The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,74
when he’d married her.
He seemed to have forgotten the happy times they
shared. Forgotten that just a few days ago he had been
as anxious as she for their marriage to become real.
Papa was wrong to think Marcus in love with me.
True love does not vanish in a puff of smoke, like a
conjuring trick. The proof of that lay in her own love
for Marcus, a flame that shone as steadily as ever,
despite his coldness.
In which case, she assured herself, it was for the best
that they had not shared a bed.
“Daughter, will you be all right?” Her father’s kind
inquiry was almost her undoing.
“Please don’t worry about me,” she said. “I am in
God’s hands.”
Her father smiled. “That’s my Constance. Constant in
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faith, in hope and in love. You shall receive your
reward, my dear, never fear.”
Her fear was that this virtue, her constancy, was
intended to be its own reward. While she approved of
the virtue-is-its-own-reward sentiment in principle, it
did not feel like enough to sustain her through years of
Marcus’s disinterest.
Her parents climbed into the carriage. But before the
coachman could close the door, a voice called, “Wait a
moment!”
Amanda practically tumbled out—only the fast
intervention of the coachman saved her from falling
face-first onto the road.
“Amanda!” Concern overrode Constance’s hostility.
“What are you thinking of?”
“I heard what Papa said to you,” Amanda said
urgently. “Constant in faith and—and everything.”
“What of it?” Constance asked.
“I have always thought of you as befitting your name.
I think of you as constant in grace, too.”
“This isn’t the time….” But Constance’s defense was
halfhearted.
Eagerly, Amanda followed up. “Please don’t hold on
to your anger, Constance. I know I deserve it, but—but
is not grace a matter of undeserved favor?”
Constance blinked rapidly. “I didn’t know you paid
such attention to Papa’s sermons.”
“I don’t,” Amanda said. “I asked Charity what the
Bible and Papa say about forgiveness.”
Constance half laughed. “You could read the Word
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yourself, you know.”
“If I promise to read it more, will you forgive me?”
Amanda’s beautiful eyes widened in a plea that surely
no mortal could deny.
Constance gave an exasperated sigh.
Amanda translated it correctly. “Thank you,
Constance, darling, thank you!” She flung her arms
around Constance’s neck.
Unable to resist, in her lonely state, Constance
hugged her back. “I must tell you, Amanda,” she
warned her, “that although I have just now decided to
forgive you, my heart may be slow to follow my head.”
“And I always thought you were perfect!” Amanda
said, in genuine surprise.
“No, that’s Isabel,” Constance said.
And suddenly, they were both laughing. Shakily, but
laughing nonetheless.
By the time Amanda was reinstalled in her seat and
the carriage pulled away, Constance felt a glimmer of
hope in her heart.
With God’s help, all difficulties could be overcome.
If she and Amanda could get beyond their rift, then
there was hope even for the seemingly insurmountable
problem of Marcus’s grief and anger.
He will get over this. He must.
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Chapter Twenty-Six
Marcus eyed the two men in the boxing ring with grim
satisfaction.
Just maybe, this would satisfy the desire he had to
take out his anger on everything and everyone about
him.
He wasn’t used to this kind of rage. Though his father
had been easy to anger, his wrath had been icy, focused.
The previous earl knew how to target his ire to cause
maximum misery, and then to get what he wanted.
What was Marcus supposed to do with the swirling
anger that fogged his brain, as invisible yet insidious as
the God he’d asked to protect his mother?
“Tom Cribb looks as if he’s put on the beef since I
last saw him, must be five years ago now,” Harper
observed.
The crowd at the boxing match was mixed as always.
Gentlemen and their personal servants lined one side of
the ring. On the other side, workers from the local
farms, along with servants from the big houses, cheered
and shouted. There were even a few women in their
ranks.
Marcus shouldn’t be here at all when he was in
mourning. But the entertainment was irregular enough
that it was difficult to apply a set of social rules, and if
he hadn’t escaped the house he would have sat in his
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room and howled.
He couldn’t think of anyone who wanted to witness
that, least of all himself.
Marcus grunted agreement with Harper’s assessment
of Cribb, afraid if he spoke he’d bite his valet’s head
off.
Beneath his brave talk, Harper seemed as little
interested in the technicalities of the fight as Marcus
was.
It was dashed inconvenient. For the first time in
years, Marcus would have liked to vent his ire to
someone who knew him well—and now that his mother
was dead, his servants had the longest acquaintance.
But Harper was somber with his own depression.
The thought of confiding in Constance momentarily
seduced Marcus. But she was a part