embrace, rocking her a little. “That location you chose is perfect for building a better version of Kingston Court. Since the dell faces south, the new house will be warm and bright all year round and the hills will protect us from the winds.”

  “It will be a happy house,” Callie said with a flash of intuition that felt very true. “We’ll have three children, and they’ll all be hellions like we were!”

  He chuckled. “But we’ll be much better at handling them than our parents were with us.”

  That also felt like truth. “I’m thinking about the floor plan for the new house, but I have some ideas for the dower house, too. We’ll probably be living there for a couple of years and it can use some improvements.”

  “Whatever you like, Catkin. I’m just glad that we’ll be able to move in tomorrow. I’d settle for a dovecote in order to get away from Kingston Court.”

  She slanted a glance. “The floor of the dressing room wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  “Entirely acceptable for a night or two, but winter is coming. I want a warm bed with a warm wife.” He grinned. “Fortunately, I’ve already got the warm wife.”

  “All I need is the warm husband,” she said provocatively. “Having a real bed is optional.”

  “You realize that if you keep rubbing your delectable backside against me, we won’t be getting any sleep for a while?”

  “My wicked plan has succeeded!” Laughing, she turned in his arms and raised her face for a kiss. His hair was silvery pale in the moonlight and he was so handsome she could barely breathe. But it was the tenderness in his eyes that melted her heart. “My Lionheart. . .” she whispered.

  The world shattered into flame, pain, and darkness.

  * * *

  The explosion in the bedroom behind them threw Gordon and Callie hard against the balcony railing. They
teetered precariously on the verge of pitching over into the lake. Instinctively he locked her in his arms and wrenched them to the left. His head banged hard into the railing before he came down on top of her as burning debris blasted through the open door.

  Dazed, he rolled away from Callie after the rain of shattered wood and stone ended. She lay limp and bleeding in the angle between the balcony floor and railings. Terrified, he checked her throat for a pulse and found one. Her breathing was regular, but she was unconscious and blood trickled down her temple.

  When he scrambled to his feet, the balcony lurched underneath him and he realized that it was about to tear loose from the tower and plunge down the cliff. He had to get them off before that happened, but where could they go? The grandest bedchamber in Lancashire had become a flaming holocaust. Though the walls were stone, the floor and furnishings were wood and fabric and they were being consumed by hungry flames. The bed and its hangings were ablaze, and as he watched, the left front corner of the heavy bed sank into the floor as the floorboards beneath burned away.

  Towering flames completely blocked the entrance to the room, and the drop below the balcony onto the stony cliff would surely kill them both. The stairway within the walls. Stone was much more resistant to burning and the old stairs were within reach.

  Grimly aware of the acrid scent of gunpowder, he turned back to Callie. She was still unconscious so he savagely ripped the blanket that had been protecting them from the cold in half. Hands shaking, he fashioned a sling large enough to hold her limp body and arranged her across his chest.

  He had to enter the bedroom to reach the staircase, and the heat was vicious. Behind him, he heard the balcony tearing away and crashing noisily down the cliff until it splashed into the lake. He protected Callie’s face with one arm while he dashed the half dozen steps to the wardrobe.