The Improper Wife by Diane Perkins

recall her, Harry? She had a large nose, but otherwise was perfectly amiable—she married a military man, who is now a colonel, I believe.” She placed a finger on her cheek and tilted her head. “Or is it a general? I cannot recall. Anyway, when he went to the colonies, she remained at the family estate, his father and mother still lived, you see, and she stayed with them, even though her husband was the younger son, not the heir at all. He was a shocking man. Spent most of his time in those gambling places, I think. What do you call them, dear?”
    “Gaming hells.” Harry smiled at her. “And you have the right of it, my love. We shall take Maggie and the child to where they belong. When Gray returns, he will have to seek her there and that will bring him back to where he belongs as well.”
    Tess blinked up at him. “Where, dearest?”
    Harry squeezed her hands. “We will take Gray’s wife and child to the place and people Gray has neglected these many years. To Summerton Hall. To his father.”

Chapter
FOUR
    T he traveling carriage, in spite of its well-sprung design, weaved and bumped its way down roads roughened by recent rains. Maggie braced herself against the red velvet upholstery, arms weary from tightly clutching the baby to keep him from lurching out of her grasp. At one month of age he was still so tiny, much too young and fragile for such a journey.
    When the baron and baroness desired to quit London for the summer, Maggie had no choice but to accompany them. She had no other place to go. Indeed, she was fortunate they cared enough to invite her. Both had been so kind. What would she and her baby have done without their help?
    She shivered, though the bright sunshine of the country-side kept the interior of the carriage comfortably warm. Lady Caufield dozed. Her mouth opened slightly as she snuggled herself in the opposite corner of the carriage, crushing the willow-green satin ribbons and violet silk flowers of her straw bonnet. The sun filtering through the window bathed her face with a soft light, making her appear as peaceful and innocent as the sleeping baby. Maggie smiled in spite of her discomfort. There was nothing peaceful about Lady Caufield, whose incessant chatter, good-natured as it was, fatigued Maggie almost more than the bouncing and swaying of the carriage.
    Maggie gave her knuckles a mental rap, all she could manage at present with arms full. Such unkind thoughts, however fleeting, were undeserved. All these dear people had done was help. In fact, yesterday and today, the baroness had held the baby nearly as long as she. Thank goodness he was asleep as well. If not for the aching of her arms, Maggie might have savored the momentary calm.
    Instead, her nose wrinkled. Wafting up from the basket at her feet came the sour scent of soiled nappies. No wonder Lord Caufield had chosen to ride, rather than share the dubious comforts of the carriage. After two days cooped up in it, Maggie envied him.
    She leaned toward the window, trying to fill her lungs with fresh country air. It was glorious to be in the country again, with its clover-filled hills all white and pink with flower.
    Maggie was grateful that the baron’s lands were in the east country, far from Gloucestershire, where she would always fear encountering someone she knew. It was much safer to be Maggie Smith, rather than the pregnant Maggie Delaney, sent away at the same time the young officer was drowned. At least that was how she imagined it. After she left, his body would have been found all white and bloated as . . . as . . .
    Tears suddenly blurred the green hills and their dottings of flowers.
    The swollen, disfigured bodies of her mother, father, and seven-year-old brother, their dear, familiar features made grotesque by the ravages of the Severn River, swam before her eyes.
    Her father, the impoverished third son of an Irish landowner, had struggled to provide for his wife and children. He’d been enthusiastic about his