ROMANCE: MAIL ORDER BRIDE: The Other Man’s Baby (A Clean Christian Historical Western) (New Adult Inspirational Pregnancy Romance) by Joyce Wright Page A

There was much they needed to speak of, much that had happened before she married, before he left the country. Things that happened when they believed their marriage predestined.
    Agnes nodded. “Among other things.”
    “I believe, had he to do it over again, your father would make different choices.” He needed her to know that.
    “Don’t speak of it now,” she pleaded. Keeping her head against the seat, she rolled her face toward him. “Let us bring Richard home, and then,” she took a deep breath, “If the Duke is still away, you will tell me why you have come and perhaps we will speak lightly of back then. Just once though. I can’t bear to speak of it more than once.”
    Much they needed to work through. So much she didn’t know. He leaned his head against the seat, too, and drew a deep breath turning to her again. He gave in to his earlier desires and stroked her jaw just once before dropping his hand. “Very well, let that be our plan.”
     

Chapter 5
     
    Agnes must have dozed because the sudden stop of the carriage startled her awake. She tried to peer through her window, but other than a few lights off in the distance, she could see nothing. “Where are we?” she whispered.
    “At the small farm the strangers enquired about.” Gilbert whispered, too, as he leaned across her to squint through the window. “I see someone moving about within. I’m uncertain if we should wait until it’s dark inside the house, Or if we should go on and investigate now.”
    He would be unprotected. Like Richard.  “Shouldn’t you wait for the constable? Didn’t his wife say to wait?”
    “She said she would give him my message when he arrived home. Agnes, there’s no guarantee when he’ll get home. He could be drinking or womanizing.  It’s uncertain when he will return.”
    Wanting to ensure Richard’s safety won out against her fears. Even as gentle as he was, Gilbert had always stood up against any who hurt her.  She grabbed his hands. “Okay, go if you must. But please be safe.” I’ve only just found you again.
    He smiled. “Dear Agnes, you were always a worrier. Lionel and I are armed. I learned to shoot during the war. We’ll be fine. I need you to climb into the front of the carriage. Be prepared to drive away if things don’t go as planned. Can you do that for me, Agnes?”
    If things don’t go as planned. If someone dies. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Oh Richard, please be safe. As Gilbert climbed down from the carriage, she added silently, Please, Gilbert, be safe, too.
     
    On the seat behind the horses, the night air was cold even with a thick cape wrapped around her shoulders and a blanket draped over her lap. The men had disappeared into the darkness at least thirty minutes ago, and she could see nothing. Shivers racked her shoulders and back, and goose bumps jumped up and down her arms.
    Night sounds settled around her, crickets chirping, small animals rustling in the bushes and trees that lined the road. Somewhere behind her, the River Adam burbled gently, almost reassuringly. No sounds from the direction of the lights. She rubbed her arms briskly. It was nights such as these that could change a person’s life forever. In her youth, she had thought the night Richard was conceived was the longest night ever. She felt certain this one would rival it.
    What was that? She sat very still and strained to hear. Footsteps coming from the direction of the lights. She held herself stiffly. The footsteps grew closer and with them, a whispered conversation.  Her heart pounded in her chest. Was it Gilbert? Or the kidnappers?  Her hands hesitated as they reached for the reins. What was she to do?
    “Duchess, we have found them. We have them.”
    “Oh,” she cried and climbed down. She stood in the dark, all but blind, until she finally made out first one form and then the next and the next moving toward her.
    “Oh, Richard!” She hurried forward and took him from