Free Countess by Coincidence by Cheryl Bolen

old woman’s face softened. “It’s the little things. He’s always had a soft spot for the women in his life. He was most earnestly solicitous of his gentle mother and of me, too. No son was ever more devoted than John Edward was to his mother. He never left her side when she fell ill with her fatal malady. I am ashamed to say my own son lacked the same compassion which John Edward has in abundance.”
    “I will own one of the reasons I came to you today was to learn more about John.” Margaret loved that she was the only woman in the kingdom who could refer to him by his Christian name.
    The elder Lady Finchley smiled. “There are probably those who believe he butters me up in order to secure the fortune left me by my wealthy father, but I know he cares about me. He’s incapable of artifice. Even as a little child, he could not tell a lie. I truly believe he’d rather I live a very long life than die and leave him a very wealthy young man.”
    How Margaret loved learning these things about the man she had married. How fortuitous it was that he detested lying, as did she.
    “In order for your marriage to flourish, my dear, you will have to find a way to keep John Edward away from those bosky friends of his.” She frowned.
    “You refer to Christopher Perry, David Arlington, and Michael Knowles?”
    The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “I do indeed. You will have a difficult time until those three gentlemen marry and settle down to domesticity.”
    Margaret shrugged. “I fear that is out of my hands.”
    “So it is. A pity I cannot manipulate such a change.”
    “I do feel the same.” How jealous she was of those three men who would spend more time with her husband than she.
    There was a knock upon the door, then John strolled into the chamber, a posy of lavender and violets clutched in his hand. His gaze flicked from his plump grandmother to Margaret, and he stopped dead in his stride. His gaze still on his wife, he said, “Had I known you were here, Maggie, I’d have brought you flowers too.”
    Her heart fluttered. The idea of getting flowers from him was so touching. Even more touching was her husband calling her Maggie . It was a name no one else ever called her. Even though there was no intimacy in this marriage, his use of Maggie served her as an endearment, a validation that she alone was his wife. “I am touched by your sentiment.”
    He turned and presented his grandmother the posy. “I saw these on the street and immediately thought of you, Grandmere. I’ve neglected you since my marriage.”
    “As well you should. Your Maggie must come first in your thoughts now.” She took the posy and smelled the tiny flowers. “They’re lovely, my sweet John Edward, and I thank you.” Her contented gaze connected with Margaret’s for a silent confirmation of her grandson’s thoughtful nature.
    Had Margaret herself received the posy she could not have been more pleased. It made her feel more confident over her lifelong obsession over this rogue to know that he did have redeeming qualities.
    The dowager patted the sofa beside her and indicated for him to sit between them. “I must compliment you, John Edward,” she began. “Your name has not appeared in the newspapers once since the day you had the good sense to marry Lady Margaret Ponsby.”
    “I wish you wouldn’t read those papers,” he said. “As I was telling Maggie, you can’t believe that rot.”
    As I was telling Maggie. How she loved hearing him speak like that. It sounded as if theirs were a real marriage, sounded as if they shared intimacies as other married people did.
    “Since you wed, I’ve not seen mention of those rowdy friends of yours in the papers, either,” his grandmother said. “Does that mean that you are the leader in frivolity?”
    He shook his head. “I’m more a follower than a leader. I would have to say Perry’s the instigator. And if you haven’t seen mention of me in the papers, it is due in good part to wise