Free Jo Beverley by Forbidden Magic Page A

so she fastened it herself. “Can you see me in velvet and ermine? I’ll be the sort of countess who runs an economical household and rears happy, healthy children. Come on. Let’s get breakfast.”
    As she stirred the porridge, Meg held the vision of happy, healthy children in her mind as a shield against the terrifying vision of robes and state occasions.
    They ate the porridge with salt and heavily watered milk. She was sure an earl’s household had cream and sugar in abundance, and that was what she was paying for with her freedom.
    When they’d finished and washed the bowls, she made sure everyone was neat and warmly dressed, and led them to St. Margaret’s Church.
    She thought she had herself completely in hand, but at the sight of the church—where she went every Sunday for service—her feet froze to the ground.
    Marriage.
    She was about to give not just her body but her life into a stranger’s hands. She would no longer have privacy, or be free to come and go as she pleased. She would be giving him power over her family. . . .
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Laura asked.
    â€œThere’s no carriage. What if there’s no one there?” The outer doors stood open, but there was no hint of anyone being around.
    â€œNo one there? Why wouldn’t he be there? He asked you to marry him, didn’t he?” A hint of suspicion rang in her voice.
    â€œYes, of course.”
    Jeremy said, “They couldn’t keep horses standing in this weather, Meg.”
    â€œI’ll go peep—” Meg seized Richard’s coat before he could run across the road.
    â€œNo, love. It’s just silly bridal nerves. Jeremy’s right. I’m sure he’s there waiting.”
    What folly to hesitate. How private or free would any of them be as paupers on the streets, or residents of the workhouse?
    And she mustn’t forget Sir Arthur’s vile plans for Laura.
    She forced a smile. “After all, I don’t expect to be a bride again, and I intend to enjoy all the stages, including nerves and watery tears!”
    â€œSilly,” Laura said, but with a relieved laugh. “You never cry!”
    â€œI’ve never been married before.” It came out more grimly than she wanted, so she grinned at her brothers. “Gentlemen, prepare to catch me when I faint!”
    Resolutely smiling, she led them up the stone steps into the church vestibule, into the familiar smell of musty hymn books and remembered incense. Another set of doors stood between her and the nave, concealing her future. With only the slightest hesitation, she opened one and walked through.
    For a moment the contrast between daylight and gloom blinded her. Then, in the weak winter light shooting through stained-glass windows, she saw people standing near the altar. The church clock began to sound eleven and they all turned.
    Six men, two women.
    She couldn’t make out details.
    She had frozen in the doorway, and Laura pushed hergently forward out of the way. “Which one is he?” she whispered, nothing but excitement in her voice.
    Meg walked forward, walking as slowly as she dared down the long aisle. Which one was he? As her eyes adjusted and her nerves steadied, she eliminated Reverend Bilston and a few other men who were clearly servants.
    That left two gentlemen, one brown haired and one blond.
    Dirty yellow! What a way to describe that elegant arrangement of dusky gold curls. She wasn’t close enough to see his eyes. She was quite close enough, however, to see that he was tall, handsome, elegant, and terrifyingly everything one would expect a young earl to be.
    He was no desperate charity case! How had the sheelagh managed this?
    He was looking back at her, assessing her in a quick, intelligent way. She searched his features for any sign of shock or disappointment. All she saw was a sort of interest marked by a sudden, charming smile.
    He was clearly