Abby Gaines - The Earl's Mistaken Bride

The wrong sister!

As soon as Marcus Brookstone lifts his bride’s veil, he sees he’s been tricked. He made a bargain with God—to marry a good, Christian girl if his mother recovered from illness. But Marcus intended to marry pretty Amanda, not stubborn Constance. His next plan, to ignore his new wife, fails as well when Constance makes it clear that she wants a true union.

Constance Somerton doesn’t dare reveal that she’s been enamored of Marcus for years. The man believes love is for weaklings. Someone needs to teach him about marriage’s blessings. Someone who sees beyond his arrogance to the tender heart beneath. Someone exactly like Constance....

“I now pronounce that they be man and wife.”

Constance’s gazed snapped to the earl. She hadn’t even been listening to that final declaration and now she was married. Just as well she didn’t attend to omens, because surely...

The worry evaporated in the warmth of the gaze Lord Spenford—her husband—turned on her.

A half smile on his lips, he reached for her veil, lifted it.

His brilliant blue eyes scanned her face.

Constance smiled shyly.

His mouth straightened into a line that could only be described as grim.

“My—my lord?” Constance’s voice faltered as she absorbed his expression.

He looked appalled.

ABBY GAINES

wrote her first romance novel as a teenager, only to have it promptly rejected. A flirtation with a science fiction novel never really got off the ground, so Abby put aside her writing ambitions as she went to college, then began her working life at IBM. When she and her husband had their first baby, Abby worked from home as a freelance business journalist…and soon after that the urge to write romance resurfaced. It was another five long years before Abby sold her first novel to Harlequin Superromance in 2006.

Abby lives with her husband and children—and a labradoodle and a cat—in a house with enough stairs to keep her semifit and a sun-filled office with a sea view that provides inspiration for the funny, tender romances she loves to write. Visit her at www.abbygaines.com.

The Earl’s Mistaken Bride

Abby Gaines

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

For the Lord takes pleasure in His people; He will beautify the humble with salvation.

—Psalms 149:4

For Mary Griffiths, neighbor extraordinaire. Thank you for your enthusiasm, your treasure trove of Regency books...and all those cups of tea!

Thanks also to Dr. Gerald Young of Auckland for the use of his name.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter One

April 1816

Piper’s Mead, Hampshire, England

“I wish to marry one of your daughters.”

Marcus Brookstone, Earl of Spenford, was certain his position and wealth more than compensated for the urgent, somewhat irregular nature of the request. Every father in England would be honored to hear those words from him.

“I gathered as much from the message you sent.” Reverend Adrian Somerton removed his spectacles. “How is your dear mother?”

Marcus spread his fingers on the arms of the rosewood chair and forced himself to appear at ease. The reverend’s study was a fine enough room, but smaller than Marcus was used to. Whether it was the room, or the awkward nature of his mission, he felt hemmed in. Trapped.

He turned his neck slightly within the starched collar of his shirt, seeking relief from the constriction. He couldn’t bear to discuss his mother’s fragile condition, even with her parson. More particularly, he couldn’t bear any delay.

But the Earl of Spenford always behaved in a manner befitting his position.

“The dowager’s health is somewhat worse,” he informed the reverend stiffly. “I hope my marriage will be a source of strength for her.”

“Indeed.” Reverend Somerton’s smile managed to convey both understanding and a shared grief.

A churchman’s trick, Marcus supposed, but a good one. He wondered if the reverend had positioned the leather-topped oak desk precisely so the fall of April afternoon sunlight through the study window should bathe him in its glow, making him look as reverent as his title suggested.

Sitting in relative dimness, Marcus recalled assorted sins of which he probably ought to repent. He quelled the instinct to squirm in his seat. He was here for his mother’s sake, and the reverend’s affection for his patroness, the Dowager Countess of Spenford, was both genuine and reciprocated, which was why Marcus expected full cooperation.

A series of framed embroideries hung on the wall behind the rector. The colorful words were Bible verses, Marcus guessed, though they were too distant to read. The kind of needlecraft with which genteel country ladies occupied their time. There were five of these works of art, each presumably the handiwork of one of the reverend’s five daughters. One of them Marcus’s future bride.

“Am I to understand,” Reverend Somerton inquired gently as he polished his spectacles with a handkerchief, “your primary aim in seeking a wife is your mother’s peace of mind?”

Marcus bristled, unaccustomed to having his actions questioned by men far more important than the rector of a quiet parish in Hampshire. But this particular parson was not only the man whose sermons he’d sat through as a child, he would soon be Marcus’s father-in-law.

“I have always planned to marry, of course,” he said. “The age of thirty seemed reasonable. I’m now twenty-nine. I won’t deny my mother’s illness has spurred me to action, but only to bring forward an inevitable event.”

He didn’t mean inevitable to sound quite so distasteful.

The rector gave him a quick, assessing glance. “I fear my daughters,” he said, “lovely though they are, may lack the sophistication to which you are accustomed.”

“I have had ample opportunity to—” take my pick “—engage the interest of a young lady in London, but this has not occurred.” Rather, though Marcus might have engaged their interest, they had not engaged his.

Reverend Somerton and his wife would prove more pleasant relatives than some of the grasping parents he’d encountered in the city, he mused. The rector was of excellent birth, even if he’d forsaken his noble connections to “serve the Lord,” as Marcus’s mama put it. Two of the Somerton daughters were beauties—in the absence of fortune or title, the world would expect Marcus to settle for nothing less. His father would have insisted upon a bride worthy of the Earl of Spenford. Marcus insisted upon it, too.