Page 100 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“No trying to blame Arabella.” Roger passed a hand over his forehead as if he felt a pain there. “Part of the horror of this day was how much sorrier I felt about your death than hers. She deserved better of me, and the world.”

Fenella squeezed his hand. “Our children shall do as they please,” she murmured.

Roger returned the pressure of her fingers. “We will have those years together. You’re not gone. We will have a family.” He bent to rest his head on her forearm. “I do love you so. I am resolved to tell you that every day. Possibly several times.”

She caressed his bright hair. “I made the same resolution when I was lying on a freezing sandbar in the darkness. We will make a positive spectacle of ourselves.” She found she didn’t care. “I think perhaps I’ve loved you most of my life,” she added.

He looked up. “The wretched sprig I was? With my rudeness and the sodding sheep? You can’t have. You have much better taste than that.”

“I do.” Fenella smiled again. “And yet.”

“Yet?”

“I think I was enchanted by the wild, fearless boy you were.”

He looked touched, and a bit guilty. “I can’t say that I—”

“Of course you didn’t feel the same. I was…in hiding. It took an extraordinary goad from my father and a force of nature like my grandmother to release me.”

“If I’d had any sense, I’d have seen the truth.”

“Nonsense. I didn’t know myself.”

He leaned forward to embrace her gently. “I mean to strive for the rest of my life to deserve your regard.”

Fenella gave him a saucy look. “That should be quite satisfactory, my lord marquess.”

* * *

Lord and Lady Chatton bade farewell to all of their houseguests on the same day in early September. John departed first, in the company of Wrayle. But he didn’t seem to mind the man’s presence quite so much as before, to the valet’s evident chagrin. John was on his way back to school, of course, where there existed a sympathetic master who kept preserved specimens of various fascinating creatures in jars in his classroom. John had realized that this teacher might well know how a fellow prepared himself to lead expeditions of scientific exploration, and would probably be glad to impart that information. “The study of snakes is called herpetology,” John told Tom through the window of the post chaise. “I looked it up in the library.”

“Herpetology,” repeated Tom from the courtyard, with his customary appreciation of a new bit of knowledge.

“I will write to you.”

“Tell me about herpetology,” replied Tom agreeably.

“Will you write back? About what you are doing? I expect it will be much more interesting.”

“I don’t think it will be, actually. I reckon you’re bound for great things.”

John basked a bit in the compliment. “But you will write?”

“That I will. When I have the chance.”

“I suppose you’ll forget. Or be too busy off in Shropshire. Why are you going there again?”

Tom ignored the last question. “Not I. I promise.”

“It is past time for us to be off,” said Wrayle from the far side of the carriage. The whine that often entered his voice was more pronounced. He leaned out to speak to the postilions. “Will you go!”

They signaled the horses. John was still hanging out the window and waving when the vehicle sped out of sight.

Not long after this, Lord Macklin’s comfortable traveling carriage was brought around to the front door, a mound of luggage tied up behind. The earl, Tom, and Mrs. Thorpe got in. They were traveling together for a good part of their journey, before Macklin turned west and Mrs. Thorpe continued on south to London. All of them welcomed the company, not least Tom, on both sides of the conversation.

Their farewells were even warmer than the previous ones, the marquess, his wife, and his mother expressing their sadness at seeing the visitors depart. They stood waving at the castle entrance as the coach pulled away.

“A visit with you feels rather like being part of a traveling theater company,” said Mrs. Thorpe to the earl when they had passed under the archway in the wall and out into the countryside. “The play is over, and we move on to the next place on the tour. Not that I’m going this time.”

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