The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,2
my lord,” the girl said quickly.
“I’m certain he regrets presuming on our friendship.”
Marcus decided to let the youth go; doubtless he’d
learned his lesson. “That is gracious of you, Miss…?”
She blushed deeper. “I—I’m Constance Somerton,
my lord.”
Marcus started. “How remarkable. I’m on my way to
visit your father.”
“Indeed, my lord?” She’d recovered her composure
and spoke with a demureness belied by the dimple
dancing in her left cheek.
“Allow me to drive you home in my curricle.”
She cast a longing look toward the fine pair of gray
horses an ostler was walking up and down. “My lord,
Papa would not be pleased to discover me abroad in the
village. It’s best if I walk home.”
“But that will take at least an hour,” he protested.
“My sisters and I walk it all the time.”
Perhaps that explained her slender figure. In which
case, how could Marcus complain?
“Very well.” He executed a bow of a depth he would
usually reserve for an equal in the peerage, and was
rewarded with an appreciative twinkle in her near-violet
eyes. “Your servant, Miss Somerton.”
Her beauty and lively nature were more than he’d
dared expect. She would command the admiration of
Society…he just hoped she was of marriageable age.
“My lord…” She hesitated as she curtsied. Her eyes
widened in an unspoken plea.
He guessed what she wished to ask, and appreciated
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
her delicacy in not framing the question outright. Yes,
with a little guidance, Miss Constance Somerton could
be the ideal bride.
“No benefit will be served by my mentioning to your
father that I met you here,” he assured her.
“Thank you,” she breathed. Her hand touched his arm
ever so briefly.
Now Marcus returned Reverend Somerton’s smile
with understanding. Constance Somerton’s liveliness
was doubtless a source of concern to her parents—he
suspected the average parson’s daughter was far more
docile. Not to mention her appeal to the local young
men. Her parents would be delighted to have her safely
off their hands.
“I believe I don’t speak out of turn when I assure you
Constance holds you in the highest esteem,” Somerton
said.
“I’m happy to hear it.” Marcus wondered why the
man felt obliged to say such a thing—naturally all the
Somerton girls would appreciate his position. He
remembered there was still one potential obstacle. “Er,
how old is the young lady?”
He would have put her at seventeen, better than
sixteen, which would have been impossible, but still
arguably too young. Though in a year or two the
maturity gap between them would narrow…?.
“She turned twenty last month,” Somerton said. “She
is my second daughter.”
Twenty? Marcus was surprised, but pleased. Though
no one would dare accuse him to his face of robbing the
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nursery, he hated to be the subject of gossip. His father
had spent years schooling him to be worthy of his
title—he would not let it fall into disrepute again.
“Unfortunately, Constance is sitting with a sick friend
this afternoon,” Somerton said. “I could send for
her….”
“That won’t be necessary.” Knowing full well
Constance wasn’t at a friend’s sickbed, Marcus had no
desire to land her in trouble. “I must return to London—
in addition to the wedding license and to reassuring my
mother, there are marriage settlement documents to be
drawn up. I propose an allowance of—”
Reverend Somerton held up a hand. “My lord, your
family has never been anything but generous to mine. I
trust you to create a settlement that will be fair to my
daughter and her offspring.”
Marcus would do exactly that. His position demanded
it. But still, such naïveté seemed irresponsible. “Sir,
your trusting nature does you credit, but you might be
wiser—”
“Naturally, I will read the settlement document
thoroughly before I sign it.” The reverend smiled
kindly. “If it’s not fair, I won’t sign it and the marriage
will not take place.”
Not so naive after all. He knew Marcus wouldn’t risk
that. The settlement wouldn’t be fair; it would be more
than fair.
“Of course,” Marcus said stiffly. He gathered his
riding gloves and stood.
“One more thing.” The reverend did not rise, a
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
surprising breach of courtesy, yet his holy calling made
it impossible for Marcus to take offence. Or to take his
leave. “You do not love my daughter.”
Just when Marcus thought the awkwardness past!
He had the uncomfortable sensation his face had
reddened. “I cannot love what I do not know.”
“An excellent reply, my lord.” Somerton’s smile
bordered on indulgent. “For to know Constance is to
love her.”
It was the comment of a hopelessly doting father. The
kind of father Marcus had never had. He found himself
touched by the rector’s paternal loyalty.
“Sir, you know enough of my family’s history to
understand that a—an infatuation is the last reason I
would marry,” he said. “But it is my hope a strong and
natural affection will develop in my marriage.” He
would not use the word love, as the parson had. Love
was what