Free Marriage of Inconvenience by Cheryl Bolen

him. “If you will peer from the glass on the other side of the carriage, you can glimpse your wedding present.”
    “My wedding present?”
    He nodded. “A small farm that I was able to purchase very cheaply recently. I thought you might enjoy a little piece of land to call your own.” He hoped, too, that one day she would pass it to her child, a child born of this marriage.
    She nearly flew across the seat and gaped. “The land between the hedgerows?”
    “That’s it, my lady.”
    This once, she did not upbraid him for addressing her in such a manner.
    “Oh, John, it’s beautiful! It’s the most wondrous present I’ve ever received.” As the coach turned, she met his gaze. “Thank you.”
    A moment later the carriage halted in front of Dunton, and the footman rushed to lower the step and assist them in disembarking.
    As the newlyweds stood on the gravel drive, he smiled down at her. “Your new home, Lady Aynsley.”
    She bristled. “Just because I said I was proud to call Dunton home does not mean I shall be proud to be known as Lady Aynsley!”
    “Forgive me.”
    “Of course, I know it cannot be easy for you to change something that’s been second nature to you for three and forty years.” She gazed up at Dunton’s solid walls. “It’s so...big.”
    His hand went to her waist. “Which should in no way discourage an efficient woman like you. You did, after all, single-handedly catalog the whole of Lord Agar’s library. I expect you’ll have this place running as smoothly as a man-of-war in a matter of weeks.”
    She gave a decided tilt to her chin. “Indeed I sh—”
    The door burst open and Chuckie came flying to him. “Papa! Papa’s here! Will you give me a piggyback ride?”
    “Not just now.” Though Aynsley was inordinately happy to see the little fellow—who loved piggyback rides above almost everything—he wished his youngest son could have dressed in a more...acceptable manner. He scooped the lad into his arms. “My goodness but you’ve grown! You’re quite the big boy since last I saw you.” Then he turned to Rebecca, whose eyes twinkled with merriment.
    “This must be Chuckie,” she said.
    Chuckie gave her a most perplexing look and would not speak.
    “Say hello to your new mama,” Aynsley said.
    The lad shook his head. “I don’t want her.”
    “Charles Allen Compton, that is a terrible thing to say to this lady who has been longing to meet her little boy.”
    “I’m not Charles Allen Compton. My name’s James Hock.”
    “Not this again,” he said through gritted teeth.
    Her smile not faltering, Rebecca stepped closer.
    Chuckie buried his face into his father’s chest. “I don’t wike her eyes.”
    “Oh, the poor little lamb,” she crooned. “I expect he’s never seen someone wear spectacles before.” She took them off. “Look at me now, Chuckie. My eyes are perfectly normal.”
    His head shifted a fraction of an inch. When he saw she no longer wore the glasses, he turned to face her, his gaze riveted to the spectacles dangling from her hands.
    “Don’t my eyes look normal now, pet?” she asked.
    He would not answer.
    “While I admit on the outside my eyes look normal, on the inside, they are most deficient. If a penny were lying at our feet I would not be able to see it—unless I was wearing these silly-looking things.” She handed him the glasses. “Here, look through them.”
    Chuckie perked up and reached for the spectacles, wasting no time in holding them up to his eyes. “I can’t see good.”
    “That’s because you already have good eyes,” she said.
    Even though the spectacles were much too large for his small face, in a matter of seconds he had fastened them to his ears and squirmed from his father’s arms to rush into the house.
    “Tell your brothers,” Aynsley called after him, “they have permission to take leave of lessons with Mr.
Witherstrum to come meet their new mother.”
    The door slammed in their faces.
    “Pray, my