The Earl's Mistaken Bride. Abby Gaines

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СКАЧАТЬ to remember any of the Somerton girls’ names—five was a ludicrous number of daughters for any family—despite having encountered them many times previously. Not only in church, where they filled the front left-hand pew in the company of their mother, but also at dinners and receptions held at the homes of nearby gentry. Including Palfont, the estate bequeathed to Marcus’s mother, which would return to her family coffers upon her death.

      She will not die. I have agreed it with God.

       He’d had nightmarish visions of taking tea with all five Somerton sisters, inspecting them as if they were horseflesh before making his choice.

       Thankfully, circumstance had spared him that.

       “Miss Constance Somerton…” he suggested.

       “Constance,” the rector said, delighted. “Why, that is excellent news.” All of a sudden he seemed more kindly disposed toward Marcus’s request.

       Marcus could guess why. He’d encountered Miss Constance Somerton a short while ago in the village, when he’d climbed down from his curricle at the Goose & Gander, not wishing to be forced to prevail upon the rector for refreshment.

       Having eaten, and about to leave the inn, he’d heard a female cry out. In the stable yard, he’d found the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, trying to sidestep around a young man of clearly amorous intentions.

       “May I be of assistance, miss?” he’d inquired of the girl.

       “Yes, please, sir.” She turned a relieved face toward him. Then recognized him. Alarm flashed across her features, putting a pretty pink in her cheeks as she curtsied. “I believe, my lord, Mr. Farnham was just leaving.”

       Bellingham, the squire’s son, Marcus recalled, stammered an apology to the girl before scuttling away like a beetle. Marcus took a step after him.

       “He meant no harm, my lord,” the girl said quickly. “I’m certain he regrets presuming on our friendship.”

       Marcus decided to let the youth go; doubtless he’d learned his lesson. “That is gracious of you, Miss…?”

       She blushed deeper. “I—I’m Constance Somerton, my lord.”

       Marcus started. “How remarkable. I’m on my way to visit your father.”

       “Indeed, my lord?” She’d recovered her composure and spoke with a demureness belied by the dimple dancing in her left cheek.

       “Allow me to drive you home in my curricle.”

       She cast a longing look toward the fine pair of gray horses an ostler was walking up and down. “My lord, Papa would not be pleased to discover me abroad in the village. It’s best if I walk home.”

       “But that will take at least an hour,” he protested.

       “My sisters and I walk it all the time.”

       Perhaps that explained her slender figure. In which case, how could Marcus complain?

       “Very well.” He executed a bow of a depth he would usually reserve for an equal in the peerage, and was rewarded with an appreciative twinkle in her near-violet eyes. “Your servant, Miss Somerton.”

       Her beauty and lively nature were more than he’d dared expect. She would command the admiration of Society…he just hoped she was of marriageable age.

       “My lord…” She hesitated as she curtsied. Her eyes widened in an unspoken plea.

       He guessed what she wished to ask, and appreciated her delicacy in not framing the question outright. Yes, with a little guidance, Miss Constance Somerton could be the ideal bride.

       “No benefit will be served by my mentioning to your father that I met you here,” he assured her.

       “Thank you,” she breathed. Her hand touched his arm ever so briefly.

       Now Marcus returned Reverend Somerton’s smile with understanding. Constance Somerton’s liveliness was doubtless a source of concern to her parents—he suspected the average parson’s daughter was far more docile. Not to mention her appeal to the local young men. Her parents would be delighted to have her safely off their hands.

       “I believe I don’t speak out of turn when I assure you Constance holds you in the highest esteem,” Somerton said.

       “I’m happy to hear it.” Marcus wondered why the man felt obliged to say such a thing—naturally all the Somerton girls would appreciate his position. He remembered there was still one potential obstacle. “Er, how old is the young lady?”

       He would have put her at seventeen, better than sixteen, which would have been impossible, but still arguably too young. Though in a year or two the maturity gap between them would narrow… .

       “She turned twenty last month,” Somerton said. “She is my second daughter.”

       Twenty? Marcus was surprised, but pleased. Though no one would dare accuse him to his face of robbing the nursery, he hated to be the subject of gossip. His father had spent years schooling him to be worthy of his title—he would not let it fall into disrepute again.

       “Unfortunately, Constance is sitting with a sick friend this afternoon,” Somerton said. “I could send for her… .”

       “That won’t be necessary.” Knowing full well Constance wasn’t at a friend’s sickbed, Marcus had no desire to land her in trouble. “I must return to London—in addition to the wedding license and to reassuring my mother, there are marriage settlement documents to be drawn up. I propose an allowance of—”

       Reverend Somerton held up a hand. “My lord, your family has never been anything but generous to mine. I trust you to create a settlement that will be fair to my daughter and her offspring.”

       Marcus would do exactly that. His position demanded it. But still, such naïveté seemed irresponsible. “Sir, your trusting nature does you credit, but you might be wiser—”

       “Naturally, I will read the settlement document thoroughly before I sign it.” The reverend smiled kindly. “If it’s not fair, I won’t sign it and the marriage will not take place.”

       Not so naive after all. He knew Marcus wouldn’t risk that. The settlement wouldn’t be fair; it would be more than fair.

       “Of course,” Marcus said stiffly. He gathered his riding gloves and stood.

       “One more thing.” The reverend did not rise, a surprising breach of courtesy, yet his holy calling made it impossible for Marcus to take offence. Or to take his leave. “You do not love my daughter.”

       Just when Marcus thought the awkwardness past!

       He had the uncomfortable sensation his face had reddened. “I cannot love what I do not know.”

       “An excellent reply, my lord.” Somerton’s smile bordered on indulgent. “For to know Constance is to love her.”

       It was the comment of a hopelessly doting father. The kind of father Marcus had never had. He found himself touched by СКАЧАТЬ