Never Trust a Rebel(36)

He took the proffered note. The elegant handwriting was unfamiliar. What was so urgent that the lad must needs be sent chasing after him? Then he saw the Whittlewood crest stamped into the seal. Quickly he ripped it open to find a gilt-edged card inside.

‘“Lady Whittlewood requests the pleasure…”’

His lip curled. So they had discovered his identity! Not so very difficult, when his pardon and history had been broadcast far and wide. He would have eschewed all public announcements if it had been possible, but his father had argued that it was necessary for everyone to know who he was and that no stain now besmirched the ancient name of Castlemain. And it had worked, since he was now invited to enter the viscount’s hallowed portals as a guest.

It made no real difference to him. Elyse had not cared that he had been branded a traitor. It was he who had held back, persuaded her he was only toying with her affections. He did not regret it. She was better off marrying her Adonis. If only a half the tales he had heard were true then the couple were devoted to each other. He hoped she would never discover how her father had engineered such a brilliant alliance.

‘Sir? Am I to run back with an answer? Sir?’

He glanced at the card again.

‘No, Sam. There is no urgency to reply.’

He picked up his frock-coat and slipped the card into the pocket before picking up his axe again. Perhaps he would go and see for himself that Elyse was happy.

And then perhaps he would be able to forget her.



It was raining. Little rivulets ran down the windows, obscuring the view of Queen Square. Elyse knew it would be easy to blame the inclement weather for her low spirits but she was no self-deceiver and she was aware that it would not be the truth. She had tried, truly she had. She’d thrown herself into life at Queen Square, allowed herself to be pampered and spoiled by Lady Whittlewood and dressed as befitted a lady living in the viscount’s household, albeit one who must abstain from wearing colours whilst in mourning. Everyone was so kind to her, and they did not yet know that she now brought a small fortune with her. She had decided not to tell them about her inheritance until the wedding day, deeming it a fitting wedding present for William.



Aunt Matthews had written, distraught because she had contracted a fever and Dr Carstairs had forbidden her to travel for several more weeks. Elyse had suggested that because of this they should delay the wedding. Lord Whittlewood had patiently explained to her that the contract drawn up between himself and her father was quite clear; the wedding must take place before the end of the month.

So here she was, one week away from marrying William and feeling none of the excited anticipation one might expect in a young lady on the verge of matrimony. All she could think of, when she was not strenuously keeping herself occupied, was Drew Castlemain and the way it had felt to be in his arms, exchanging kisses. Just the thought of it sent the searing, heart-stopping excitement running through her again, hot desire tearing at her insides and such an ache of longing in her heart she almost groaned aloud. She could not believe it had meant so little to him, that he had not felt the connection between them. How might it have been if he had known of his pardon earlier? Would he have treated her differently, perhaps even considered making her an offer?

She turned away from the window, wrapping her arms about her as if to ward off a sudden chill. Now she was deceiving herself. He did not care for her, did not desire her, save fleetingly, as an object of lust. She must be thankful he had not seduced her thoroughly. He had told her as much. But he had just as thoroughly ruined her, since she could not forget him.

There was a knock on the door and the maid appointed to wait upon her entered the room.

‘Oh, I beg yer pardon, mistress, I thought the family had all gone out and I come up to tidy the room…’

‘Come in, Hetty, I am leaving now.’

She glanced in the long mirror for a final check upon her appearance. Lady Whittlewood had taken great pains to provide Elyse with dozens of new clothes, all suitable for a young lady in mourning and the one she had chosen today was no exception, a pewter-grey silk morning gown with black lace trim. Elyse had decided not to add the fashionable black apron but she had placed a straw bonnet with new black ribbons over her lace cap. Her only ornament was the diamond ring William had given her to mark their betrothal. All very sober, nothing to give the Bath quizzes cause to gossip.

William was waiting for her when she came downstairs.

‘So there you are. My mother is gone with Papa to the Pump Room and I waited behind to escort you. Shall we go?’

