The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,9
lowered as he read
the shocking account. Afraid of discovery by her father,
who had warned that if he heard of Amanda talking
inappropriately to any more young men, she would be
sent to Miss Petersham’s Seminary—an institution one
of Marcus’s cousins attended, it was renowned for its
austere discipline—she had supplied Constance’s name
in lieu of her own. The moment she heard Marcus had
offered for Constance she knew his mistake.
“‘Constance, dear, I could not marry a man so old!’”
he read, before he realized where the text was going.
Constance muffled an exclamation, darting an
involuntary look at him.
So old? He was in his prime!
Marcus read on.
“‘I do not wish to be a wife without ever having a
Season in London. I wish to dance the waltz with
handsome young men, to have them pay me
compliments….’”
He’d seen enough. “The girl’s a fool,” he said, as he
handed the letter back.
Constance bristled in her sister’s defense. “You didn’t
think her foolish when you flirted with her in the village
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ABBY GAINES
42
on Monday. With a sixteen-year-old girl barely out of
the nursery.”
“I did no such thing,” he retorted. “Your sister was
engaged in heated discussion with the squire’s son. I
offered my assistance.”
“And when you asked her name, despite having met
her on at least twenty occasions, you did not notice her
lie.” She sniffed and, thankfully, blinked away those
tears that were starting to wear on his conscience. “My
father taught me it’s common courtesy to remember the
names of those I meet.”
Was she setting her manners above his?
“There are five of you, madam,” he said bitingly. Yet
he found he could not meet her gaze, which annoyed
him still further.
She pushed the note back into her reticule. “Amanda,
you fool,” she murmured, seemingly forgetting she had
just castigated Marcus for saying the same. Then she
swallowed and that pointy chin went up in the air again.
Marcus braced himself.
“I apologize for suggesting you were insane,” she
said, with a graciousness that in a true countess might
have been convincing.
Marcus was not convinced. As the coach approached
the rectory, he observed the garden had been
decorated—bunting strung through the trees.
The wedding feast. Though there would be a private
meal indoors, the entire village had doubtless been
invited to the public celebration outside.
He’d never felt less like celebrating in his life.
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
A curricle passed the coach with less than an inch to
spare: Severn, tooling his grays like the expert
horseman he was. His closest friend had commiserated
over the need for Marcus to marry a parson’s daughter,
but he had understood entirely.
It would be hard to understand how Marcus had come
to marry the wrong girl.
Even harder to explain to the reverend. Impossible to
imagine the story wouldn’t spread around the village
and thence to London. That Marcus, Earl of Spenford,
wouldn’t end up looking a fool.
The carriage turned in through the rectory gates.
“Home!” Constance clasped her hands together, her
eyes shining as she peered out.
“Might I remind you,” Marcus said sourly, “this is no
longer your home.”
She recoiled. “But…you cannot mean to stay married
to me? Not after Amanda’s trick.”
He took grim satisfaction from her shock. “I don’t
know if your sister’s letter is true, or whether it’s part of
some elaborate deception. Either way, your family has
made a fool of me, and that’s something I cannot
forgive.”
The carriage jolted over a bump in the driveway; she
clutched the door handle.
Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose as he brought
himself back to what really mattered. “But my mother is
deathly ill. She awaits tidings of my nuptials. I will not
disappoint her. We’ll attend the wedding breakfast for a
minimum time, then leave for London as planned.”
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Constance swallowed. “You mean…an annulment
later?”
It irritated him that she asked with such hope. He was
the one entitled to hope this was all a nightmare from
which he would awaken.
“Since I am not insane,” he said coldly, “and since
you are indeed, or were, Miss Constance Somerton and
not a fraudster—” and since I have no stomach for
telling the world I was duped by a sixteen-year-old chit
“—there will be no annulment.”
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
Chapter Four
The hours spent on the drive to London were the
longest of Constance’s life. The coach was comfortable
beyond her experience…but she experienced it alone.
Marcus rode with the groom, which she felt certain
must provoke speculation in that servant’s mind. What
bridegroom didn’t want to spend the hours after his
wedding with his new wife?
A bridegroom who’d married the wrong bride.
The man who had so warmly reassured Constance at
the church, apologizing for his tardiness, kissing her
fingers, had believed he was talking to Amanda.
His shock was understandable, as was his sense of
being deceived. Any man who believed himself to be
marrying one woman would be… disappointed to find
himself bound to another. But