Free Marriage of Inconvenience by Cheryl Bolen Page A

lord,” she said, “why does your son wear a bucket on his head?”
    “He thinks he’s in the Horse Guards.”
    “I see. The bucket is his helmet.”
    “Exactly.”
    “So that also explains why he’s got a pair of white stockings crossing his chest.”
    Aynsley frowned. “He does not perceive that anyone could doubt him a soldier in his majesty’s army.”
    Rebecca’s interaction with his youngest child could not have pleased him more. She obviously possessed an inherent understanding of children.
    A pity Emily was no longer a child.
    He drew a deep breath as he and his wife climbed the steps and entered Dunton Hall. He dreaded facing his daughter. The very day before his wedding he had received a letter from Emily that only thinly veiled her displeasure over his marriage. Understandably, it would be difficult for her to see another woman supplant her mother, difficult to relinquish the reins of running the hall.
    No sooner had a footman closed the door behind them than he glimpsed his lovely daughter slowly descending the broad staircase hugging one of the walls of the hall’s great entry corridor. Her snail’s pace was a complete departure from the way she normally flew into his arms after he’d been away.
    He set his hand at Rebecca’s waist and beamed up at Emily. The sight of her fair loveliness always filled him with pride. “Here comes my daughter.”
    “Oh, how I wish I had my spectacles,” Rebecca lamented.
    Emily’s eyes narrowed as she reached the bottom step and faced Rebecca. “Pray, if you need spectacles, do wear them.”
    Anger surged within him. How dare his daughter speak so rudely to his bride. But as much as he wanted to rebuke her, he did not want to add fuel to the flames. He did not want to do anything that would make poor Rebecca more uncomfortable than she already was. “Charles Allen Compton!” he thundered. “Come at once with my lady’s spectacles.”
    A flurry of footsteps thumped above them, and Chuckie—spectacles slipping from his nose—pounded down the stairs, both brothers at his heels. Thank goodness Spencer and Alex were dressed as the gentlemen they were. Lamentably, nothing could be done about Chuckie.
    “Here, Mother,” Chuckie said to the new Lady Aynsley, placing the spectacles in her hand.
    Her lovely face contorted with fury, Emily snapped, “She is not your mother!”
    He could no longer ignore his daughter’s hostility. “That will be enough, Emily. You are not to dictate how your brothers will address my new wife.”
    Rebecca, still managing to smile despite her chilly reception, donned her spectacles, whisked her gaze over Emily and said, “Oh, Emily is beautiful. I knew she would be.”
    “How very kind of you, my lady,” Emily replied stiffly.
    “I beg that you be less formal with my wife. She prefers not to be addressed as my lady. ”
    Emily rolled her pale blue eyes. “I can hardly call her mother.”
    “Of course, you can’t,” Rebecca said, “but I’d be ever so much more comfortable if you would call me Rebecca.”
    “As you wish, Rebecca.”
    “And these, my love,” Aynsley said, peering at the boys, “are my middle sons.”
    Rebecca eyed them. “Don’t tell me. The one with the blond hair is Spencer, and the handsome lad with red hair is Alex.”
    Both of them bestowed smiles on their stepmother—for which Aynsley was exceedingly grateful.
    “I’ve been waiting in rotund anticipation for this elucidating meeting, my fair lady,” Alex said.
    “He means profound anticipation,” Emily corrected, her eyes narrowed to slits.
    “As have I,” Rebecca replied. “I’m so very fortunate to have a ready-made family for I’m exceedingly fond of lads.”
    Emily gave her an icy glare, went to say something, then clamped her mouth shut.
    He had never been more uncomfortable in his own home.
    The door burst open and Peter came striding in, dirt from his dusty boots leaving a trail across the white marble floor. “Uncle! You’re