Free The Temporary Wife by Mary Balogh Page A

eyelash did his grace display shock or even surprise. He looked back at his son. "You will wish to greet the rest of your family, Staunton, and to present them to Lady Staunton."
    Her husband had certainly won this round of the game, Charity thought ruefully, even if his father had not given him the satisfaction of collapsing in horror or erupting into a towering rage. He had just learned of his son's marriage and had just met his new daughter-in-law and had greeted her with about as much enthusiasm as he might be expected to show to his lordship's valet. Except that his eyes, with one cold sweep, would probably not have noted and dated and priced every garment the valet wore. She had the peculiar feeling that his grace had even detected the hole that had not yet quite been worn in her glove at the pad of her thumb.
    His grace stood to one side.
    "William?" Her husband's voice sounded strained and Charity realized anew that his return home was not as lacking in emotion as he would have her believe—and as perhaps he believed himself. He was bowing to a young man on the right of the silent group of relatives, a young man who was clearly his brother, though he was not as tall or as dark in coloring. They must be very close in age. "Claudia?"
    The young lady who curtsied to him was extremely beautiful. She was blond and tall and dressed fashionably in a shade of green that matched her eyes.
    "Anthony," they both said.
    "May I present my wife?" he asked, and Charity became involved in another round of formal bows and curtsies. "My brother, Lord William Earheart, my lady. And Lady William."
    Was this how an aristocratic bride could expect to be greeted by her husband's family? Charity wondered as he turned to the next couple. No hugs? No tears? No smiles or kisses? Just this stiff formality, as if they were all strangers? She felt rather as if she were suffocating. But of course most aristocratic brides would meet their husbands' families before the ceremony. And would be properly approved by that family. Oh yes, her husband had won this round of the game all right. This was a disaster.
    Lady Twynham—also fashionably and tastefully dressed—was the marquess's sister. She called him Tony and accused him of never answering any of her letters and presented him to the Earl of Twynham, a portly man of middle years, who looked bored with the whole proceeding. She inclined her head to Charity and said nothing at all. Her eyes, like her father's, assessed the brown bonnet and cloak that her sister-in-law was wearing.
    Lieutenant Lord Charles Earheart was a slim, fair-haired handsome young man, who bowed with equal stiffness to both his brother and his sister-in-law. One could hardly blame him, perhaps, when the marquess had not even been quite sure of his identity.
    "Charles?" he had said. "You are Charles? Lieutenant, is it?"
    He must be younger than Philip, Charity estimated. Nineteen? Twenty? He would have been just a boy when his brother had left home, and they had not seen each other during the eight years since. How very sad it was. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, without this marriage she would not have been able to see her own brothers and sisters for eight years or longer—all the younger ones would have grown up without her. It was already a year since she had seen them last.
    And then there was the youngest one, a girl. She was expensively dressed and elaborately coiffed and unnaturally quiet and still and dignified for such a young child. She was very dark in coloring, and she had the narrow, aristocratic face of her eldest brother—and of her father. She would be handsome rather than pretty when she grew up.
    "Augusta?" the marquess said. For the first time there was some softening in his tone. "I am your brother Anthony. This is my wife."
    "How pretty you look in blue, Augusta," Charity said kindly. "And how pleased I am to make your acquaintance."
    The child executed two perfect curtsies. "My lord," she murmured. "My