Elyse smiled and took his proffered arm. Apart from that one kiss soon after her arrival he was treating her like a guest rather than a fiancée. She tried to be charitable. It was only to be expected since they had not seen each other for three years. Despite their letters they were a little shy of one another.

The rain had stopped but the air was cold and damp. The overcast sky would lower anyone’s spirits, Elyse decided. After all, what had she to be gloomy about? Her future was secure, as Mrs William Reverson she would be a woman of substance and standing, married to the man she had dreamed of since she was seventeen.

Elyse stole a peep up at William as they strolled along Bath’s busy pavements to the Pump Room. She had thought him the most handsome man of her acquaintance when they had met and now, at one-and-twenty, his classical looks were even more striking. His fair colouring was evident despite his powdered wig, the pale brows and lashes only accentuating his liquid-brown eyes. So why, when he turned his head to smile at her, did she think him less attractive? Was it that she had recently conceived a penchant for darker hair and blue, blue eyes?

No! She must not even think of that.

‘You are very pensive,’ said William. ‘Is anything the matter?’

‘No, no, of course not.’ Her doubts resurfaced. ‘Only, are you sure you want to marry me, William?’

‘Nothing I would like more,’ he replied promptly. ‘It is all agreed, is it not? My father says he will let us have one of his properties, a snug little house in Berkshire where we may set up our nursery.’ He squeezed her hand, where it rested on his sleeve. ‘A few more days and we will be man and wife. I cannot wait to have you to myself.’

Elyse remembered the delicious thrill of excitement she had felt when he had whispered such things to her in Scarborough. He had even stolen a kiss, which she had thought the most wonderful, daring and exciting thing in the world, but the kiss he had recently bestowed upon her in the morning room had left her strangely unmoved and now the thought of William taking her in his arms, of kissing her passionately, touching her the way Drew had done, made her shudder. Mistaking her reaction William laughed.

‘You are eager for it, too, I know, but we must be patient. It would not do to behave with any hint of impropriety while we are living under my father’s roof.’

‘No, of course not.’

But once they were married, what then? she wondered. She could only pray that she would learn to love him again.



The week passed slowly but inexorably and Elyse tried to feel something other than growing apprehension for the approaching nuptials. She kept her anxiety hidden from her hosts and presented a cheerful smiling countenance whenever she was in company. Nothing could have exceeded Lord and Lady Whittlewood’s kindness to her. She might not be the bride they would have chosen for their son but they had accepted the inevitable with a good grace and Elyse was grateful. For her it was a splendid match, arranged by Papa to secure her future comfort and it was churlish of her to want anything different. Churlish and futile, she scolded herself. Drew might be a free man now but he was lost to her. He did not love her and he was a rake: even if by some miracle she could marry him it would not work, his amours and intrigues could only result in repeated heartbreak for her.



Elyse was thankful her days were so busy. Her arrival in Queen Square without any luggage had scandalised Lady Whittlewood, who had hurriedly procured a few new gowns for her and taken her on numerous shopping trips to provide her with everything she would need for her new life as the Honourable Mrs William Reverson. Parcels arrived every day containing dresses, shoes, hats and myriad other items the viscountess considered essential for a lady’s wardrobe. In addition to this Elyse threw herself energetically into all the arrangements for the marriage, as well as the party that had been arranged for the evening before the wedding.

Because Elyse was still in mourning for her father the marriage must be a very private affair. Only close family were to be present, and in Elyse’s case even that was impossible since her only relative, Aunt Matthews, was still laid up with her broken arm. Aware that she would have no one to support her, the kindly viscountess had suggested that Mr Andrew Castlemain should be invited to the ceremony, but Lord Whittlewood had firmly but gently counselled against it.

‘He may be a very fine young man and of course he is pardoned now,’ he said. ‘But the fact is he has been masquerading under a false name. Also his connections with the Jacobite cause are not something we should be seen to condone too much.’

‘That may be so,’ replied Lady Whittlewood with unaccustomed firmness, ‘but he was Elyse’s guardian and the poor young man’s role in bringing her to us must be recognised.’