The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,12
a fancy to Amanda, Constance
suspected sweet and gentle sat low on his list of
desirable wifely qualities. As for his heart…
The dowager patted Constance’s hand. “Of course,
you never had any thought of marrying my son—”
Constance blushed “—so this has been very sudden. I
hope you are happy?”
She’d just endured the most miserable few hours of
her twenty years.
“Mother,” Marcus protested, “it’s late, and Constance
has had a long journey.”
It was the first time he’d spoken her name since the
wedding. Even after all that had happened, she liked
hearing it on his lips.
Foolish.
“My—Mama, I agreed to marry the earl of my own
free will,” she said. “We made our vows before God. So
I’m certain I will be happy.” She wouldn’t lie and say
she was happy now. But she had faith for the future.
The dowager directed a questioning glance at her son.
His hand settled on Constance’s shoulder. “I share
my wife’s certainty,” he said.
Really? He felt they could overcome this awkward
beginning, too? They had no choice, of course, but
still…Constance hadn’t hoped for a softening this soon.
She was suddenly aware of his thumb, aligned with the
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edge of the dress where it met her shoulder.
“That’s all I could want.” Helen pushed herself
higher against the pillows. “I declare, I haven’t felt so
lively in months.”
“I hope you’ll be still livelier tomorrow,” Marcus said
fondly. “But Mr. Bird would be alarmed to see you
over-exerting yourself. He would worry you’ll weaken
your heart further.”
His mother sighed. “Constance, dear, you never met
such a man as my doctor for depressing one’s hopes of
recovery! He can be quite an old woman.”
“That ‘old woman’ is the finest doctor in London,”
Marcus said.
“I know, darling, and he’s so worthy.” The dowager
pulled a face. “But when I think how I never used to go
to bed before midnight…”
“Maybe those days will come again,” Marcus said
gently, “but not, I suspect, today.”
“You’re right. I should sleep. Constance, will you
come to me tomorrow?”
“I’ll spend the day with you, Mama—” she shot a
glance at Marcus “—that is, if Lord Spenford doesn’t
have other plans.”
His look, full of approval, warmed her through.
“Certainly you could spend much of the day here.”
“The morning only,” the dowager corrected.
“Constance mustn’t stay cooped up in a sickroom, when
she has a new home and a new husband to enjoy. Good
night, my dears.”
Back out in the hallway, Marcus waited until the
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
maid, Powell, had closed his mother’s door. “Thank
you for offering to spend time with Mama,” he said. “I
appreciate your willingness to do your duty after
today’s…difficulties.” It was an odd speech, spoken
stiffly but with an underlying vulnerability that touched
Constance’s heart.
“Sitting with your mother will be a pleasure, not a
duty,” she said. “I’ve always been fond of her.” Would
he think that impertinent, a parson’s daughter holding
fondness for a countess?
His eyes searched her face, which she knew to be
wan and drawn. This was the closest she had been to
him since they’d exchanged their vows. She tried not to
look at his lips, not to wonder if they would feel the
same against her mouth as they had against her fingers.
“It’s late. You should go to your chamber,” he said.
“Yes.” Bed sounded wonderful…or did it? The
realization that this was her wedding night hit her. Is he
sending me to my chamber because he wants…
Perspiration broke out on her forehead—should she
pull out a handkerchief, or hope he didn’t notice?
“Are you all right?” he asked, frowning.
“I don’t know where, er, my chamber…”
His face cleared. “The other side of the landing. First
door on the left.”
“You must be tired, too,” she suggested.
“I have a few letters I must read tonight. I’ll retire
soon.”
Unfortunately, he omitted to mention which room he
planned to retire to.
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Chapter Five
A footman conducted Constance to the countess’s
bedchamber. Her bedchamber.
A young woman dressed in a plain dark dress was
waiting. She curtsied. “Good evening, my lady. I am
Miriam Bligh, your maid.”
“Oh,” Constance said, surprised. She’d known she
would end up with such a servant, but not so soon.
“I was a senior housemaid at Chalmers—the main
Spenford
estate,”
Miriam
clarified,
assessing
Constance’s blank look, “but I’m used to acting as
lady’s maid for guests.” She rubbed her palms down her
skirt. “But if your ladyship would prefer to hire her own
maid…”
Constance had no idea what she preferred. But
Miriam’s pleasant face and tall, angular shape were
practical and oddly reassuring. “Thank you, Miriam,
I’m sure you will serve. Er, I suppose I should call you
Bligh.” Being addressed by her surname was a sign of
superior status, just as it was for a valet.
Another curtsy, this one more a bob. “Yes, my lady,
though I daresay I’ll answer to either. If you’re ready to
retire, I’ll assist you in undressing.”
Constance had undressed herself, unassisted but