The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,54

any way I can,” Constance said. She

rather enjoyed Marcus’s frown of displeasure.

“I knew I could rely on you, my dear.” Helen glanced

up at her son. “You had best accept this plan of mine,

Marcus. It will happen.”

The steel in her voice made Constance smile. So,

Marcus’s pigheadedness wasn’t all from his father’s

side!

“Only if Mr. Young says it won’t be too much for

you,” Marcus said.

“I’m sure he will concur,” Helen said. “Constance, I

can’t wait to watch dear Marcus whirling you around

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214

our ballroom.”

Dear Marcus looked distinctly unenthusiastic.

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,” Constance said stoutly.

Was that a snort from her husband? Couldn’t he see that

his mother was so happy at the prospect of this ball, it

could only be good for her?

“Perhaps you and Constance could discuss which of

your friends you’d like to invite,” Helen said.

“Actually, Mama, I’m traveling to Chalmers today,”

Marcus said. “In fact, I’m departing imminently.”

Since when had he planned this? From his carefully

bland expression, Constance knew the answer. He’d

planned it after last night. This was his strategy for

avoiding her. An excellent one, she had to admit.

“Jeffers needs some guidance about the repairs to the

tenants’ homes,” he continued. “Since you’re so much

better, I thought I might take a few days to give my

advice in person.”

“Of course you must,” Helen said. “You’ve neglected

your business too much on my behalf as it is. I wish you

Godspeed, my son.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her cheek as he stood up. He

slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat, and pulled

out three envelopes. “Before I forget, these arrived for

you in this morning’s post—” he handed her two letters

“—and one for you, too, Constance.”

Constance recognized her father’s squarish hand on

the sealed missive.

Marcus was halfway to the door when his mother

said, “Marcus, you outrageous boy! You’ve forgotten to

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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE

kiss your wife goodbye.”

Constance turned her head quickly before Helen saw

her dismay.

Marcus came back. “How careless of me.”

Constance stood and offered him her cheek. The

brush of his lips felt like a whisper of disappointment.

“Goodbye, Marcus,” she said.

When he left, something went with him—some kind

of motivating force. Without it, Constance felt

irritatingly lethargic.

“My dear, will you sit with me awhile longer?” Helen

asked. “Perhaps we can read our correspondence

together.”

“Of course.” Constance resumed her seat. She prized

open the wax seal on her letter and began to read.

“From your father?” Helen asked.

Constance nodded. “Mama has added a message,

too.”

“What news of your family? If you don’t mind my

asking?”

“Isabel has joined the board of the local orphanage,”

Constance said. “She has a remarkable penchant for

doing

good

works

without

being

the

least

sanctimonious.”

The dowager chuckled.

“Papa says Serena isn’t writing from Leicestershire as

often as she used to, and asks if I have any news of her.

Which I don’t.”

“And what of that pretty little minx, Amanda?” Helen

asked.

Something

must

have

flickered

across

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Constance’s face, for Helen said, “Is something wrong?

Is Amanda ill?”

“She’s well, as far as I know,” Constance assured her.

The dowager’s raised eyebrows told her she couldn’t

end there. “She and I had…a disagreement, that’s all.”

“Oh, my dear. It’s not good to allow family

disagreements to lead to estrangement.” Helen’s hand

covered hers.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Constance said formally. She

hurried to read on. “Papa says—oh!” She clapped a

hand to her mouth.

“What is it?” Helen asked.

“Papa has been invited to meet with the archbishop

here in London on the twenty-second of May, to discuss

his views on social equality. I expect the archbishop

plans to scold him—his views are rather unorthodox,”

she explained.

The twenty-second was next week.

“I imagine they are,” Helen said appreciatively.

“Much as I like to hear them, I know I’d be most

uncomfortable if some of Reverend Somerton’s views

became reality.”

Constance read on. “He says Mama will accompany

him if I can assure him I will be in London—my mother

suffers badly from travel sickness.”

Helen clucked in sympathy. “But how wonderful that

you’ll see them. You must miss them.”

“I do.” Constance chewed her lip. A part of her

longed to see her parents…but not here, not now. They

were both far too perceptive. They would see in five

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minutes that all was not well in her marriage—even

with Marcus away at Chalmers.

Constance would be mortified. That was the nub of

the matter, she realized. Her pride, in this respect at

least, could rival Marcus’s!

But she couldn’t help it. Her mother had questioned

Marcus’s suitability as a husband and Constance had

blinded herself to the truth of her mother’s insight. Her

father had faith in her to build a godly marriage, and

she’d let him down. That he wouldn’t hold her to

account for the failure was irrelevant.

And what if they mentioned to Constance’s sisters, to

Amanda, that things were going badly? It was awful

enough that Marcus had wanted to marry Amanda.

Constance couldn’t bear the

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