Harper.” She returned to the
countess’s room, pulling the door closed behind her.
Conscious of all the awkwardness of the situation, she
waited until she heard the earl leave his room before she
locked the door.
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210
Chapter Eighteen
There could be nothing more embarrassing, Constance
felt, than facing one’s husband the morning after
denying him access to the marriage bed.
She had some morning calls to pay this afternoon—
she still found it odd that in London, “morning” calls
invariably took place after midday—but she planned to
remain sequestered until then. Miriam Bligh had
brought mending; Constance had her embroidery. They
would sew quietly in the small salon.
“I’m thinking, my lady—” Bligh pulled her thread
taut after a stitch “—we need to develop a particular
style for you. Something that draws attention and
establishes you as a leader of fashion.”
“Given that my looks will never do so,” Constance
said.
She could see Bligh about to issue a polite denial.
Then the maid said, “That’s pretty much the way of it,
my lady.”
“Is this for the sake of your ambitions?” Constance
asked, a little hurt. She knew how important it was to
Miriam to do well in this position.
“No, my lady, for yours.” Bligh held her gaze with a
frankness that would usually only be tolerated between
mistress and maid after many years’ service.
“You think I have ambitions?” Constance asked.
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
Miriam nodded. “Where his lordship is concerned.”
Constance was so surprised, she jabbed her needle
into her thumb. “Ah!” She sucked the tiny droplet of
blood, staring at Miriam.
The maid didn’t elaborate.
Constance inspected her thumb. “What a pair we are,
Bligh. Wanting men who don’t seem to want us.”
“I’m sure there’s no man I want, my lady,” Miriam
said stiffly.
Constance rolled her eyes. “Strength and honor
should be the clothing of a virtuous wife,” she said,
referring to the book of Proverbs.
“As well as silk and purple,” Miriam said.
True, those words were in the chapter, as well.
Constance sighed. “If you can find an equivalent to
‘silk and purple’ that will make me distinctive, by all
means do so.”
At eleven o’clock, Dallow brought a message from
the dowager, inviting Constance to visit her room.
Constance gave a cry of delight to find Helen sitting
in a chair next to the window.
The dowager beamed at her. “I know, my dear, isn’t
it wonderful? I feel strong as a horse.”
“Just so long as you’re not planning to jump fences,”
Marcus said from behind Constance. She froze. I will
not look at him. Already, her cheeks were heating. The
dowager must have called for him, too.
“Marcus, darling, you’re here.” Helen stretched out a
hand to him. He was careful not to brush against
Constance as he went to kiss his mother.
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ABBY GAINES
212
“You do look well.” His voice was deep with
satisfaction.
“If I died tomorrow I’d be happy for having had a day
out of bed,” Helen said.
“You’re not going to die tomorrow,” Marcus chided
her.
She patted his cheek. “Certainly not, my love. It
would be most rude of me to die before the ball and
plunge you all into mourning.”
“What ball?” Constance asked, at the same time as
Marcus.
“Sit down, my dears.” Helen indicated the chairs
either side of hers. When they were settled, she
continued, “I plan to host a ball to welcome Constance
to the family.”
“That’s not necessary,” Constance said quickly. Part
of her delighted in the prospect of a ball given in her
honor. But that was foolish pride…and pointless if her
husband wouldn’t share her enjoyment. Right now, he
looked determined never to enjoy her company again.
“Mama, you’re not well enough to dance,” Marcus
said. “Let alone to organize a ball. These things take
weeks.”
“This ball shall take only three weeks,” his mother
declared. “I’m thinking an Indian theme—we still have
all those wall hangings and the like that my brother
brought back from the Subcontinent.” She patted
Marcus’s hand. “And of course I won’t dance. I’ll
delegate you and Constance to dance for me. I shall sit
in a corner with my dearest friends and we’ll gossip
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
about the young misses and their marriage prospects,
and which bachelors are fortune hunters.” Her blissful
sigh told them how much she missed those pastimes.
“You know I would deny you nothing,” Marcus
began.
“I’m delighted to hear it,” Helen said.
“But this will be too much of a strain on your health.”
“I assure you I won’t do any actual work,” Helen
said. “Marcus, I see this as a fresh start for our family, a
public declaration to our friends that the Spenfords are
alive and well. And happy.”
Marcus flinched, obviously recalling what she’d said
about his unhappiness the day of Mr. Young’s first
visit.
His mother colored slightly. “I mean, I have a new
daughter—” she reached over and patted Constance’s
hand “—which makes me happy. And day by day, my
health is being restored.”
“I’ll help you in