Page 16 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“And you’re too modest.”

They strolled for a while in silence. Helena pointed out a special rose for him to admire. Then she said, “You didn’t come here to see me, did you?”

For once, Arthur was speechless. He’d been aware of her assumption and had sidestepped the issue with considerable finesse until now.

“I thought when you arrived that you were looking for me. But you weren’t.”

She’d tipped her parasol so he couldn’t see her expression. “I was delighted to see you again after so many years,” he said.

“But not expecting to.”

“I had forgotten you married Chatton,” he admitted. They moved on a few steps before the parasol shifted, and he could see that she looked ruefully regretful. “I’m past the age for flirtation,” he added.

“Oh, Arthur.” She gazed at him like a woman amused by the boy he’d been when they first met. “Why are you here? And don’t try to fob me off with some story about fishing in Scotland.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. The confidences shared at that London dinner were sacrosanct, and it was difficult to explain without revealing them.

“One of your missions to help?”

Helena Ravelstoke hadn’t been this sharp, Arthur thought. Or he hadn’t noticed if she was, his attention being on other elements of her person.

“Never mind. I’ll figure it out. You aren’t the only one who can observe.” She sighed. “Ididlike the idea that you’d been languishing for me all these years.”

Arthur caught the twinkle in her blue eyes. Relief preceded amusement. “Perhaps we can be friends?” He hadn’t had any female friends when he first knew Helena. At that age, women had seemed too alien, and enflaming, for friendship. But over the years since, he’d made a few.

She smiled. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

They walked on, talking of gardens and what had become of people they both remembered. Helena pointed out her beehives at the far end of the space. As they turned onto a new path, Arthur said, “Who was that young lady at church? The one who offered to kick your son in the face.”

“Ah. Fenella Fairclough.” She sighed.

“You don’t like her?” Arthur had been intrigued by the exchange he’d witnessed. There’d been a palpable spark between the two young people.

“Oh, I’m very fond of her. I’ve often wishedshewas my daughter-in-law. But it wouldn’t have worked. Though it couldn’t have been worse than—” She bit off the sentence and fell silent.

Arthur’s interest increased. “Shall we sit for a while?” He led her to a shaded bench set on a rise of ground, offering a panoramic view of the sea. “In answer to your earlier question, I recently noted a group of young men who had suffered unfortunate losses in their lives. I’ve set myself the task of helping them, if I can. I have some experience with grief.”

“Grief.” She seemed to examine the word, and then his face. Whatever she found there appeared to satisfy her. “My husband was ten years older than me, you know.”

Arthur didn’t see what this had to do with the case. But he’d learned that it was best to let people tell stories in their own way.

“He thought he knew best,” she went on. “About everything, really, and particularly when my opinion was involved.” She gave Arthur a sharp glance. “He wasnotunkind. And I loved him. But he always saw me as a girl, even when I wasn’t one any longer.”

Arthur nodded to show that he’d heard and understood.

“He hatched this scheme to marry Roger to Fenella. He and her father did, I should say.” She shook her head. “They’d been rather enjoying themselves, arguing over the boundary between their properties. Firing off copies of old deeds and writing scathing letters. Then they came up with the idea of a marital alliance, as if they were kings of rival countries or some such nonsense. I told my husband that Roger wouldn’t stand for it. But Raymond didn’t listen. He decreed that Roger was to go and offer for Fenella. Wouldn’t hear a word Roger said. And I expect Fenella’s father was even worse. Well, I know he was.” She fell silent again.

“So they disobeyed,” Arthur said after a while.

His hostess laughed. “Fenella sneaked off in the middle of the night and ran to her grandmother in Scotland. She knew her father wouldn’t dare hunt her there! My husband gave Roger a thundering scold. There was bad feeling on all sides. Raymond wanted to cut off Roger’s allowance, but I managed to persuade him that would make things worse.”

“A belligerent young sprig with no money is liable to fall into bad hands,” said Arthur.

“Exactly. And so, after a time, the tempest in a teapot subsided. I think all would have been well, perhaps even better than well, if it hadn’t been for Arabella’s mother.”

“Arabella?”

“She was Roger’s wife.”

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