flattery,” she said, and
was happy with the briskness of her tone. “But I don’t
understand why you’d be a fool to fall in love with any
woman.”
He sighed. “Your father raised you with an
unfortunate need to understand things.”
“Unfortunate for whom?” she inquired.
His eyebrows drew together. Then he said abruptly,
“My grandfather married for love. It was an obsession
that caused him to neglect the estates, and to spend
money recklessly.”
“So you think any man who marries for love will lose
all self-control?”
“His actions almost wiped out the family’s assets. He
exposed the Spenford name to ridicule. He lost the
confidence of our tenants, our stewards, our bankers.”
“And yet the earldom survived,” she said.
“Only because my grandfather died,” he said bluntly.
“My father inherited the title and immediately set about
restoring our good name. He had the sense to marry the
daughter of a duke—”
“You’re saying he married your mama for her
money?” Constance asked.
He ignored her. “He set standards of conduct for
himself and others that restored faith in the family.
Even so, I inherited debts that, if called in, could ruin
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the house of Spenford.”
“Perhaps you might have told me some of those
details before I met your cousin and gave her cause to
gossip,” she said.
“Would it have made a difference?”
She couldn’t honestly say it would, so she didn’t
answer.
His lips flattened. “More to the point, only rigid
adherence to my father’s practices will secure the
earldom—I could have no better example than him for
my own tenure as earl.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t marry for money yourself,”
she observed.
“If Mama had not been ill, I would have looked to
contract a match as mutually advantageous as my
parents’,” he said coolly. “The circumstances that led
me to offer for you—”
“For my sister,” she corrected him.
“—were unusual. But acceptable. What is not
acceptable is any suggestion that I’ve lost my head over
you. Or you over me.”
“Are you saying,” she asked slowly, “you would
rather I’d married you for your wealth and status?”
“A thousand times rather!” Distractedly, he picked up
the jar of perfume she had used on her wedding night
and turned it over in his hand, unseeing. He set it down
again. “Madam, I would rather you had married me for
something I am willing to offer you.”
Constance pressed her Bible to her chest as if it could
stem the steady seep of hope from her heart. “I…don’t
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
know what to say.” Beyond, I want to go home.
He raised one eyebrow. “An unusual circumstance for
you, surely?” When she did not respond to his
inappropriate levity, he said gruffly, “I don’t want my
staff, or my tenants, or society thinking I have the same
weakness of mind as my grandfather. You have twice
made a fool of me—and your emotional attachment
makes me wonder anew if you were party to your
sister’s scheme.”
“I wasn’t!” It came out weak, watery.
“You won’t have a third opportunity to undermine
me,” he said. “I have decided on steps to preserve my
dignity and my family’s reputation.”
A shiver ran through Constance. “What steps?”
“I believe my mother’s health will continue to
improve,” he said. “As soon as she’s well enough to
travel, you will accompany her to Chalmers. She’ll
enjoy the country air, and it’ll be an excellent
opportunity for you to learn about the house and its
running.”
“And where will you be?”
“I shall stay here in London until the end of the
Season.”
This was wrong, all wrong. Constance set her Bible
on the dressing table, and squared her shoulders. “I
believe marriage is a commitment to a shared life.”
“In the ton,” he said, “it’s not uncommon for a
husband and wife to live separate lives. By doing so,
we’ll convince the world there was no wild passion
involved in our decision to wed.”
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He needn’t worry about that, Constance thought. If
his manner in public was as it was now, the world
would have no trouble believing he didn’t love her.
“Separate lives…that’s not how the Bible describes a
marriage,” she said. “My father told me you prayed
about our union.”
His chin, which she would not have described in such
idiotic terms as telling, jerked back. “Is there anything
your father doesn’t discuss with you?” he demanded.
She eyed him steadily. “Did you ask God’s guidance
about our marriage?”
“Not…exactly.” He ran a hand around the back of his
neck.
“What exactly did you do?” she persisted.
“I agreed with God,” he said, exasperated, “that if I
married one of Reverend Somerton’s daughters, He
would heal my mother.”
Constance gaped. “You can’t bargain with God like
that!”
“I realize that as the daughter of a parson you may
feel you can lay greater claim to knowing God’s will,
but I’m afraid you’re wrong.” He took a step backward.
Away from her. “My mother is improved to a near-
miraculous extent. You will travel to Chalmers with her
at her