An Undomesticated Wife Read Free

opinions as hear your grumbling.”
    The thin man hesitated. Because Andrews had been with the family since before Marcus’s birth, he often spoke his mind. “I said only, my lord, that it was unfortunate that you could not meet her ladyship when her ship arrived.”
    â€œI could have been left sitting for days waiting for the ship to sail into the harbor. Even Grandmother finally relented when I made her realize that it was more sensible for Lady Daniston to take the mail coach to London after sending a messenger to let us know of her arrival in England. Of course, I did not want my wife to be lingering in Dover while I rode to meet her. This made the most sense.”
    â€œAs you say, my lord.”
    Marcus slapped his hand on his horse and sped along the street, leaving his valet to follow. Blast that man! He had thought that, at this eleventh hour, Andrews would have a bit of sympathy for him, given this ridiculous situation.
    Riding into Berkeley Square, which was certainly not square, Marcus was glad to see that none of his neighbors was out at this unfashionably early hour. He remembered that Lord Moore had had a party to announce the betrothal of his nephew to the daughter of Mrs. Jonson last night. Most of the square would have been present and would now be sleeping off the consequences of the festivities.
    He heard the call of the street vendors who came to the square at this hour to sell their produce to the cooks in the terrace houses. His stomach grumbled. A good breakfast would set him to rights and help dispel this apprehension at what the day would bring. Reading the newspaper and enjoying the gossip laced through the columns would help him forget about the wife he did not want.
    A shadow moved near the statue of George III in the middle of the garden at the heart of the square. Marcus loathed the statue, which in addition to its ungainly base, was supposedly the king dressed as Marcus Aurelius from ancient Rome. More than once he had suspected that upon his birth, his father, after being queried what name his heir should receive, had simply glanced out the window and been inspired to give such a classical name to his son. Marcus squinted into the sunshine at the statue, his curiosity aroused. He was certain the motion had been more than a trick of light beneath the plane trees.
    As he rode toward his father’s house on the west side of the square, he glanced toward the center again. The shadow was a man. Marcus had seen the man the day before. The dark-haired man had been standing in the same spot, smoking an identical cheroot.
    The man glanced in his direction, and their gazes linked. When Marcus stopped in front of the brick facade of his father’s house, he was not surprised to see the man walking toward him. This was most peculiar. Very few strangers ever spoke to the residents of the square. Mayhap the man had moved into one of the empty residences on the opposite side of the square.
    â€œGood morning, Lord Daniston,” the man said. He was a short man with broad shoulders, but his face looked as if it had suffered the blows of a bunch of fives many times in the past. His clothes, which were serviceable, although not made by an excellent knight of the cloth, labeled him as out of place on the square.
    â€œDo I know you?”
    â€œWe have not been introduced, but I know you.” He tipped his hat to Marcus. “Allow me to introduce myself. Allen Pennant.”
    Marcus handed the reins of his horse to a lad who had run out when he stopped in front of the house. As the boy led the horse away, Marcus asked, “Do you have a reason for approaching me today, Mr. Pennant? I fear I have no time for jabber.”
    â€œNo reason other than to bid you a good morning.” Again he tipped his hat. “Have a pleasant day, my lord.”
    Andrews rode up as Pennant strolled back toward the garden in the middle of the square. The valet choked, “What is he doing