good for him, he would pull himself together.
Except, Marcus had the uneasy feeling that God might
not like the more high-handed approach, either.
He didn’t appreciate having his conscience pricked
by anyone other than himself—an invisible God and an
absent wife should not exert such influence. But, dash
it, he couldn’t stand another moment of his valet’s dark
mood.
“Is something wrong, Harper?” he asked reluctantly.
In the moment before his poker face descended, his
valet looked alarmed. “Nothing, my lord.”
There. Marcus had done his best. He’d inquired, and
been rebuffed. Even Constance couldn’t expect more
than that.
“Pleased to hear it!” Marcus cringed at his own false
cheer.
“Indeed, my lord.”
Blast. Marcus was fairly sure Harper wasn’t even
aware of that plaintive note in his voice, but try as he
might, he couldn’t ignore it.
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Ask Harper to go fishing with you. Marcus started at
the sound of Constance’s voice in his head, clear as if
she was right here in the room.
Certainly not, he retorted silently. No one would
expect a gentleman to take his valet fishing.
But now the thought had occurred to him, he
suspected his absent wife would plague him all day.
Of course, if he did ask Harper to accompany him,
Constance would be impressed. Very impressed.
Images flashed through Marcus’s mind—her warm
eyes, her sweet smile, her neat figure, that door between
their chambers… He pulled his mind back to the matter
at hand. It was pure fancy to assume that unbending
toward Harper could somehow result in the unlocking
of a door.
Still, he liked the thought of telling Constance he’d
issued the invitation, if only to see the surprise on her
face. That would teach her to judge him as too
conscious of his own status! “How would you like a day
of fishing, Harper?” he murmured. There, he’d said it.
If he’d spoken so quietly that the manservant wouldn’t
hear, well, Marcus was sure that wasn’t his—
“Is your lordship suggesting I should accompany you
on your fishing expedition?” Harper said.
Dash it all. His bat-eared valet had heard. Marcus
resigned himself to the inevitable.
“Your father would surely appreciate spending some
time with you,” he said.
“I shall be pleased to accompany you, my lord.”
If Marcus had expected his offer to transform his
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
servant’s lugubrious expression, he was disappointed.
By the time Harper had stumped down to the river with
him, looking about as happy as a trout on a hook,
Marcus was regretting the invitation. He consoled
himself with the thought that his wife would be extra
delighted—not only had he issued the invitation, he’d
implemented it—and imagined dropping the news into
casual conversation on his return to London.
John Harper met them on the north bank of the river,
at the spot where Marcus and Tom used to fish as boys.
“Tom, lad, I didn’t know you was coming.” The
delight in the gamekeeper’s smile took Marcus aback.
Even Tom cheered up, acknowledging his father with a
grimace that if one squinted might pass for pleasure.
Soon their lines were in the water, and the main part
of fishing—the waiting—began. Old John landed the
first fish, a trout Marcus estimated at five pounds.
“Cook’ll be pleased to see that,” John said.
“Why don’t you take it home to Mrs. Harper?”
Marcus suggested. It was an instinctive offer, one he’d
made frequently when he fished here as a young man—
it had felt a good thing to give away the first fruits of
his fishing or hunting expeditions.
His father hadn’t agreed—he hadn’t approved of
allowing servants to make free with the bounty of the
estate, believing it encouraged them to take liberties.
Marcus strongly doubted his wife would agree with that
view.
“Thank you, my lord. She’ll be very pleased,” John
said. “And when the womenfolk are happy, we men are
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happy, right?” He winked, the familiarity born of his
long tenure and a history that included scolding Marcus
forcefully for failing to throw back a too-small fish
when he was twelve years old. “Never let your pride in
your catch outweigh your fairness to the battle,” he’d
said.
Advice Marcus liked to think he’d taken to heart in
other aspects of his life. He thought about his battles
with Constance, and hoped his pride hadn’t let him
override her sensitivities.
One second’s reflection was enough to tell him this
wasn’t one of his many faults. Constance was more than
strong enough to stand up to him—it was one of the
things he liked about her. Except when her strength
reinforced her belief she had the right to lock her door
against him.
Marcus realized John was eyeing him expectantly,
waiting for a reply about the importance of pleasing
womenfolk.
“I’m sure you’re right.” Marcus realized he had no
idea what would make his wife happy. Beyond a
husband who loved her, which wasn’t one of the
options.
But John had a point. Perhaps this nagging discontent
Marcus felt stemmed from the fact Constance wasn’t
happy.