Free ROMANCE: MAIL ORDER BRIDE: The Other Man’s Baby (A Clean Christian Historical Western) (New Adult Inspirational Pregnancy Romance) by Joyce Wright

the small cot. She smiled. Richard played hard all day, hiding in and out of the stables, riding his pony, chasing the cats, running with the dogs, but when dusk came, he slept as if every bone was exhausted. She swept the hair back from his forehead, but it flopped down again. Like all the men in his family, his locks were unruly dark blond curls. Unruly or not, Agnes adored every single strand. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her son.
     
    #
     
    After conferring with the constable in King’s Crossing for nearly two hours, Dr. Gilbert Crawford galloped on his horse through the valleys toward Remington Manor. He’d been away for five years, but based on his view in the cloudy dusk, he’d say the area hardly had changed. 
     
    His uncle, the Duke, died six weeks ago. Picturing the stern, easily angered man from his childhood, Gilbert couldn’t  work up any emotion, least of all grief. Love for his uncle had not brought him back to England.
     
    His return had, instead, been inspired by a plea for help sent to him from his uncle’s longtime valet. It was followed by similar letters from several in his brother Phillip’s staff, loyal servants who had worked for the Crawford family for generations. The valet suspected The Duke’s death was far from natural. The Duke’s son, too, had died in an equally suspicious manner some six months earlier.
     
    Phillip, Gilbert’s eldest brother had inherited the title. Of his two belligerent brothers, Phillip was the worst, both violent and merciless to any he saw as weaker. Like his wife.
     
    Gilbert’s hands tightened on the reins.  Tonight he would see his Sister-in-law, Agnes, for the first time in five years. Agnes. Agnes. Agnes. His lips mouthed the words. She, of all the women he had known, was the one of his dearest dreams. He had befriended her in his youth, shared books with her, philosophies, and secrets. As the youngest son of an Earl, he had no promise of a title, so was free to follow his own desires. He’d had only two: to become a doctor and to marry Agnes. He’d achieved the first at an early enough age.
     
    Agnes had waited for him while he finished school. That’s where his realized dreams ended, for while he was gone, his eldest brother, burdened with debt and poor choices, had cast his eye on Agnes.
     
    A wealthy uncle had promised a sizeable dowry on her behalf to make up for, it seemed, her very poor eyesight and the glasses that were a constant need for her. What were glasses to Gilbert? He pushed his own back up on his nose. Her spectacles had made him happy—they hid her beauty from the rest of the world.
    His Agnes could walk on air, and her demeanor, at a mere sixteen, was more gentlewoman than most of the titled women he knew.
    He bit the inside of his cheek hard. No, she was not his Agnes. Phillip’s Agnes.
    Upon hearing the news of their marriage, he had tried to appeal to his brother and to Agnes’ father, the vicar, but his pleas landed on deaf ears.
    He had left the village in 1812, left the country entirely and gone to America to aid the soldiers in the War. When it ended,  he stayed on, finding the people uniquely earthly and lacking the many airs of the English.
    To America he would return, once he ensured the safety of both Agnes and her son. If what he suspected was true—the newly named Duke had arranged for the death of the previous one, and Agnes could be in danger once all the pieces of the puzzle came together. Desperate men often performed desperate acts. He spurred his horse to gallop faster.

Chapter 2
    “My lady, your brother in law is here. He wishes to speak with you.”
    Agnes closed her eyes. Her brother in law, John, was one of her least favorite people. She need not worry about hiding her bruises from him; he would likely applaud Phillip for inflicting them. Both were brutes.
    “Very well. Please tell him I will be along to meet him shortly.” It was after eight o’clock. What could he want?
    When Agnes