Page 31 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“The painting on the scenery is champion,” Tom continued. “And they have a way of making waves. Looks remarkable like the sea. Men on either side push these rows of carved boards back and forth. It looked real as real from out front.”

“I don’t think our pageant will measure up to a London theater production,” Fenella said. She was very conscious of Roger at her side. It was as if she could still feel his hands on her. A current of heat seemed to flow from him, as if he was more alive than others in the room. Or as if she was, in his presence.

“This Lindisfarne place,” said Tom. “You been there?” He looked back and forth from Fenella to Roger. When they both nodded, he said, “I heard the road to it is underwater at high tide.”

“It is,” said Roger. “You have to take care not to be on it then. And to check the tide times carefully. As well as the weather. There’s a marked path on the causeway.”

Tom looked intrigued. “Somebody said there’s a walking route over the sand. I’d like to see that.”

“We should try it!” said John. “We could run ahead of the tide.”

The excitement in his voice made Fenella uneasy. Perhaps she shouldn’t have involved him in the pageant on Lindisfarne after all. “No,” she said.

“You have to do it during daylight with someone who has local knowledge,” said Roger, most unhelpfully. “And never during a rising tide, remember.”

“Don’t encourage him,” said Fenella.

“I wasn’t. I just said…”

“Have you walked it?” asked John eagerly.

Fenella tried to control Roger’s response with a warning look, but of course it didn’t work. He nodded, falsely humble but actually proud, as men so often were over their more reckless exploits.

“Would you take me across?” John gazed at Roger as if he held the keys to the kingdom of heaven.

“No,” said Fenella. “Your mother would never permit it.”

“She wouldn’t know,” John wheedled.

“She’d find out,” Fenella replied, certain this was true. Greta was like a magpie with information, and she still had friends on the Clough House staff. “Even if she didn’t, I’m aware of her wishes. I forbid it.”

Her nephew’s face fell into sullen lines. “It’s not fair.”

Part of Fenella wanted to argue that fairness had nothing to do with it. This was good sense, not injustice. But she knew better than to begin such a dispute.

“Let’s go and watch the sword fight,” said Tom.

John perked up at once.

“It’s from the War of the Roses,” added Tom. “That’s the Lancasters and the Yorks, eh? All killing each other.”

As he led John away, Fenella wondered where a lad his age had developed the tact of a diplomat, and where one of his purported background had learned English history. She turned to Roger. “You are not to let John persuade you to take him over the causeway,” she said.

He nodded. “Although I wasn’t much older when I first tried it.”

“Youare not a good example. You were nearly buried alive digging for treasure in the side of a hill.”

Roger blinked in surprise. “How did you know about that?”

“Your…gang was the focus of much admiring gossip among the neighborhood children.”

“We were?”

“I think you know you were.” She eyed him. “I think you enjoyed it.”

This won her a sheepish smile. “We brushed through our adventures pretty well.”

“James Farley broke his arm.”

---