Page 29 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“Your role is silent,” replied Fenella. It seemed that way from the description, and she would see that it was.

John nodded, relieved.

A knock came as Fenella was about to open the playhouse door. It signaled the arrival of Tom, the guest without a surname from Chatton Castle, and the little structure was very full all at once. John appeared delighted to see the older boy, however. “We’re going to search the garden for adders,” he said.

“Adders?” Fenella didn’t like the sound of that.

“They’re the only poisonous snake in Britain,” said John.

“What?”

“They’re notverypoisonous,” the boy went on. “Not like a cobra or a black mamba. Their bites don’t kill you. And they’re fairly rare. I don’t suppose we’ll find any.” He sighed.

Fenella noticed that Tom was looking at her. There was something very reassuring in his homely gaze. “Just looking,” he said. “We ain’t going to touch ’em.”

“Well—” John began.

“No touching of the poisonous snakes,” Tom interrupted. “That was the agreement.”

“Right,” said John.

“Right indeed,” said Fenella. She fixed John with a stern gaze. Then she took Tom’s nod as a promise.

Six

If someone had suggested, even a month ago, that a rehearsal for a historical pageant would feature as one of the high points of his week, he would have scoffed, Roger thought. But that was how he felt as he arrived at the village hall and watched Colonel Patterson marshaling his motley monks. The bark of his commands was still more suited to a parade ground, but Roger supposed that monks might have stood at attention now and then. Some of them. Hadn’t there been warrior monks? Perhaps not monks. Anyhow, it didn’t matter. The pageant needed a leader who could whip a group into shape, and Patterson was certainly that person.

Fenella Fairclough entered, followed by her nephew. On this warm day, she wore a simple gown of primrose cambric. She set aside a straw bonnet and a silk parasol, a ray of sun catching her pale-red hair and making it gleam. A pulse of anticipation went through Roger at the idea that he’d soon be lifting her to his shoulder again. She hadn’t lodged any objections to the scene they’d been given. Did that mean she enjoyed it as well? Too much to assume, and yet he found he hoped so.

Since their conversation outside her father’s room, Roger had strained to remember the encounter she’d described at the Duddo Stones. But try as he might, he got nothing but fragmentary images of the person who’d helped him. He couldn’t make the hazy, fairy-tale figure into Fenella. The fall from his horse must have been a bone-cracker.

He didn’t remember the sodding-sheep comment at church either. He winced now at the thought of it. What an ass he’d been five years ago! He could remember that, unfortunately. He had an all-too-vivid recollection of his younger self’s sulky arrogance. Which had lasted far longer than it should have. That attitude had brought him down when he’d strutted off to London, thinking he was up to every rig and row in town, and been trapped into marriage like the greenest boy.Thathad taught him a whole university of painful lessons.

Colonel Patterson beckoned. Roger moved forward. Fenella came armed with the old broom. “All right,” said the colonel. “Marauding Viking. With the snarl.”

Roger lunged.

“And Miss Fairclough, your broom,” commanded Patterson. She swung. Roger flinched and fell. “Better than before,” said the colonel. “Though still lacking ferocity. Inevitable, I suppose.” He sighed like a man who has been given inferior materials to work with. “Now up. Another swipe with the broom, Miss Fairclough. Yes. And you grasp her arms, Chatton.”

Roger took hold. The cloth of her dress was smooth under his fingers. Her eyes met his from inches away. A lovely color flushed her cheeks.

“And now you spit at him, Miss Fairclough,” said Colonel Patterson.

“I forgot.” She managed a half-hearted spit.

“Weak,” said the colonel. “You did it much better last time.”

“I could say something to incite you,” murmured Roger, too quietly to be overheard. “Sodding sheep, perhaps.”

“Beast.”

“There. Now you can do it.”

And indeed her second attempt was more convincing. Roger thought he heard a cheer from her young nephew.

“Right,” the colonel said. “Now over the shoulder and off through the archway.” He sketched the imaginary span of stone with a wide gesture.

Roger picked her up.

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