Page 30 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“Quicker,” said Patterson. “You keep forgetting you’re a desperate raider, Chatton.”

Light blows fell on Roger’s back from Fenella’s fists. Her feet pumped. The movement of her body under his hands was dizzying.

Colonel Patterson made a shooing motion. “Go on. Off through the archway. Run if you can. Carefully though. We don’t want accidents.”

Roger carried his enticing burden a few yards.

“That’s it.” The colonel waited an instant, then said, “You can put her down now.” Roger did so, sorry their duet hadn’t taken nearly as long this time. “You know the movements,” Patterson added. “Which is more than I can say for some. Just have to put a bit more punch in it, eh? Savage era in our local history. Give it a bit more stick.”

“Or broom, as the case may be,” said Fenella with a smile.

“Precisely, Miss Fairclough.”

Young John Symmes came rushing over to them. “That was tremendous, Aunt Fenella!” he said. “You were as good as a play.”

Roger thought the boy couldn’t have seen many. He lingered beside Fenella, looking for an excuse to prolong their encounter.

“Is this the boy for the homily?” asked the colonel.

Fenella nodded and introduced them.

“You’ll be listening to the bishop,” Patterson said.

From this Roger understood that the part of their local saint had been given to the highest-ranking member of the church in the area.

“Your job is to be silent and humble,” the colonel continued. “You reckon you can do that?”

John shrugged and nodded.

“You’ll be wearing a smock slathered with mud. Your hair, too. And no shoes. Have they told you that?”

Oddly, the boy looked cheered by the idea. He nodded.

“And about the bucket of water?”

“Right over my head,” replied John with enthusiasm. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s it.” Colonel Patterson looked approving. “At the end, you kneel for a blessing. So not very complicated, eh?”

“No, sir.”

“No. I don’t think we need to practice that. No one to give a homily anyway. Just be ready on the day, eh?” He turned away to supervise the next bit.

“There’s Tom,” said Fenella’s nephew. He waved, and the lad ambled over to join them. “Are you taking a part in the play?” John asked him.

The homely youngster nodded. “One of the Vikings running in the background. I get to wave an ax.”

“Aren’t you rather young for that?” asked Fenella.

Tom shrugged. “I wanted a chance to be in a play, and Mr. Benson said some as young as twelve came along in the raiding ships.”

John looked interested, and Fenella concerned. Roger stepped in to create a diversion. “You’re fond of plays?” he asked Tom. Roger still didn’t know quite what to make of this particular houseguest. But then, he hadn’t given Tom a great deal of thought, his mind being on other things.

“I am. I been to one in Bristol and then a few in London just lately.”

“Really?”

“A…friend of Lord Macklin’s got me in backstage and all. I saw everything.” Tom’s grin was infectious. It was almost enough to distract Roger from his pause before the wordfriend. Roger wondered if the dignified Lord Macklin had a connection with one of the opera dancers. He couldn’t quite see that, but the arrangement wasn’t uncommon. And you never knew.

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