The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,25
as if she might have
forgotten the end-of-evening ritual.
“I must see the earl tonight.” If she waited until
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morning, he’d be gone for an early ride or some such
thing, and wouldn’t show his face until the coach was
loaded and she and the dowager were about to depart.
“Do you know where he went?”
Most evenings he had at least half a dozen invitations
of which to avail himself. Most of those invitations
were also addressed to Constance.
“No, my lady.” Miriam sounded scandalized at the
very thought she should know the earl’s whereabouts.
“It’s not right for a lady to go out alone so late.”
Constance ignored that warning. “I’ll ask Dallow if
he knows Lord Spenford’s plans. Ring the bell, please.”
As Miriam tugged on the silk-tasseled rope, she said,
“If Mr. Dallow doesn’t know, Mr. Harper will.”
Harper was summoned after the butler proved
ignorant of his lordship’s plans.
“Where is your master this evening?” Constance
asked.
“He had several invitations, my lady,” the valet said.
He ignored Miriam, his childhood friend and admirer—
he’d not so much as glanced in her direction.
“Which of those events did he plan to attend?”
Constance asked coolly.
“His plans were not fully formed,” the valet said.
Miriam gave a little cough.
“What is it, Mir—Bligh?” Constance asked. Just in
time, she remembered to give her maid the consequence
she was due, especially in front of the “hoity-toity”
Harper.
“Perhaps Mr. Harper is ignorant of his lordship’s
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
whereabouts,” the maid suggested.
A masterstroke. Harper swelled visibly. “His lordship
is mostly likely at the Rotheram supper dance,” he said,
disdain directed at Miriam.
Miriam colored, but she looked him in the eye.
“Thank you, Harper.” Constance dismissed him.
“And thank you, Bligh,” she said, when he was gone.
The maid bobbed her head.
Supper dances typically started around nine o’clock,
so to arrive this late would be unremarkable. “I need
you to dress me,” she told the maid, and through her
worry and determination she felt a purely feminine thrill
of excitement at the thought of wearing one of her fine
new dresses. “I will join my husband.”
AN HOUR LATER, the Spenford carriage pulled up
outside the Rotheram town house in Clarges Street.
Constance dreaded having to walk in alone, a sentiment
reinforced when the butler looked askance at her
solitary arrival.
He masked it quickly as he bowed. “May I announce
you, madam?”
“Miss—the Countess of Spenford.”
He bowed lower. “Pardon me, my lady.”
She nodded nervously. As the grandfather clock
chimed half past ten, he ushered her to the salon.
Though the receiving line had broken up to join the
festivities, the butler announced, “Her ladyship, the
Countess of Spenford.”
If he’d announced the Man in the Moon he could not
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have had greater effect.
A hush fell on the throng near the doorway, those
who had heard the announcement, then a buzz of
curiosity swelled.
“Lady Spenford—” a woman wearing a mint-green
dress with matching turban approached “—what a
pleasure. I am Edwina Rotheram.”
“Mrs. Rotherham.” Constance made a small curtsy.
“How kind of you to invite…us.”
Where, precisely, was the other half of this marriage?
“I’m delighted to see you have recovered from your
plague of headaches,” her hostess said.
So that was how Marcus explained her absence from
his side!
“I am quite well, thank you,” Constance said.
As she spoke, the crowd parted, and there before
her…stood Marcus.
Had she seen him in full evening dress before?
Perhaps, during one of the soirees her family had
attended at Palfont. But not when he was her husband,
her equal in society.
She had never felt more inferior.
Her pleasure in her new russet-colored crepe dress
with its hem trimmed in forest-green faded in the face
of his dark blue coat, cut exquisitely to fit his shoulders,
his perfect snowy cravat, his imposing bearing. He had
the presence, the charisma, of a lion, a peacock, or some
other animal that knew its rightful place at the head of
its world.
While Constance clearly did not.
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
MARCUS BOWED OVER Constance’s extended hand.
“My dear, if I’d known you would join me I would have
escorted you.”
“Indeed?” she said with a tight smile.
Marcus didn’t like her tone, or her smile.
He didn’t like that she was here, either, but he was
careful to keep that off his face. Tongues would be
wagging enough as it was.
Why was Constance here? She must know it was
entirely improper to venture out alone to the home of
people she hadn’t met. Around them, the crowd had
grown silent. One more second and they would be
whispering.
Hadn’t she listened to a word he said about the
importance of avoiding gossip? Probably not, he
thought grimly. She seemed to listen to no one but her
father.
And now, when she should be greeting him with the
gracious pleasure of a woman who had snagged the best
catch in the ton, she looked more likely to gut and fillet
her catch.
Her chin was stuck