Countess by Coincidence by Cheryl Bolen Page A

said as he stood. "I understand Margaret's things have been sent along to Finchley House?"
    John got to his feet, facing Aldridge. "That is so.” It still made him ill to think of being forced to share his home with a woman—a woman he had no desire to bed, a woman who was a complete stranger.
    "At least she's not going to be off in the provinces like my eldest sister. I shall miss Margaret."
    "Your grace's loss is my gain." That wasn't exactly a lie. He was gaining a permanent occupant of his home.
    "So you've come to collect your bride?"
    "Indeed I have."
    "I'll have a footman fetch her."
     

 
     
Chapter 6
     
    It was dashed embarrassing that he’d had to accept usage of the Duke of Aldridge’s coach in order to bring his bride to Finchley House. Now that he had received her generous dowry, one of his first purchases was going to be a coach for her. He didn’t give a tuppence if he had a coach, but he could hardly ask the daughter of a duke to be conveyed around London in a public hack.
    He also planned to do his dashed best to get back his coachman and groom. He'd need horses, too, and he had his eye on a stunning gelding to be offered at Tatt's.
    He looked across Aldridge’s coach at his bride, who sat stiffly on the plush velvet seat. Were husbands and wives expected to sit on the same seat? Even though it wasn’t to be a real marriage, he supposed he ought to give the appearance of being married. This bloody woman he’d wed was not one bit of help in directing him how to act. She had not uttered a single word since they had entered the carriage.
    Because he had no intentions of being properly married to her, the lady’s reticent nature should suit him very well. What could a prim maiden have to say that would interest him in any way? Yet even though he should welcome her shyness, it actually made him uncomfortable.
    “I say, Lady Margaret, I suppose we should establish the manner in which we are going to address one another. Can’t very well have you calling me Lord Finchley, and I don’t suppose one addresses one’s wife as Lady Margaret.”
    “What should you like me to call you, my Lord?”
    Damn but she sounded timid. More like a school girl than a woman who’d come of age. “My friends all call me Finchley. Or Finch.”
    The expression on her face remained placid. “And your grandmother? How does she refer to you?”
    He shrugged. “She calls me John Edward, to differentiate me from my father, who was John David.” He wondered if this new wife he’d taken on was supposed to call him by his Christian name or his title. He’d never given particular notice to married couples and how they interacted with one another—or if they even sat upon the same seat in a carriage.
    “Would you object if I called you John Edward? Or John?”
    Something inside him melted. His mother had always called him John. He’d not been addressed in such a manner since she had died.
    “Of course I wouldn’t object. Pray, suit yourself.”
    "You wouldn't mind if I called you John?"
    "Not in the least." He wondered how she would like to be addressed. “Does that mean I should call you Margaret?”
    “That would be agreeable.”
    He wrinkled his nose. “Don’t suppose anyone has ever called you Maggie?”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    He favored her with a smile. “Well, we’ve established that.”
    “If you’d like,” she began, then stopped, apparently too shy to even meet his gaze. “If you’d prefer, you could call me Maggie.”
    The way she said you made it sound as if by virtue of that demmed marriage he had been accorded some special intimacy. He now regretted even mentioning the name Maggie. This lady’s nature was far too formal for a Maggie. But something told him she wished for her husband to use a name others did not. He supposed it was a spinsterish whim, for he supposed he would always think of her as a spinster.
    “I say, Maggie, what were you referring to when you mentioned some home for