heart, she was gone.
Sent away.
By me.
“And you,” he said roughly to Harper. “You’ll need
to swallow your pride and learn to read and write.”
“Yes, my lord.” Harper straightened the brushes on
Marcus’s dressing table in a perfunctory manner. “I
should have done it a long time ago. A man must
swallow his pride rather than risk losing the love of a
good woman.”
Marcus’s head snapped up. “What?”
Harper’s face was a study in regret. “Miriam Bligh,
my lord. Lady Spenford’s maid. She and I…”
“Really?” Marcus said. Did Constance know about
this?
“Miriam reads anything. She’s better than a school-
teacher,” Harper said. “I was afraid she’d think I was
stupid. But now she’s gone…”
“She’s only gone to Chalmers,” Marcus said.
“Yes, my lord. But I told her I couldn’t marry her.”
“That was stupid.”
Oh, yes, it was.
He’d done the same thing. Sent Constance away out
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of pride and fear. Told her he couldn’t be the husband
she needed. Deserved.
He’d been so determined to regain his vaunted self-
reliance. But the past few days since he’d made up his
mind had not felt gloriously independent. They had felt
lonely.
He’d made a terrible mistake.
I must fix it. Now.
But how? He thought of Constance saying, “Yes, I
am hurt,” in that small, strong voice. Could she ever
forgive him? He didn’t have much experience of
requiring forgiveness, but it seemed to him his offence
was on the more severe end of the scale.
Would Harper know?
“So this, er, Miriam of yours, Harper,” he said. “How
forgiving would you say she is?”
Harper grimaced. “She’s powerfully strong-minded.
When she takes a thought into her head…”
Marcus thought of Constance’s chin and his heart
sank.
“You don’t think an apology would do it?” he asked.
Harper snorted. “Maybe if I crawled across broken
glass at the same time.”
“Goodness, man, these women are Christians. Aren’t
Christians supposed to forgive readily?”
“Supposed to,” Tom agreed.
Whatever Harper had done to Miriam, it could not
equal the disservice Marcus had done Constance. His
wife.
He thought of all the things that had come between
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them…and they came back to pride. Mostly his,
occasionally hers…because say what she might—and
here he smiled—his Constance had plenty of pride of
her own.
But she had already apologized for any disservice
she’d done him—and it had been tiny. She’d offered
him her love. Could she offer it still, after his cruel
response?
How could he have behaved like that to the woman
he loved?
I don’t love her. I’m fond of Constance, that’s all. No
need to overreact.
All he needed to do was get back to where they’d
been a few weeks ago, before his mother died.
“I think, Harper—” he tried his idea out on the valet
“—I will send word to Lady Spenford to return
immediately to London. You’d like that, eh? To have
another chance at your Miriam?”
“Yes, my lord.” Harper laid out a pair of gloves. “Ah,
do you think her ladyship would agree to return?”
Marcus bristled. “Of course she—” But this was
Constance he was talking about. A badly hurt
Constance.
He quashed the memory of Constance saying this was
the end. She would do as she was told, for once in her
life! Even if Marcus had to enlist her father’s help in
showing her what was proper.
“She’s my wife,” he said, mostly to himself. “She’s
been raised to be obedient.”
“Yes, my lord,” Harper said blandly.
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“I’m fond of her. She’s excellent company,” Marcus
rationalized. “The cook and the housekeeper like taking
their orders from her.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“She may not be the most countesslike countess, but
she’s kind, takes the deuce of an interest in those
around her. Servants and the like.”
“I’m aware, my lord.”
“A woman of faith—she knows what God expects of
a wife,” Marcus tried. Surely her faith would require
her to come back.
“Indeed, my lord,” Harper said, suspiciously
soothing.
Marcus said briskly. “Have Dallow send to Chalmers
for Lady Spenford, will you, Harper?”
His valet’s look was of frank disbelief.
Marcus groaned. He was fooling no one, least of all
himself. It was time to admit to the truth to himself and
to God.
He couldn’t constrain his love for Constance to mere
affection. He didn’t just need a wife, he needed her.
Constance, who loved him with all his faults. Just as
God did.
At least, she had loved him. By now, she must hate
him. He deserved it. But grace…grace was all about
undeserved favor. Marcus had never needed grace
more.
Father, please… He wasn’t sure what he was praying
for, only that it involved him getting it right, and
Constance coming back. Forgive me, Father. Let her
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forgive me, too.
Show me how to be a good husband. He wanted her
never to know a moment’s doubt about his feelings for
her, for the rest of her life.
“So, my lord,” Harper said casually, “your
commentary about Lady Spenford has taken up thirty
minutes of the hour you