An Undomesticated Wife Read Free Page A

here?”
    â€œPennant?” Marcus shrugged and walked toward the pair of steps leading to the door of his father’s house. Hearing Andrews scurrying to catch up with him, he paused. “Why are you putting yourself into such a bother over Pennant?”
    â€œI dislike the idea of one of them here.”
    â€œOne of what?”
    â€œOne of those Bow Street Runners.”
    Marcus grasped the iron railing by the walkway and affixed Andrews with his most fierce stare. “How do you know he is from Bow Street?”
    Andrews did not answer right away, then mumbled, “He has the look.”
    As his frown faded into a smile, Marcus clapped his valet on the shoulder. A sudden suspicion sifted through his head. “Was this your idea?”
    â€œNo, my lord.”
    â€œI will not listen to your falsely innocent protestations. Even if he is a Bow Street Runner, as you say and I find impossible to believe, I have enough problems today without looking for more where there is none. Come. With any luck, my breakfast is waiting.” When Andrews did not move, Marcus added, “After all, what would a Bow Street Runner be doing here? There are no criminals to take here, unless you count Mrs. Trench, who should be charged for serving such tasteless wine at her last gathering.”
    â€œI have no idea, my lord,” he said, his long face growing even longer. “But there must be something amiss.”
    â€œThere is. My breakfast will soon be cold.” Marcus was laughing as he walked up to the door. Andrews enjoyed a jest. This must be his way of trying to help Marcus forget the day to come. Later, when Andrews confessed to his prank, Marcus would thank his valet.
    A Bow Street Runner on Berkeley Square? One that had come up to introduce himself? This was, indeed, the best joke Andrews had ever devised, and Marcus was sure, as he glanced back to see the man who had called himself Pennant—a most unconventional name—standing by the statue, that he and Andrews would be laughing together about it for days to come.
    And he was going to need something to laugh about, because he suspected his new wife was sure to complicate his life in ways he had not even considered.

Two
    Regina Morrissey Whyte stared out the window of the mail coach and wished she could find some way to convince Mr. William Bobbs to still his tongue. The man had prattled ceaselessly from the moment they had left Dover several hours before.
    She did not want to appear uncivil, but the man managed to squeeze more words into each breath than any person she had ever met. And, she had to own, not a single word was worth listening to. The gabble-grinder had enough tongue for two sets of teeth, and now he was babbling on about what his tailor had charged for his new coat.
    â€œYou must suffer the same, when you go to call upon your modiste ,” he said, leaning toward her as if he was sharing a rare confidence. “You shall find the cost of a new dress much more dear in London than out in grassville.”
    Wishing one of the other riders crowded into the rocking coach, which smelled of perspiration, dust, and other things she did not want to examine too closely, would interject some comment to spare her from having to reply to this prattlebox, Regina clenched her hands around the strings of her reticule as her shoulder struck the side of the coach.
    She rubbed the tender spot, which might soon be a bruise, then said, “Mr. Bobbs, I thank you for your forewarning.”
    Her hope that her cool tone would bring an end to his bibble-babble was for naught, because he hurried to say, “I assume from all you have said—”
    All I have said? Regina was certain she had had no chance to say more than a dozen words during the long trip. The rest of the time had been filled with Mr. Bobbs’s endless chatter.
    â€œâ€”that you have never been to Town before.”
    â€œI was once, many years