The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,66
the way he felt
about his favorite horse, he assured himself.
Then there was his bizarre desire to rate higher in
Constance’s regard than his father-in-law—that was
harder to explain. But not so very odd, given his natural
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competitiveness.
“Spenford—” his father-in-law stepped forward “—
I’d like you to show me the portrait of St. Francis. If
you know as much about that as you do about Mr.
Turner…”
“I’m afraid not, sir,” he said. “But I’ll certainly
accompany you.”
He and the reverend left the women behind, which
was quite a relief. It was all very well spending time
with his wife in the presence of her family, and doing
all a gentleman should to support and protect her. But
he wouldn’t want anyone to think his heart was
involved.
THE DOWAGER COUNTESS of Spenford passed a
restful night before the ball, and was deemed by Mr.
Young fit to attend the celebration as late as midnight.
The invitations had stated a starting time of 9:00 p.m.
The family was to dine first, at half past seven.
By quarter past, Miriam had finished dressing
Constance.
Constance surveyed herself in the mirror. “The dress
is beautiful. I owe much to you, Bligh.” Miriam had
produced a gorgeous piece of purple silk, shot with
silver thread—“silk and purple,” just like the virtuous
wife of Proverbs!—from the attic at Chalmers. Madame
Louvier had used it to make in inset panel in her
amethyst silk dress, and to trim the sleeves.
“Your hair looks lovely, too, my lady, if I say so
myself,” Miriam said. Her maid had taken some lessons
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from Powell, and her work had grown much finer.
“Lord Spenford has sent up the Spenford diamonds
from his safe,” Constance told her. “They will provide
an impressive finish.”
“My lady, may I suggest an alternative to the
diamonds that might suit you better?” Miriam opened
the bottom drawer of the dressing table and pulled out a
carved ivory box. She opened it to reveal a necklace of
large square-cut amethysts set in silver.
Constance lifted the necklace from its box. “Where
did this come from?”
“In the attic at Chalmers,” Miriam said. “The
dowager countess gave me permission to bring some
items back with me for your use. This would go
beautifully with your dress.”
Constance allowed her to fasten it around her neck.
Perfect. Much more her style than the ostentatious
Spenford jewelry collection.
“His lordship will expect me to wear the diamonds,”
she murmured.
“There’ll be a lot of diamonds here tonight, but not
another set like this—there are earrings to match.”
A knock sounded on her door. Miriam went to open
it.
“My lady,” she said, “Miss Amanda Somerton wishes
to see you.”
“Not now,” Constance said. However pleased she
might be with her own appearance, the moment
Amanda stepped alongside her she would feel a dowd.
She closed her eyes as she listened to Bligh relay the
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message. Then opened them in a hurry as an indignant
huff and a swish of skirts revealed that Amanda had
barged past the maid.
“Amanda, you need to leave,” Constance said.
“Not before we talk.” Twin spots of color high in her
sister’s cheeks made Amanda more beautiful than ever.
“I have nothing to say to you.” Constance made a
pretense of adjusting the amethyst necklace.
“I have something to say to you. ” In the mirror,
behind Constance, Amanda paused, head high, one
hand pressed to her breast like the heroine in a Greek
tragedy. “Constance, dearest,” she said dramatically,
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t look sorry.
Aware of Bligh pausing, then resuming her work,
Constance said, “I have heard you. Now you may
leave.”
“Not before you say you forgive me,” Amanda
declared.
They should be the easiest words in the world to say,
when Constance knew her heavenly Father had forgiven
every sin of hers, big or small, without hesitation. But
they stuck in her throat.
Amanda blinked. “Constance?”
“Now isn’t the time, Amanda.” Though of course, it
was always time to forgive.
“You are going to forgive me, aren’t you?” Now
Amanda sounded genuinely worried.
“Are you afraid that if I don’t, you won’t be able to
think of yourself as a good person?” Constance asked.
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Amanda flushed. “I am a good person. Maybe not as
good as you and the others, but compared to—to lots of
people. I did a bad thing, I admit—”
“You did a terrible thing,” Constance snapped. “And
if you must know, I don’t forgive you. I can’t imagine
ever forgiving you.”
There, she’d said it. She’d shocked herself, as well as
Amanda. Shocked Bligh, too, judging by the maid’s
bowed head.
But she couldn’t lie, could she? Couldn’t claim to
have forgiven when anger still seethed inside her?
Lord, take away the anger, please, she prayed
halfheartedly. And was unsurprised when nothing
happened.
“Very well,” Amanda said, with unaccustomed
dignity. “I shall leave.” Tears shone in her eyes;
Constance hardened her heart. “But before I do—what
is your name?” she asked Miriam.
“Bligh, miss.” The maid bobbed