Free The Outcast Earl by Elle Q. Sabine Page B

said I had signed them already. But I have not signed anything.”
    At her words, Meriden turned to her and blinked, then walked across the room to his desk and sorted through some papers. Abigail followed him, and realised that he was laying out the sheets methodically, an unmistakable frown on his face.
    When finished, he looked up and waved his hand at them. “You did not sign these?” he asked quietly, severely.
    Swallowing heavily, Abigail looked again and shook her head. “It is not my signature,” she whispered. “I imagined you would have them here for me to sign when I arrived.” A wry smile touched her face. “I imagined it was my last line of defence. If you were indeed appalling and unbearable beyond acceptable limits, I could simply refuse to set my name to them.” She blinked, openly battling tears, and admitted quietly, “Indeed, my sisters suggested I do that very thing.”
    “Your father forged your signatures,” he murmured, reaching out to wipe away a stray tear with his finger.
    The gentleness only made her eyes brim with more. “Years ago, they promised us that we could make our decisions independently of their interference. But it was all a lie,” she went on, suddenly angry. “No wonder they refused to come here themselves—they knew they had robbed me of my independence, of one of my few free rights.”
    “What independence?” Meriden retorted, but he said it kindly, reaching out an arm and drawing her into a loose embrace. “The only independence they could have provided for you was a guarantee of poverty, of being cast from your home with your mother and sisters with nowhere to go. Going out to work for a living as a governess or nursemaid or, God forbid, some man’s contracted mistress is no sort of independence, particularly with a belted earl who would have been exiled to the Caribbean for a father. Indeed, there are very few women or men who are truly independent. The modern notion of it as reality is enough to cause much heartache.”
    Abigail’s lips twisted. “I wanted nothing more than the freedom to choose my future, the same as you,” she returned with an edge of anger and bitterness in her tone.
    “I did not choose my future,” Meriden objected quietly. “Nature and birth placed me in a position where I am required to be farmer, soldier, politician, husband, father and magistrate, whether I wish it or not. It requires me to marry and have children, whether I am suited to it or not. I was lucky in that I am mostly suited to the roles of magistrate and soldier. I am an inadequate farmer but have compensated as an excellent landlord, I believe. As for husband and father, I beg you to grant me the opportunity of a few years to grow into the roles before rendering a final judgement in the matter. And I have utterly failed as a politician—I do believe that if I could be ousted from the House of Lords they would happily dispense with me. They are ever so grateful whenever I depart.”
    Unable to stop the bubble of laughter that rose in her throat, Abigail stared down at the contracts for a moment, then whispered brokenly, “I will never be able to trust them again.”
    “Perhaps someday you will be able to trust me instead,” the earl comforted her quietly, stroking her back gently as she stared at the desk. She looked at him, startled, but Meriden raised an eyebrow. “I do not approve of your parent’s manipulations, Abigail, even if daughters were married against their wills in decades past. It was my understanding that you had accepted our marriage and I—well, I would not have had the banns read without your consent, but it is too late publicly to pull back now, especially with your aunt’s condition as it is. You, however, have my permission—” At Abigail’s widening eyes, Meriden stopped abruptly, bit his lip, then corrected himself. “I mean to say, I have no objections if you wish to take up the matter with them directly, either now or after the