Rebellious Bride Read Free

Sherborn.” His tone was once again dictatorial.
    Lillian smiled that defiant little smile of hers. “It will be a pleasure. It was nice meeting you. Good day, Rolfe.”
    Henry gasped again, and her father moaned somewhat louder this time.
    As she wove her way through the crowd, Lord Sherborn watched her self-assured walk and mumbled his favorite expression when vexed. “Bloody hell.”

Chapter 2
    Rolfe stepped down from the coach and immediately unwrapped his cravat and loosened his shirt. On his first appearance in Little he really hadn’t wanted to seem dandified and haughty, but he had reached the conclusion before leaving England that for the moment it would be best to give that impression.
    He wanted the people of Little to think him incompetent in his new surroundings. That way he could learn who he could trust, who could be called a friend, and whose offer of help would be sincere. Only then would the town of Little come to know the true Lord Sherborn.
    Rolfe stood proudly in front of the house he had had built and admired the fine workmanship. He had seen to every step of its construction, writing the architect with specific instructions, and his attention to detail had paid off. The house was constructed in true Gothic style with a Mansard Second Empire roof that appeared framed by the rich blue of the sky.
    Rolfe slipped out of his jacket, the material too confining for the warm July air. He relaxed his stance and basked in the pleasure of viewing his home for the first time. He had waited with impatience for its completion and for the journey that would bring him here to Little and his new life.
    He rolled up his shirt-sleeves after tossing his coat onto the seat of the coach. It was perfect, just as he had imagined in his daydreams as well as the ones that haunted his nights.
    The earth colors were a good choice. They blended well, the soft muted beige and brown with the deeper hues that resembled the rich soil itself. The flowering trees, bushes, and colorful flowers were set in the precise areas he had chosen. The elegantly appointed veranda graciously welcomed visitors with comfortable wooden rockers, and sturdy tables held potted ferns.
    “Perfect coloring,” Rolfe mumbled. Like the strawberry blond color of Lillian’s hair. “Bloody hell, where did that thought come from?”
    He wasn’t interested in a woman at the moment. Perhaps one who would satisfy his basic needs, but not one who expected more. Lillian Prescott would expect more. Rolfe shook his head. She wasn’t the type of woman who suited him—even if her hair was spun with the fires of gold.
    “Is this it, sir?”
    Rolfe turned, having forgotten all about Jonathan. He smiled at his manservant. Stiff and proper, Jonathan had opposed this holiday, as he referred to it, since he was certain that once they arrived in barbaric America, Lord Sherborn would come to his senses and they would return home to a civilized land.
    What Jonathan couldn’t comprehend was that Rolfe had no intention of ever returning to England. And Jonathan, being the faithful manservant that he was, refused to leave Rolfe’s side. Rolfe suggested that if he wished to remain in England he would provide him with excellent recommendations to obtain a position elsewhere. Jonathan adamantly refused, insisting Lord Sherborn could not survive without him. And at times Rolfe had to agree. Though Jonathan was only ten years older than Rolfe’s thirty-two years, he appeared much older and wiser, and Rolfe would have sorely missed him.
    “Do you like the house, Jonathan?” Rolfe asked.
    Jonathan, though several inches shorter than Rolfe, appeared tall, since he carried himself with an English dignity that could not be matched.
    “Our lodgings are much more adequate than I had anticipated.”
    “I’m relieved to hear that, Jonathan.” Rolfe hid his smile, having assumed Jonathan expected a log cabin in the wilderness, and although the wilderness surrounded them, from his