Countess by Coincidence Read Online Free

eyes.
    The vicar spoke. "Wilt thou, John Beauclerc, take this woman to be your wedded wife. . ."
    Lord Finchley nodded. "I will."
    A moment later the vicar addressed her. "Wilt thou, Margaret Ponsby, take John to be your husband?"
    Far be it from timid Lady Margaret to rock this boat. Clearly these two men wished for her to answer in the affirmative. Therefore, she nodded.
    The balding vicar offered her a soft smile. "Repeat after me. I, Margaret Ponsby. . ."
    She swallowed. Her lashes lifted, and she peered into his lordship's eyes. They were black and intense, and she was startlingly aware of the connection between them, the connection anchored by their clasped hands. With prompting from the vicar, she completed the whole long sentence without stumbling. "I, Margaret Ponsby. . . take thee, John Beauclerc, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."
    Why she had not been asked to use the name of the absent wife, Margaret did not know. As they stood there in the sanctuary, their hands linked, she allowed herself to imagine what bliss it would be to wed John Beauclerc, the Earl of Finchley.
    When the vicar asked his lordship to put the wedding ring upon Margaret's finger, a woman's voice interrupted.
    Margaret and Lord Finchley whipped around and saw the dowager countess slowly rising to her feet from the first pew and moving toward them. "I wish for Lady Margaret to have this emerald ring. It has been handed down to each Countess of Finchley for the past two hundred years."
    Oh, dear. She really couldn't take the real countess's emeralds. But, of course, Margaret was far too reserved to ever protest.
    Lord Finchley's eyes widened. " Lady Margaret?"
    The dowager presented her grandson with the emerald-encrusted ring. "You've done very well for yourself, John. To think, our new countess is a duke's daughter!"
     

 
     
Chapter 3
     
    John was incapable of speech. Good Lord, was this young woman the sister of his grandmother’s Berkeley Square neighbor, the Duke of Aldridge? Isolated memories rushed to his numbed brain. Wasn’t the Duke of Aldridge’s family name Ponsby? No wonder this Margaret looked vaguely familiar to him. He’d likely seen her entering and leaving Aldridge House dozens of times over the years. But how in the deuce had she ended up here today?
    Dread strummed through him. Windsor . Oh, dear God, was not the chapel at Windsor Castle also called St. George’s? He now had no doubts the Miss Margaret Ponsby of Windsor —the lady who had responded to his newspaper advertisement—was likely standing at St. George’s Chapel right now waiting for her bridegroom—and her one hundred pounds.
    How in the devil had Lady Margaret Ponsby ended up at St. George’s Hanover Square at the precise time he had scheduled his sham wedding? He had told no one save his solicitor, Perry, and—at the last minute—Grandmere. No one else knew of the ceremony, and he was relatively certain none of the parties who did know would have told Lady Margaret.
    Even allowing for the preposterous coincidence of names, why had she consented to go through with the ceremony? He took an instant loathing to the demmed woman. If she thought to snare him in a real marriage, she was delusional.
    The sneaking, conniving spinster had even taken the Finchley emerald ring!
    He wished like the devil his solicitor were here. He needed advice on how to dissolve this marriage.
    He also needed to have a private word with this . . . this usurping woman. Which was not going to be easy, given that his grandmother was fawning over the bogus Finchley bride with the reverence one would accord a bloody queen.
    “And where is the duke?” Grandmere asked Lady Margaret.
    “He’s doing the assizes in Middlesex.”
    “My late husband hated