Page 21 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“I will always want to be kind,” Fenella declared. “And you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” It came out rather forcefully.

John blinked, a bit startled, but then he shook his head. “If you found out why I was sent…”

“For a visit with your family. That’s all I need to know.”

This assurance seemed to make him more unhappy rather than less so. “So it’s all fake,” he added as if to himself. He swallowed.

She knew that expression, Fenella thought. Here was a child bracing for a thundering scold. How to assure him that she would not deliver such a thing?

“I bought a boa constrictor,” John blurted out. “That’s a kind of large snake. And it ate Sally’s kitten.”

Fenella took a moment to absorb this startling information. Sally was her youngest niece, just three years old. Unbidden, a scene rose in her mind—scales, fangs, baby cat. She hid a shudder, partly at the fate of the kitten and partly at the shrieking chaos that must have ensued. Justified, really, she thought.

“It was anaccident,” John continued, his face a picture of anguish. “The boa was meant to stay in its cage. I brought it mice. It shouldn’t have been at all hungry. I don’t know how it got out.”

Would she, and John’s mother, have been more sympathetic if they’d had brothers? Fenella wondered. She remembered the mud-slathered boys of her childhood. Roger and his friends had seemed to delight in noise and dirt. Not snakes, though, as far as she knew. “You didn’t mean it,” she managed.

“Ofcoursenot. Ilikekittens!”

He spoke as if he’d been accused of the opposite. Fenella recalled her father’s many unfair indictments. “Well, it sounds like an unfortunate accident. I can tell you’re sorry it happened.”

John nodded. Tears had run down his cheeks. He sniffed.

“So let us say no more about it.”

“Really?” The boy blinked rapidly. He sniffed again. “You aren’t revolted?”

Again, it sounded as if he’d heard that word before. Repeatedly. “Not at all,” Fenella lied. Then, worried she’d been too cavalier, she added, “Although I would rather you didn’t bring snakes into the house.”

“I wouldn’t! Never again!” John gazed at the ground, shrugged, and sighed. “There’s no good ones up here anyway,” he said, somewhat diluting his fervent promise.

“Ah.” Fenella grappled with the idea of a good snake. What exactly constituted its goodness? She suspected this lay in qualities other than beneficence. And then she was struck by an idea. “There’s a place you could use, if you’d like to, ah, collect specimens.”

John raised his head to stare at her.

“Your mother and your Aunt Nora had a playhouse in our apple orchard.” Her two sisters, years older than Fenella, hadn’t allowed her inside their sanctum. In fact, they’d made a great point of excluding her from their games. Their father’s disappointment in his third child had spilled over onto his other offspring. Fleetingly, Fenella remembered the day she’d read a story about fairy changelings. She’d decided at once that she must be such a magical substitution, so alien did she feel within her family. Now, she rather enjoyed the idea of Greta’s son filling her old playhouse with snakes. “I’ll show you when we get back.”

“You will?”

“Yes.”

“You’re an absolute trump, Aunt Fenella!”

And just like that, one could bask in a male’s unalloyed admiration, she thought. Simply offer a boy a place to keep his snakes.

But matters were not so simple. When they reached Clough House, they found Wrayle lurking in the front hall. John’s dour attendant, pinched and disapproving, looked like a scarecrow dressed as a valet. He surged forward when they came in. “Master Sherrington went out without permission,” he said to Fenella.

“I was visiting at Chatton Castle,” said her nephew.

Though she could see that this address impressed Wrayle, it didn’t change his position. “He did not inform me,” the man said to Fenella. “I am to accompany him on any outings.” His expression was smug, even a bit contemptuous. Clearly, he expected Fenella to take his side.

Wrayle had not made himself popular with the household. More than just his air of aggrieved superiority, he took liberties. Fenella had had complaints. She’d been planning to deal with him, though not looking forward to it. “A stable boy accompanied John,” she said, slightly emphasizing her nephew’s preferred form of address. “He was perfectly safe.”

“That is not thepoint,” replied Wrayle. “He requires my supervision.”

Fenella was not accustomed to such an insolent tone, not from anyone. “I don’t think he does, really,” she replied. “In fact, I think you’d best return to my sister’s home.” That would solve several problems at once. At her side, John started as if he’d been poked with a pin.

“I was engaged to attend Master Sherrington.”

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