The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,18
said politely, “I hardly think you know me
well enough to reach that conclusion, Mrs. Quayle.”
What on earth…? Marcus kept his gaze on Lucinda,
while he slid his right foot toward Constance. He gave
her slipper a sharp nudge.
Without looking at him, she moved her foot away.
Lucinda blinked twice. Then, thankfully, she giggled.
“No, but I had to say it out of politeness, didn’t I?”
Constance laughed. Marcus hadn’t heard her laugh
before—it was low, almost musical. Warming.
“In that case, you might need to teach me London
manners,” she said. “My father always exhorted me and
my sisters to either speak the truth or say nothing at
all.”
Marcus groaned, foreseeing numerous awkward
encounters ahead. Instead of looking annoyed,
Constance gave him that sympathetic smile again.
He sensed it could soon become an irritant.
“You poor girl,” Lucinda breathed. “That’s just the
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sort of silly thing a parson would say. How on earth do
you survive in society?”
“Mostly by saying nothing at all,” Constance
admitted.
Marcus’s chuckle was drowned by Lucinda’s peal of
laughter.
“Well, that won’t suffice in London,” Lucinda said.
“Now, Constance—you must call me Lucinda, by the
way—I want to know all about you. How can I be your
first friend here if I don’t?”
“Don’t tell my cousin anything you don’t wish aired
all over town,” Marcus warned Constance.
“Marcus, I’m not that indiscreet.” But Lucinda was
laughing. “I try not to gossip,” she confided to
Constance. “But one sees and hears so much, one would
burst if one tried to hold it in.”
“I can see that would be most uncomfortable,”
Constance said.
At least, he noticed, Lucinda hadn’t overwhelmed
her. In fact, Constance hadn’t been overwhelmed by
any of the events of the past, tumultuous twenty-four
hours. Perhaps she did have the potential to develop the
dignity of a countess.
“I am quite discreet in winter,” Lucinda offered in her
own defense.
“When you’re in the country, with no source of
gossip, nor anyone to tell it to,” Marcus retorted.
“The good thing is, I know everything about
everyone.” Lucinda ignored him. “So I shall bring you
up with all the news before you meet the world,
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
Constance. And I warn you—” she wagged a finger “—
everyone is agog to meet the Countess of Spenford.”
Not before she had her new dresses, and her maid had
proven herself competent to present Constance the way
his countess should appear, Marcus thought. No doubt
Lucinda had already blabbed all over town that he was
marrying an impoverished beauty—his own fault, he
realized, cursing the moment of pride that had made
him boast. As Constance looked now, she would be a
lamb to the slaughter of razorsharp tongues.
Constance’s brow wrinkled. “There’s nothing
amazing about me.”
“My dear, you’ve snatched the biggest prize on
London’s marriage mart. If that’s not amazing…”
Lucinda spread her hands as if to suggest that even Mr.
Murdoch’s invention of gas lighting couldn’t compete
with Constance’s achievement.
“It doesn’t seem right to think of a man as a prize,”
Constance said.
Marcus blinked. Of course he was a prize!
“Of course he’s a prize.” Lucinda saved him the need
to state the glaringly obvious. “Constance, you can’t be
that rural. He’s the Earl of Spenford.”
“Which implies that if he were not the earl, people
wouldn’t like him so well. My father teaches never to
judge a man by his status.”
Marcus couldn’t remember seeing his cousin reduced
to stunned silence before. It would have been amusing,
if it hadn’t been at his expense.
“If he were not the earl, he wouldn’t be the same
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person,” Lucinda said at last. With a naughty grin at
Marcus, she added, “But he’d still be as handsome. You
do think he’s handsome, don’t you, Constance? I’m
relying on you to speak the truth or say nothing at all,”
she teased.
“Very handsome,” Constance agreed.
Marcus could not feel flattered: her tone implied his
appearance wasn’t important—no doubt another
stricture of her father’s—as well as, he suspected, a
lingering doubt as to his likability.
Yes, all right, I should have bid her good-night last
night. And good morning this morning.
“Marcus’s address is beyond fault,” Lucinda pointed
out; she’d obviously discerned Constance’s lack of
excitement over his good looks. “His manner is so
polished.”
Constance looked confused. “Perhaps he has
been…less formal in his manner to me.”
Blast it, she was right. Marcus hadn’t yet favored his
wife with the polished address for which society knew
him. He’d fallen short of his own standard.
“I dare say, since he was wooing you,” Lucinda said
with a relish that made Marcus wince. “And I’m sure he
was too modest to tell you his many accomplishments.”
She tut-tutted at this oversight.
“Excessive modesty is not one of the faults I’ve
discerned in him,” Constance said with a slight smile.
She’d gone too far! Marcus shot her a quelling look,
but since she wasn’t paying him any attention, she
remained unquelled.
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
“Excellent,” Lucinda said. “So he’s